Blood and Steel

Chapter 39

The North of Italy

The Julian Alps,

Five Days after the Ides of March, AD238

Timesitheus had been persuaded to spend the night at Arcia. His first thought had been to saddle fresh horses, and set off after Domitius there and then. However, Corvinus had assured him that Maximinus’ Prefect of Camp was not travelling fast. Indeed it might be thought that Domitius was dawdling, and appeared somewhat reluctant to venture down onto the plains at all. Requisitioning supplies and horses in what could prove enemy territory, with just four men, was an unenviable mission, and might induce a certain temerity in anyone.

The hostility between Timesitheus and Domitius went back a long way, back to the Emperor Alexander’s ineffectual campaign in the East. They had been two of the three equestrians charged with collecting supplies. The third had been a big Thracian called Maximinus. Over the years the enmity had deepened into a consuming hatred. Timesitheus had often considered the ways he would like to kill Domitius: scourged and crucified like a slave, thrown naked into the Arena for the beasts to maul and devour. The vengeance he might take in these mountains would be less public, but still immensely satisfying.

It had been the prospect of a bath, and clean clothes, as much as a meal and a bed, that had convinced Timesitheus not to give chase the previous evening. At first, without the accustomed motion of the carriage, even though the bed was soft, it had been hard to get to sleep. When one of Corvinus’ men woke him before dawn, it seemed he had barely slept at all.

Although there was no ground mist, it was a dark morning. The guide led them slowly and carefully down a goat track under dripping pines. When the sun rose, it was behind black clouds. Glimpsing it shining red through brief gaps was like looking into the heart of a furnace.

After a time they came to an unmade road, and made better time. On the slopes were bare circles where charcoal burners had once made their camps. Nothing but weeds grew there, as if the earth had been blighted by the heat of their fires.

The guide never spoke, but pressed on hard. They ate and drank in the saddle, only dismounting occasionally to breathe the horses and relieve themselves.

Early in the afternoon, perhaps the seventh or eighth hour of daylight, they reached a small inn. Not part of the cursus publicus, its owner was under no obligation to provide them with animals or sustenance, despite the imperial diplomata Timesitheus carried for himself and the gladiator Narcissus. Nevertheless, at the mention of Corvinus, he found three horses and some rough wine, bread and cheese. The innkeeper had answered their questions. Yes, a party of five had stayed the night; an imperial official, four soldiers, and a slave. The official had complained about the meal, said the goat was tough, the wine sour. They had not changed animals, and left late, about the second hour of the day. Most likely they would stop tonight at a bigger inn further down, not more than twenty miles. Timesitheus tipped the man generously, although Domitius had been right about the wine.

Now they rode fast. As they descended, the pines gave way to juniper, beech and oak. The beeches were stunted, but their silvery bark, faintly luminous under the gloomy skies, reminded Timesitheus of the rougher and more gnarled trunks of the olives in his native Corcyra.

Timesitheus did not trust Corvinus. The brigand-chief had demanded astronomical rewards for his help. Timesitheus had no idea if they would be met, but in a civil war it was wise to promise anything. Refusing to provide any aid beyond a guide to hunt down Maximinus’ Prefect of Camp did not argue for strong commitment to the cause of the Gordiani. It was possible Corvinus had sent him into a trap, or it could be some strange sort of test. Perhaps, once Corvinus had the signed pledge from Timesitheus, he had no further interest in him, just wanted him gone. One could be certain he had extracted something similar from Domitius. Quite probably Corvinus would sit out the war in his mountains. Then, when the fighting was over, emerge and flourish the document from whichever side had won, and claim his exorbitant dues for any number of fictitious acts of selfless heroism. The corroboration of witnesses would not be hard to find among his retainers.

On the whole Timesitheus envied Corvinus his freedom to pursue his self-interest. For now, Timesitheus was bound to the cause of the Gordiani, whether he cared for it or not, like Ixion to his wheel. At least in this desperate venture through the mountains their interests coincided with his own. But if a better chance offered, another pretender to the throne with more substantial military backing, some governor in Germany or the East, he would not be slow to untie the thongs and climb down from the wheel. Provided, of course, that he could find a way to take Tranquillina and their daughter.

About an hour of daylight remained when they spotted horsemen ahead. Apart from the occasional shepherd or boy tending goats, they had seen no one all day. Unsettled times did not encourage casual travellers. The riders, quickly vanished around a corner, had to be their quarry.

‘The inn is not far.’

Without any other words, the guide turned his mount and left.

They rode down more circumspectly. Timesitheus had no wish to encounter Domitius on the road.

The sun had gone behind a distant crest when the inn came into view. They continued until they found a meadow hidden by a fold of the ground, where they tethered the horses. On foot, they graded across the hill, until they could look down on the inn just below. The valley was in shadow, and hazed by smoke from the chimneys, but there was enough light to make out the building.

The inn was not small, but nondescript, with an air of neglect. It was arranged around an open courtyard. There were stables at the front, on either side of a gate wide enough to admit wagons. The two wings must contain the accommodation; the occasional servant emerging from a door to throw out slops indicated the rear block was the kitchen. There was a dog loose in the yard, but few people about. There were no external windows at ground level, and both entrances would be barred when night fell.

Timesitheus took it all in, made his plan, and sent Narcissus off on foot.

