Dark Eagle IV: Scarab, page 3
Panehesy shook his head, his face creased with worry.
‘It is no good, Excellency. I have tried. I have arrested their leaders, beaten their elders, even destroyed their offerings but it only hardens their resolve. They would rather face Rome’s punishments than anger the gods. They believe that their suffering is temporary, but the wrath of the gods is eternal.’
The tension in the room was suffocating, and Postumus stared at Panehesy intensely trying to assess whether his words any fragment of truth or were simply excuses.
‘And what do you believe, Panehesy?’ he asked finally. ‘Do you also fear the wrath of Isis and Osiris? Is that just an excuse why you come to me with your failures instead of solutions?’
Panehesy straightened.
‘I serve Rome, Excellency. My fears are irrelevant. But the workers… the workers serve their gods before all else. You may have the power to break their bodies, but not their faith.’
Postumus said nothing for a long moment. The brazier flames flickered, casting long shadows across the governor’s face, and the tension in the room stretched taut, ready to snap.
‘Enough,’ he snapped eventually. ‘You have failed to deliver what is owed to Rome, and I do not have the luxury of tolerating failure. Rome demands grain and grain it will have. If you cannot compel your people to work, then I will send the legions to your precious fields and administer Rome’s punishment myself. Do you imagine your villagers will still cower before their gods when they see and feel Roman steel? When their homes burn, and their livestock are slaughtered?’
Panehesy stiffened. He looked like a man caught in a storm, buffeted on all sides, yet unable to find shelter.
‘Excellency,’ he began, ‘I will do all I can. But threats alone will not…’
‘You will do more,’ shouted Postumus, rising from his chair. His crimson cloak swirled as he stepped forward. ‘You will gather the grain. You will remind your people that it is not Isis or Osiris who holds power here, it is Rome. Fail me again, Panehesy, and I swear it is you that will feel the physical pain of failure.’
Panehesy’s shoulders slumped slightly, defeat creeping into his posture. He inclined his head, his tone resigned.
‘Yes, Excellency,’ he said quietly and without another word, he turned on his heel and walked toward the great bronze doors. His sandaled feet echoed hollowly in the vast chamber, each step heavy with despair. As the doors groaned shut behind him, the silence returned, oppressive and cold.
Postumus remained standing, his gaze fixed on the closed doors for a long moment before he exhaled sharply and turned to his aide.
‘The same old excuses,’ he muttered, ‘floods, famine, and now this nonsense about the old gods. How many times have we heard it?’
‘Too many, Excellency,’ replied Lucius, stepping. His thin face bore the weary expression of a man who had no good answers. ‘Every report is the same. The grain rots in the fields because no one will harvest it and no amount of coin, threats, or violence has made a difference.’
Postumus moved to the window. The harbour lay beneath him, the faint lights of Alexandria flickering like distant stars.
‘What is it, Lucius?’ he asked after a pause. ‘What makes these fools so afraid? I’ve dealt with unrest before, rebellions, uprisings, but this is something else. They speak of the gods, but no one can tell me what it is they fear most. Is it Isis? Osiris? Some obscure deity buried under the sands?’
Lucius hesitated, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his scroll.
‘I don’t know, Excellency. Perhaps it’s all of them, or none. They speak in riddles. Omens, wrath, a curse on the Nile. But no one will say more, as if even naming their fears would bring ruin.’
Postumus stared out into the night.
‘It is a mystery,’ he said finally. ‘And it is one we cannot afford to let linger. The emperor will not accept riddles, nor will I. Have you sent the message I dictated to Rome two months ago?
‘I have, Excellency,’ Lucius, replied, straightening. ‘And I received a reply just this morning.’
Postumus turned sharply, his interest piqued.
‘And?’
Lucius fumbled briefly with his papers, his fingers finding the right scroll. He unrolled it carefully and scanned the contents.
‘The Senate is aware of the situation,’ he said. ‘The reply states that something is being put in place to investigate. Reinforcements, perhaps, or a delegation. It’s not specific.’
