Imperial Vengence, page 32
‘You’ve condemned yourself anyway!’ Gracilis hissed. ‘Attacking imperial agents, conspiring with traitors… you’re all dead men!’
With a roar of fury Castus stamped across the room and punched his fist into the torturer’s belly. Gracilis grunted, but Bonitus was still holding him pressed against the wall.
A shout from the atrium, and the sound of running feet on the stairs. One of the Franks appeared in the doorway, shouting. ‘Suandicco is killed! The agent took his horse!’
Bonitus cried out, lurching towards the door, and as he moved Gracilis shoved himself away from the wall, breaking free of the Frankish chief’s grip. Castus snatched at him, but the torturer had flung himself across the room to a side table covered with bottles and blades. He grabbed one of the bottles, then seized the leg of the table and sent it crashing to the floor.
Castus kicked the table aside, stumbling. Gracilis was crouched against the far wall, tugging at the stopper of the bottle. Castus kicked again, catching the man on the wrist and knocking the bottle from his grasp. It fell to the floor and spun. Seizing the man by the neck Castus hauled him upright and threw him back into the middle of the room. Bonitus and Felix fell on him at once. The bottle was still spinning, and Castus snatched it up. A small earthenware flask, glazed red, no larger than a child’s fist.
‘What’s this?’
Gracilis lay on his back, pinned to the floor by three men. He glared at Castus, lips drawn back from his teeth. His face was grey and sheened with sweat.
‘Poison,’ Luxorius croaked, struggling to sit upright on the bench. ‘Easy way out. He thinks… you’ll torture him.’
Castus gave a nervous shudder as he clasped the bottle. For a moment he wanted to hurl it against the wall. Then he pushed it down into a fold of his waistband and took one of the knives that had fallen from the table.
‘Bind him and gag him,’ he told Felix.
For a moment he stood with the knife in his hand. Gracilis was still thrashing on the floor, letting out strangled gasps. Two of the Franks held him while Felix knotted a rag around his jaws and tied him hand and foot. Flipping the knife, Castus held out the handle towards Luxorius. He recalled that the eunuch did not like blades.
‘Can you use this?’
The eunuch lifted his mangled hands towards the knife, his face contorting into a ghastly expression of vengeful relish.
‘See he doesn’t leave here alive.’
*
Outside the house the night air was cool and damp with mist, and all of them sucked down great lungfuls of it. Castus still felt shaken and slightly sick. Felix had wrapped Niobe’s body in the blanket and carried it with him; he tied it across the saddle of one of the spare horses, while two of the Franks carried the body of their murdered comrade. They moved silently up the track between the poplars, pretending not to hear the muffled shrieks from the house behind them.
The countryside was open in all directions; in daylight they might have had a chance of tracking the fleeing imperial agent, but dawn was hours away and there was no time to waste in pursuit. Castus felt the hard globe of the poison bottle digging into his side. He drew it carefully from his waistband, intending to throw it away from him into the darkness. Then he thought again about what might lie ahead. With a quick shiver, he slipped the bottle into the leather satchel hanging from his saddle.
As they reached the junction with the main highway, he swung himself up onto his horse and gazed towards the distant sentry fires of Aquileia.
‘So,’ said Bonitus. ‘What will you do now?’
Castus could not answer; he had been turning the same question over in his mind since they left the house. He knew what he should do: ride at once for Mediolanum and surrender himself to the emperor. Hope for Constantine’s mercy, if he offered to confess everything. But how could he do that, when he knew so little of the accusations against him? He knew also what he wanted to do: walk away from all of this, sail home to Marcellina and hope that he would be spared the consequences of what would surely happen next.
Yet he could do neither. He needed to think clearly, take a decision, but his mind was blurred with shock and fatigue, and a terrible sense that events were spinning far beyond his control.
‘Crispus,’ he said. ‘He’s on the road from Carnuntum. Should be here in four or five days…’ He was thinking as he spoke. Bonitus mounted his horse and nudged it closer.
