The Singing Sword

XII

It was almost dark by the time Vegetius Sulla opened the door of the stone hut that had become my prison. I was lying on the straw-covered floor, my arms and legs aching from the chains I wore. My left eye was swollen completely shut and crusted with blood where Vegetius himself had hit me with his sword hilt earlier. He stepped inside and squatted beside me.

"They're ready for you, Publius. The audience is assembled and the circus is prepared. Caius has told them all about you and how we captured you, and of our plans for you. Now they're waiting to see you. How do you feel?"

I tried to lick my sore lips, split by a backhanded blow when they first brought me here, and croaked, "Give me a drink." It tasted like nectar. I swallowed and spat. "How do I feel? That's a damned stupid question. How do I look?"

Vegetius winced. "Awful, and you stink like a goat, too. Exactly like a filthy, evil bandit who has been properly beaten since being captured."

"Good, that's how I'm supposed to look."

"Can you stand up?"

I tried. "No. You're going to have to help me."

He snapped a command and one of our young soldiers stepped into the hut and stopped there, his eyes widening as he looked at me in horror.

"Help the prisoner to his feet."

The young man bent to obey, handling me as if I were fragile, sheer reverence in his eyes. When I stood upright, Vegetius shoved a spear shaft through the space between my bent elbows and my back, pinioning me and stretching the chain on my manacled wrists across my belly.

The young soldier's eyes worried me.

"Wait!" They stopped and looked at me and I spoke to the young man, mouthing my words carefully with my broken lips. "Look, lad, this is being done for a purpose. Was that explained to you?" He nodded. "Good. Then get that look off your face. If they see it in there, you'll betray all of us. This is only mummery, but it has to look genuine. Remember, I am not Publius Varrus. I'm a captured rebel — a murderer and a bandit. I am a prisoner, and if you feel anything towards me at all, it should be indifference mixed with malice. Understand?" He nodded again. "All right then, make your face a mask and knock me down, hard. Then haul me back up and drag my butt in to Caius Britannicus."

He looked to Vegetius for confirmation.

Vegetius nodded. "Do it, hard, and treat him like cattle from now on. If these people suspect our motives, he's a dead man."

The young man set his jaw and swung the flat of his sword, knocking me off my feet and out of action.

I regained my senses as they dragged me in front of Caius and his visitors. I had two guards, one on either side of me grasping each end of the spear shaft across my back, carrying it on their shoulders so that my feet swung clear of the ground and all my weight hung from my tortured shoulder joints. I did not have to worry about acting, for my predicament and the pain it caused were very real. I heard someone snap an order to halt and the two guards carrying me stopped short and lowered my feet to the floor. My knees folded and I would have fallen had they not taken up the tension again and held me erect. I bit down hard, trying to pull myself together, and I heard what sounded like someone moaning in the distance. "Luceiia," I thought, "be strong! Don't let them see your pain." But the moaning went on, and I realized that it was me. I stopped it and hung there, supported by my guards.

"This is a general?" The voice was loaded with disdain. It was deep, and quite pleasant in pitch. I could not place it as belonging to the Seneca I remembered.

"No," Caius answered, "not a general, Claudius Seneca, merely a leader of rebels, that is all."

"He doesn't look much like a leader to me."

Caius sounded as though he was pleasantly relaxed, sprawling backwards in his chair as he spoke. "I will admit he looks a little more worn and a lot less warlike than when we took him. Without his armour and his weapons, and without his rebels, he has shrunk to human proportions. A week ago, however, I can assure you his reputation was fearsome and his depredations formidable."

The deep voice sounded bored. "Formidable out here in this backwater, perhaps. Elsewhere, he would have been a gnat to be swatted casually. The fellow is obviously a deserter. Hang him, I say, and have done with him."

"No." Caius again. I was surprised by the ease with which I could hear them discussing me. I was very close to their table. "No, he should be taken in an open cage to Londinium, to serve as an example, as I have said. He is a rebel. His humiliation should be public, and spectacular — used to discourage others from emulating him. To hang him out of hand would serve no useful purpose."

"I disagree." There was a note of petulance in the heavy voice now. "He would be dead. Deserters are to be executed immediately upon apprehension."

"This is no deserter, Senator. At least, I do not think so. He is a veteran, certainly, but I doubt that he deserted. The fellow is crippled. It is an old wound and a grave one; it would have ended his service."

"Nonsense, Caius Britannicus! He could have taken a wound at any time."

"Not that one, Senator. Not if he were a deserter. It would have killed him. He could not have recovered from a wound like that outside of a military hospital."

There was a long silence after this when no one spoke at all, and I could feel the eyes of all of them on me. Then that voice spoke again, sullen, like that of a spoiled child speaking through an adult's mouth.

