Swords Around the Throne (31 page)

Castus felt his mind grow still and cold. The massive brick vaults overhead pressed downwards, and the faces of the three watching men seemed to blur and warp. Clenching his jaw, Castus forced himself to focus. He understood what was happening now. He would not be tortured, not yet.

‘Go and fuck yourself,' he said. Scorpianus laughed.

They took him back to his cell, and the jailer pushed him as he crossed the threshold, so he stumbled and fell hard onto the stone floor. He knew at once he was not alone.

‘Brother, is that you?'

With the door closed the blackness was a solid mass, filling the small chamber. Castus crawled to the wall and slumped against it. He flinched as he heard the movements of a body close to him.

‘Brinno?'

Then the young Frank was crouched beside him; their arms were still shackled, but they pressed their shoulders together. ‘I thought they'd killed you, brother,' Brinno said.

‘Likewise. How far did you get from the aqueduct?'

‘Hardly any distance. They were already waiting in the trees. When I looked back, I saw you fighting. How many of them did you kill?'

‘Only three or four, I think.'

‘Heh! That's good enough. Keep killing three or four, and soon they'll all be dead.'

‘Victor died. And they've got Sallustius too.'

He heard Brinno make a spitting sound. ‘Sallustius betrayed us,' the Frank said.

‘I think I guessed that,' Castus said quietly. ‘I didn't want to think about it.'

For a while they sat in silence, crouched against the wall. Then, haltingly, they began to fill in the details of what had happened to them. Their experiences were much the same. Castus told Brinno about the torture chamber, and Nigrinus's strange speech of loyalty to Maximian.

‘I knew he was a snake,' Brinno said. ‘You can kill him, if I can kill that bastard Flaccianus.'

Castus laughed, and it was a good feeling, even if it made the muscles in his arms ache again.

‘There's something else I have to tell you,' Brinno said, a short while later. ‘That slave boy, the jailer's assistant. He's Frankish. I heard him talking. He's of the Tubantes, I think.'

‘So?' Castus had often wondered about his friend's attitude to the large numbers of his countrymen in slavery. Brinno had never appeared to give it much thought.

‘The Tubantes are vassals of the Salii, my people.'

Castus nodded slowly, beginning to comprehend. Brinno said no more, but his silence told Castus everything he needed to know.

It must have been three hours later when they heard the rattle of the jailer's key in the lock. The door clashed open, spilling hot torchlight over the dirty stone floor, and the jailer swaggered into the cell carrying a water pot and a wooden tray of bread. The slave came in behind him, angling his trident down at the prisoners.

‘Dinnertime! You first, barbarian,' the jailer said, nudging Brinno with the toe of his boot. ‘Up on your knees, or I'll pour this lot over your head.'

The Frankish slave had his trident pointed at Castus, who squatted with his back against the wall. Brinno was lying sprawled on the straw on the far side of the cell.

‘Up, I said. I'm not feeding you myself... I don't bend over for any man!'

Without moving, Brinno began to speak. The words were fast and guttural, Germanic; Castus paid no attention to them, but watched the slave. At once the youth gave a start and glanced at Brinno.

‘Quiet!' the jailer snarled. He dropped the tray of bread and pulled a cane from his belt. Castus saw the slave take a step back into the corner of the cell, his mouth open, and the points of the trident swung upwards. It was all he needed.

With one heave of his leg muscles he launched himself up, dipping his head and squaring his shoulders. The jailer only had time to notice the movement before Castus slammed into the man's chest, knocking him off his feet and driving him back against the far wall. He let out a shout of pain. Castus drew his head back and then jabbed forward, his brow thudding against the bridge of the man's nose. Another crunching headbutt, fast and hard, and the jailer's skull smacked back against the wall. His legs folded beneath him and he collapsed to the floor.

Brinno was still talking, giving orders in his own language to the slave. A note of command in his voice that Castus had never heard before. Reeling from the shocks to his skull – the jailer's head was almost as hard as his own – Castus slumped against the side of the doorframe and waited while the slave fished the keys from the fallen man's belt and unlocked their shackles. Castus gasped as the agony of release roared through his shoulders and back.