Postumus frowned.
‘Who sent the reply?’
Lucius squinted at the bottom of the scroll.
‘It was signed by a senator, Excellency. A man by the name of… Quintus Marcius Lepidus.’
Postumus’s expression darkened, his brow furrowing.
‘Lepidus?’ he repeated, his tone both sceptical and intrigued. ‘I do not know the name.’
‘Nor I,’ Lucius admitted, his tone hesitant. ‘But the message bore the imperial seal so whatever this Lepidus is planning, it comes with the emperor’s blessing.’
Postumus nodded slowly, his gaze distant.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘For now, we will do what we can but if Rome does not act swiftly, Egypt will descend into chaos.
----
Chapter Four
Aquae Tarbellicae
Falco and Sica stepped into the warmth of the Hornless Bull, their travel-stained cloaks swirling around their boots as the heavy wooden door shut behind them. The familiar scent of roasting meat, spiced wine, and the faint tang of ale hung in the air, mingling with the low murmur of voices from the clustered patrons. Aquae Tarbellicae was far from the bustling cities of Gaul, but the taberna was always lively, a crossroads for travellers, traders, and those who sought refuge from the weather…and the overbearing gaze of anyone official.
Falco slowly adjusted the strap of his pack, his wounds still a dull ache despite weeks of recovery. His dark eyes scanned the room, and he smiled warmly as he caught sight of the woman they’d come to find, Marcia. She stood behind the counter, pouring a foaming cup of ale, her sharp features framed by dark hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck. She noticed them immediately, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. Marcia had owned the Hornless Bull for many years and the men of the Occultum, both past and present, treated it as their home, knowing that, not only were they were safe from betrayal, but Marcia’s vast net of informants were always able to keep them one step ahead of any danger.
‘Falco, Sica.’ Her voice carried above the hum of the crowd as she waved them over. ‘Come, we’ve been expecting you. What took you so long?’
‘Blame the Celts,’ Falco replied with a crooked grin, shrugging off his pack and heading toward the counter. ‘Is Decimus here?’
Marcia shook her head.
‘Not yet. I’ll send for him in a moment, but first…’ She gestured toward the back of the taberna, ‘let me get you settled.’
Without waiting for a response, she led them through the narrow passage behind the bar and into a small, dimly lit room. A sturdy oak table dominated the space, its surface scarred by years of use. A platter of roasted cheese, crusty bread, and a jug of red wine waited, the sight enough to make Falco’s stomach tighten with hunger.
‘Sit,’ she said briskly, pouring them each a cup of wine. ‘There’ll be hot food coming soon but, in the meantime, this should ease the worst of your hunger.’
Falco eased into a chair with a muffled groan, his body protesting the movement. He took a long sip of the wine, savouring its warmth before setting the cup down with a satisfied sigh. Sica remained standing, watching the door.
‘Relax, Sica,’ said Marcia, her tone lightly mocking. ‘You know you’re safe here.’
‘Safe is an illusion,’ Sica replied, though he finally took a seat and leaned out for a cup of wine.
Falco reached for the bread, tearing off a piece and chewing thoughtfully.
‘She hasn’t changed,’ he said, once she had left the room. ‘Still as sharp and as beautiful as ever.’
A short time later, the door creaked open and Decimus entered, his broad frame filling the doorway. His grizzled features were weathered by years of service, his grey-streaked hair pulled back in a rough knot. Despite his semi-retirement, he still carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man who had seen too much to be easily rattled.
‘Falco, Sica,’ he said as he crossed the room to clasp their forearms in greeting. ‘It’s good to see you both alive. Where are the others?’
‘I suspect they are on their way,’ said Falco, ‘but we came on ahead.’
Decimus settled into a chair, pouring himself a cup of wine.
‘Well, you two are here,’ he said, ‘so at least we can make a start.’
‘We didn’t have much choice,’ said Sica. ‘What is this about? Why have we been called here?’
Decimus set his cup down carefully.
