Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two Page 2

  Stretching his legs he raced towards the welcoming cloak of the forest. He saw that all around him his countrymen were retreating up the hillside in ragged numbers. About him fleeing warriors were struck down as another hail of Roman javelins found their backs, launched from the rear formations now that the two armies had spread apart. A whistling sound like angry insects cut through the air as the Roman slingers advanced to unleash their small but deadly missiles.

  Drilgisa focused his gaze on the rapidly approaching tree line. His breath came in heaving gulps and his leg muscles burned hot as the hill’s gradient took its toll.

  Reaching the spur he snatched a quick look to his sides. He saw that he had outpaced most of his countrymen and that he would soon reach the trees. He had no idea how many or how few were still behind him, and he dared not stop to look back.

  The forest called to him, only moments away. His breath now came in great painful rasps, his mouth hanging open. A few warriors had reached the forest ahead of him, great whoops of relief ringing out as they entered the canopy of trees. He felt his legs wobble, and then he collapsed forwards. His face cut a gouge in the earth, dirt and bits of grass forced into in his eyes, nose and mouth. His nose was bleeding and his eyes watered. He had little strength left but he knew he had to get up; the forest was barely twenty strides way. There was a tight pain in his chest and a buzzing web of blackness before his eyes. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision.

  Clenching his teeth, his muscles screaming their protest, he pushed himself to his feet. His head felt light but he forced his legs to move unsteadily forwards. Nearly there, a little further and I’ve made it. He grinned wryly, reminding himself that he was more of a man than his fucking pig of a father ever was.

  Nearing the tree-line, he sucked in the leafy odour. Then his vision cleared for a moment and he saw a large male fox stood watching him from the shadows at the forest edge, its eyes shining like burnished copper. He took another step forwards, this time a little steadier, his strength slowly returning. He studied the fox, saw its body shake. He looked into its eyes and saw the raw fear there and the sly cunning too. The fear of man and beast had always given him pleasure, as his own young fear had fed his father’s perverse tastes. Staring deep into the fox’s eyes he savoured what he saw.

  For an instant Drilgisa heard the rush of air, then darkness washed over him.

  Chapter 2

  POMPEII 14 A.D.

  The villa of Magistrate – Gaius Caesilius Ralla

  Gaius rose slowly from his seat to greet his son as he entered the villa’s enclosed garden. He knew it was one of his son’s favourite places, where he had spent much of his time when his wife had been alive.

  He greeted his son with a kiss to the forehead. He smiled, realizing that his son was almost the same height as himself and growing fast. Holding him at arm’s length he inspected him closely.

  “I see your mother in you more each day,” said Gaius. He drank in his son’s gentle grey eyes, pale skin and light brown hair; so unlike his own dark locks and swarthy complexion, so un-Roman. He squeezed his son’s slim arms, adding with a grin, “I see we still need to build you up, put some muscle on your bones.”

  Clodian grinned in turn, taking no offence.

  “Come, sit, I have some important matters that I wish to discuss with you.”

  The Campania sun was hot despite the cooling sea breeze, and Gaius had placed two chairs in the shade of the garden’s apple trees.

  He cleared his throat before speaking, feeling a little uneasy, knowing that his son would not be happy with the decisions he’d already made. But hopefully not too unhappy, as he loved the boy very much and had no wish to upset him. However, being the son of an influential patrician like himself had responsibilities – responsibilities that Clodian would now have to face up too. Knowing the boy’s nature, he had put off this discussion for too long.

  “First, I wish to discuss your studies,” Gaius began.

  “Have I not studied hard enough father?” queried Clodian, wearing a puzzled look. “My tutor tells me I have not done badly in my Latin studies, and my study of history and arithmetic too?”

  Gaius sighed, knowing this would be difficult.

  “I have no concerns regarding your diligence in these areas,” corrected Gaius. “It is other areas that I’m concerned about. In a year’s time you will be sixteen, a time when you will become a man and assume your Roman citizenship. And, you are my only son and heir.”

