Conspiracies of Rome a-1 Read online

  ‘They’ve sent a fucking boy out to deal with us!’ The words were in English, spat out with evident contempt. ‘Can’t these Latins keep their bumboys out of anything?’

  ‘Kill them both.’ Another voice came out of the darkness. ‘I told you this whole fucking business was dodgy. Take delivery of that stuff, sit here for two days, and then do the bidding of some boy and a priest. Something stinks, and it ain’t my cock. Kill them both, I say, and take the gold. We’ve been here long enough.’ He was another big man with a moustache that, in the shadows made by the fire, seemed to stretch down to his waist. ‘Next he’ll be saying One-Eye sent them.’

  ‘Your mission is completed,’ I drawled, a note of slight impatience in my voice. ‘Get the stuff loaded for me and be off back to Pavia.’ Probably feeling my tension, the horse shifted under me and whinnied. I brought it back under control.

  ‘I don’t have all night to sit here with you,’ I added, now evidently impatient.

  ‘I thought-’ the first voice replied.

  ‘You aren’t paid to think,’ I snapped. ‘You were told to wait here for instructions. I’ve brought your instructions. You load up for me and get yourselves off.’

  I tried to work One-Eye into the instructions, but wasn’t sure which way to go with him. So I added: ‘Do I need to get down and count that gold myself?’

  Suddenly shifty, the first voice told me there was no need for that. Did I think they were just ‘fucking bandits’?

  ‘What I think is my business,’ I said slowly. ‘Now, I didn’t come here to trade words. I want everything piled up in front of me and a light to see it by.’

  I’d done the trick. A lump of burning wood was pulled from the fire and a couple of men scurried back and forth in the pool of light with more of the type of leather bag I’d seen that morning. I could hear the subdued music of coin every time one thumped onto the ground.

  ‘I count twenty-eight,’ I said, raising my voice. ‘Where are the rest?’

  ‘You came late with your instructions.’ The voice was nervous, almost whining.

  ‘I said we didn’t need no extra help,’ a new voice muttered in English. ‘Those fuckers will get us our hands chopped off. “Trust you to believe a couple of Kentish cunts”,’ the voice went on, quoting a line from a song I’d heard an age before in a Winchester tavern.

  ‘You’ll hear about the missing gold when I’ve made my report. ..’ I added: ‘Now for the other stuff.’

  Big Moustache came forward with a larger bag. From it he pulled a small casket. Even in the poor light, I could see its elaborate making – all gold set with jewels.

  ‘We ain’t touched nothing,’ he said. ‘We know the Faith.’ He passed it to Maximin.

  ‘Thank you, my son.’ Maximin’s voice was hoarse. He set the casket on the ground and opened it. His hands shook as he drew back a little cloth inside. He looked reverently on the contents for some while, then closed everything up. ‘Our Common Father will take note of your piety on the Final Day.’

  ‘You’ll want these as well,’ said Big Moustache. He reached into the back again and drew out three sealed letters. He passed them up to me. Without looking at them, I handed them down to Maximin. He gave them a cursory glance and put them beside the casket.

  ‘Right,’ I said, now businesslike, ‘get twenty of those bags into my saddlebag. The rest goes with Father Constantine.’ I nodded to Maximin.

  To steady my now horribly frayed nerves, I counted silently to fifty as the saddlebags were packed. At last it was all done.

  As we were ready to depart, the first voice asked: ‘What password shall we take back with us?’

  ‘Canterbury,’ I answered, saying the first word that came into my head. I gave it in the English form, ‘Cantwaraburg’. I bit my tongue and cursed my nerves. I could feel the suspicious glances.

  I laughed, adding: ‘Say you spoke with Flavius Aurelianus. They will understand.’

  At last we picked our way on horseback down to the road. The smooth slabs underneath, I forced back the impulse to spur my horse to a wild gallop. Whatever had possessed me to open my mouth like that? I suppose it was that we’d been deep into a long day. I’d woken that morning, a shabby barbarian travelling with a priest who was barely less shabby, heading into a future that involved poncing my bread off others. I’d then killed two men in short order, taking over a tidy sum in gold. Now I’d just swindled another twenty-eight bags of gold from a band of mercenaries, any one of whom could have cut me down in the blink of an eye. Whatever I now got up to in Rome would be done in style. I was nervous. I was tired. Even so, I’d been stupid as a churl, and no one could blame me for wanting to get away while it was still in my power to do so.

  A few hundred yards along the road, we broke into a steady trot. The gold was evenly distributed on each side of me, and the horse seemed hardly to feel the additional weight. A small but bright moon was now coming up in the sky with a star or two beside. We could make out the dreary waste that extended on our left, far into the distance. Way over on our right, the sea gently lapped the shore.

  As we passed our fifth milestone, I began to breathe more easily. ‘How far to Telamon?’ I asked Maximin. I’d asked that the previous day, but had forgotten the answer with all that came between.

