Swords Around the Throne (28 page)

He had talked little with Flaccianus or the other three agentes in rebus during the journey from Arles. They had left the city in the slumbering quiet of mid-afternoon and ridden hard across the flat open countryside, moving northwards parallel to the river until they reached the great spur of rough wooded country that concealed the valley and the villa within it. They paused there in a grove until after nightfall, then moved up the valley once more. Five slaves had accompanied them, and Glaucus the bodyguard; it hardly seemed enough to tackle and capture a group of highly placed plotters, who probably included military men. But there was nobody else they could trust for the job. Besides, Castus had been the one to find the message hidden in the dagger scabbard, and he felt a sense of responsibility for what had to be done. He remembered the words of his oath.
I shall not cease to hunt him down by land and by sea with iron in hand...

The valley curved, wrapping around the narrowing trench of the river, and now the great aqueduct was hidden behind them. Up ahead, Castus could see a low wall through the trees, and an arched gateway. He motioned to the men following him, and together they moved up to the wall and crouched in the long grass. All of them were wearing dark clothes, with no ornaments that might catch the light.

‘Once we get inside the walls,' Flaccianus said, ‘we should split up. The Protectores should circle individually around the sides of the villa, while the agents and I move in close and try and observe what's happening...'

‘Why does this small man give us orders?' Brinno hissed from the darkness.

‘I don't like the sound of it,' Castus said. ‘I've had about enough of skulking about in the dark for one night already.'

‘Oh, really? And what do you
noble Protectores
suggest instead?' Flaccianus said in an acid voice. ‘Rushing in through the front doors, waving your swords about?'

‘He's right,' Sallustius said quietly. ‘We need to circle the perimeter, stop anyone getting away.'

Castus exhaled slowly, leaning back against the rough stone wall. ‘Whatever we're doing, we need to do it fast,' he said, ‘and work together.'

‘Ah, good!' Flaccianus said. ‘What a splendid idea – so,
as I said
, we split up and take individual positions...'

‘We stay together in pairs,' Castus broke in. ‘Me and Brinno go round to the left of the villa, Sallustius and Victor to the right, along the river. You and your agents creep in close and find out what's happening inside. As soon as you have them in sight, whistle twice and we'll get in there. The slaves stay here and hold the gateway.'

He looked around quickly at the gathered men: a few heads nodded in the moonlight; the rest stayed silent; Flaccianus just shrugged. Castus took that for agreement.

‘Let's go,' he said.

* * *

Inside the wall of the estate they moved through an orchard, the close-planted trees giving them good cover right up to the bank and ditch that screened the villa buildings. Lying on the bank, Castus peered out between the trunks of a row of poplars and saw the back of the tile-roofed house, the squat columns of a brick rear portico and the low whitewashed half-domes of a bath-house. There were lamps burning inside – Castus could make out the faint glow thrown between the pillars of the portico – but otherwise there were no signs that anyone else was there. The villa was not a lavish place, by the look of it, more a hunting lodge combined with a farm. That was some relief at least. Perhaps nine armed men would be enough to surround it effectively.

From the low scrub and fields on the far side of the villa came the steady, constant chirruping of insects in the darkness. No sign of anyone on watch; or, if they were, they were well concealed.

‘I don't like this,' Castus said quietly. ‘Why are there no guards? All too open... like they're waiting for us.'

‘Afraid of the dark?' Flaccianus said with a sly grin. ‘We're out in the middle of nowhere – why would they need guards?'

Biting back an answer, Castus slid his sword from its scabbard. He wished he had brought a shorter weapon. His broad-bladed infantry spatha was a formidable tool in a pitched battle, but awkward for the sort of work the night promised. He noticed that Flaccianus and the other agents had armed themselves with short ring-pommelled swords, which looked far handier.

‘Remember,' he whispered harshly, ‘two whistles – right?'

‘That's right,' Flaccianus said. ‘And remember to come when I call!' He ran forward at a crouch with the other agents and Glaucus behind him. Sallustius and Victor had already moved off to the right, towards the riverbank. Castus motioned to Brinno, and the two of them scrambled up the bank and jogged towards the left-hand corner of the villa.