  Clodian’s eyes met his own, “Father, I want to reassure you that I have reverence for the gods, respect for the law, and give due obedience to authority.”

  “I see I must speak more plainly,” said Gaius, his expression now serious. “When you eventually take my place, your life will greatly change. The world that I live in is a dangerous one.” He paused, wanting his words to sink in. “There are powerful men who would see me dead, not because they hate me as a man, but because they envy the authority that I wield. I am always cautious, ever on my guard – alert to the knife in the busy street and the silent adder released into my bed-chamber. The threats are sometimes hidden and at other times they wear a smiling face, coming in the guise of a friends feigning to be of assistance. They would as soon poison the wine I sup with them. You must be ready for these dangers Clodian, in all its guises. As ready as I can make you.”

  “I see,” said Clodian, his voice now very quiet, his brow furrowed.

  “So, I have made some plans for the coming year. I know you have avoided your martial training whenever possible,”Gaius continued, in a tone that would brook no argument. “Your time with books is ended, for now. I have made enquiries to obtain the services of a personal trainer, a gladiator instructor of some repute. He will train you in the skills of the sword and other related skills to help you survive, and also. . .” Gaius paused to read his son’s expression, with Clodian looking decidedly glum, “the skills of the bed-chamber. It’s my guess that you have not as yet bedded a woman.”

  “No, I haven’t,” the boy’s face coloured red.

  “Well, that is something we must remedy before you don your toga virilis, as befits a grown man.”

  His son’s head dropped, and Gaius felt an old ache in his chest. He’s so like his mother, he thought, my dear, departed Helena. Has it been ten summers already since I last saw her sweet face? He placed his hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed gently, a reassuring gesture.

  “Come, head up,” he said, his smile returning. “It cannot be so bad a thing that I ask?”

  Gaius knew his son would not take the news well. He reached up and plucked an apple from an over-hanging branch. Strong fingers broke the fruit in two. He held out a half to Clodian, who reached out to the fruit, still not looking up. Gaius noted how slim and delicate his son’s hands were, so unlike his own which were thick and calloused from years of campaigning and wielding a sword. His son would not have to earn his wealth and position in the same manner as he had, and he was glad about this.

  As a young Tribune he‘d served Caesar Augustus loyally in the civil wars and later in the conflict in Spain. Afterwards, Caesar had rewarded him for his support, by awarding him a senior position in his newly formed Praetorian Guard – nine thousand strong. He smiled inwardly when he recalled the sour envy of his peers in the regular army who envied the triple pay he received, which dwarfed their own, as well as the unrivalled prestige that the elite guard enjoyed. With promotion had come Augustus’s favour, and later the granting of a generous estate in Campania on his retirement from the army. It ensured his continued loyalty. In a way he’d been lucky regarding the side he’d picked, but, even in those early days he’d recognized in Augustus the special traits that would make him a great Caesar. When in power he’d broken the power of the corrupt army generals and brought peace to most of the Empire.

  Yes, he knew he’d been lucky, but he’d fought and shed his blood too. He took a bite from the apple.

  “Eat, it’s good.”<
br />
  Clodian looked up, forcing a tight smile. He took a bite of his own, and after a moment enquired, “When will this training begin?”

  “Soon, immediately after another important event that I must tell you about.” He quickly came to point. “I know how close you were to your mother, and no one will ever replace her in our hearts. But…I have decided to take another wife.” Gaius realized that his voice was unsteady, his words awkward.

  Clodian spoke nervously into the silence. “Who will this woman be?”

  “She will first and foremost be a wife to me and a mother to you. This home of ours has been without a woman’s presence for far too long. And her name is Flavia. She is the youngest daughter of my old friend in Rome, Durus Inciatus, and so is of good patrician stock.”

  “I, I see,” Clodian admonished hesitantly. “When will the marriage ceremony take place?”

  “Flavia will arrive from Rome in two days’ time, and the ceremony will take place three days after.”