"By all the ancient gods, Caius Britannicus, you are a tedious man! My men have travelled with me all across this land to draw some blood and you have robbed them of their just satisfaction! How could you have done all you have said, fought the engagement that you have described, and taken but one prisoner?" He paused as though waiting for a reply, and when none came the strangely whining, petulant, bass-voiced complaint continued. "You have no answer? Then let me tell you what I think. I think you might be making more of this than was the case. I think you would like us to believe that you have won a major victory here, when all that happened was a minor squabble. I think that tomorrow we will ride with you to view the ruins of this rebel's camp and count the bodies of his slain companions, and I think that we had better — "

"Claudius Seneca!" Caius's voice cracked like a whip. "I think I will be happy to do as you suggest, but I also think that when I have done so, you should be prepared to render me a fair apology for any slur you might have thought to cast upon my honour! I also think you might be slightly overtired after your long and exhausting journey. I do not think, however, that you would wish me to think you are questioning my truthfulness."

There was no disguising the challenge carried in the emphasis of his words. Seneca remained silent, and Caius continued. "And while we are discussing thoughts so freely, think upon this. My men are not soldiers of Rome. They are farmers and artisans, solid and seldom impetuous. When they are threatened, however, they retaliate. When they are injured, they exact revenge. And when they have been angered thoroughly enough to seek revenge, they do not think of taking prisoners! We do not have jails, nor jailers here. I called for the rebel leader only. The man you see before you is the only prisoner here. Their general, as you called him. Their limping, crippled god — their savage, grey-haired Vulcan! He will hang soon enough, but in Londinium, and I will take him there myself. Take him away!" This last was to my guards, who began to swing me around.

"Wait!" The voice almost squeaked. The bait was taken. I drew a deep, painful breath. "What did you say, Britannicus? What did you call him?"

"Call him? Vulcan, I called him, after the crippled god."

"Is that his name? Vulcan?" The venomous, hissing voice now reminded me of a serpent. "Hold up his head! Let me see his face!"

I felt fingers take hold of my hair and jerk my head back painfully. Through the tears that instantly flooded my eyes, I saw the man approach me, gliding almost sideways as though prepared to leap away again to safety at any sign of threat. Closer he came, and closer, peering into my blood- and dirt-encrusted face, seeking a memory.

"It could be," he whispered. "Stand away from him!" He was shrieking now at my guards. "Let him stand alone!" I felt the support go from me and took my weight fully on my own feet. Seneca stepped back from me, his arms stretched out towards me, fingers beckoning. I blinked my eyes clear. Caius stood crouched behind him, ready to spring. Everyone else at the table looked incredulous. I fastened my eyes on Seneca, whose own were blazing as he whispered, "You! It is you, isn't it? Come, walk to me, you whoreson!"

I swayed, but made no move towards him, recalling Plautus's words that first time we met him: the face of a god and the personality of a pit viper. Today's god had a badly broken nose. He began circling to my left, out of my view, and I ignored him, looking instead at the strangers in the group around the table. There were four of them, all young, all watching Seneca as children would watch a new-found, ugly lizard. Suddenly, he grasped the end of the spear shaft, wrenched me violently around and pushed me with the flat of his foot. "Walk, you whoreson!" I stumbled forward and fell face down. As I lay there he kicked me full in the side, and I heard Caius shout his name. A wave of nausea swept over me and I almost fainted. I could hear him ranting above me, and then the two guards were hauling me back to my feet again. Seneca had his back to me, gesticulating wildly, shouting at the group around the table. I swallowed thickly, trying to swallow all my pain.

"Seneca!" I did not have to say it loudly. He froze in mid-gesture and turned slowly towards me, an expression of almost comic recognition on his face at hearing my voice. I forced myself to smile. "You sorry pederast. I gave in to my disgust and left you to die last time we met, instead of killing you outright as I should have. Next time I have you on the blade of my sword, be certain I shall cut off your head the way I would any other serpent's."

His eyes flared and he screamed and a knife appeared in his hand as if by magic. He flung himself at me, but fast as he was, Vegetius Sulla was faster and had him in an arm-hold before he could close on me. The whole room erupted and I heard Caius roaring, "Get that man out of here! Back to his cell! Chain him to the floor!"

They dragged me away.

Hours later, in the dead of night before dawn, Caius came to me and sat beside me on the floor, stroking my hair and laying his hand on my neck.

"Well?" I croaked. "How did we do?"

He shook his head. "It could not have gone better for us, Publius. My only sorrow is that you have to suffer like this."

I grunted. "If it will confound that rabid son of a mangy bitch, I will take ten times as much. Didn't I tell you? Is he not wondrous to behold?"

"He is a mad dog. His soldiers are in terror of him." He shook his head. "Publius, he is far worse than you had described him, and you never lacked fervour in condemning him."

I straightened my legs slightly and groaned with the pain of it. "What happened after I left?"