  ‘With horses on this road,’ Maximin said shortly, ‘I’d say we’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘There used to be an inn about halfway there from Populonium. We can rest there.’

  He looked nervously around. ‘I don’t feel too happy about sleeping in the open again.’

  I agreed. We were now decidedly worth robbing. Besides, we had the means to make the last stages to Rome like persons of quality. I saw no reason why we shouldn’t do so, heart and soul. I opened my mouth to speak. Before I could even form the words, I clutched the reins in a spasm of fear.

  Ahead, a horseman was galloping towards us. He was moving at a furious pace. It was no time at all before he’d passed from a tiny speck, only recognisable by the clatter of hooves in the silence of the night, to a solid presence just in front of us. About twenty yards away, he stopped and waited for us to come up to him. In the pale moonshine, I saw the glint of his half-drawn sword. And I could see the darkness about his left eye.

  ‘Singular courage,’ said One-Eye in accented Latin, ‘to be out alone on this road now.’ He let his sword slide back into its scabbard.

  Did he recognise us from earlier? I’d then been in very different clothes. But Maximin was the same as ever, and there couldn’t have been many of my age in that region with my hair. Also, we’d seen him in Populonium. Why and when had he left? Why was he now racing back there? I was suddenly conscious of my sword, loose in its scabbard.

  ‘Greetings, my son,’ said Maximin, his voice bright and steady, ‘and a benediction upon your head. If you and like you are all we shall see this night, God will have smiled on us.’

  One-Eye looked keenly at me. His good eye glittered cold in the moonlight. ‘You must be in a hurry for Rome – if that’s where you want to be,’ he said, speaking evenly. ‘Have you seen anything back along the road that so drives you forward?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said I in my best drawl. ‘We have business in Rome that will wait no longer.’ I added: ‘What do you think we might have seen?’

  ‘Perhaps nothing,’ came the reply. The face was now in shadow, but I could still feel the cold and searching look upon me. Was he looking at me or at my clothes? ‘Perhaps nothing at all,’ he repeated. ‘Or perhaps two men. Or perhaps more… This road is not always as lonely as it seems, nor as safe.’

  We hadn’t yet passed again the spot where I’d killed the men. It had been a hot day, and those bodies must now be decidedly on the turn. Unless One-Eye had been in a gallop from before we’d seen him – and even then, he’d have needed a leather nose – he must have noticed some smell.

  He continued to face in my direction, ignoring Maximin even when speaking with him. Was he think
ing of some other question? Or was he merely setting me firmly into his memory?

  He confirmed there was still an inn further along the road, though seemed deliberately vague about its distance. He spoke of other matters with Maximin. A casual listener might have found these matters unconnected with our journey. I could tell he was fishing for information.

  Maximin answered him readily enough. An accomplished liar, he had no trouble keeping up a flow of chatter that gave out nothing of substance.

  At last, though, One-Eye raised his hand in a gesture of parting and was on his way past us. He was no longer galloping. Whatever emergency had brought him tearing along the road seemed over for the moment.

  While just within easy conversation distance, he turned and looked back. ‘You have good Latin for a barbarian,’ he observed. For the first time, I could hear a smile in his voice. ‘I may hear it again.’

  With that, he was off. So were we. Every so often, I turned to look back. One-Eye kept up a steady trot that, as we both moved further apart, took him down to an indeterminate patch of darkness on the bright road, and then to a moving dot, and then to nothingness. We were alone again.

  8

  Mindful of the extra weight, we still didn’t want to push the horses. But the bright, silent stillness of that road was having its effect on us. The moon was now fully risen, and while the colour was bleached out, all around was clearly visible. There was no wind to disturb the dust on the road. The only noise was the striking of eight hooves on the paving stones and our own occasional and listless conversation.

  By tacit consent, we chose not to discuss what we’d done that evening. The brief exultation of the getaway had worn off. I’d got the money. Now I had to make sure to keep it. We’d ride through the night, I told myself. We’d surely reach the inn by early morning. We’d eat. We’d sleep. We’d wash. I’d change into the less beautiful and well-fitting suit of clothes the tailors had found in a box. Then we’d join with the largest and best-armed group of travellers who were heading on to Rome. There, we’d make whatever introductions were in the detailed orders that Maximin had received in Canterbury but had never bothered sharing with me. After that – well, I had a few ideas of my own forming, and most of these didn’t bear discussing with Maximin; but I’d need to see that gigantic city for myself before deciding anything for certain.

  In the meantime, we rode alone along that straight and interminable streak of whiteness.

  ‘Maximin,’ I asked, trying to make conversation, ‘who maintains this road? Is it still the emperor?’

  ‘If maintained at all,’ he answered, ‘it won’t be by the emperor. The roads in Italy aren’t like the ones in France. They were built more solidly in ancient times. They were kept up until recent times. I suppose, even now, the exarch takes a certain interest. This is a main military road that keeps Rome in touch with Pisa and with the Frankish allies when we need help against the Lombards.’

