Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two (21 page)

She lifted the hem of her robe to avoid a pile of steaming horse droppings. Robbery was rife in the district and she’d been careful to wear only the poorest of clothing to avoid drawing nefarious attention to her. Life was very cheap in the Subura and she had no intention of letting vanity get in the way of her accomplishing her task.

A man stepped out from one of the doorways in front of her. It was hard to tell his age due to filth that covered his face. He was dressed in rags, and his voice was slurred when he spoke.

“I’ll pay youssh one she...sheshtercee for a fuck.”

“Move out of my way!” she responded angrily.

He was swaying from side to side, smiling. Rotten broken teeth lined his mouth.

“Jusshed a…a qu…quick one,” he persisted.

She tried to move around him, but he managed to stagger sideways into her path. He was quite tall and fat.

“I’m no whore!” she barked at him.

“Pre...pretty though.”

People passed them on both sides, indifferent to her predicament. She sensed the drunken pig would not be deterred by strong words. If he managed to grab her and push her against the wall, or to the floor, she’d be in trouble. And it could get worse, with others possibly joining in if they saw the opportunity for a free fuck. She’d seen it happen in the Subura and knew she had to act. Her right hand delved beneath her robe.

“If you want to fuck me, first show me some coin,” she proposed, forcing one of her most sensual smiles.

The drunk held out his right hand, a single grubby
sesterce
sat in the middle of his open palm. He grinned, revealing more stained teeth.

Her right hand whipped forwards, the slim knife blade slicing deep into the extended wrist. The drunk was momentarily stunned before crying out as bright blood geysered from the wound, painting the nearby insula wall. He collapsed to his knees, trying to stem the stream of blood with his other hand.

Akana stepped around him and quickly headed away. She knew that she’d cut deeply enough to probably finish him, just where the main vessel in the arm crossed the bones in the wrist. Without immediate help he’d quickly bleed out, and there’d be no help in the Subura. She quickened her pace, wiping the blade in the hem of her cloak. She tried to slow her breathing down after the sudden rush of adrenalin. It slowly returned to normal. Composing herself she endeavoured to get her bearings.

Her memory was good and she eventually picked out the land marks she’d memorized on her last visit, to find the man the city’s under-belly knew only as
Colube
r –
The Snake
. She shivered, remembering her first meeting with the assassin; how he’d stripped her with his gaze, and how she’d hurried away after she’s relayed Flavia’s message and paid him his fee. She dreaded meeting him again but knew that she had no choice in the matter.

Turning into a dark side alley she spotted the building she sought. A feeling of nausea rose up as her belly turned over. The words ‘
For Rent’
was painted in large red letters on the wall close by, although all of the nearby doorways were boarded up with splintered planks of rotted wood.

She approached the familiar door-way. An iron knocker in the shape of a nymph was located above a shuttered peep-hole. She noticed that her hand trembled as she raised the knocker. She knocked hard, repeatedly; keen to get the ordeal over with.

After long moments a deep voice queried from behind the door, “Who is it and what is your business?”

“My name is Akana, slave of Flavia, daughter of house Inciatus, and now
domina
of a noble house in Pompeii.” She paused a moment, her hand tightly clutching the money pouch she concealed beneath her cloak. She looked up and down the alley, making sure it was empty. She lowered her voice. “I visited you two years past, once with my mistress, and she now asks that you do her another service.”

“And what service is that?” the voice asked, unhurried.

“It’s not wise to discuss such matters here, where the walls may have ears,” she responded, trying to sound confident.

There was another long, uncomfortable silence, and then the shutter slid open.

She instinctively stepped back. The voice behind the door snickered, a cruel, cold sound. Two eyes peered at her, one a piercing brown, the other a clouded white.

“I remember you,” the voice stated. The shutter slid closed. The noise of heavy bolts being withdrawn quickly followed. The door opened a small way and a hand beckoned her in.

It was black, the air musky. Bolts were rammed fast behind her. An icy tingle fluttered down her spine and she breathed deeply, trying to stem the rising feeling of panic in the darkness.