With nothing to do but wait, he memorized what landmarks there were on the short route down, then went back, and brushed down the horses. The sweet smell of horse and the steady repetition of the routine were calming.

Narcissus had come highly recommended from Alcimus Felicianus. So far there had been nothing to make Timesitheus question his friend’s judgement. Timesitheus himself could not turn up and ask for lodgings. Obviously, Narcissus would not use his diploma. Instead, he would pose as an ex-gladiator, now a trainer, on his way back from Pannonia, having sold his merchandise, and looking for new stock. It was unlikely anyone would question closely the big, ugly purveyor of violence. That there was a dog was to be expected. Given his trade, Narcissus should have no great problem killing the thing.

The horses settled, Timesitheus tacked them up again, lashed the packs to the rear saddle horns, and made sure of their tethers. He checked his weapons, wrapped himself in a cloak, and went back to his point of vantage.

The clouds of the day had gone, but now there was no wind. It was very still, except for a faint sighing in the trees, as if they were breathing, evenly and softly in their sleep.

The moon tracked up across the sky, casting black shadows from the buildings and trees. Timesitheus watched the rear of the inn. It grew cold. Time lost all meaning. An owl hooted. It did not trouble Timesitheus, who despised superstition.

A bulky shade detached itself from the kitchen block. Moving cautiously, Timesitheus went down to meet it.

The blade in the hand of Narcissus shone in the moonlight. The blood on it was very black. The dog had met its end, perhaps others had too.

They closed the rear door almost shut behind them. The kitchen was warm, the range kept on overnight. A potboy slept curled up in front of it. There was just enough light to see. Silently, they stepped past him.

Narcissus led him through the kitchen to a narrow corridor, and to the wing on the right. Outside a door, he stopped and pointed.

The gladiator brought his lips very close to Timesitheus’ ear. ‘The slave is with him, the soldiers in the other wing.’

Reversing their posture, entwined like clandestine lovers, Timesitheus whispered. ‘Wait by the door into the kitchen. If there is an alarm, hold them there.’

Narcissus left.

Often Timesitheus was surprised by how quietly big men could move.

Shards of moonlight lay on the floor of the corridor from the ill-fitting shutters to the yard.

Now he was alone, and everything was to do, Timesitheus hesitated. He did not think he was afraid, more that he was in awe of the irrevocable nature of the thing. Tempus fugit. He wanted to be long gone before dawn.

There was a catch on the door. Odd that he had thought in Latin. Dismissing that and everything inessential from his mind, he pushed his cloak back over his shoulders, and raised the catch. A sharp click. He waited, holding his breath, listening. Nothing.

The way he did this — with stealth and silent precision, or fast in blood-splattered uproar — depended on where the slave was sleeping.

Very, very gently, he pushed open the door. It did not creak. After a couple of feet, it softly met resistance. Timesitheus pulled it back a fraction. The slave shifted in his slumber on the floor.

The slave grunted, settled. There was soft snoring from deeper in the room.

It was darker than the corridor. Timesitheus waited until his eyes could register dim shapes. He slipped through. With both hands, he lowered the catch. The faintest of sounds.

Let us be men. The words in his mind reassuringly Hellenic.

His dagger came free of its sheath with a faint hiss.

Timesitheus crouched, and, with the solicitude of a murderous doctor, put a hand over the sleeping man’s mouth. He saw the white, horrified eyes. Dropping his weight on the slave’s chest, he pushed the point of the dagger into the throat. Hands scrabbled at the knife. Timesitheus twisted the blade. The body lifted, slumped back. Blood pulsed hot on his forearm as he withdrew the knife.

A motion in the close, dark air. Timesitheus threw himself backwards, drawing his sword and getting to his feet in one motion. Something skittered out from under his boots.

‘Thieves!’ Domitius was out of bed. In a gleaming undertunic, he was hunting through his baggage.

Timesitheus crossed the room. Too slow. Domitius came up with a sword in his hand.

A thrust at the white glimmer of a face. Domitius blocked. The ring of steel.

‘Murder!’

No time for subtlety. Kill him before the shock and dis-orientation ended. Timesitheus entangled the blade of Domitius with his cloak, punched two feet of steel deep into his stomach.

Retrieving the sword, Timesitheus pushed the dying man away. Domitius fell with a crash across the bed. It was a pity he did not know who had killed him.

Devoid of exultation, Timesitheus was wet and reeking with blood.

Loud noises from somewhere in the building. Doors thrown open. Men shouting.

Timesitheus ran back down the corridor, turned towards the kitchen door, expecting to find the hulking shape of Narcissus.

The gladiator was nowhere to be seen. Instead, boots pounding, soldiers hurtling around from the far wing.

Timesitheus doubled back. He was level with Domitius’ door, when more soldiers appeared at the end of this corridor. He skidded to a halt, went to open a shutter to the yard.

‘Put down your weapons.’

He was surrounded. Four of them.

‘Now! Or you die!’

Words should not fail a Greek. He turned at bay, sword still in hand. Words never failed crafty Odysseus.

‘I am Gaius Furius Sabinius Aquila Timesitheus, Praefectus Annonae, by order of our sacred Emperors Gordian the Father and Gordian the Son, the traitor Domitius has been justly executed.’

The soldiers stood, striped in slivers of moonlight.

‘That is unfortunate, Prefect,’ one of them said. ‘We gave our oath to Imperator Maximinus. And you will answer to the Thracian.’