‘You intend something,’ the Frank said quietly, and whistled under his breath. ‘Be very careful! Maybe this is not your fight?’
‘It’s not a fight I want. But it’s coming to me, whether I like it or not.’ Suddenly he was certain. There were no good plans, no ideal outcomes. But he knew what he needed to do.
‘I’m riding east,’ he said. ‘I’m going to find Crispus and warn him, before the emperor makes a decision.’
‘Warn him?’ Bonitus asked, stroking his moustache with his thumb. ‘Or take him prisoner yourself?’
Castus had not wanted even to consider that option. ‘I’ll know when I find him,’ he said. ‘I’m not asking any of you to come with me.’
Bonitus gave a low chuckle, then turned to the five Frankish warriors who remained with him. Each nodded gravely. Castus looked at Felix and Ursio – both men nodded as well.
‘We’re already with you, brother,’ Bonitus said.
26
By noon they had reached the Frigidus River, and they rested and watered their horses beneath the walls of the fortress that guarded the crossing. All of them were weary and saddle-sore. Castus had not slept properly since leaving his villa two days before, and whenever he closed his eyes he felt a vertiginous rush of exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. The temptation to lie down in the grass of the riverbank and let the warm midsummer sun lull him into sleep was compelling, but he forced himself to refuse it.
They moved on, and the road carried them steadily upwards through the forested lower slopes of the Julian Alps. As they climbed the temperature dropped, and the riders pulled their cloaks around them, peering up at the cloud-wreathed mountain peaks barring the eastern horizon. Castus prayed that Crispus was still travelling towards them, somewhere on the road ahead, that he had not delayed his journey far to the north, or taken a different route. He still did know what he would do or say when he met the Caesar.
As evening came on the party turned off the mountain road and made camp in a wooded dell ringed by pines. It was still a few miles to Ad Pirum, the fortification that guarded the pass between Italy and Pannonia, but Castus did not want to risk passing through there after dark. It would arouse too many suspicions; so far Bonitus alone had spoken to anyone they met on the road, and Castus and his two companions had blended into the Frankish entourage. Nobody would know that the comes rei militaris Aurelius Castus had passed that way. Already he was beginning to think like a fugitive.
‘Why do you take this risk?’ Bonitus asked him. They were sitting beside the flickering fire, the shapes of the men watching the road almost lost in the blackness, the others already asleep in their blankets near the tethered horses. Castus took his time before replying.
‘Because if I didn’t, I’d be living in fear the rest of my days,’ he said. ‘Anyway, it’s instinct. Always take action. Like in a battle – if you hang back or pause, the other man strikes first.’
Bonitus laughed quietly, probing at the fire with a stick to rouse a bit more warmth from the embers.
‘What about you?’ Castus asked him. ‘You must have guessed something of what’s happening. But you aren’t involved. You could’ve gone home to Gaul in peace, you and your men.’
The Frank shrugged, raising his eyebrows. ‘True enough!’ he said. ‘For my men, they follow me where I go, same as yours. For me… You remember, years ago, when we met on the Rhine?’
Castus frowned, nodding. His head felt weighted with sleep.
‘You remember when we all attended the audience with Crispus for the first time? Me and the other chiefs. I said then – with this man as Caesar, and this man as commander, I am at peace with Rome.’ He pointed at Castus. ‘Because of you, and Crispus, my life has been different. I have seen incredible things! Now there’s some trouble – I don’t fully know what and I don’t want to know, but it involves you both. So, I reckon, it involves me. Anyway, these are lonely mountains. Not a place to travel without friends, heh?’
Castus glanced around at the blackness beyond the firelight, the looming pines and the steep rocky slopes. He shivered, and tugged the cloak tighter around his shoulders. Somewhere out in the night a wolf howled.
*
They met Crispus at the town of Emona on the evening of the following day. Castus had pushed the pace for the last ten miles, leading his riders at a canter along the straight tree-lined road that ran from the mountain foothills. The sentries at the town gates told him what he needed to know: the Caesar and his military escort were lodging in a large townhouse on the far side of the forum. As he rode on along the main street, Castus tried to temper his feelings of relief; after two days of rapid travel, he had found his quarry, but the hardest part was yet to come.
