The Centurion's Empire (8 page)

Snow and ice were packed around three amphorae. The oil slowly grew too toxic to use if not stored cold; his employer,
Fortunatus, had told him that when he had accepted the contract. How slow was slowly? Thirty or forty years, Fortunatus
had replied. It could easily last a few months at body temperature.

One amphora was empty, another sealed and full, and the third was near full and not sealed. He sniffed the stopper, then
smeared a little of the contents on one finger and tasted it. Bitter! Sharp, oily and bitter, just like what was in the phial.
This had to be it. He unpacked a dozen goatskin pouches and began to pour the viscous philter out into them. If carrying
the same amount in a jar he would have barely been able to walk, let alone climb. As each pouch filled he strapped it to
his body, arranging them to look as if he had a more corpulent build. The twelve pouches were filled before the
amphora's level had dropped by even a third.

Lars checked the door and the courtyard beyond. All was as he had left it. Now he hastily scanned the scrolls that had
been kept near the cold store. Some were in Latin, some in a language like Greek. There were notes about the purity of
oils and how many tuhs of snow insects had been collected by the slaves.
Method and Usage of Venenum:
these were
instructions about the philter! Such incredible good fortune, thought Lars, surely some god was smiling on him—a loud
clack echoed through the darkened room.

Lars froze for an instant, then rammed the glowing phial under his cloak. No movement, no light. He hastily folded the
scroll into his pouch. The clack had come from the ice tub in the floor, yet he had put everything back as he had found
it—but not quite. He dropped to his knees and let
a
little of the phial's glow leak between his fingers. He had
not bent the triplever back to its former position, and now the rod that it would have pressed against protruded a
handspan from the wall: the accursed device not only warned when the cover had been lifted, it could also be used to
remotely check that the lever was pinned in place!

Where was it controlled from? How far away? How soon would they check? How many guards would come? Lars fought
down his panic. The rod would be to check if the trap had been set in the first place, it was only a guard against
carelessness, he decided. They would come without suspicion, intending to merely reset the trap. He strung his bow and
stepped outside. Behind the dead wolves was a column that would cast a shadow from the lamp of anyone approaching.
After a minute two figures appeared, both carrying thumblamps.

Lars watched as they rattled at the bolt. Once inside they would see the scrolls that he had not had time to tidy away. The
first stepped through the door as he raised his bow and shot the figure behind him. The man sprawled, dead before he hit
the snow. The other turned.

"Mind that step—" he began, but was silenced as a second arrow took him in the eye. At such close range Lars's aim was
deadly. He dragged the bodies inside and removed the arrows. Perhaps they would soon be missed—he needed a diversion
rather than a silent escape. One of the thumb-lamps continued to burn where it had fallen on the doorstep. Lars picked it
up and poured a little olive oil on the scrolls. Sputtery flames blazed up. He dangled a cloth strip in burning oil, then set
more fires.

Lars climbed back onto a nearby roof. He took several items of stolen armor and clothing from his pack, and dressed
himself to look like an overweight guard. He tried to move quickly; he was aware that the flames would soon be noticed.
A tile suddenly broke beneath his weight and his leg plunged through the roof. Somewhere in the distance men were
shouting. The security imposed by the Immortals hindered them now. Lars watched as a dozen of them ran back and
forth with buckets while the flames spread as if the place had been drenched in olive oil. An explosion suddenly blasted
out the side of the venendarium as an amphora of

something volatile detonated. The roof collapsed in a spark-studded, swirling cloud.

Lars noticed that guards from outside had now joined the Immortals. He dropped to the ground and went limping toward
the gate, waving a bloodied arm for attention as more guards came streaming in.

"Sheepskins, soak sheepskins in water and bring them, quickly!"

The advice was sensible. Several guards turned and ran with him back to the outer part of the palace, then turned off for
a storehouse. Lars made for the shadows, scaled the palace wall and clambered down the outer face with the aid of a rope.
The path to the crane was not long, and was by now unguarded. Lars swung the arm out over the edge and chopped the

.pulley free with his gladius. The rope rattled out to its full six-hundred-foot extension and the wicker hand crashed to
the altar below. He began by climbing down hand over hand, but as his fatigue increased he dropped longer and longer
distances, until his leather mittens were smoking with the friction. Near the bottom of the rope his hands and wrists
were so badly wrenched that he could barely hold on, yet he landed safely on the torn wickerwork of the great hand.
Barely pausing for breath, he staggered off through the snow. His way was lit by the glow from the burning venendarium
reflected against low clouds.

Sextus, the slave that Lars knew as Lacerna, arrived at the edge not long after the thief was out of sight. Behind him was
the glow of the fire and the shouts of those fighting it. Only one set of footprints was visible in the snow, so one of the
thieves had been left behind. Alive or dead? The question troubled him. The thieves had seen his face by lamplight, even
though he had given them a false name. He came to the disabled crane, its mechanism still locked but its rope chopped
free and dangling over the precipice. He touched the severed ends of the ropes that Lars had cut, quivering with fright.
Two slaves had been scourged to death for merely allowing the rope to fray more than the overseer would accept, and
Sextus himself had been given thirty lashes for allowing the pulley wheels to develop a squeak.
The crane was the Temporians' only link with the world below, and they took a dim view of anything that endangered it.
If one of the thieves had escaped down the rope, then he could too. With his hands trembling, Sextus crawled out along
the crane and began to climb down the slick rope. The clouds above still glowed red from the fire; blackness yawned
below. He was dressed for the heated interior of Nusquam, he wore only sandals and a tunic, and had no gloves. Voices
grew louder above him, they were coming for him. His weakening hands began to slip as he tried to move faster. No food,
no map, nobody to guide him through the yawning blackness down there. He had come to the Temporians as a child
fifteen years earlier. Even that had involved traveling for ten days wearing a blindfold. Burning torches appeared at the
edge of the cliff.