Flexing his arms, clenching his fists, he paced out through the cell door into the vaulted chamber. Nobody else in sight. Water jug on the table, but that could wait. Light-headed with relief, he lifted his tunic, pulled aside his loincloth and pissed a foaming torrent against the wall.

‘Merciful gods,' he said. ‘I needed that.'

Lifting the water jug from the table, he tipped it back and drank deeply. Brinno came out of the cell holding the trident. There was a short knife on the table and Castus armed himself with that.

‘What about the slave?' Brinno said. ‘We can't let him go. It'll look like he helped us escape.'

Castus went to the cell doorway and looked inside. The young slave was crouching on the floor beside the body of the jailer. Castus thought at first that he was trying to help his master; then he saw him clasp the man's throat with his hands and begin to press down...

‘Leave him in there.' He closed the door and turned the key in the lock. ‘He's got enough bruises already to look like we overpowered him.'

Brinno drained the last of the water jug and hurled it aside. He hefted the trident. ‘Let's get out of this filthy place,' he said.

Slow and cautious, keeping together, they moved through the maze of underground rooms. Beyond the chamber of the prison cells there were no lamps or torches burning, but bands of faint greyish light fell from the small apertures up near the roof. Whether it was moonlight or dusk Castus could not tell, but when their eyes adjusted it was enough for them to make out the space around them.

‘What did you tell him?' Castus said. ‘The slave back there?'

‘Heh!' Brinno replied. ‘I told him the spirits of our ancestors are watching us always. I told him they are angry with those who submit to be ruled by evil men. But they love those who take avenging justice into their hands.'

‘He did that, right enough.'

They slid around a corner into a low room, and Castus recognised the archway that led through to the torture chamber. Not that way. Tracing their steps back, they found another cell with a doorway knocked through the back wall. Edging through the opening, Castus with his knife bared and Brinno gripping the trident, they entered a long chamber that stretched away into darkness to their right. Squat pillars raised a line of arches down the middle, and to either side were stacked bales and crates, with ranks of huge amphorae standing upright like bloated corpses in the faint light from the airshafts.

‘Where are we, do you think?' Brinno whispered.

‘Don't know. Under the forum maybe, or the curia. But there must be steps out of here...'

Scuffing their feet, careful not to trip on anything in the gloom, they moved down the clear aisle of the huge storage vault.

‘Stop,' Brinno hissed, grabbing Castus by the arm. ‘Somebody's there.'

Sure enough, when Castus looked up he could see the light of a moving oil lamp, weaving like a firefly. He crouched, ready with the knife, and as he glanced to his right he saw a dark opening, little more than a crack in the wall, the shape of steps just visible within.

‘There...'

Brinno went first, angling the long trident into the gap. The steps rose steeply, and soon they were in complete darkness. Castus backed slowly upwards, one hand on the slimy stones of the wall. Then there was a turning, and Brinno stopped, cursing.

‘A gate – locked, I think.'

Castus pushed past him, reaching out to grip the iron bars. He ran his hand down and felt heavy chain links, and the rough metal of a rusted lock. Shoving against the bars, he felt no give at all. The gate had not been opened in years.

Light rose up the narrow stairway. Sounds of scuffing footsteps from below. One man, moving slowly.

Pushing back past Brinno, Castus leaped down the steps to the turning, then down the lower flight. The man was already at the opening from the storage chamber; Castus rushed him from the dark stairway, ramming him back off his feet. The lamp arced from the man's hand and cracked on the stone floor, the oil smothering the wick.

Castus dropped to one knee. He seized the man by the hair and dragged his head up, pointing the knife down at his face. In the faint light he made out the features of his captive.
Thanks to all the gods...

‘Kill him now!' Brinno cried, stamping down from the stairway with his trident aimed at the prisoner.

‘I can understand your unhappiness...' Nigrinus said. Castus had his knee on his chest, and was still gripping his hair in his fist.

‘Heh! He understands our unhappiness!
Kill him!
'

‘Let me speak first, I beg you.'

