Jack Whyte - The Singing Sword

I shook my head, sceptically. "Not in his eyes, you won't."

"Damn his eyes! I would remind you of one thing, Publius." Caius's voice crackled like ice. "His eyes are the eyes of a Seneca, which makes them less than infallible. I am senior to him in the eyes of everyone who is sane, and that pilus prior of his is no madman. I promise you, Seneca will have no choice. If I have to exert my influence over the troop commander, this Marcellus Vicere, to go around him, I will not hesitate. Seneca will have no choice but to offer to escort me back to Londinium, or to permit me to make my own way there, with my prisoner. And I will take along a band of my own retainers — our best men — to escort me safely there and back. Naturally, their sole function will be to look after your welfare. You will come to no harm, my friend, I promise you."

I was far from reassured. "What happens, then, when we arrive in Londinium? Bear in mind, if you will, that I'm still proscribed for the alleged murder of Quinctus Nesca in Aquae Sulis, and for the slaughter of his bullies. They'll hang me for that, if nothing else."

He waved that aside. "Nonsense! That's the point of the whole exercise. We will take our witnesses to prove you were nowhere near Nesca that night, and I will use every office of my rank in your defence, including my personal oath and guarantee as a senator and Proconsul. All charges will be quashed, I promise you. It will be my word and my reputation against Seneca's. Do you doubt the outcome?"

I made a wry face. "Cay," I said, "I've known you for a long time now, and I've never known you to be really wrong about anything of import. Not yet."

"Then this is no time to start doubting me, Publius. This opportunity could be a godsend. It could solve all our problems. Wait and see. Seneca will be so happy to have you under guard, he will accept my story completely. He will have absolutely no idea of my real intent, and we will have him out of here and on his way home without suspecting a thing about our walls. Later, once we are safe in Londinium, I'll do an about-face on him that will leave him stunned. What do you think?"

I could not say what I thought. I expelled my breath noisily through puffed cheeks and shook my head.

"Well?" He was insistent. "Will you do it? It will mean rough treatment for the next few weeks, but it will save the Colony, and it will clear your name."

I got up and poured myself a cup of wine from the jug on the table, staring pensively into the drink as I reviewed everything he had said. "My name has never been clouded, Cay. It has never been known to my enemies. All they've had is my description. Truthfully, I'm not transported with joy by your idea. I wish I had your confidence in my welfare." I emptied the cup in one gulp. "At the same time, from every other viewpoint but my own, I can see that it will work. It's brilliant. I only wish somebody else could perform my role in it. But you're right, it has to be me. Nobody else would do for Seneca's well-being what I will ... I only hope you're equally correct about the rest of it."

He threw his arms around me. "I am. Trust me."

"I'll trust you." I found a smile for him from somewhere. "But your sister's going to have your balls for this."

He smiled briefly, a wintry little grin. "Leave Luceiia to me. She is my sister and she knows what duty means, and what it sometimes entails. In the meantime, you are going to have to change into other clothes. Old clothes, and dirty. You have to look as unsavoury as your calling would make you."

I looked him straight in the eye, smiling. "No great difficulty in that, for a smith. Charcoal, soot, smoke and ashes and old, sweaty, smelly clothes. I'll look disreputable enough, even for you." Suddenly my smile dried up and my stomach churned and my voice lost all its levity. "This is really going to be rough, isn't it?"

He clasped my hand. "Aye, my friend, rough, but temporary."

XII

It was almost dark by the time Vegetius Sulla opened the door of the stone hut that had become my prison. I was lying on the straw-covered floor, my arms and legs aching from the chains I wore. My left eye was swollen completely shut and crusted with blood where Vegetius himself had hit me with his sword hilt earlier. He stepped inside and squatted beside me.

"They're ready for you, Publius. The audience is assembled and the circus is prepared. Caius has told them all about you and how we captured you, and of our plans for you. Now they're waiting to see you. How do you feel?"

I tried to lick my sore lips, split by a backhanded blow when they first brought me here, and croaked, "Give me a drink." It tasted like nectar. I swallowed and spat. "How do I feel? That's a damned stupid question. How do I look?"

Vegetius winced. "Awful, and you stink like a goat, too. Exactly like a filthy, evil bandit who has been properly beaten since being captured."

"Good, that's how I'm supposed to look."

"Can you stand up?"

I tried. "No. You're going to have to help me."

He snapped a command and one of our young soldiers stepped into the hut and stopped there, his eyes widening as he looked at me in horror.

"Help the prisoner to his feet."

The young man bent to obey, handling me as if I were fragile, sheer reverence in his eyes. When I stood upright, Vegetius shoved a spear shaft through the space between my bent elbows and my back, pinioning me and stretching the chain on my manacled wrists across my belly.

The young soldier's eyes worried me.

"Wait!" They stopped and looked at me and I spoke to the young man, mouthing my words carefully with my broken lips. "Look, lad, this is being done for a purpose. Was that explained to you?" He nodded. "Good. Then get that look off your face. If they see it in there, you'll betray all of us. This is only mummery, but it has to look genuine. Remember, I am not Publius Varrus. I'm a captured rebel — a murderer and a bandit. I am a prisoner, and if you feel anything towards me at all, it should be indifference mixed with malice. Understand?" He nodded again. "All right then, make your face a mask and knock me down, hard. Then haul me back up and drag my butt in to Caius Britannicus."

He looked to Vegetius for confirmation.

Vegetius nodded. "Do it, hard, and treat him like cattle from now on. If these people suspect our motives, he's a dead man."

The young man set his jaw and swung the flat of his sword, knocking me off my feet and out of action.

I regained my senses as they dragged me in front of Caius and his visitors. I had two guards, one on either side of me grasping each end of the spear shaft across my back, carrying it on their shoulders so that my feet swung clear of the ground and all my weight hung from my tortured shoulder joints. I did not have to worry about acting, for my predicament and the pain it caused were very real. I heard someone snap an order to halt and the two guards carrying me stopped short and lowered my feet to the floor. My knees folded and I would have fallen had they not taken up the tension again and held me erect. I bit down hard, trying to pull myself together, and I heard what sounded like someone moaning in the distance. "Luceiia," I thought, "be strong! Don't let them see your pain." But the moaning went on, and I realized that it was me. I stopped it and hung there, supported by my guards.

"This is a general?" The voice was loaded with disdain. It was deep, and quite pleasant in pitch. I could not place it as belonging to the Seneca I remembered.

"No," Caius answered, "not a general, Claudius Seneca, merely a leader of rebels, that is all."

"He doesn't look much like a leader to me."

Caius sounded as though he was pleasantly relaxed, sprawling backwards in his chair as he spoke. "I will admit he looks a little more worn and a lot less warlike than when we took him. Without his armour and his weapons, and without his rebels, he has shrunk to human proportions. A week ago, however, I can assure you his reputation was fearsome and his depredations formidable."