Conn Iggulden - The Death Of Kings

“Very well. I will leave you your mystery. Perhaps I should make you prove your right to equipment worth a year's pay, but I imagine you will not be staying here long enough to make me investigate thoroughly?”

“We intend to take the first ship out,” Gaditicus replied.

“Make sure you do, gentlemen. Do you need me to arrange passage, or did this ‘old soldier' also give you money for the trip?”

“We will make our own arrangements, thank you,” Gaditicus said tensely, barely managing to hide his irritation any longer.

“Then I will take your names for the report to Rome and leave you in peace,” Pravitas replied. They gave them quickly and he repeated each one to fix them in his memory. He stood and inclined his head stiffly.

“Good luck on the return journey, gentlemen,” he said, before making his way out through the busy inn onto the streets.

“Suspicious sod,” Pelitas muttered when he had gone. The others murmured agreement.

“We have to move quickly now. I don't doubt the quaestor will have someone watching us until we are out of his province. It will be a little harder to make the plan work.”

“Well, it was too easy before,” Prax said. “We needed another challenge.”

Julius smiled with the others. No matter what happened, they had developed a friendship that would never have come about if they were still on Accipiter.

“Go quickly back to the men, Peli. If you are followed, I expect you to lose them well before you get close. If you can't get clear, then have the men catch and tie the watchers until the night is over. It won't matter if they are missed tomorrow when we're gone.”

Pelitas stood and drained his cup, belching softly. He left without another word and Julius looked around at the three men who were left.

“Now, gentlemen, ” he said, mimicking the quaestor's tone. “We have to get ourselves a merchant ship.”

Captain Durus of the Ventulus was a contented man. He had a hold full of skins and exotic wood that would bring a small fortune back in Italy. The pride of the cargo were ten ivory tusks, each as long as a man. He had never seen the animals that died to provide them, but had bought them from a trader in the port, who in turn had bartered with hunters deeper inland. Durus knew he would triple his price on them at least and congratulated himself silently on the round of strong bargaining. Nearly two hours, it had taken, and he had been forced to take some worthless bolts of cloth as part of the sale. Even they would fetch a few bronze coins for slave clothing, he supposed, so he couldn't complain. It had been a successful trip, and even with the expenses of port fees and provisions for the crew and slaves, he should clear enough to buy his wife the pearls she wanted and perhaps a new horse for himself. A good stallion that would breed with his wife's mare, if he could get one for the right price.

His thoughts were interrupted by four soldiers walking along the dock to where Ventulus was tied up. He assumed they were from the meddling quaestor who controlled the port and sighed to himself, careful to smile as they drew close to him.

“Permission to come aboard?” one said.

“Of course,” Durus replied, wondering if the man would try to squeeze yet another tax or bribe out of him. It really was too much.

“How can I help you?” he asked as they stepped onto the deck. He frowned as two of them ignored him, their eyes taking in every detail of the small merchant ship. Most of the men were enjoying shore leave, of course, so it was practically deserted, with only two others in sight on the deck where they stood.

“We need to ask you a few questions, in private,” one of the soldiers said.

Durus struggled to look calm. Did they think he was a smuggler, a pirate? He tried not to look guilty, but there was always something to be found. There were so many regulations these days that it was impossible to remember them all.

“I have an excellent wine in my cabin. We can talk there,” he said, forcing a smile.

They followed him without a word.

Wait! Something's wrong,” Suetonius hissed, holding Prax back as he was about to leave the shadow of the dock buildings. The optio shook off the restraining fingers in irritation.

“I can't hear anything. We need to get to Julius. Come on.”

Suetonius shook his head, his gaze sweeping the empty dock. Where was the quaestor? Surely the man wouldn't have ignored the warning he'd sent? It had been so easy to whisper a message to a legionary as the man emptied his bladder in the dark outhouse of the inn. Before the soldier could finish and turn, Suetonius had vanished back into the press and lights of the crowd inside, his heart hammering with excitement. Had the man been too drunk to pass it on? As Suetonius recalled, he had been swaying slightly as he emptied the night's wine into the stone gutters.

The young Roman clenched his fists in frustration. The quaestor would reward a man who foiled piracy in the heart of a Roman port. Julius would be destroyed and Suetonius could return to Rome with his dignity intact, the humiliations he'd suffered behind him at last. Unless the drunken legionary had forgotten the message he'd whispered, or passed out on his way back to the barracks. He realized he should have made sure, but there had only been moments to pick his man before slipping away.

“What is it?” Prax said. “The ship is there. I'm going to run for it.”

“It's a trap,” Suetonius said quickly, stalling desperately. “There's something wrong, I can feel it.” He dared not say more in case Prax began to suspect. His senses strained for some sign of the port soldiers, but he could hear nothing.

Prax squinted at the young man in the shadows.

“Well, I can't sense anything. If you've lost your nerve, then stay here, but I'm going.”

The burly optio broke into a run toward the dim bulk of the merchant ship, skirting the flickering pools of light as he went. Suetonius watched him go, frowning. Better to be on his own, but if the quaestor didn't come, he would have to follow. He couldn't let them leave him behind to beg for a passage.

Tense and nervous as he gripped the railing, Julius peered out at the docks from the side of Ventulus . Where were Prax and Tonius? His eyes swept the open space between the ships and the warehouses, looking for his men, willing them to come quickly. The crescent moon had risen steadily and he was sure dawn could not be more than a few hours away.

He heard a slithering thump behind him and risked a glance to see another of the swimmers reach the shadows of the deck, lying on his back and blowing with exhaustion. Without lights to guide them, they had swum out into the deep waters along the spit of rock that formed the natural harbor, denied even a handhold on it by spined urchins and razor surfaces that skinned them at the slightest contact. Many had arrived with blood on their legs, the terror of sharks showing in their eyes. It had been hard on them, but Julius worried more for the others who couldn't swim, the giant Ciro among them. They had to make the run into port in darkness without alerting the quaestor's guards, and they were late.

There was only a glimmer of light from the cloud-covered moon, but there were torches at points all along the docks, flickers of dark yellow that moved and jumped in the breeze blowing away from the coast. The wind had changed an hour before and all Julius wanted to do was have the anchors pulled up, cut the holding ropes, and be gone. The captain was tied and bound in his cabin, his crew accepting the presence of a few extra soldiers without comment or alarm. It had gone almost better than Julius had hoped, but as he watched the torches snap and flutter, he felt a sudden fear that the quaestor had captured his men and it was all for nothing.