Castus twisted his fist, and felt hair rip from the notary's scalp. ‘Ten more words, then you die.'

Nigrinus rolled his eyes to one side, thinking fast. His mouth barely moved as he spoke.

‘
I have... saved your... lives... you pair... of brainless... imbeciles
.'

Brinno let out a grunt, leaning closer with his trident. ‘Kill him! No – make him show us the way out, and
then
kill him!'

‘What a tempting offer,' the notary said.

Castus reversed his knife, and cracked the pommel against the man's head. Nigrinus flinched and hissed through his teeth.

‘Say what you mean,' Castus told him.

‘Maximian's people planned to have you murdered in your beds last night. I needed to get you out of the city and far away, so I could take you into my custody. They believe I'm part of their conspiracy, but I needed to prove my allegiance... What better way than breaking the oaths of Constantine's most loyal men? That performance in the torture room was for their benefit, of course...'

‘But the villa,' Brinno said, ‘the aqueduct – that was real. It was no game. Victor died!'

‘Of course it was real – it had to be! I hadn't anticipated that you would defend yourselves so robustly, though. As it was, you cost me a dozen expensive gladiators and several members of the imperial courier service. Delphius in particular was a very effective agent...'

‘And you couldn't have just told us all this beforehand?' Castus felt his mind swinging between pained belief and outraged denial.

‘Excuse me,' Nigrinus said, grinning, ‘but I didn't rate your abilities as actors. Far more convincing if the anger was real, no? And I couldn't risk you giving anything away – I mean, you might
actually
have been put to torture, and then what?'

Castus exhaled heavily, then eased his weight off the notary's chest and released his hair. Nigrinus let out a sob of relief, apparently involuntary. Then he sat up and brushed his hair into place with his fingers.

‘You knew about Constantine's death too?' Brinno said. He had not lowered the trident. ‘Did you plan that as well?'

‘Constantine isn't dead, you barbarian oaf! Gorgonius sent killers to Treveris, but they failed, I don't know how. So now – understand this, and please stop waving that trident at me – now the emperor needs us alive! Maximian and his supporters think I'm one of them, but I can't work alone. I need muscle. I need men I can trust, men Constantine trusts. You'll have to do, in the circumstances.'

‘And how can we trust you?'

‘When you get out of this place, look above the main gate of the city. You'll see the heads of two of your fellow Protectors decorating spikes there. The other two agreed to shift their loyalties to Maximian. As did your friend Sallustius: Maximian bought his allegiance months ago. And besides, if you can't trust me, whom do you have left? Or would you rather have your heads on spikes too?'

Castus looked at Brinno, who slowly lowered the trident. The notary was sitting on the ground between them, massaging his chest with stiff fingers.

‘Swear upon the gods that this is the truth,' Castus said, raising the knife again.

‘I swear upon the gods that this is the truth,' Nigrinus said, in the tone of a man with little belief in either.

‘If he's wrong...' Brinno said. ‘May the gods help us!'

‘If he's wrong,' Castus replied, ‘I think we're beyond their help.'

‘
Maximianus Augustus! Eternal Augustus! The gods preserve you for us! Your salvation is our salvation!'

Again and again the massed acclamation rang out from the crowds packing the stands of the circus, all the people of Arelate on their feet, all of them saluting, all of them repeating the ritual formulas as the crowd-leaders raised their batons.

‘
Maximianus Augustus! Eternal Augustus! The gods send you to us! The gods grant you triumph!'

Noon sun turned the swept sand of the racecourse into a glaring yellow plain. Trumpets sounded from the balustrades above the starting gates, and from the blue shade of the arches below the procession marched forth.

At its head came the new military commanders of Maximian's army: Scorpianus, dressed in silvered cuirass and peacock-plumed helmet in his new role as Praetorian Prefect, and beside him Gaudentius, the former commander of the Alpine force, now holding the rank of
comes rei militaris
, Companion in Military Affairs. Behind them the prefects of the legions from Spain, the centurions of the Praetorian Cohort and the tribunes of the legionary and auxilia detachments that Gaudentius had led down from Cularo.