Crispus was just finishing his dinner as the men entered his rooms. He sat up, smiling as he called out a greeting; then he saw their grim expressions, their clothing stained with sweat and dust, and his face fell. Leading them into a side chamber, he seated himself in a high-backed chair and dismissed the slaves. When only Castus, Bonitus and his guard commander Saturninus remained with him, he nodded for them to speak. Briefly, in a curt monotone, Castus told him what had happened at Aquileia.
When he had finished speaking, Crispus sat in silence, his eyes unfocused. Castus could see him struggling to draw breath, his fingers clasped tight on the arms of the chair.
‘Do you blame me?’ the young man asked quietly.
‘This is not the moment for blame!’ Castus snapped. ‘This is the moment for clear thinking and prompt action.’
Crispus stammered something, clearly unable to do either, unable even to look at the three men confronting him. He blushed, and shivered quickly. ‘Where’s Fausta now?’ he asked.
‘Gone to meet the emperor at Ravenna, as he travels down to Rome,’ Castus told him. ‘She’ll try and save herself as best she can, I reckon.’
‘She should have come to me!’ Crispus cried in sudden anger. ‘Why didn’t you bring her here?’
‘Forget about Fausta,’ Castus growled. ‘Hasn’t she brought you enough trouble already?’
‘I have no choice. I’m in love with her…’
Castus choked a curse. ‘She’s your stepmother!’
‘That matters nothing! There’s no blood connection between us… We don’t choose whom we love – surely you know that?’
‘You have a wife and child, back in Treveris,’ Castus said, his words grating.
‘I care nothing for them,’ Crispus replied with a shrug. ‘How can I help that? The gods compel us to certain feelings – and they have made me love Fausta…’
‘She tried to have you killed. Back in Gaul, years ago. She sent her eunuch to murder you.’
Crispus stared, his jaw slack. ‘That’s not true,’ he gasped.
‘It is true, and you need to hear it,’ Castus said, cold and hard. He saw Saturninus’s startled expression. ‘Whatever you think you’re doing, you’ve been led down a bad path. And now we’re all in danger.’
Rubbing at his face with both hands, Crispus struggled to gather his thoughts. Castus glanced at Saturninus; the other officer was the commander of the Caesar’s bodyguard, but Castus was still his senior in rank. Saturninus evaded his eye. The tension in the room drew taut.
‘It’s my guess that the imperial agents weren’t acting on direct orders,’ Castus said. ‘If they were, they’d have taken their captives to Mediolanum. They wanted to gather enough evidence to make their case before they presented it to the emperor. That might give us time…’
‘Time for what?’ Crispus asked vaguely, and let out a bleak laugh. Castus could see the contrary emotions pouring through him: anger and terror, grief and guilt. Confusion above all.
‘We have to act quickly,’ Castus said. ‘As soon as the emperor makes a decision, he’ll send out men to block the roads and seize you. He may even order your immediate execution.’
‘Execution?’ Crispus said, unable to hide his gulp of anguish.
‘Of course!’ Castus yelled in sudden fury. ‘What do you think? You plotted treason against the emperor and committed adultery with his wife! If Constantine finds you guilty, you’ll be hunted down and killed like a rabid dog!’
‘But he’s my father…’ Crispus hunched in the chair, crushed. Castus could almost feel sorry for him, but the young man had brought this on himself with his vain and reckless actions. All they could hope for now was to limit the damage he had caused.
‘We could return north, majesty,’ Saturninus said. ‘The garrisons on the Danube would favour you, and there’s a whole army in Gaul devoted to you. Reach them, and you’d be safe.’
‘And then what?’ Castus said, his hand going to his sword hilt. ‘Start another war, against Constantine? Romans killing Romans all over again?’