Then a voice to her front ordered, “Come.” Her arm was clasped roughly in iron fingers, pulling her deeper into the dark. She stumbled onwards, her eyes beginning to adjust to the unlit gloom. A heavy drape was drawn aside, and she squinted into a small room lit by a candle on a table. Her arm was released. She blinked her eyes, trying to focus. The room was dim and she waited a moment for her pupils to adjust.

Coluber had seated himself on the room’s only chair. It was pulled up to a table on which he rested his clasped hands. There was a sleeping pallet in one corner of the room, but nothing else. The place gave Akana the feeling of being in a tomb.

Coluber fixed her with his good eye, his large shaved head gleaming like opaque marble.

“Speak,” he said, his voice deep with a rasping edge. “What does you mistress require of me?”

Akana cleared her throat as she stared at the two knives that resting on the table, along with a sharpening stone and some olives. One knife was long, as long as a
gladius
, but with a thinner blade that tapered steadily from the slim guard to a needle point. The other was shorter with a vicious curved edge, similar to the blades she’d seen from the east.
The tools of an assassin
, she thought. The sleeves of his dark tunic were pushed up and she saw the old scars on his wrists and forearms.

She swallowed hard before speaking.

“She wants you to dispose of her step-son, a young noble in Pompeii named Clodian Gaius Ralla. And, she needs it done before the
Festival of Parentalia
. The youth will become a citizen shortly afterwards and assume his full position as the rightful heir of his dead father.

“I see,” said Coluber, picking up the smaller of his knives. Akana felt her heart pound against her chest bone. He continued, “Killing such an individual, a noble, is a very serious business. The man carrying out such an act would need to leave Rome afterwards, perhaps even the empire? Such a task would be very, very expensive.”

“Can you do it?”Akana asked.

She watched Coluber slowly smile, a humorless gesture.

“It’s not case of
can,
you Egyptian slut.” His tone locked the breath in her throat. His hands were large, the fingers long, and he thumbed the edge of his knife, testing its sharpness as he spoke. “It’s a matter of
will
I do it?”

She feared what to say next and remained silent.

“A hundred gold aureii is the price,” he said finally.

Reaching beneath her robe she emptied the contents of the heavy money pouch onto the table. “There are forty, and you will receive the remainder when the deed is done.

Coluber picked out one of the gold coins, rubbing it sensually between his thumb and fingers.

“My mistress has secured lodgings for you in Pompeii, at the Inn of Prima, under the name Brutus Capito. I will bring you all the information you’ll need there, in five days time at the first hour.”

Coluber looked up from the table, the reflection of the gold glinting in his good eye.

Breathless, her small hurried steps carried her onto the Vicus Bublarius and into the sunshine. She licked the sweat from her top lip and sat down on the base of a stone column, relieved to have left the Subura and the
Snake
behind. It had been a long, tiring trek through the congested streets in the valleys between the city’s hills, and her calves ached, not used to the exertion.

The ancient Palatine opened up in front of her.
A different world
, she thought, her eyes taking in the splendid city houses of the rich and influential and the marble temples to diverse gods. This was her favourite place in the city and she’d often come here; to the most central of the city’s hills that regally gazed down at the Forum of Julius Caesar on the one side and the Circus Maximus on the other.

She took deep breaths, cleaning her lungs. The sinking red sun tinted the surrounding expanse of stone. It was beautiful. After a while she leaned back against a convenient stone column. It was cool, and from the tall building’s hidden recesses came the low, rolling lament of doves. She closed her eyes.

She pictured her mistress’s face when she returned to Pompeii. She’d be very pleased, and hopefully very generous. Akana had always been careful to set aside most of the coin that Flavia had gifted her. One day she would need it. She’d always enjoyed lying with her mistress, but not always the many and varied individuals whom she brought to her bed. Yet, Akana knew better than any how ruthless Flavia was. There would come a day when an older Akana would no longer be of interest to her. Then, she’d not hesitate to have her killed. She knew too much. But, she’d be gone before the axe fell. She’d have sufficient funds to take ship with a new name, to Egypt.