  “So soon?”

  “There is no reason for delay,” said Gaius, “it has been arranged.” There was iron in his voice when he spoke. “I expect you to warmly welcome her to our home, as she is young, only three summers older than yourself. “

  Clodian’s head dipped once more.

  “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes,” Clodian replied, this time not raising his head.

  “Good, and so there’s nothing more to say,” concluded Clodian, somewhat relieved. “I will not keep you from your day any longer. He stepped forward, lifted his son’s head, his palms cupping his chin. He kissed him softly on the forehead. “I love you very much, and that will never change.”

  “I know,” the answer was barely a whisper.

  Gaius watched his son’s slim back as he walked way, into the bleaching sunlight. He reassured himself that the meeting had not gone badly, and he hoped Clodian would soon get used to the coming changes to their lives. Yet, a seed of worry ate at him like a worm in rotten apple, knowing that Clodian loved the gentler things in life. He’d always cherished learning about herbs and things that grew, and his mother had taught him how certain potions could advance healing and alleviate pain. When he was younger, Clodian had accompanied him to the games at the arena and he’d delighted at the colour and spectacle, and he’d seemed to admire the grace and skill of the champion gladiators, and had always looked forward watching Caetes (see prequel: War Raven), the great champion fight. Even in those early days, his son seemed to take as much pleasure watching the crowd and speaking to those sat close by, as he did watching the contests in the arena. And, as the years passed he’d had ever less enthusiasm for the games; regularly making excuses to use the latrine or get a drink when the beast men performed and the criminals were punished, and after, when the gladiators fought to the death.

  Later, Clodian could never be found when it was time to depart for the games, and he had not forced the issue, had not coerced him to attend. He remembered that his wife had had no taste for the games too. Perhaps he had been too soft with the boy, too indulgent with him? But, he loved him greatly, as he’d loved his mother, before the wasting disease had so painfully stolen her from him.

  Yet, he also knew that his son had a sharp mind. He also had determination and resourcefulness when he turned his attention to subjects that he enjoyed. He’d seen it himself, and his tutors had reported these qualities back to him. The task then was for him to apply his resolve to other matters – matters important for him to succeed as a man and his heir…and to survive.

  Chapter 3

  FLAVIA INCIATUS

  The bed-chamber was partly lit by the moon-light that filtered through the fine cotton drapes that separated it from the large balcony. The villa was sumptuous, built high up on Rome’s Esquiline Hill, but the night was heavy, moist. The bed-chamber smelt strongly of jasmine, and sex.

  Flavia kicked hard at the black rump perched on the edge of her wide bed. The slave landed awkwardly on the marble floor. The large Nubian slowly got to his feet. Flavia took in the slave’s sheer size – the wide shoulders tapering to a narrow waste, arms thickly muscled. Her gaze traced its way down to the dark member that still glistened in the gloom, wet from his seed and her juices.

  “Go,” she commanded, “I have no need of you…for the present. I may summon you later. And, remember to wash yourself as instructed, or I’ll have that weapon cut away and fed to the dogs,” she added spitefully. She recalled the first time she had used the Nubian; how he’d smelt like an animal during the heat of their coupling. Afterwards, she’d put him under the lash as well as the house slaves’ supervisor. People rarely made the same mistake a second time when she’d been displeased.

  She rose and stepped lightly from the bed. Using a nearby bowl she washed her private parts with fresh water tinged with the scent of violets. Her figure was slender, her skin pale. Coated with a fine film of sweat from her exertions, she wiped first her face and neck from a separate bowl with a silk cloth from the east, followed by the rest of her body.