Caius sighed. "We calmed him, finally, but he and I had harsh words. Fortunately, he had placed himself so firmly in the wrong that even his own officers had to side with me. I waved my Proconsul's baton and dictated the law to him. He hates me now, I think, far more than a mere Britannicus. He hates me almost as he does you."

"Aye, it does not take much to earn his hate, from all I've heard of him. Be careful, Cay. He is an ill man to cross."

"So am I, Publius, so am I. But I am not stupid, and so I will be careful, for both our sakes. He left the dining room in extreme anger, but he went to bed eventually, and will sleep well, aided by the last cup of wine he had."

"You drugged him?"

He nodded. "That way he can be trusted not to do anything impetuous." He stopped and squeezed my shoulder. "But you have not heard the good news! Seneca came to Britain to prepare the way for Stilicho's arrival! There has been a major invasion again, from the north, and the young officer told me that Stilicho came in person to put it down. He should be in Londinium by the time we arrive there. That means Picus will be there, too. As Regent, and as Commander-in-Chief, Stilicho will hear your case upon my insistence. We have won before we've set out, Publius!"

I made to move and winced again. "Don't say all your prayers of gratitude prematurely, Cay. You still have to get me there alive. Don't ever lose sight for one moment of the fact that this mad whoreson has a lot of vengeance to work out on me — for spoiling his pretty face, and then for abducting him, exposing his treason and forcing him to acknowledge it. All of those will be larger in his sick mind than the fact that I then tried to kill him."

"You'll be alive, my friend. Now try to sleep. Tomorrow morning I will have you brought before me formally for arraignment in the murders of Quinctus Nesca and his men, for assault and mutilation upon Seneca as an ambassador of Valentinian and for rebellion and banditry. Any one of those charges is serious enough to guarantee you safe conduct to Londinium for trial and execution."

"Thank you, Caius," I said. "That makes me feel much better. I can sleep easy now."

It was a long, brutal journey to Londinium, and I saw it from the worst of all viewpoints.

Seneca flatly refused Caius's proposal that I be permitted to ride, strapped to a horse. He insisted that I should go on foot, or be dragged behind a horse.

Caius objected, arguing that this would slow the entire column down intolerably and that he had affairs to deal with in Londinium that would not permit delays of any kind. Besides, he contended, I was his prisoner and he wanted me fit to be tried and hanged at journey's end. He suggested that they build a cage on the bed of a cart and confine me there.

Seneca objected to what he termed the luxury of such a conveyance. I was a criminal taken under arms, and therefore under sentence of death already. I must be made an example to everyone meeting us on the road — Caius's own original contention — so there could be no hint of softness in the treatment accorded me. On this point Caius could not reasonably disagree, and so they compromised. I would travel on a cart, but in a manner of Seneca's devising. Caius told me this in the dead of the night before we were to leave. He felt terrible, I could see, about the way in which I would be forced to spend the next week, but I shrugged my shoulders and told him to put it out of his mind. I would be riding, even on a cart. That had to be better than walking the entire distance to Londinium.

I must have been mad to think so, knowing that Seneca had the ordering of my passage.

Nevertheless, I slept well that night, aware that the men who guarded me would be my own. All of them knew what was happening, and I would have trusted any of them with my life without a moment's thought. It occurred to me just before I fell asleep that that was exactly what I was doing.

They took me out before dawn and allowed me to wash in cold water before leading me to my cart. I blinked at it in the pre-dawn light, seeing only the single pole that had been sunk into the floorboards and fastened securely with braces. Only my own men were around as they helped me up on to the flat bed, and there we waited for a space of minutes. Finally Draco, the chief of my guards, spoke in a low voice.

"I don't like this one little bit, Commander. Not one bit, and neither do the others. You say the word and we'll have you out of here in no time."

I grinned at him in the greying light and stretched my arms straight downwards, not wanting to look too relaxed in case we were being watched. "Don't worry about it, Draco. It's better than having to walk. I'll be all right."

"You think so?" His voice was an angry growl. "I doubt it. We're waiting for chains. That whoreson wants to keep you standing all the way to Londinium."

"So? Then I'll stand. I've spent half my life standing, usually over a forge."

"Aye, but not chained to the damned thing. You are to be chained to that post. You won't be able to fall down, even if you pass out."

"Then I won't pass out. We'll be in Londinium within the week. After that, everything will be fine."

"Hum! I hope you're right. But a week's a long time to stay on your feet."

"I'll manage it."

I could see his face clearly now. There was an expression of doubt and concern stamped on his features. "I hope so, Commander Varrus, I hope so. But I'll tell you, the minute you pass out, or one of these fancy horse-topping bastards starts to abuse you, that'll be the end of it. We'll spill blood."

