Soldier of Rome: Heir to Rebellion (The Artorian Chronicles) (12 page)

Chapter
VIII: Rats in a Trap

Heracles strode casually over to the slave pens, where a loan guard was posted. The man looked to be little more than a hired beggar; little more than the quarry he was supposed to safeguard while the master slept. The guard was half asleep and woke with a start as he sensed the Greek’s presence.

“Hey, the bloody market’s
closed
,” he said with a defiant sneer, irritated that he was being disturbed. Heracles smirked in reply.

“I’m not here to buy…merely observe,” he stated.

“Well there’s nothing to observe either,” the guard retorted, “so move the fuck along before I shove the broad end of my spear up your ass for wasting my time!”

“Oh dear,” Heracles replied with mock disappointment. “I guess it will be a lesson in manners for you.” As he spoke, Radek snuck up behind the guard, his butcher’s cleaver in hand.

“Shit,” the guard said, matching Heracles mocking tone. “How about I use you for a bit of sport like I did some of the young ones in there…” His words were cut short by the blow of Radek’s cleaver that severed his head from his spine. The body collapsed to the ground, spear still clutched in the twitching hand as blood gushed from the stump that remained of the neck. After retrieving the keys to the stockade, Heracles picked up the severed head by a shock of hair. The tongue protruded through the man’s rotten teeth as the lips and eyes twitched involuntarily as death took hold.

“Now there’s a lesson in manner
s he’ll not soon forget,” Radek said with a grin. A mild coughing fit overtook him as Heracles tossed him the head.

“Help, please help me; they’ve escaped!”
the slave shouted at the top of his lungs. He stood right outside of one of the flats occupied by Roman soldiers. Artorius had just finished tightening the straps on his belt and baldric when the man started screaming. His and Praxus’ sections were scheduled for night patrol for the next three weeks and they were finishing their preparations to go on duty.

“Who the bloody hell is that?” Valens asked, perturbed. Carbo gave a sigh.

“And I thought it would be a quiet one tonight,” he remarked.

“Somebody…anybody…please help me!”
the man outside continued to scream. Artorius rushed outside, almost running into Praxus as both men ran down the flight of steps and over to where the slave was pacing frantically in circles, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“What the hell is the meaning of this?”
Artorius shouted, grabbing the slave by the ear and pulling him down to his knees.

“Hey, what’s going on out there?” a legionary from one of the other flats asked, still half asleep.

“We’ve got it,” Praxus replied, “go back to bed.” In his irritation Artorius cuffed the screaming man across the face.

“Shut the fuck up already!”

“Please kind sir, you must help me!” the slave pleaded. “My master has sent me from Four Corners plaza. The merchandise has all escaped! They burned down the stockade. Look and see for yourself!” He pointed frantically over his shoulder as Artorius held him down by his ear.

“Son of a bitch,” Praxus said in a low voice as they caught sight of the flames that reached just over the top of the low-lying buildings in the market square. “Here!” he shouted to the legionary who was sleepily making his way back into his flat, “summon the fire watch!” The soldier’s eyes grew wide as he caught sight of the flames.

“Right away!” he shouted back as he raced down the street towards where the urban cohort and the fire watch were housed.

“Let’s go round up some slaves,” Artorius said
to Praxus as he released the frightened man.

“Yes, yes!” he spoke as he took to his feet. “I know where they went. Come with me and I’ll show you!”

“Alright,” Artorius replied. He then turned back towards the flat, where both sections stood on the landing awaiting orders. “Shields and javelins!” he shouted.

“I’m frightened,” Erin said, her hand that held the large knife trembling. Her husband, Tynan, held her close.

“It will be okay, my love,” he said soothingly. Though he too was petrified at the predicament they found themselves in, he did his best not to show it.

Both
were very young, in their early twenties. They had been slaves their entire lives and when their previous master had died they were sold to a procurer. Erin had been a cook and seamstress while her husband was a gardener. Neither had been exposed to the level of violence that surrounded them. Indeed it was horrific shock they felt when the men in cloaks had come and set them free…or at least freed them from the stockades. They now found themselves huddled in an abandoned warehouse across the way from where they had been penned up. A pile of weapons had lain in the center, torchlight casting an eerie glow on the tarnished metal of short swords, axes, and other crude instruments of death. Many of the men fell upon these with lust and zeal; anxious as they were to fight for their freedom. Erin tended to forget that many slaves endured a much harsher life than the one she had lived thus far.

“Do you want your freedom?” a hooded man asked the crowd of slaves, his voice raspy and his face hidden in the shadows.

“Yes!” a young man responded with venom in his voice as he brandished a rusted spatha. “I will fight for my freedom; to the death if need be!” There were mutterings of consent amongst many of the slaves, though others were less certain.

“If we are free, then why have you taken us here?” Tynan asked, clutching his wife closer. “What do you want with us?” He could make out the trace of a sneer underneath the hood of the man who addressed them.