For a long moment Saturninus glared back at him, and Castus could see the calculation in his eyes, the hostility in his stance. The executioner’s sword was poised above them all, and they knew it. Then Bonitus cleared his throat quietly and took a step closer to Castus. The bodyguard commander shrugged and dropped his gaze.
‘You promised once you’d back me, brother,’ Crispus said quietly.
Castus clenched his teeth, fury seething inside him. Yes, he thought, once he had promised that. To give this young man some heart and some courage. He had meant it too, back then, when success seemed possible. But now it was madness.
‘At this moment,’ he said, slow and harsh, ‘I’m just trying to keep you alive.’
‘What would you have me do?’ Crispus said, with a shrug of surrender.
*
They moved out at first light, heading towards the mountains on the Aquileia road once more. Saturninus had chosen sixteen of his most dependable men as an escort, and Crispus rode with them, dressed in a soldier’s uniform and a plain military cloak. Every man had a second horse as a remount, taken from the stables at Emona. Moving at a fast pace, resting at intervals, they passed through Nauportus by mid-morning and were climbing the twisting road into the mountains by noon.
Crispus had agreed to Castus’s plan readily enough. The only other option was open rebellion, and with the odds of even reaching Gaul ahead of the emperor’s messengers so slim only a fool would chance that. As he rode, Castus tried not to think too much about what lay ahead. But he knew that he was riding directly into danger, perhaps the greatest danger of his life. His best hope was to try and slip through the guarded posts in the mountains, evade the imperial messengers and meet Constantine somewhere on the road towards Rome. Then – if the gods were good – Crispus might be able to reconcile himself with his father. How he would do that Castus did not care. He had told the young man that he should be ready to prostrate himself at the emperor’s feet if necessary. The thought that he might have to do the same brought a churn of anguish and shame. But he needed to protect his family and he would do that by any means necessary. Even if it meant Crispus’s death, his own death, so be it.
Four days had passed since he had left the villa, and he had sent no word to Marcellina. He tried not to imagine what she must be feeling now. Spurring his horse onwards up the rocky mountain road, he concentrated only on the demands of the immediate present, and the urgency of his mission.
Two miles short of Ad Pirum, they met a cart and a group of riders coming down the hill in the opposite direction. A merchant, travelling with his slaves and a shipment of Italian wine. The military escort rode to the verge to let the cart pass, and Castus saw the merchant eyeing them warily. He raised his hand in greeting as the rider drew level with him.
‘How are things up at the fort?’ he called, nodding up the road.
‘Very busy, dominus!’ the merchant replied. He was a Syrian by the look of him, with a short black beard and a nervous catch to his voice. ‘Quite a few wagons held up by the checks – but you must know all about that?’
‘We’ve just come from Emona,’ Castus said. He tried not to glance in Crispus’s direction; the young man had pulled the hood of his cloak up to hide his face. ‘What are they checking for?’
The merchant raised his palms, shrugging. ‘My apologies, dominus, I thought you were patrolling the road… It seems they’re searching for somebody – but I couldn’t say who! Is there some danger, do you think?’
Castus shook his head. ‘We’ve seen nothing today. Road behind us is clear. But you’d best hurry on.’
With a brief bow from the saddle, the merchant shook his reins and moved off at a trot, the cart groaning after him. As the travellers passed around the lower bend in the road Bonitus joined Castus at the head of the column of riders.
‘You think like me?’ he asked quietly.
‘Yes,’ Castus said. He could feel the weight of despair sinking through him. The emperor’s messengers had already reached Ad Pirum, with their orders that Crispus was to be stopped on the road. Gods, they were quick.
‘We can fight through them, perhaps, or work around?’
Castus shook his head. ‘The whole pass is blocked with a palisade, and there are over a hundred men normally stationed in the fort – could be more than that now. And less than thirty of us – not a chance.’
For a few moments they sat in silence, their horses cropping grass from the verge. Crispus and Saturninus joined them, both of them stone-faced. Already they looked like beaten men. Castus could hardly bear to glance at them. Instead he rubbed his brow, staring at the steep forested mountain slopes.