I reached out and laid my hand on his arm, swiftly and cautiously. "No. You will not. But I thank you for the concern, Draco. I think the only time you will have to worry for my safety is at night, and even then, there should be little danger."

"Aye. Here comes their armourer."

I heard the clank of chains and the sound of hobnailed sandals approaching, and one of Seneca's centurions came straight towards us and vaulted nimbly up to where I waited. I was looking curiously at the apparatus he held in his huge hand but could not make it out clearly, except for the coils of chains. He left me little time to wonder what it was, for he dropped the long length of chains on the wooden deck and hoisted the thing up to my gaze.

"Right. Let's see you get out of this, rebel," he snarled.

The apparatus was a pair of thick, wide leather belts, one much longer than the other, joined by two short lengths of chain. These chains were attached to each of the belts by strong rings through the leather. He buckled the larger of the belts around my waist, tight, and then attached the smaller one to the thick post behind me. I stood motionless until he was finished, and then tested the strength of my binding. It was solid. I could sway my body no more than two handspans to right or left, and had no hope of sitting down. The thought of just relaxing occurred to me, and I bent my knees, letting the whole of my body weight drop into the belt. It was thick and solid, catching painfully beneath my rib-cage. Little hope of comfort there.

"All right, take off those irons on his wrists."

I held out my hands and Draco unfastened the light manacles I wore.

The centurion chuckled and jumped down from the cart again. "You're going to love this, rebel."

I watched, uncomprehending, as he raised a thick, heavy iron ring that had been fastened to the side of the cart directly to my right and fed one end of the long chain through it. It was a big ring. Big enough for the manacle on the end of the chain to pass through it easily. And it was a thick, heavy manacle, too. Much bigger than the ones Draco had just taken off me.

"You're just going to love this," he said again, talking to himself more than to me, and he sprang back up onto the bed of the cart, breathing slightly more heavily now. I was looking at the chain. It was almost six paces in length and it was strong. I knew, because I had forged it myself, though someone else had added the manacles to it. He squatted at my feet and reached across to thread the manacle on the other end through a matching ring on the opposite side of the cart, pulling it firmly through and straightening up to face me.

"Now," he said, and he smiled so that I wanted to kick him in the balls. "Let's have your wrists. Hold them out."

I did. I had no choice. The manacles were tight, biting at my wrists, which had always been thick.

"Now, one wrong move and I'll smash your lights out," he grunted, fumbling at his belt with one hand while he held the hinged clasp about my right wrist with the other. He produced a length of iron wire, again my own, I suspected, and held it in his teeth while he drew out a pair of small tong-like pincers that had also been stuck in his belt. Then, his breath coming more and more rapidly as he concentrated, he threaded the iron wire through the bolt holes of the manacle and began to twist the ends with the pincers, drawing the halves of the bracelet together until I hissed with pain. When he was satisfied that it was tight enough, he repeated the procedure with my other wrist. I gritted my teeth in silence, but I knew then it was going to be a long journey.

"Good!" He stepped back and surveyed the job he had done. "Now!" He knelt at my feet and took twin grips on the chain, pulling it both ways through the ring bolts at the side of the cart until my arms were taut. He gauged the tension of my arms, and then released the pressure so that they sagged a little. "That's better! We don't want it too tight, do we?"

"Don't we?" I asked, trying to keep my voice unconcerned. "Why not?"

"Well, rebel, we have to leave you room to sway with the wagon."

He ignored me then and returned to his work and I watched in wonder as he drew carefully at the chain in each of his hands, gauging and adjusting until at last he had two links touching, one protruding from each of his fists, with the remainder of the chain, the middle part, piled beneath.

"Here. You. Give me a hand here!"

Draco had been standing by all this time, watching in silence, and I could see from his face that he was about to explode. I frowned at him, catching his eye, and shook my head warningly, indicating that he should do as the centurion demanded. He knelt beside him, his face a study of disgust.

"What?"

"Hold these links while I bind them together." He repeated his trick with the iron wire, binding the links together strongly, and I still could not see the purpose behind this. The chain was far too long. It would have been a simple matter to measure the length needed and shorten it. Draco thought the same thing. "Why not just shorten the chain?" he asked.

"Ah!" said the centurion. "That's what I thought, too, at first. But then the Lord Seneca pointed out to me what it was he wanted. Look closely at the join here. What's beneath it?"

"His feet."

"That's right! Well done, lad! His feet. But they're not going to stay there, are they? We're going to ask him to move them. Aren't we?" As he said this, he whipped a short, heavy hammer from the back of his belt and rapped me painfully on the instep. I whipped my feet away, awkwardly, for I could hardly move, and then watched in disbelief as he hammered two long nails into the floor of the cart and then bludgeoned them over until they held the chain firmly in place directly beneath the point where my feet had been. And then it became deadly clear what he had been doing as he shovelled the remaining pile of chain directly beneath me, knocking my feet aside again with his hammer so that I would have fallen but for the way I was bound.

