The Wanderers of the Water-Realm (61 page)

Livia, it transpired, was born and raised here on the estate of Klee at a time when the property had been owned by her father, a leading official at the court of the First Tribune.

Her marriage to Senator Creon had been little more than a matter of cold political expediency. Creon had eventually gained control of the estate of Klee upon the assassination of her father and it pained Livia greatly to see the friends and retainers of her childhood being gradually replaced by her husband’s uncouth relatives, spongers who had drifted in from the distant territories of the nomadic Kaa.

On one occasion, when the noblewoman had been under the influence of a powerful sedative, she had openly declared that her husband’s cruel treatment of the estate’s force of slave labourers was driving them into a state of complete desperation. She feared that Creon was inexorably pushing them into open revolution, if only to obtain the release of death for themselves and their families.

“Goad the gentlest narr,” the noblewoman had muttered as she lay under the influence of the powerful narcotic. “And it will strike back at you, and harder than you ever thought possible!”

Once again, Myra turned over upon the couch and tried to clear the concerns of the household from her mind, hoping to take some temporary comfort from the oblivion of sleep; but some indefinable power seemed to be probing at the boundaries of her consciousness.

The wisewoman considered visiting her medicine bag in order to procure a sleeping draught that would enable her to gain a few hours of much needed rest. But the strange mental irritation continued and seemed to come from some external source and she decided upon a quite different course of action in the hope of identifying the disturbance. She lay back upon the couch and concentrated upon an insubstantial point lying deep within her consciousness and slowly the chamber and her immediate surrounding faded from view as she slipped into a deep shelf induced trance.

“Myra … Myra …. MYRA!”

A weak voice began repeating within her mind.

“Tis I -- Paris, who seeks to make contact with you --- Myra, reach out to me -- Now -- If you feel my presence within your brain.”

The young wisewoman drew upon her reserves of mental energy and she strove to unite her mind with that of her former lover.

“Paris, I hear your words -- Are you near? -- Are you safe?”

The reply came almost immediately.

“Yes my love -- I am safe in the cabin of a fast passenger galley lying anchored upon the Life River -- Only a small distance from where you and your friends are held captive!”

Myra had now established a solid link with the overseers mind.

“How did you know that we are improsined in Creon’s villa?”

“Wilakin was fortunately in the cabin of the ‘Bonny Barbara’ when the senator’s murderers began killing the crew and he managed to slip over the side undetected and escape the slaughter. he eventually came ashore and made his way to the nearest of the Dark Priest’s Maintenance Depots amd word of Creon’s treachery was immediately despatched to the priests in Holy Ptah. Whiteflower and I myself had returned to the Holy City by this time and ordered aboard a galley, which the Dark Priests were despatching to your aid, for they knew that my telepathic powers would be invaluable in organising your escape my love -- You must now take careful heed to my thoughts -- Aboard this galley are secreted one hundred picked mercenaries, who, when the time comes, will seize and hold the Senator’s riverside quay and bring you to the safety of this vessel. But first the three of you must break clear of Creon’s villa and reach the vicinity of the Life River and ----.”

Myra broke into the envoy’s train of thought.

“How is that possible? George and my brother are presently under heavy guard in the gladiator’s compund, whilst I am usually confined to the quarters of the Lady Livia.”

There was a short pause before the envoy replied.

“We have an agent within the estate of Klee -- His name is Guis Lupus and he holds the position of Head Blacksmith to the estate. Lupus is said to be extemely clever and he will doubtless be able to devise some means of organising your escape. You must contact him and give the code-word ‘pulla-plant and he will answer ‘on my plate’ -- Now, a word of warning -- We cannot remain at anchor for very long without attracting the attention of the river patrols -- So you must plan to make your escape no later than four nighs from now. I shall wait in my cabin throughout the hours of darkness and be ready to receive your thoughts within my mind -- Long may you live in my heart -- My love -- And now farewell.”

The mental contact disappeared and Myra lay back upon her couch and mulled over the situation. Gius Lupus certainly appeared to hold the key to her future and that of her friends. But how was she to make contact with the blacksmith without arousing the suspicion of the other members of the household … How?

The clang of heavy hammers upon metal and the glow of charcoal fires told the young wisewoman the workshop she was now entering contained the forge of Gius Lupus, the head blacksmith. In her hand she held a delicate wound-probe that she had deliberately snapped in two halves, a regrettable sacrifice, but a necessary one if she was to have a plausible excuse for contacting the smith without arousing any suspicion.