‘Let’s just say… Lepidus is worried. And when Lepidus worries, it’s never good news.’ He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his next words, before continuing. ‘It seems that Rome has serious problems in Egypt and needs the Occultum to find out what is going on.’
Falco’s brow furrowed as he tore off another piece of bread, chewing slowly.
‘The whole Occultum? That’s ambitious, considering we don’t even know if Seneca and the others are still alive.’
‘We don’t,’ said Decimus, ‘ but for now, we’ll make do with what we have.’
‘So, what’s the problem?’ asked Sica.
‘Grain,’ said Decimus simply. ‘Rome has been losing grain ships in the Mare Nostrum, and those that do make it to Ostia aren’t carrying nearly enough. The people are hungry, and bread riots are breaking out in the streets. Unrest and is brewing and you know as well as I, that when the people hunger, they’ll turn on anyone… senators, the legions, even the emperor.’
‘And why is that our problem?’ asked Falco. ‘We’re not grain merchants.’
‘Because Rome believes the problem starts in Egypt,’ replied Decimus. ‘There are whispers of a rebellion brewing, hidden in the shadows, supported by corrupt Egyptian officials. Ships are disappearing, quotas aren’t being met, and no one knows exactly why. If Egypt revolts, or if its officials conspire against Rome, the empire’s grain supply collapses, and if that happens, Rome itself falls into chaos.’
Sica frowned.
‘If Rome suspects a rebellion, why not use the legions? That’s what they’re for.’
Decimus shook his head.
‘The legions are stretched thin. The southern borders are bleeding men against the Numidians and those stationed in Alexandria and Cairo are in no condition to be sent south. Many of them are… unwell.’
‘What do you men unwell,’ asked Falco?’
Decimus hesitated, his hand tightening around his cup.
‘Men are seeing things, claiming they’ve seen the old gods of Egypt with their own eyes. Osiris, Anubis, even Ra. They’ve begun worshipping them, abandoning their oaths to Rome. It’s not just a handful, either. Whole barracks are infected with this… madness, and the governor is struggling to keep what peace remains.’
The room fell silent, the weight of Decimus’s words sinking in. The faint hum of voices from the main room of the taberna seemed distant, swallowed by the oppressive tension.
‘The legions are the backbone of Rome,’ Decimus continued. ‘If they falter, if they fall to superstition and fear, the enemies at our borders will sense the weakness and strike. Egypt is already surrounded, Numidians to the south, raiders in the east, and now internal threats as well.’
Sica’s brow furrowed as he stared at Decimus.
‘And what are we supposed to do about it?’ he asked. We’re not soldiers anymore nor are we medici. We can’t fight an invisible rebellion or cure men of their delusions.’
‘No one’s asking us to fight,’ Decimus replied. ‘Lepidus doesn’t need swords, he needs eyes and ears. We’ve been tasked with infiltrating various organizations in Egypt, including the legions and the government offices. Our orders are to stay undercover and listen. Find out what’s happening and who is behind this. We’re to gather information, nothing more.’
Falco scoffed, leaning back in his chair and taking a swig of wine.
‘There’s no way I’m joining a legion again, Decimus. My days of marching under Rome’s banner are long gone.’
‘You don’t have to,’ replied Decimus, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. ‘I have something else in mind for you. There’s a ludus in Alexandria, a damn good one, run by a man I trust. Your skills would make you a star there. As a freedman, you’d be free to come and go as you pleased, mingling with the upper levels of society, the same upper levels who are obsessed with gladiatorial competitions. Lepidus suspects that this whole thing is being orchestrated by the wealthy and that could be our way in. They’ll talk, Falco, and if you are successful in the arena, you will be there amongst them to listen.’
Falco’s expression shifted, the frown replaced by a glint of interest.
‘A ludus, you say. It’s been a while since I’ve put on a real show. They haven’t seen anything like me yet.’ He sat back, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he took another long drink of wine. ‘I’ll do it. Let’s see what the high and mighty in Alexandria have to say when they’re watching me leave their champions bleeding in the sand.’