  As she cleansed herself her mind turned to her departure on the morrow; when she would sail from Ostia to Pompeii, and her husband to be. When her father informed her of his plans for her to marry, she’d cringed at the thought of the noble Gaius touching her flesh. He was a man over twice her age and older than her father. But, she’d known that her father would brook no argument. After, when she’d learned of the widowed Gaius’s great wealth and authority she viewed her fate in a far more positive light. She’d managed to fuck every remotely desirable servant and slave on her father’s estate without him finding out, and her new husband would be no different. Her mother had suspected, as women do, but she’d dealt with her and the threat she’d posed in relation to exposing her excesses. She’d slowly poisoned the bitch’s wine during the previous long, cloying summer.

  Her father had paid Rome’s best physicians to tend the Domina of House Inciatus, but they had failed to diagnose the malady, and the poison continued to do its slow and painful work. Flavia had been given the very best advice from a most trusted source regarding the choice of poison – one that was easy to administer and that had neither scent nor taste. She’d felt no pity as she watched the flesh drop from her bones, as her eyes shrank to hollow pits in her face, her yellowed skin hanging loose like old rags; just a feeling of relief when she finally succumbed. The breathing corpse had simply revolted her.

  Killing her own mother had caused her no angst; killing others was as traumatic as squashing a fly.

  Thinking about her rich new husband she smiled, I have very specific plans for you, my dear Gaius…and for your only son.

  Ablutions complete, she stepped cat-like across the cool marble floor. Parting the filmy drapes she stepped out onto the balcony. She felt no cooler, the night air clammy, thick, with a myriad smells that seeped up from the sleeping city – the Tiber’s watery aroma tainted with the stench of humanity from the sprawl of tenements that threaded between the seven hills.

  But the view was breathtaking.

  Flavia’s eyes travelled to where the dark outline of the templed island in the Tiber was joined to the mainland by two bridges, before moving across the city, taking in the spectral outline of the Imperial Forum, its soaring porticoes housing the beautiful Temple of Venus; her personal Goddess. Magnificent in the night sky was the massive edifice that was the Circus Maximus, nearly filling the entire space between the Palatine and Aventine hills. Flavia felt her heart beat faster, recalling her excitement as one of a hundred and fifty thousand crowd that filled the Circus on race days. Flavia had always favoured the ‘Reds’ team of Charioteers, her colour – the colour of blood and passion.

  Stealing her gaze away, she promised herself that her separation from the city would not be a long one. She consoled herself with the knowledge that Pompeii’s climate was a pleasant one, and although smaller than the mother city it had a reputation for unbridled vice and lavishness. She felt herself becoming arou
sed again and quickly padded back to her bed, the sweat on her feet making small squeaking noises that made her giggle.

  Reclining onto her back, she reached out to stroke the dark thatch between the Egyptian girl’s legs. It was greeted by a soft moan from the shadows.

  Flavia spread her thighs wide, beckoning with her little finger to the slave, “Take your time, Akana my sweet, I want our last night in the city to be memorable one.”

  Chapter 4

  SOLFATARA

  Imperial Sulphur Mine – Neapolis

  Maccalus squinted rock dust from his eyes as he watched the chain of slaves pass him on route to the rock face. Like grey old men they trudged towards the excavated gallery at the end of the low tunnel. The air was thick, suffocating, and some of the men wore cloths tied around their lower faces. Each man wore only a stained rag around his loins, and was chained by the neck to the man in front. The newly worked gallery was small by comparison to others above; those that had been used up and abandoned. This was one of the deepest, over three hundred feet below the surface.

  Maccalus pulled down the damp cloth that covered his own mouth and nose and moved to the edge of a side tunnel that opened into a vertical mine shaft. Just below him a large wooden water-wheel endlessly turned, draining water from the levels situated beneath the water-shed. He spat out a goblet of grimy phlegm and watched it arch into the shaft before disappearing into the sludgy water below.

  “What did I do to deserve this fucking hell–hole?” Maccalus asked Canio, his fellow guard who squatted close by.

  “You had no guts for the legions and have the brains of an ape, and your ambition amounts to spending your pay on whores and cheap wine,” replied Canio, his voice sounding tired. He’d heard his companion pose the question many times before. “And, that’s why your wife left you for a fat grocer.”