Myra crossed the threshold and was immediately confronted by a red-headed giant whose body was burnt black by the smoke from the forge fires.

“Would you be Gius Lupus the head smith?” She enquired. She received a sharp nod in reply and opened the palm of her hand in order to show him the broken instrument.

“I was told that you are probably the only man on the estate with sufficient skill to repair this much valued instrument of mine. Can you help me.?”

Lupus took the pieces and examined them carefully. “This is work best suited for a jeweller, mistress!” He remarked. “But I will attempt to undertake the repair if you will please follow me into the small forge where I do most of the intricate work.”

Myra followed the smith into a small workshop lying at the rear of the main forge building and she felt the blast of heat radiating from the hearth as the Herculean smith began pumping the bellows.

“This heat is enough to dry up a bodies’ throat!” she remarked. “What would I not give for a cool salad of ‘Pulla-plant’ and a beaker of beer to wash it down?”

The smith never missed a stroke as he began hammering at the broken ends of the wound-probe.

“Right enough mistress.” He answered. “I to fancy some of that salad, ‘on my plate’!

The blacksmiths voice then fell to a whisper.

“How might I serve you, mistress.” He enquired.

Myra quickly explained the situation to the smith, who ran his fingers through his red beard for a while before replying.

“It will be extremely difficult to release your brother and his friend from the gladiatorial training compound,” he said. “As the fighters are guarded at all times by at least six armed men; the only way is to create a violent diversion by encouraging the slaves to break out into open revolt upon the very night chosen for the escape.”

Once again, the smith ran his fingers through his beard.

“Two of the blacksmiths who work at the forge are perfectly loyal to me and the three of us should be quite sufficient to overpower the remaining compound guards, once their compatriots have been drawn away to deal with the rioting slaves.”

The young wisewoman seemed doubtful. “Are you quite sure that the agricultural slaves will rise at your command?” She inquired. “For it must mean certain death for them. Even if they gain control of this estate and start a much wider slave uprising, they must eventually fall beneath the weapons of the First Tribune’s legions.”

“Have no fear lady.” He replied “Most of the slaves, here, will welcome death like an old friend. Better to die in battle than permanently endure the torments of such a heartless and cruel master as Creon of Klee.”

The smith tossed the broken wound-probe in the palm of his hand.

“Return for your instrument the day after tomorrow and we will finalize our plans.

In the meantime, you must warn your two comrades to make ready and prepare to flee for their lives, when the time comes!”

Darryl and the giant boat hand lay fully dressed upon the cots within their sleeping quarters with the thin sheets hiding their bodies from the prying eyes of the guards and obscuring the broken chair-legs, the only weapons available.

The two men waited patiently in the darkness and let the hours pass until the quietness of the night was broken by a scream of mortal agony that might well have issued from the throat of a tormented animal rather than a human being. Moments later, the night became alive with the howls of men in combat and the sharp sound of clashing arms. The pair remained quite still beneath the sheets and neither man budged, even when a guard thrust a lighted torch into the chamber to check upon their continued presence. The men only cast aside the coverings and stood upright when they heard a panic stricken voice ordering most of the guards to seize their heavy spears and hasten to the rescue of their outnumbered comrades, who, it appeared, were battling desperately to contain the agricultural slaves who were now in open revolt and rampaging across the estate of Klee with the savage intention of butchering their oppressors to the last man.

Minutes later, the two men heard a strangled cry from the direction of the exercise yard and the door of their chamber was suddenly flung open and they heard the voice of Lupus the smith calling from the threshold.

“Quickly now!” The metal worker shouted. “We must make for the armoury of the gladiatorial school and retrieve your personal weapons, then you must hasten to Lady Livia’s quarters in the villa where your sister is waiting for your arrival. Come, you must move with all possible speed if you wish to continue living!”

The smith, helped by another metalworker, quickly broke down the door of the armoury with their heavy striking hammers. The two boatmen swiftly armed themselves and followed their companions into a wide expanse landscaped gardens lying between the gladiatorial establishment and the wing of the villa containing the apartment of the Lady Livia.

All around them the night was alive with the noise of conflict and pillars of flame were beginning to leap skywards as the escaping slaves carried fire and slaughter across the estate of Klee. Fires were also taking hold in the main portion of the Villa and it was obvious that the slaves were desperately determined to wreak vengeance upon their former masters before coming face to face with their own inevitable deaths.