Sica leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and fixed Decimus with a hard stare.
‘And what about me?’ he asked. ‘You’ve got Falco prancing around with a sword, charming senators with blood and guts. What’s my role in this grand plan?’
‘You, my Syrian friend, will be delving into the underbelly of Alexandria. The back streets, the alleys, the places where the lantern light barely reaches. The people who thrive in the shadows, smugglers, thieves, sellers of secrets. The kind of people who make their living by less-than-honourable means.
Sica raised an eyebrow.
‘And why do you think I’ll fit in so well with that lot?’
Decimus chuckled.
‘Because you are that lot, Sica. Don’t play coy. You’ve spent more time in the underworld than most of them. You know the language, the rules, and how to get what you want without getting a knife in the ribs. You’ll fit right in, better than the rest of us, at least.’
Sica leaned back, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.
‘Fair enough,’ he said, a flicker of interest in his expression. ‘Loose tongues tend to wag in the backstreets, and people will sell their own mothers for the right price. I can work with that.’
Decimus nodded, his tone turning serious again.
‘Good. When Seneca gets here, his focus will be the governor. If this rebellion is being supported by Roman officials, that’s where we’ll find the trail. And Marcus will join one of the legions He’ll keep his ears open and report back on whatever he learns. The rest of the Occultum will also be stationed in Alexandria but will keep a low profile until ready to act if needed.
‘Under whose command?’ asked Falco.
‘Mine,’ said Decimus.
Falco let out a low whistle, setting his cup down.
‘You? Back on the front line? I thought you’d retired, old man. Living the quiet life, enjoying the comforts of a soft bed and good wine.’
Decimus snorted, a bitter edge to his laugh.
‘Retirement isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Falco. Civilian life is… dull. Endless days of nothing, and besides…’ He paused, his expression hardening as he looked down into his cup. ‘My woman left me.’
Falco blinked, caught off guard by the sudden turn in tone.
‘Left you? Why?’
Decimus swirled the wine in his cup.
‘Because I got stupid drunk and beat a man half to death just for looking at her. She said she couldn’t forgive me for that. And, honestly, I don’t blame her.’
The room fell quiet for a moment, the weight of Decimus’s confession settling between them. Falco broke the silence with a dry chuckle.
‘Well, it sounds like you’re back where you belong then, Decimus. Among men who’ll also beat someone to within an inch of their life and call it a good day’s work. But if you’re leading this, you’d better keep up. I’d hate to carry you when things get messy.’
Decimus raised his cup in a mock toast, his smirk matching Falco’s.
‘Don’t worry about me, Falco. Just worry about keeping yourself alive in that ludus. They might have loved you in the arenas of Rome, but until you prove otherwise, the crowds of Alexandria will see you as just another sword-swinging brute.’
Falco raised his own cup, his grin widening.
‘You are right,’ he said. ‘They haven’t seen anything like me yet.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘When do we go?’
‘We’ll wait a few weeks,’ said Decimus, ‘perhaps a month and see if the rest turn up.’
‘And in the meantime,’ said Falco. ‘We enjoy free wine, good food, and a bit of... local entertainment?’ He raised his eyebrows suggestively, his grin widening.
Decimus snorted, shaking his head.
‘I should have known your mind would wander there, Falco. No, we’ll be using the time wisely. I’ve already made arrangements.’
‘Arrangements?’ asked Falco. ‘What sort of arrangements.’
‘I’ve met a man here in Aquae Tarbellicae,’ said Decimus. ‘A trader who spent years in Egypt. He speaks the language fluently and has agreed to teach us the basics. All of us. A month of hard learning should get us at least able to hold a conversation.
Falco’s expression shifted from confusion to outright horror.
‘You want me to learn Egyptian? Have you lost your mind, Decimus? I can barely speak Gallic, and now you want me jabbering about hieroglyphs and pyramids?’
Sica, sitting across from him, smirked over the rim of his wine cup. The subtle curve of his lips didn’t escape Falco, who shot him a sharp look.