"We want to give him something to stand on, don't we? So he won't get splinters in his feet from these rough boards. There you go, rebel. You're all set. Enjoy your journey."

Draco was staring open-mouthed, just beginning to grasp what had been done, but I was far ahead of him. I would have to stand on these chains all the way to Londinium. My feet were sore already, thinking of it.

The entire villa staff turned out to see us leave, and they all stared solemnly and silently at the spectacle of me chained erect and dirtier than any of them had ever seen me before. I kept my chin up and tried to look at nobody directly. Luceiia was nowhere to be seen. How Caius had kept her out of sight and hearing I had no idea.

Caius came and looked at me and how I was bound, and his mouth tightened to a lipless line. Afraid he might betray himself, I spat at him, playing my part and willing him to silence, and he shook his head in a tiny gesture of furious disgust before walking to his own wagon.

As the wagon-driver climbed into his seat and the cavalcade formed up, I looked around me for one last time, raising my eyes to the forested hill in the middle distance. Its top shrouded in heavy, low-lying cloud, it looked magnificent, and there was no sign that it held anything but forest. And because of the furore my "capture" had caused, there was now no danger of its being detected for what it was. As I gazed at it, a heavy drop of water landed on my face and it began to rain. Someone shouted a command from the head of the line, and the entire cavalcade began to move out. My driver cracked his whip and we took our place in the middle of the column, with Seneca's troops ahead of us and my own men falling in behind. We left in a clatter of hooves and creaking of cart wheels, but nobody uttered a word. Not even Seneca, whom I had expected to gloat.

We had no sooner started to move than I discovered the true extent of my plight. As long as the road was even, my position was bearable, at least in the beginning. On uneven surfaces, however, it was impossible for me to keep my balance. The unevenness and hardness of the chains directly beneath my feet was agony, and I had cause every second to regret that my legs were so dissimilar in length and strength. I tried kicking the chains from beneath my feet, but they were nailed in place, so that even with the pile of them pushed forward, the two straight lines from right and left cut cruelly into my soles. And after a time, the pain of being unable to hold my arms straight down became unbearable and my muscles screamed in agony. I began to fall, at least as far as my chains would permit me before pulling me up short. My wrists bled and scabbed over and bled again from the jerking of my irons each time the cart lurched enough to upset my balance.

It rained almost without let-up for the first two days and nights. I slept chained to my stake. I pissed where I stood, unable to direct the flow, but I managed to restrain my bowels for two days. Some time during the third day, dying in my own stink and pain, I lost consciousness.

The pain in my wrists brought me awake again and I opened my eyes to find myself lying by the side of the road, looking up at the damnable cart with its upright stake. It was not moving, and neither was I. I was aware of someone holding my head, and of angry voices shouting somewhere close by. My stomach spasmed and cramped and I vomited without the strength to turn my head. I felt myself being turned over, quickly, and the motion brought a sullen dizziness that sent me spinning into blackness again.

When I next opened my eyes, I was in a prison: a huge, stone, vaulted room with heavily barred doors and only a hint of light coming through a tiny, barred window high up on one wall. I lay there amazed and took my time looking around me, making no sudden moves. A cresset fluttered in an iron brazier above my head, its flames jumping wildly in a breeze that must have come from the high window. I was alone in the huge room. No other prisoners. I moved my arm stealthily, expecting to feel the tug of manacles, but there was none. I was unbound.

Slowly, for I was in no hurry to jump up, not knowing where I was or who my hosts might be, I explored the place with my eyes and my hands. I was lying on a thin mattress on a stone bench. Directly above my head, dangling towards me as though to mock, a set of manacles hung on rusted chains from a great ring set into the wall. On the far side of the room, close by the barred doorway, a pile of fresh-looking straw had been thrown on the floor. Beside it lay a metal bowl and a jug that looked as though it might hold water. I saw more manacles hanging on the walls all around the room. Six more cressets flickered and guttered, throwing fitful shadows on the walls. The rippling of their fluttering flames was the only sound in the place. I sniffed deeply, searching for smells, and smelled only a lingering unpleasantness that seemed ingrained in the walls — a mixture of unwashed bodies and the aromas they produced.

I raised myself cautiously onto one elbow and a wave of nausea swept me, making me shudder and grit my teeth to keep my stomach in place. I fought the urge to retch as my eyes teared over, making my vision swim. Grimly, I hung there and forced my rebellious body to submit to my will. I had been sick enough, obviously, to have come to this place with no recollection of anything beyond that last stark vision of the cart looming above me. I would be sick no more. At last, when the dizziness subsided, I was able to turn my head. The stone bench I lay on ran the entire circumference of the room, except for the wall the door was set into. It was a big room. I had no idea where I was, but I began to suspect that it must be Londinium. I swung myself up to a sitting position with great, grunting effort and earned another fit of weakness for my pains, this time accompanied by a pounding ache deep inside my skull. I attempted to ease my legs off the side of the bench so that I could rest my back against the wall and they fell off, almost overbalancing me with their sudden, uncontrollable weight. Fear flared in me like a new-kindled fire. I was as weak as a baby!