Until then, she would do
anything
that her mistress commanded.

The sun was beginning to set, painting the palaces high on the Palatine rose red and the tall cypresses between them an inky black. She sighed, realizing that this would probably be the last time she would see the city that was the centre of the Roman world.

Rising to her feet, she headed north, towards Ostia and the voyage back to Pompeii.

Chapter 26

HAVEN

The view from the villa’s porch was magnificent. Despite the aching grief that weighed heavily on him, Clodian could not fail to be impressed by its idyllic position looking out on the wide sweep of the bay, great Vesuvius and the surrounding mountains. Rippling turquoise waters stretched off westwards to the horizon. Positioned on a high bluff, it was two hours ride from Pompeii. Wealthy
patricians
regularly visited the popular holiday resort and the edge of the head-land was spotted with luxury villas.

As Neo had pointed out, visitors to the small port were common place and new faces were not regarded as conspicuous. It was an important consideration in light of Clodian’s predicament. Neo reasoned that Flavia would not suspect that he sojourned so near, under the very nose of the viper.

When he’d been informed of his step-mother’s part in his father’s death he’d felt a hatred that he’d never imagined he was capable of. He’d wanted to take revenge immediately, and it had taken both Belua’s brawn and the reasoning power of Neo to prevent him from acting rashly. They’d told him there would be a time for retribution; when he became the master of his own house. Yet, it was only when he arrived at Neo’s villa did the impulse to rush off and cut Flavia’s throat thankfully subside. But, he knew his father’s vile murder had changed him irrevocably, his red anger becoming something deeper, something twisted that brooded inside him.

Regardless of his feelings he was very grateful to his friends for restraining him and for providing the safe haven that was the villa. The villa itself was small, well-built, and equipped with everything they would need during their stay. It housed two bed-chambers, one for Orbiana and himself, and the other for Prudes.

The soft clip of sandaled feet brought him around. Prudes came to stand at his side, looking out at the azure expanse.

“I’d like some place like this one day,” he stated, his hand covering his eyes from the glare of the sun.

“I’m sure you will,” said Clodian, trying to sound brighter than he felt. After a moment he asked, “Is Orbiana still cleaning?”

“She hasn’t stopped. I think we’ll need to tie her up before she drives us crazy!”

“She’s a good woman,” said Clodian defensively.

“I’m sure she is,” said Prudes, recognising the rawness in him, before adding, “I have something for you. Belua asked me to give it to you after we’d settled in, and he asked me for your word that you’d wear it constantly.”

Prudes removed a
pugio
from his belt, next to the
gladius s
he wore on his left side. He offered the dagger’s sheath to Clodian for him to grip. Withdrawing the blade, Prudes deftly tossed it in the air, caught it by the blade then held it out, hilt first.

Clodian stared at the broad bladed dagger. Its riveted wooden handle looked worn from years of use, and the equally well used sheath was scuffed at the edges and marked with a faded emblem of a clenched fist. He hefted its weight, turning it in his hand. Its length caught the sun’s rays dazzling him for a moment. He ran his thumb across its edges whistling softly at its razor sharpness.

“A fine blade,” stated Prudes.

Clodian flexed his fingers on the hilt, then cut and stabbed at the air in front of him. “It feels light and has good balance.”

“I’d be surprised if it didn’t. Belua had it made to his requirements after he won the
rudis
in Rome’s Circus
(see prequel, War Raven
). It’s the work of the famous bladesmith, Phillip of Tarsus.

“Really?” said Clodian, impressed. “And the significance of the
fist
?”

“The crowds knew him as ‘Belua the Fist
’
when he was champion of
pugiles
…the best.” Clodian recognised the pride in Prudes’ words.

“I’m honoured to receive such a gift, and I‘ll express my gratitude when I see him next.”

“Now, all I need is your word that you’ll keep it with you at all times,” prompted
Prudes, smiling wickedly, “with some exceptions of course.”

Blushing, Clodian asked, “Do you think this is needed, while we are here?”