“It is a simple task that my master asks of you,” he replied. “The stockade that held you burns, and soon the city garrisons will come.”

“What of the slaver?” another man asked.

“He has been…taken care of,” came the reply. Erin swallowed hard in understanding. “You have been given weapons with which to earn your freedom. A detachment of Roman soldiers will soon be led down an alley just outside these doors. Dispose of them and you will have your freedom.”

“It will be a pleasure,” said the young man who had spoken so enthusiastically a moment before.

“I don’t like this,” Erin whispered to Tynan. “Why don’t we just rid ourselves of these men and be done with it?” Before her husband could answer the hooded man swooped upon them, his face inches from theirs.

“Because it is
we
who have freed you!” he boomed. “Therefore you belong to
us
now! Do our bidding and you will be slaves no more.” Before either could reply, the man strode away. He stood before the gathering and addressed them once more. “It will soon be time.”

Time for what?
Erin thought to herself.

Beads of sweat ran down the slave’s face and neck as he raced to the rally point, thirteen legionaries in tow. It was dark; the streets looked so different at night when they were devoid of life.
He tripped over an upturned crate and stepped into a pile of mule dung. Though he stumbled and cursed his luck, he continued to scramble through the square until they were just two blocks from where the slave pens burned. The silhouettes of the fire watch resonated in the background as they fought to keep the blaze from spreading. He then breathed a sigh of relief as the glow cast its light on the alley.

“Here, they went down there!” he said excitedly. “They’re all hiding in the building at the far end, behind the red door!” Shoving the man aside, Artorius and Praxus marched down the alley with their legionaries in tow.

“Damned runaway slaves,” Valens cursed. “Why can’t they just accept their lot in life and be done with it?”

“Alright, no unnecessary killing,” Artorius ordered as they stumbled down the dark alley. “Beat them if they refuse to cooperate!” Valens was still cursing under his breath when he ran into a brick wall at the end of the alley.

“Ouch! Bugger it,” he swore as he readjusted his helmet and looked around. In the dark all they saw was the wall. “Hey, there’s no bloody door here!” The glow behind them was cast with shadows as several dozen people stepped into the alley behind them. The slave who had led them to the alley let out a laugh that was chocked full of madness.

“Oh, so sorry!” he laughed. “I guess I must have led you to the wrong alley! Please enjoy the hospitality of my friends!” Though Heracles had ordered him to return as soon as he had led the legionaries to the ambush site, he could
not overcome his desire to watch. The slaves had the Romans sorely outnumbered, yet they were at best crudely armed and many had never committed an act of violence in their lives. They stood hesitant as Artorius and Praxus quickly assessed the situation.

The slaves outnumbered the Romans more than three to one, yet they hesitated. None wished to be the first to initiate combat; not even the young man who spoke so loudly about what a pleasure it would be to kill legionaries. The alley was extremely long and narrow; high stone walls on either side.

“Stay behind me,” Tynan said quietly to Erin. “I’ll
protect you.”

“Come,” said one of the older men, “the least we can do in gratitude for our freedom is dispatch those who enslaved us to begin with!” He was shirtless with a body covered in scars wrought by the whips of cruel masters. Slowly the rabble started to advance, many of them still in a state of shock and disbelief, the gravity of their predicament had yet to set in. That would soon change.

“Bastard led us into a trap,” Praxus said with a resigned sigh. Artorius nodded
in reply as Gavius stepped forward with his javelin at the ready and filled with rage.

“Gavius, what are you doing?” Magnus asked as the rest of the legionaries fell into a hasty two ranks formation. Without answering, Gavius’ eyes narrowed as he rapidly judged the distance from him to the traitor. All eyes, except
those of the laughing slave, were fixed on him as he gave a shout and let his javelin fly. The slave ceased laughing, his eyes grew wide in the split second it took for the javelin to finish its flight and strike him through the center of his right femur. The man gave a high-pitched cry of terror and pain as the javelin smashed through the bone and pinned his leg to a post that he was leaning against. He started to hyperventilate and gave another loud cry as he saw his twitching leg; muscle, sinew and splinters of bone splayed out the exit wound.

“Nice
,” Artorius said with a brief grin before shouting his next order. “
Javelins…throw!”
A dozen javelins sailed the short distance down the alleyway, slamming into the newly liberated slaves. Cries of anguish were heard from both men and women who had been thrust into the fray. Most of the slaves were near panic, though the thugs that blocked their escape drove them forward.

“Gladius…draw!”
Praxus shouted. With a shout, gladii were unsheathed and both sections advanced in two ranks behind a wall of shields and protruding swords.

Tynan had just enough time to duck, pulling Erin down with him as the Roman javelins slammed home. Screams echoed around them as each found its mark. He looked back to see a young woman, even younger than they; sprout a javelin from her shoulder. She fell to the ground screaming as the soft metal shaft at the end bent, the weight tearing bone, sinew, and flesh. They heard an audible shout from the Romans as they drew their swords. Most of the slaves responded with a loud cry of their own and charged headlong to their fate.