He was tensed for the barking of dogs, but only the rhythmic pulsing sound of the insects disturbed the quiet of the night. Halting, he dropped to a crouch with his back against the wall of the villa. Brinno ran up and crouched beside him.

Senses alert, his body primed, Castus listened intently. He almost thought he could hear the sound of voices from somewhere inside the building: men speaking quietly. Tapping Brinno on the shoulder, he moved forward again, following the wall until he reached the corner of the building. To his left was what looked like a stable block; ahead of him, steps led up to the garden terrace at the front of the villa.

‘Somebody moving out there,' Brinno whispered, and nodded towards the trees beyond the stables. ‘They see us, I think.'

Tensed, Castus tried not to imagine the whip of arrows from the darkness. He and Brinno would make easy targets against the whitewashed wall. His senses were screaming at him to pull back, get out of this. But he was committed to it now.

Two whistles from the far side of the building. Castus and Brinno were up and running immediately, doubling the corner and leaping up the steps to the terrace.

Trees and hedges in moonlight, the grey rectangle of a dry ornamental pool, and the ranked pillars of the front portico above them. A scream came from the darkness beyond, and suddenly the night was full of men running at them from both directions.

‘It's a trap – get out!' Victor's voice cried out from the far side of the terrace. Men on the portico, spilling from the house; others closing in from the garden.

Brinno grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back, but Castus shook him off. In his mind's eye he saw the villa mapped out, the terrace and the riverbank. He had no idea who was attacking them, but this was a battleground now. This was tactics.

‘Straight on,' he shouted, ‘after me, though the middle of them!'

He ran, hoping Brinno was behind him: whoever their attackers were, they wanted to keep the four Protectores apart, cut them off individually. Castus needed to link up with Sallustius and Victor.

The men coming from the house had expected him to flee, expected to pursue him, but instead Castus charged straight at them. At them and
through them...
He wheeled his blade and slashed at the first man, who dodged too late. The blade slid across the man's shoulder and bit the back of his neck, and he was down and screaming. No time to finish him; Castus knew he only needed to put his opponents out of the fight. Running, he sidestepped to slam against another figure coming from the shadows. The man flung up his arm, and Castus noticed his ring-pommelled sword before he chopped his legs from under him.

Brinno raced past, bellowing, and shouldered down one of the attackers coming from the garden. Castus saw his blade rise and then stab down. Then he was weaving between bodies, striking out. The darkness was on his side now; his attackers were confused, fearful. He slashed, and felt a brief shock up his blade.

‘My hand!' a man screamed. ‘Fuck! He's cut off my hand!'

They were falling away from him, and he was through. At the far wall of the terrace he paused and turned, looking for Brinno. The Frank was right behind him, bodies scattered on the dark turf in his wake, and above, in the flare of light across the portico, Flaccianus and his big bodyguard stared back at him, yelling to the others to press the attack.

No time to think. Castus scrambled up onto the wall and across in a single movement. A longer drop on the far side as the ground sloped down to the riverbank; he fell into tangled undergrowth and thick grass, lost his footing and rolled. His cloak caught on something and he ripped it free of his neck. A crash as Brinno came down beside him, but before the men on the terrace could reach the wall they were both on their feet, dragging each other as they stumbled along the riverbank in the direction of the aqueduct.

Victor almost collided with them. ‘Sallustius is down,' he gasped, and there was panic in his voice. ‘The others – we were betrayed! That bastard Flaccianus and his men...'

‘I know,' Castus said. ‘Save your breath and run.'

There was pursuit now; men dashing towards the higher ground at the edge of the river slope, aiming to cut them off. Castus could not guess their numbers; he had seen ten or more back in the garden, but there could be twice as many. Who were they? Just Flaccianus and his fellow agents, or were there others? It surely mattered, but Castus had no time to think about that. The deception was clear to him: the fake message in the scabbard, the interview with Nigrinus... all of it designed to draw them out here to this isolated place and pick them off one by one.