"There! On the rope!"

"I see him."

A bowstring twanged and something swished past the slave's head.

"Don't! We want him alive."

"You on the rope! One move and you're dead."

Sextus lowered his gaze from the torches to the blackness below. Why cling desperately to a rope with aching fingers in
order to face death by torture, he asked himself. The rope trembled as a guard began to climb out along the crane. Sextus
let go and fell without screaming. The distant thud that obliterated his life echoed up the cliff to his pursuers.

"Shit," sighed the archer, and he spat into the darkness below.

"Climb down the rope, follow me," said the tesserarius of the watch.

Namatinus and his horsemen arrived at the altar only a few minutes later. The reflection of the fire from the clouds was
so bright that they could ride without torches now.

"Too late, too damnably late!" shouted Namatinus, looking up at the fire. He turned to his men. "None of you will ever
mention this again under pain of death. Understood?"

The riders chorused agreement. Namatinus and Vitellan dismounted and walked to the altar where the wicker hand
had crashed. The tesserarius and his guards had already descended from the clifftop by the rope and were examining the
body of Sextus.

"Centurion Namatinus of the Furtivus Legion, Primus Fort," Namatinus said as he reached the altar and the guards
confronted him.

"What is your business here?" asked the tesserarius war-ily.

"I discovered a conspiracy to breach the security of Nusquam, two thieves were to smuggle themselves up the cliff amid
the supplies. I came as fast as I could, but—"

"But you are too late, Centurion—or maybe you are just in time with your men and horses. Did you see anyone on the
trail as you approached?"

"No."

"You're sure of that?" "Positive.

"You mentioned a conspiracy, Centurion. What can you tell me about the thieves?"
Namatinus beckoned Vitellan forward. 'Tell him your story, Legionary Bavalius."

"I was with Gallus, escorting some mules to meet with the main caravan. Five bandits attacked us. Gallus killed one, I
wounded another, then I fell down a cliff beside the trail into deep snow. The bandits emptied two mule packs, leaving
enough space so that two men could hide in them. That is all I know."

Namatinus described how Vitellan struggled back to the fort, and how they rode out and met the mule caravan as it
returned from the altar.

"We caught and tortured the truth out of the two im-posters," Namatinus concluded. "They said that they left their two
leaders concealed in packs on the altar."

"So, there's definitely only two outsiders to find," the tesserarius said with relief.
Namatinus pointed up the cliff. "What happened up there? Are you allowed to tell me?"
The tesserarius shrugged one shoulder and gestured upward.

"A large section of the palace is pretty obviously alight,

iut nobody is sure how the fire started. At least two Tempo-ians and several guard beasts have been killed. We saw the

>ody of one thief on the roof of a building before it col-apsed."

Namatinus looked at the body lying crumpled on the altar n the surreal red glow reflected from the clouds. "And that
one makes two."

"Probably not, Centurion. I know him as a slave from the >alace, and he was probably helping the thieves. The second
hief has not been found."

"Well as I said, we saw nobody as we came up the trail."

"Good news, the first good news of this terrible night, vlaybe he cut the crane loose but stayed above, maybe he ;limbed
down the rope and is hiding nearby. He is armed with a bow and his aim is deadly."

Namatinus turned to his men. "I want you to split into groups of three and search the area for footprints. Never go alone,
this thief is very dangerous and he has a bow. Now, I also want three volunteers to ride back to the mule caravan and tell
them to guard the trail and let nobody past until I return. Who knows the trail well enough to ride all the way in the
dark?"

One of the tesserarius' men stepped forward. "I can guide your men, Centurion."

"Then you will go. Vitellan, you've seen enough action in the past few days. Give him your horse and stay here with
me."

The portly guard mounted Vitellan's horse and led the other two volunteers down the trail and into the darkness. It was
morning before the tesserarius realized that of the six guards who had climbed down the rope with him, all six were still
present. By then Lars had killed Namatinus' two legionaries and was so far away that there was no hope of ever
capturing him.

Libarna, Northern Italy: 29 December 71, Anno Domini

Libarna nestled securely in the foothills of the Alps, a prosperous little market town servicing a patchwork of farms.

"The most boring place on earth," Fortunatus sneered as he looked out across the melting snow. "No games, no
chariots, no feasts, ugly harlots and sour wine."

Viventius came from a rural family, and did not find Libarna so very bad. "Why not return to Rome, then? I'd gladly stay
here and wait for the thief."

Fortunatus ignored him. He sipped a little wine and looked out along the northward road again.

"Five days. We know there was a fire at Nusquam five days ago. Lars Lartorius must have had a part in it. The body of a
thief was found on the roof, but it was not he. Lars is known to cover his tracks with fires. He was said to be near the
Circus Maximus seven years ago when the fire was started that consumed much of Rome."
They fell silent again, watching children flinging snow at each other and laughing. A farmer drove an oxcart along the
road, bringing hay for the stables.

'They barred me from joining them, they deserved to burn," muttered Fortunatus. "I have earned the right to be
immortal many times over."

"Any more than Emperor Vespasian?"

"More than he. I began my career while Caligula still ruled, then I helped hold the Empire together during Nero's
excesses. Now the Temporians tell me that I'm too old to become one of them. Too old at fifty-one!"

"There could be more to it than that. Gaius remembers how you manipulated the Senate and lost him money on the
grain market."