Jack Ludlow: Vengeance

‘Let us hold back, Ohannes,’ Flavius croaked.

‘Your charges won’t wait, Master Flavius, better you draw that sword on your hip and force your way through by a bit of belabouring or we will lose them.’

The noise of the crowd made it equally impossible for Flavius to impose a check on the servants who, already wracked with anxiety, had picked up on the general air of alarm. Pushing forward despite his rasping command to halt they became mingled with the terrified citizenry. He had stopped, while Ohannes, by his side and hearing his order, had done likewise. There they stood, watching as matters ahead of them descended into chaos, the crowd around them shoving to get by, while by the double gate itself it was clear people were being crushed.

‘This should have been done with more calm.’

‘Easy to say, young sir, hard to manage when terror takes hold.’

‘It is enough for me, I have done my duty as requested.’ Those words being met with an expression of enquiry, Flavius added, ‘The servants are either on their way to safety or in a place where, even if it is dangerous, I cannot aid them.’

The look he got from the taller man clearly begged a question, which he answered with a puffed-out chest. There was a sense that in declining the requests of his school friends he had diminished himself, something circumstances now allowed him to redress.

‘I intend to ride to join my father.’

‘Which will be against the expressed wish of that very man, if I know his mind.’

‘It is my hope he will applaud my willingness to stand by his side.’

‘More likely he’ll tan your hide.’

‘Not if I prove my worth, which I am determined to do. Take these keys and look after them. I will see you Ohannes, when I have helped to rout the barbarians.’

‘You will see me by your side, young sir, for I fear to face your father for what you propose if I do not accompany you.’

‘Can you ride?’

The implication of the question was obvious; Flavius would go to join his sire on horseback and the thought of doing likewise, judging by the furrowed brow, was not a welcome one to Ohannes, albeit the old mercenary replied in a firm voice. ‘I can hold my seat if it’s not at the gallop, though I would not care for jumping of any kind.’

‘You will not consent to my going alone?’ That got a very firm shake of the head, accompanied by a glare of determination. ‘Then let us find you a mount.’

Ohannes did not enquire as to where such a thing might be found; a citizenry fleeing on foot would have left what horses they owned in their stalls, but he clearly felt the need to point out a possible transgression. ‘We will be required to steal it.’

‘Borrow,’ Flavius croaked happily. ‘And what cur would deny those set to protect them the use of their mounts?’

The retracing of steps was done through streets thinning of people until they were actually deserted, though no doubt the dishonest elements of the citizenry would be busy pilfering where they could. Without telling the older man why, he went by the houses of both Asticus and Philaretus only to find them securely locked and abandoned, and while there was disappointment in that there was also a bit of pleasure to be had, for he would render them jealous when later they were told of his exploits.

Stables were easier to enter than any of the houses, and as he suspected, many had been left unsecured. Folk running for safety had done so without much care and on foot, abandoning their animals, including their goats, pigs, donkeys and horses. Flavius having his own mount, the task was to find something suitable for Ohannes, the kind of cuddy on which a non-rider could keep his seat, for the old man was adamant anything skittish would likely throw him off.

They visited several before finding a comfortable-looking mare, one that was calm enough to give them no more than a lazy glance on entry and a creature that made no attempt to avoid their attention as they got her bridled and saddled. The reluctance of Ohannes to actually mount was clear; on the way back to the Belisarius villa he was content to stay on foot and lead the animal.

They found the family stable open, which had Flavius looking sheepish, for though it had not been stated to him, it had been his responsibility to secure the property and, assuming some servant would lock these gates without being asked, in that he had failed. It mattered not, since it seemed nothing was untoward, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief.

That did not last: having only just begun preparing the youngster’s stallion, they heard a crashing sound from the main house, followed immediately by another, an indication that someone unwelcome might be within the walls. Ohannes’s silent gesture that the youngster should stay still and let him investigate was ignored; Flavius, sword out, was dogging his heels as the Scythian slipped in through the kitchens and headed for the family quarters.

The centurion Decimus Belisarius could not go into battle with the family valuables or his military treasury, but as had already been established, a soldier had been left behind to guard both. They found his body in the main hallway, leather helmet split open and blood oozing from his raggedly cut throat. His unused sword was still in his hand, while from within the nearby room that Flavius’s father used as his bureau came the sounds of both cursing and crashing as the men who had done the killing sought to smash their way into the huge padlocked chest that held everything the centurion considered precious.

‘You must stay here,’ Ohannes insisted in a hushed whisper as he picked up the sword from the murdered guard.

The reply was just as hushed, but terse. ‘This is my house.’

‘Then go fetch help.’

‘From where?’ Flavius said, making for the open doorway until a strong flat hand hit his chest, stopping him dead, but doing nothing to dent his determination. ‘There’s no one about and my father is half a league away.’

‘Then stay behind me,’ Ohannes hissed as another set of curses and thuds came through the open doorway.

So great was the noise that the pair, swords at the ready, eased unseen through the doorway, until Flavius, possibly through nerves, certainly through a lack of experience, allowed his weapon point to touch the stone of the wall and send out a metallic warning. The men intent on robbery spun round, one holding the axe with which he had placed several deep woodcuts around a lock set in stout oak. The other villain had a short spear and somewhere on their person both must have had knives.

Killers already, they knew they were confronting death and it was inevitable that faced with an old man with greying hair, bony and scarred from many a battle, set against a young and fresh-faced youth, they should make Flavius their prime target. The spear point was aimed at his breastplate within a blink, the hand holding it drawing back to thrust, the youngster too rooted to the spot to react properly. Ohannes saved him by rushing forward and closing with the spearman before he could cast his weapon, a thrust-out and fully extended sword taking the surprised thief in the upper part of his chest.

That exposed Ohannes to a blow from a now raised axe and he was badly placed to avoid the swing of it, while Flavius was not close enough to counter what was bound to be fatal, so when he threw his sword it was in panic rather than any real hope. Mere luck had it spin point forward to take the axeman in the face, cutting his nose and cheek deeply and imposing enough of a check on his swing to allow Ohannes the time to extract his blade from the spear carrier. That did not entirely save him, for the axe had been raised again, ready to come down at a speed that would split the old man’s skull.