They were no fighters anyway, and there was fortune in that. Castus could hardly believe that he and Brinno had somehow woven their way out of the ambush apparently unharmed. The thought gave him a sense of unreality, as if he were running in a dream. Their pursuers had lost time getting back around the side of the villa, and the three Protectores had a good head start on them. Up the dry slope, stamping through the thorny brush, Castus saw the estate wall and the gate before him. His breath was coming in aching heaves – he had not had to run like this in many months.

The two slaves had bolted from the gateway. Castus and Brinno hurled themselves through, but Victor turned and raised his sword towards the pursuers.

‘You go,' he shouted, his voice high and cracking, ‘I'll hold them off here!'

‘Don't be an idiot,' Castus said, grabbing the young man by the shoulder. ‘We
run...
'

He pulled Victor after him, through the grass and bushes and onto the track beside the river. He was still holding his sword; without breaking step, he slammed it back into his scabbard and held it as he ran. Noise of breath, of boots stamping the dry grit of the trackway. Castus could feel his lungs burning, and a stitch was twisting into his flank, but the three of them were still together, still ahead of the pursuit.

Around the bend in the river, the aqueduct rose before them. Light flared beneath one of the great arches, throwing the shadows of men and horses over the stonework.

‘Heh! They're ahead of us!' Brinno cried. He turned as he ran, then halted on the track. Dust scuffed up pale in the moonlight. ‘Ahead and behind.'

Victor was doubled over, braced on his knees and drinking air. From the direction of the villa came the shouts of the pursuers as they ran, answered now by the echoing yells of the men beneath the arch. Castus heard one voice raised above the rest: Flaccianus.

‘Throw down your weapons! You're cut off! Surrender!'

He could hear Victor sobbing as he retched. To his right, he could make out the thin grey scar of a path climbing the valley side between the trees.

‘There,' he said, but Brinno had already seen it. Castus took Victor by the arm, pulling him upright and leading him after the Frank.

The path rose steeply almost at once, and they were stumbling upwards, grabbing at branches and spurs of rock. When the leaves closed over them they were fighting their way through total darkness, reaching blindly for handholds. Dry thorny scrub snatched and grabbed at them. Their boots scuffed and kicked at the dry stony soil; Castus half fell, the ground grating out from under him, and he ripped skin from his palms as he dragged himself to his feet. Above him, Brinno toiled upwards without pause, grunting as he breathed. The path turned, doubled back, and the trees broke in places to spill moonlight over them as they looped around outcrops of pitted grey rock jutting from the valley sides. Somewhere below them the pursuers were climbing too, calling out to each other, crashing and scrambling in the dark.

At another turn of the path Castus paused, sucking down great lungfuls of air. His head was reeling. ‘What happened to Sallustius?' he said, gasping the words. ‘Was he wounded or dead?'

‘He fell...' Victor said, coming up behind him. ‘I don't know if he was hit. He said to run and... and I ran. I'm sorry...' The shame was in his voice. Shame and fear.

‘No time for that now.' Brinno had clambered up the next incline and was waving down to them; Castus could just make out his gesture against the sky.

Up the last twist of the path, the trees fell away and they stood on an open summit with the aqueduct stretching across the valley before them, massive and pale, as if it were made of moonlight. Castus had not realised they had climbed so far. The slope rose again ahead of them, but it was thick forest now, holm oak and thorns, impassable. He could not see where the path had gone.

‘We need to cross there,' Brinno said, pointing at the aqueduct. Along the crest of the uppermost tier of arches, above the water channel, there was a narrow walkway of flat stone slabs. Castus looked at it: a thin grey ribbon stretching across a vast gulf of air. He felt his heart clench in his chest.

‘No,' he said.

But Brinno was already pushing his way between the dry bushes towards the end of the aqueduct.

‘Come on – if we get across there we're on the far ridge! We'll be well ahead of them...'

‘No,' Castus said again. ‘I'm not going across that.' But Victor was coming up the path behind him; he needed to follow Brinno or move aside. Trying to swallow down the tightness in his throat, Castus moved off after Brinno, down into the hollow where the upper arches and water channel of the aqueduct met the hillside. His calf muscles were burning, but a wild dizzying fear was rising in him.