I sat there helplessly, drawing deep, ragged breaths, afraid to put myself to any further tests. I knew without a doubt that if I attempted to stand up I would fall to the floor. My mind was racing uselessly, trying to come to terms with this weakness, trying to close upon a reason for it, trying to reconstruct what must have happened to me. It was hopeless, and I succeeded only in frightening myself further. I knew only that if I was this weak, I must have been close to death. I forced myself to close my eyes and breathe deeply and regularly, battling my panic and trying to rally my strength. And then I began to cough. And once I started, I could not stop myself. The coughing racked me, harsh and painful, tearing at my lungs and stomach muscles. I almost fell from the bench, stopping myself only by bracing my arms against the edge of my seat. Great, gurgling globs of phlegm rattled in my chest and surged up in my throat and I barely had the strength to spit, so that saliva dribbled from my chin. Eventually the spasms weakened and died down and I sat there, uncaring, grateful only for the lessening of the torment.

"So, you're awake."

The voice came from the doorway. I raised my head and peered to see who spoke, blinking my eyes to clear my vision. It was a soldier, obviously one of the guards. A stranger. I tried to focus on his uniform, searching for some clue to his identity, but I saw none. He wore the simple, unadorned leather harness of the standard garrison trooper. I watched him as he crossed towards me, making no attempt to close the door behind him. He stopped about two paces in front of me, looking down at me from what seemed to be a great height. I licked my gummy lips and tried to speak, to ask him where I was. Nothing came out. He curled his lip and sucked noisily at a morsel of food caught between his teeth. I waited.

"You're a tough bird, for a rebel. We all thought you were dead, for sure. But you're too damn mean to die, aren't you?" He expected no answer and waited for none. "Here." He turned and recrossed the room to the door, picking up the jug and bringing it back to me. "Try drinking this."

I took the jug, and half full as it was, it was all I could do to raise it to my lips. It was wine and water mixed, and it tasted like nectar. I sluiced it around my mouth and felt it cleanse me.

"That's enough! Don't want you puking all over the floor." He took the jug away from me again but placed it on the floor where I could reach it. Now I could talk, I felt.

"Where am I?"

"Londinium. In the Imperial Prison, awaiting trial and hanging."

That was not cheering news. "Where are my friends?"

"What friends? You have none. Some of your guards have spent time down here with you, though. You're a very valuable prisoner, it seems. They don't want to lose you. Not to sickness, and not to Seneca's people."

"Is Seneca here? Why am I not chained?"

"Not chained? Damnation, we're not barbarians! We don't chain corpses any longer. And no, Seneca's not here. This is a prison, didn't you hear me? Seneca lives in a villa. Go to sleep while you can. Your own guards will be back soon. They told me to call them if there was any sign of life about you. Are you hungry?" I shook my head. "Well, there's food in the bowl over there if you are. I'll bring it over." He did so, leaving it beside the water jug. "Sleep, rebel." His voice was not unkind. "It'll help you regain your strength, now that you've come back to life. And don't even think about escaping. You couldn't walk across this room."

He turned to leave and I stopped him. "How long have I been here?"

He made a face, shaking his head. "Don't know. You were here when I took over this duty. That's a week ago. You'd been here for about a week before that."

Two weeks! Where was Caius? What was going on here? I lay back on my pallet and tried to take his advice, but I did not expect to sleep.

Next thing I knew, however, I was waking to find Draco looking down at me. Before I could open my mouth in greeting, though, he turned to the two men with him and growled, "You were right. The whoreson is alive. I didn't think he'd make it." To the man on his right he said, "Check him. Carefully. Caius Britannicus will not thank you if you promise him an execution after all and then let this swine die."

The man addressed, obviously a physician from his looks and dress, stepped forward and began to palpate me, turning me over gently to reach the back of my rib-cage. His fingers on my skin were cold and prodding and none too gentle. He finished his examination by laying his hand on my forehead and then turning up my eyelids and peering into my eyes.

"Well?" Draco's voice was an ill-tempered growl. "What?"

The physician straightened up with a sigh. "He will live to die at your pleasure. But he is still extremely weak. You should not try to move him for at least two days, and he must be well fed from this time on. Hot broths and potions of strong herbs. I will bring the herbs."

"To Hades with your herbs. He won't need them."

