Robert Fabbri - Tribune of Rome

‘I will, Asinius. May the gods go with you.’

‘If I believed in them I’m sure they would. Good luck and I’ll see you in Rome in four years or so.’ He gripped Vespasian’s forearms with both hands and then turned to Magnus.

‘Thank you, my friend, I owe you a debt that I shall not forget.’

‘I’ll come and see you in Rome when I need a favour.’

‘It will be my pleasure; until then, farewell.’

Keeping four of his lictors to guard his person, and leaving two to guard the entrance, Asinius dismissed the remaining five to prepare for their return journey, and went into his tent.

‘Well, you heard him,’ Vespasian said, heading off to his quarters. ‘Let’s get out of here for a day or two.’

‘Suits me fine.’

They had not gone ten paces when the clash of weapons and a scream stopped them in their tracks. They turned just in time to see the two guards rush into Asinius’ tent.

‘Fuck!’ Vespasian gasped, drawing his sword as the unmistakable sound of two bodies slumping to the ground came from within the tent. The other lictors had heard the commotion and were running back, swords drawn. With no thought of tactics Vespasian, Magnus and the five lictors crashed through the entrance of the tent.

‘Stop right there or he gets hurt, nastily,’ Hasdro shouted. He had his sword across Asinius’ throat and, with his left hand pressing hard down on his head with a vice-like grip, forced the proconsul to his knees. His three Praetorian companions stood in front of him, amongst the bodies of the lictors, warily pointing their swords at Vespasian and his comrades, two paces away. Behind him was Poppaeus’ secretary, Kratos, holding three letters. Slumped in the corner was the semi-conscious Rhoemetalces.

‘This is an interesting situation,’ Vespasian said, breathing hard. ‘We outnumber you, so how do you imagine you’ll get out alive?’

‘I’d say that it’s quite straightforward.’ Hasdro’s black eyes gleamed malevolently and a smile played on the corner of his mouth. ‘The proconsul gives us what we want, then, in return for his life, you let us go.’

‘Don’t let them-’ A fist to the side of his face silenced Asinius.

‘One more word and I’ll have your nose off,’ Hasdro spat, shaking his bruised hand. He tugged at the leather bag around Asinius’ neck, snapping the strap, and threw it at Kratos. ‘Check them,’ he growled.

Kratos quickly pulled the letters out of the sack and flicked through them. ‘They’re all here,’ he confirmed, adding them to the three that he had already retrieved from Rhoemetalces.

‘Burn them all, so that idiot master of yours doesn’t lose them again.’

Kratos threw the letters on to the brazier.

‘Save them,’ Asinius shouted as they burst into flames. He thrust his throat forward on to the edge of Hasdro’s sword and forced it along its length. Blood sprayed across the room as the blade sliced through the soft flesh. Hasdro looked with horror at the quivering body of his now useless hostage as it fell, gurgling, at his blood-drenched feet.

‘Now!’ Vespasian cried lurching forward. He crashed into the nearest Praetorian, grabbed his right wrist and forced his sword into the air. With a lightning thrust he pushed his blade up into the vitals of the startled man and, feeling hot blood squirt down his arm, twisted it through his bowels. The Praetorian doubled up, pushing Vespasian on to his back. The shriek of pain, so close to his ear, almost deafened Vespasian as he fought to withdraw his entangled sword. Magnus flew past him and hurled himself on to Hasdro, who slipped in Asinius’ blood. The pair crashed to the ground, grappling and wrestling with each other, their swords useless at such close quarters. Behind them the lictors descended on to the last two Praetorians, who went down under a welter of stabs and thrusts that continued even after their lives had been expunged.

Vespasian managed to kick himself out from under his howling victim, leaving his sword lodged in his lacerated abdomen. In the corner of his eye he caught the blur of Kratos darting for the exit.

‘Get him alive!’ he barked at the lictors as he retrieved a discarded sword. He stepped up behind Hasdro, who now sat astride Magnus closing his huge hands around the struggling boxer’s throat. Vespasian drew his sword arm back. Magnus’ eyes focused briefly on the movement. Hasdro turned, the look on his face showing that he knew what to expect. With a powerful, clean sweep Vespasian cleaved his head from his shoulders, sending it spinning through the air in a spray of blood. His severed long black hair slithered down his back. His torso fell on to Magnus, disgorging its contents from its open neck onto his face.

‘Was that necessary?’ Magnus spluttered, heaving the corpse aside. ‘I was just about to turn him.’

‘Better safe than sorry, I thought,’ Vespasian replied, amazed at what he had just done. ‘It seemed from where I was standing that you were having a little difficulty.’ He held out his hand to help up his friend, who looked like he had been the victim of a particularly grisly sacrifice.

Vespasian looked down at Asinius, who lay motionless, his eyes staring lifelessly at the brazier in which the precious letters were now no more than charred fragments.

‘Shit!’ he exclaimed as he realised how devastating their loss was. He looked over to Rhoemetalces who was sitting bolt upright in the corner, staring at Hasdro’s severed head.

‘What happened? I thought that Asinius sent you off hours ago?’

The young King pulled his gaze away from the macabre object and replied, with difficulty, through his swollen mouth. ‘He did, but they came after me and caught me. They killed my escort and brought me back here to wait for Asinius. They knew about the letters. Kratos got here to verify them just before Asinius came back. Then you arrived, that’s all I know.’

Vespasian turned to Kratos, who was cowering in the firm grip of two lictors. He placed the tip of his sword under his chin.

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘I saw that my master’s quarters had been broken into, there was a slash in the tent and the chests of silver were gone, so I checked his correspondence and some was missing. I suspected Asinius immediately so I informed Hasdro.’ Kratos spoke quickly in his anxiety to give as much information as possible, knowing that his life was at stake. ‘We came here to Asinius’ tent and found Rhoteces, the priest, tied up in the sleeping area. He had overheard Asinius send Rhoemetalces off to Philippopolis.’

‘But Rhoteces didn’t mention the letters.’

‘No, we just assumed that he had gone with all the letters. It was the logical thing for Asinius to have done.’

‘Where is the priest now?’

‘Gone.’

‘Where?’

‘He went with Hasdro and his men to catch Rhoemetalces.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘I don’t know.’

Vespasian jabbed his sword forcing the terrified secretary’s head further back.

‘I swear I don’t know! When I came back to check the letters that were found on Rhoemetalces he wasn’t here any more.’

‘He ran off after they caught me,’ Rhoemetalces croaked from the corner. ‘He wanted to kill me, but when Hasdro refused he galloped off. Hasdro didn’t have the time to chase him; when he found that I only had half of the letters he wanted to get back here and find Asinius, to retrieve the rest.’

A glimmer of hope came into Vespasian’s eyes; the situation was perhaps retrievable if they acted quickly. He smiled as he looked at the cringing Kratos. ‘So apart from us you are the only person that could tell Poppaeus when he discovers that his letters are missing that they’ve been destroyed, aren’t you?’