Swords Around the Throne by Ian Ross

Author:Ian Ross [Ross, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784081157
Publisher: Head of Zeus
Published: 2015-07-01T04:00:00+00:00

All along the riverside, barges were moored at the stone wharfs, and slaves laboured at the ropes of tall wooden cranes. Sacks of grain, barrels and stacked amphorae covered the dockside. Between the wharfs and the wooden porticos of the shops and taverns, the street was crowded, soldiers and citizens mingled together as they watched the slaves at their work.

Castus had walked down to the river without thinking, and now he moved through the throng barely aware of any of it. With his reversed cloak covering his tunic and belt and hiding the torque he wore at his neck there was nothing to identify his rank. Nobody moved aside for him; nobody saluted. A party of soldiers shoved against him as they reeled from a wine shop, but he did not notice. Sabina’s words, and the full realisation of his danger and his shame, had driven everything else from his mind.

He would have given anything to be allowed to join the legions again. To forget all this, all the dignity of his rank and position, and to become a common soldier once more. But he was not free, whatever Sabina might imagine. His commission had come from the emperor, and could not be surrendered. The oath he had taken when he had joined the Protectores bound him for life. But where was his duty now? His nerves were deadened, his senses dulled. Even revenge was denied to him; he knew very well that the first attempt to track down the men who had conspired against him would result in his immediate death. He was no better than a slave, and far closer to an unearned punishment.

He turned into a wide street running down from the hilltop to the river, intending to make his way back to the house that had been allotted as his billet. Stone colonnades ran along both sides, but the street was lined with stationary wagons. Heavy vehicles, Castus noticed, with solid wooden wheels, for transporting military supplies. He would have passed them without interest, but something else caught his eye and roused him from his numbed trance.

There were soldiers all around the wagons, watching the street carefully, but these were not men of the legions. Beneath their plain ochre-brown cloaks Castus could make out the glint of silvered scale armour: they were Praetorians, fully armed with spears and shields, swords by their sides. As he watched, Castus saw slaves carrying hefty ironbound chests from the gateway of a large building and heaving them onto the wagons. There were six of the vehicles, most of them almost fully loaded.

‘What’s in the boxes?’ he asked one of the guards as he stepped between the nearest two wagons.

The Praetorian turned to him and blinked with slow contempt. ‘Not yours to know, brother,’ he said.

Castus squared his shoulders, contemplating whether to throw aside his cloak and reveal the insignia of his rank. As he did so, a figure moved up behind him and he turned quickly, his hand instinctively going to his sword hilt.

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