"He needs them! If you wish to have your trial and your execution and your general amusement with the man, you will have to build his strength. Try to move him now, abuse him at all, and I will take no responsibility. He should be dead already. He will be if you do not do as I say. Hot meat broths and herbal potions. On your head be it, otherwise."

Draco threw me a venomous look filled with such hatred that even I believed it. The physician glanced at the other man who stood with them, a simple soldier, and then back to Draco. "Why do you hate this man so much?" he asked.

"Hate him? The whoreson killed my wife. Get out, both of you. Out!"

They left abruptly, and he stood above me, watching them until the gate of the cell closed heavily. I lay and watched him, attempting no move while his eyes remained fixed on their departing backs. When he was satisfied that they were gone, he stooped and picked up the drinking jug, bringing it to my lips and supporting my head with his forearm. The water and wine mixture tasted as good as it had the first time I tasted it. When I had drunk, he laid my head back gently on my paillasse.

"You hate hard, Draco," I said. "I didn't know you ever had a wife." My voice was behaving normally now.

He half grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "Blame Britannicus. He has turned all of us into mummers."

"Mummers? Why? What has happened?"

He moved and sat at my feet on the ledge that supported my mattress, leaning back against the wall and fixing his eyes watchfully on the door in the far wall.

"Lie still and keep your eyes closed, as though you were asleep again. But listen closely, I don't want to speak too loudly. How much do you remember of the journey?"

"Rain," I said. "I remember rain and pain. That is all."

"That's all? You remember nothing after we cut you loose from the chains?"

"Draco," I said, "I don't even remember that. The last thing I recall is lying on the roadside, looking up at the cart and being sick. After that there is nothing until I woke up here."

"Well, we thought we were going to lose you and we nearly had a war with Seneca's people. He almost threw a fit when we started to take you out of the chains. He was going to kill me. Then Britannicus came up and those two almost came to blows. Seneca tried to attack Britannicus, started to draw his sword."

"Against Britannicus? What happened? Was Caius hurt?"

"Nah!" He shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the doorway across from us. "I'll be back."

He stood up and moved quickly across the large cell. I turned my head to watch him as he reached the doorway and leaned close to the bars, checking that no one stood there listening. He came back and sat again.

"The officer. The regular commander. He stopped Seneca before he even got his sword out. Saved his life. Grabbed him and wrestled with him. Threatened to have him in chains in your place if he didn't start behaving like a Roman officer and a patrician. Marched him off under escort to his own place in the train and apologized to Britannicus."

"You say 'saved his life.' How? Would Caius have beaten him to the thrust?"

Draco shook his head. "No. But I would. I was angry enough to kill him. I told you he was going for me when Britannicus came along. I had my dagger out as soon as he turned on the old man. It would have been between his ribs inside a heartbeat if the other officer, Tribune Vicere, hadn't jumped on him."

"I see." I thought about that. I remembered the angry voices I had heard on regaining consciousness there by the roadside. "So then what happened?"

"That's when we started play-acting. More to drink?"

I shook my head and he helped himself to a mouthful of wine and water, and then I lay there and listened intently as he told me the whole story.

Draco had been true to his word, it seemed. He had watched me closely in my impossible situation, braced upright as I was and unable to relax or defend myself against the onslaught of the incessant, chilling rain for two days and a night. When I finally turned up my eyes into my head and collapsed against the restraints that bound me, he had been less than three paces from me and had estimated correctly that I was not going to recover this time. He had leaped up onto the bed of the cart immediately and set about sawing through the leather belts that held me imprisoned, paying no heed to whether he was being observed or not. As it turned out, his actions went unnoticed until the last leather strap gave way, allowing me to sprawl in an unconscious heap on the bed of the cart, tethered only by the iron shackles and chains around my wrists. It was the noise and the sight of my falling that finally attracted the attention of the regular soldiers and brought Seneca, fuming with anger, down around Draco's neck.

At first, he had ignored Seneca's ranting entirely. He had taken up a heavy maul from the bed of the cart and set about hammering at the iron ring set into the side of the cart, through which my chains were threaded. As soon as he had pounded it loose, he threw the maul across the cart to another of our men on the opposite side, who set about loosening the second ring. It was this flagrant refusal to recognize his presence and authority that snapped something inside of Seneca, and Draco might well have died then and there had Caius not turned up to intervene. Seneca, however, was not to be gainsaid. He saw his vengeance on me about to be thwarted and he was not prepared to let that happen. The second ring gave way, Draco dragged me from the cart and lowered me to the ground by the roadside, Seneca aimed a kick at him and Caius stepped between them. Seneca was deranged. He started to draw his sword from its scabbard, apparently with every intention of attacking Caius, and he was leaped on at that point by the officer in command, Vicere, who promptly placed him under restraint and had him removed from the scene by an armed escort. It was during this angry confrontation that I had briefly regained consciousness and been sick before passing out again.

