Jack Whyte - The Skystone

"Do you know me, Seneca?"

I could see him struggling physically for words, trying to control the violent shuddering that racked his wretched body. When he finally answered me, his voice was cracked and dry-sounding and his eyes peered at me almost sightlessly as he held them shut against the brightness of the afternoon.

"No, " he whispered. "Who are you?"

I made my voice hard and toneless. "I am an old, grey-bearded man with a limp. Does that remind you of anyone?"

He shook his head sharply, as though trying to dismiss an unwelcome thought. "No. Who are you?" he asked again.

"Come, Seneca, you know me, surely? I had a friend in Verulamium. A bright-faced young woman with red hair. Her name was Phoebe. She died while she was a guest of yours. Don't you remember? You told Antonius Cicero about it. "

He was squinting hard against the sunlight, twisting his head and trying to see my face more clearly. He rubbed the right side of his face against his right arm, trying to dry the moisture that was trickling into his eye, and this time, when he spoke, his voice was much stronger and his courage was starting to return.

"Damn you, " he cried. "What madness is this? What do you want of me? Who are you? I don't know what you're talking about!" I pressed on, maintaining the same hard, hectoring tone.

"You do not remember Antonius Cicero? He was Legate of the garrison at Colchester. He died because he was loyal to Theodosius when all others were rebelling with Magnus. Do you not remember, Seneca? You told him about Phoebe's death. Surely you must recall? You told him that the man you sought, the grey-bearded cripple, had escaped you. You had found his whore. But the whore died without telling you anything, and you were vexed. You cannot have forgotten that, surely?"

Now he said nothing. His eyes had narrowed and his face grew cunning. A trickle of new blood seeped down from beneath his right armpit, where one of the lashes had bitten deep. The way he was hanging emphasized the great white "V" on his chest. I stood suddenly, feeling the chair fall back behind me, and strode around the table to confront him. His eyes widened and then clenched shut as I approached. I balled my fist and punched him on the breastbone.

"Look at me, whoreson, look at me! I'm the one who carved you and spoiled your pretty nose!"

His eyes snapped open, though I couldn't tell whether they yet saw or not, and then he lunged at me, and as he failed to reach me he spat, swift as a serpent, in my face. Then he began to scream, stringing obscenities and curses together in a chain that would have shocked even Plautus. But through all of it there was a theme. "Who are you?" I wiped the spit from my face and waited for him to be quiet. Finally his stream of venom dried up.

"Who are you?" he whispered again.

"Your nemesis, " I answered him. "To you I have no name, other than Death and Vengeance, hence my 'V upon your chest. Do you recall my friend here?"

I indicated Pella with a nod and he stepped forward, to where Seneca could see him clearly.

Seneca glared at Pella, then shook his head. "I don't know you. "

"No, you don't, but you knew my son, in Aquae Sulis six years ago. He was five years old. Five. And you killed him, you demented, perverted whoreson, along with four others, and thought yourself safe. But you were seen. And now it's time to pay. with your sick life, you festering sore!"

"Caesarius Claudius Seneca, you have a choice to make, " I interrupted, drawing Seneca's wide-eyed gaze, now alert and fearful, back to me. Even still, he continued to glance sideways towards Pella through all I said from that time on.

"Listen, and do not interrupt. If you do, Pella will silence you again with his lash. " I picked up the scroll and began to read:

"Mine has been a life in which few could take pride. I have abused my power since I was old enough to do so. I have killed wantonly, in person and through others hired to do my will.

"I have also abused my position here in South Britain. Angered at Theodosius, and mindful of my own future prospects. I chose to aid and support the ambitions of the usurper known as Magnus Maximus, self-styled Emperor of Britain. In order to do this, I secreted funds from the revenues collected on behalf of Theodosius and used those funds to equip and provision Magnus and his armies.

"In so doing I was the direct cause of the death of the Legate Antonius Lepus Cicero. Commander of the garrison at Camulodunum. Loyal to his Emperor, he marched against Magnus and died.

"As soon as Magnus had declared himself, I withdrew into hiding, and have remained in hiding ever since that time, awaiting the outcome of Magnus's venture, and knowing that if he failed I could emerge as a loyal officer who had taken his affairs into concealment to protect them.

"Now I am brought to judgment for a crime that I had not even considered to be worthy of remembrance; a faceless woman, murdered in my search for the man who mutilated me. She lived in Verulamium and her name, I know now, was Phoebe. It is in memory of Phoebe that I accuse myself and stand condemned by my own seal and hand. " I raised my head and looked at Seneca. "There is your choice, " I said.

"You may either sign this, or refuse to sign it. Either way, it will be found beside your corpse. "

His face had the pallor of death and his eyes were wild. "You are insane,

" he whispered. "Do you really believe I would sign that thing?"

"Tertius Pella here is hoping you will not, " I answered him, "because if you refuse, he will flog you to death and enjoy every swing of the scourge. Thirty lashes. You will not survive them, nor would you wish to. " I saw him flinch at the thought of thirty lashes. The one he had already received had made a major impression on him. "I, on the other hand, I am prepared to offer you a fighting chance for life. Not that I hate you less than Pella does. We could quarrel, Tertius and I, over who loves you least."

I paused, waiting for him to react to what I had said. He stretched upwards, seeking some relief from the agony of his hanging position, keeping his face expressionless.

"If you refuse to sign, " I went on, "as I have said, you will die under the lash. That is as certain as the death of Phoebe, whom you killed. If, on the other hand, you choose to sign the confession, you will have an opportunity to live. Not much of an opportunity, but more than you have allowed others. I will give you a sword and we will fight. Should you kill me, you will be free to go, that is if you can kill Pella too, for I think he might dispute your going. Victorious, you will have the document and satisfaction for your scars. If you die, however, and I intend to kill you with great pleasure, your confession, signed by your hand and bearing your seal, will be found beside your corpse as a final and unimpeachable condemnation richly deserved. I have already sent word to the garrison at Aquae Sulis. They will be here, looking for you, in a short time. " There was a flash of something in his eyes, but I killed it.

"There is no other way out for you, Seneca. Not even if the soldiers were to arrive early and save your life. They are no longer yours to influence. Magnus is dead, months ago, and the news is known. Britain has already reverted to Theodosius. " I let him think on that for a time, then, "Well?" I asked. "Are you ready to decide?"

"What if I were to sign? You would kill me before I had finished. " Rage surged in me, and I turned away from him to quell it. I turned back only when I had controlled myself.

"That would make me no better than you, Seneca, and I am a better man than you in every way. But what if I did kill you? It would still be better than being flogged to death by Tertius Pella. Once you are dead, your confession can no longer hurt you. For once in your rotten life, Seneca, you are going to have to trust someone to be more honourable than you are. Had I wanted simply to kill you. you would have been dead days ago. I want to kill you sword in hand, to beat you and to know you know that you are being beaten by a grey-bearded cripple. " I nodded to Pella. "Cut him down and take off those shackles. " Pella cut the rope and Seneca fell at my feet.