The Sword of Revenge by David Donachie

Author:David Donachie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Globe Pequot
Published: 2023-09-19T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Aquila, picking up his weapons, slipped out unnoticed, leaving Flaccus, Barbinus and the other overseers engaged in a tedious discussion about crop yields and the rising price of slaves. The horses had been taken to a nearby stable and checking on them was his first priority. Both were feeding happily, each tail flicking the flies off the face of the other. Flaccus’s mount, with the spear gash, seemed unaffected by the wound, which the ostler had redressed, covering it in an evil smelling compound. He placed his weapons alongside those belonging to Flaccus, which had been laid in the corner of the stall.

‘When will you be wanting them?’ asked the ostler, nodding towards the mounts.

‘Who knows,’ replied Aquila truthfully. ‘Perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow.’

‘Well, you can come when you like. Cassius Barbinus owns the stable, so there won’t be anything to pay.’

Outside, the men were still shuffling across the quayside, loading the ships with grain, and Aquila watched them while he tried to bring some order to his thoughts. Unaccustomed to choices, he was unsure which course to adopt; all the events in his life had been as a result of other people’s actions, now he was on his own, with a muddy set of alternatives. His fingers sought the charm as an aid to thought, and he seemed to draw strength from that; at least it seemed to clarify his options. He pushed gently through the line of slaves, then turned off the quay, making his way back towards the concourse before the Temple of Pallas Athene. It was crowded still and much harder going on foot than it had been mounted on a horse, all elbows and cursing to maintain any forward motion. Finally he managed to push his way through the crush and reach the stone steps, worn away by the feet of countless worshippers.

The colonnaded portico was full of tradesmen selling all manner of produce, few, if any, having much to do with the cult of Pallas Athene. Luckily, he had some money, given to him by Flaccus, and this allowed him to buy things, which in turn permitted him to ask questions. General enquiries told him that the city gates would be closed at night, not against any real threat but through long habit. The crucifixion of slaves aroused little interest, the locals being much more taken with bloodier forms of retribution.

‘Can’t abide crucifixions,’ said the squint-eyed man selling fresh figs. ‘By they time they get them upright, they’re half gone, especially when they’ve had a good beating beforehand.’ He looked at Aquila closely with his good eye; the other was aimed in the general direction of Italy, only a few leagues distant across the straits. ‘Then what happens?’

The boy sucked on the fig and shook his head.

‘Nothing, that’s what. Now I say they should be nailed on, not roped, with a chance for a citizen of the town to do the hammering. And they should be fresh, well fed and cared for before the event.

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