Marcellus Vicere, it seemed, was an honourable man with no hint of vindictiveness about him. Having made the decision to place Seneca under arrest, at least temporarily, he was able to look objectively at my situation and consider it from the viewpoint of Caius, who was adamant that I must survive the journey in a condition to stand trial for my crimes before a military tribunal. He called a halt to the progress of the train and allowed his physician to examine me. But he was too late. The physician had been unable to recall me to consciousness and a high fever had set in. All that they could do was keep me warm and reasonably comfortable for the rest of the journey and hope that I would survive the passage.

Two nights later, while the party was encamped, another of our men, by the pure good fortune of being in the right place at the wrong time, was able to interrupt an* attempt on my life. He had come off picket duty and passed by the tent where I was being held just in time to see a muffled figure slip furtively through the tent opening. He investigated and found the intruder in the act of trying to smother me. They struggled and the interloper managed to escape. The soldier who should have been guarding me was nowhere to be found, and was not seen again; a thorough search of the surrounding area next morning yielded no sign of him, so it was concluded that he had been the unsuccessful assassin.

Everybody knew who had suborned the man, but there was not a shred of evidence to support the knowledge, nor a hint of proof.

From that time onwards, however, it was the retainers of Caius Britannicus who stood guard over me. Caius had told his men that they should appear, to all men and at all times, to hate me virulently, so that only their own loyalty to Caius kept them from killing me themselves.

I survived my fever and lung congestion, and they brought me here to this prison, where I had struggled against the sickness now for two weeks. Caius had been almost distraught with apprehension lest I should die, and had detailed his men so that at least one of them was always on duty, watching over me, even though the danger from Seneca seemed safely past now that we were in Londinium and I was an official prisoner of the Empire.

When Draco had finished his story there was silence between us for a few moments, and I found my eyelids drooping in spite of any effort I made to stop them. He told me to sleep, that he would still be there when I awoke, and I slept.

Some time later, I have no idea how long, I awoke to hear him arguing with someone, although I could not make out what was being said. Finally, I heard his footsteps returning and heard him muttering ill-naturedly about a waste of good food and drink on an unnatural whoreson. I lay with my eyes closed and waited patiently for him to "rouse" me. He did. We were alone again.

"Here, Commander, drink this. It'll set you up." He was holding a steaming bowl of beef broth with herbs and spices in it, and at the first sip of it, the saliva squirted from beneath my tongue. I was ravenous. When it was all gone, I felt much better, stronger already.

"I'll get you some more later. How do you feel?"

"Better," I said. "Have you sent word to General Britannicus that I am recovering?"

He nodded. "Aye, but he won't have received it yet. He rode out with the Regent, Stilicho, this morning, and has not returned."

"Stilicho? Stilicho is here?"

Draco grinned. "Aye, Commander, Stilicho is here. Here, there and everywhere. He has not spent two days in Londinium, they tell me, since he landed in Britain nigh on a month ago. General Britannicus waited for over a week for him to return. Stilicho came back four days ago, and the General was only able to gain audience with him this morning. He went to wait on the Consul shortly after daybreak, was cloistered with him for three full hours and then rode off with him to the south. I know not where they went, nor when they'll be back."

I thought about that for a time. "Good," I decided eventually. "The longer they remain absent, the stronger I shall grow." Another thought occurred to me, and I posed the question to him as soon as it formed in my mind. "What about my case? Do you hear anything of it?"

He grinned again and shook his head. "No, Commander. Nobody talks about you. You are not the most famed brigand of the ages. Few people know you are here, apart from ourselves and Seneca's people. And Stilicho, now, I suppose."

I looked around the huge cell. "Why am I alone here? Do you know?"

"Aye, I know. When Stilicho arrived this place was full. He emptied it. Tried everyone, hanged most of them and let the others go free. No one else seems disposed to try his hospitality."

A cold shadow seemed to pass across me, chilling me again momentarily. "What is he like, Draco, this Stilicho? Have you seen him?"

He shook his head. "Nah. He's the Emperor's Regent, Commander. Ordinary people like us never see the likes of him, even from a distance. But that's acceptable. I hope never to see him, or the Emperor. It would only remind me of how I resent the riches of others."

I found the strength to smile at his little joke. "Now," I asked him. "What happens now? Will Caius come here, do you think?"

"Be sure of it, Commander. His orders were clear. He was to be informed of your condition the moment you showed signs of regaining consciousness. From that time on, no less than two of us are to be on duty at all times for your protection."

"Two, plus the regulars outside?"

"Aye, for the time being."

I moved to sit up, but I still felt very weak. I knew that the best thing I could do for myself now was to rest until my next hot meal came, to conserve my energies and build up my strength. I thanked Draco for his kindness and begged him to allow me to rest.