  I shuddered in the dead silence that followed his words. ‘So the emperor doesn’t rule in Italy?’ I asked with another attempt at making conversation.

  ‘The emperor rules all from Constantinople,’ Maximin answered, ‘but no longer directly. Be aware that in ancient times, the One Empire of the World was divided in two. There was the East, which gradually turned Greek, and which had fairly defensible borders – the Persians on one side, the Danubian provinces on the other. And there was the West, which had too long a border on the Rhine. The barbarians couldn’t be kept out.’

  I knew all this, but it kept that ghastly silence at bay. I tried to pretend it was all just like the day before yesterday, when Maximin lectured and I listened and learned.

  ‘You know what happened in England. Your ancestors turned up and smashed everything in their barbarian rage against all that was good and civilised. Here in Italy, it was very different. We had no emperor of our own, but the Goths weren’t so bad. Emperor Justinian decided on his great reconquest about eighty years ago. It was harder than he’d thought. There were twenty years of unexpectedly hard fighting – towns burnt, farming wrecked, Rome taken and retaken, plague and famine all over. By the time his eunuch general Narses had cleared out the last of the Goths, much of Italy was devastated.

  ‘It might not have been so bad, if Narses had been left in charge. Having conquered, he knew how to leave things alone. But the next emperor wasn’t happy with the tax receipts or the spending on defence, and tried to recall him in humiliating circumstances. In revenge, Narses called in the Lombards. You can see the rest for yourself. What remains of Italy is ruled by the emperor’s exarch, who sits in Ravenna-’

  He broke off and put his hand suddenly up. We stopped. All around us was absolutely silent. Then, as my ears adjusted, I heard the gentle lapping of the waves far over on our right. Ahead, a fox darted onto the road. It stopped and looked at us. Then it was gone. Maximin breathed again.

  ‘If only we hadn’t stopped at the monastery,’ he said wistfully, ‘we’d be well towards Telamon by now. There would be more traffic on the roads.’

  Well, I’d argued long with him over that. But it hadn’t turned out too badly, I thought now to myself. Certainly, I’d not have changed things for the world. I reached back and patted my full saddlebags. I couldn’t hear the gold move, but I felt its heavy and satisfying bulge under my hand.

  We rode on. Maximin made a feeble effort to draw my attention to the white ruins on our left of single buildings and more substantial settlements. But his ancestral recollections of a settled, teeming Italy had charm tonight for neither of us. We rode in silence, slow along that ever straight, and ever interminable road. It had survived the race that built it and, for all I knew, would survive those that came after.

  Now I heard a noise. It came from behind us – just a brief snatch of something so faint I told myself it was my ragged nerves. I focused and listened again, and heard nothing but ourselves. We rode slowly on in silence.

  It seemed to come again. ‘Some nocturnal animal or the lapping of the sea,’ Maximin muttered.

  I stopped again. ‘Maximin,’ I whispered.

  We listened again in silence. There was nothing. There was surely nothing.

  My horse neighed suddenly. I almost fell off with shock at the unexpected loudness. I muttered an obscenity in Latin that I’d heard earlier back in Populonium. I came out with a little laugh and prepared a witticism. But Maximin reached over and put a hand on my shoulder. We looked back along the road. Far in the distance, there seemed to be a slight blur in the moonlight. It was as if a little cloud had fallen from the sky. We stared again, straining our eyes in the moonlight. It seemed dazzlingly bright – unless you really wanted to see something. Then it might have been a single candle in a church at midnight.

  ‘They’re after us!’ Maximin’s voice was soft but urgent. Now I heard the noise clearly – a distant clatter of many hooves on the paving stones. As yet, the riders were visible only from the dust they threw up behind them.

  I made the obvious calculations. I failed to see how One-Eye, even at speed, could have got back to the mercenaries and then brought them over so fast. But they were after us, and coming on at full speed.

  Now we did spur the horses. The long silence of the road was over. All was suddenly a clashing of hooves on the hard surface of the road, and a panting of horses and the internal sounds that go with hard jolting, and the sound of wind in my hair.

  For all his uncertainty of touch with the gelding, Maximin was ahead of me by a full horse-length. Either fear was discovering a riding ability until now unknown, or the gold was dragging me back. I thought of lightening my saddlebags. But greed and the knowledge that the delay would be compensated by no amount of lightening had me just digging in the spurs and using my whip. I darted forward, catching up with Maximin.

  For a while, we kept the noise at a steady level behind us. We flew along the straight, raised length of the road. The stones flashed past beneath us. I remember the brief but heavy stench of death as we
passed where we’d stopped the night before.

  Even Maximin was lighter than our pursuers in their armour, and our horses were better bred for speed than theirs. I almost began to feel better as we raced along. I got my body into a rhythm that made lighter work of me for the horse. We’d surely outrun those clumsy great Englishmen.

  But what they lacked in speed, they more than recovered in stamina. There is a limit to what unskilled riders can do with whip and spur, and, little by little, the sounds behind increased in volume. I tried to tell myself they were strung out along the road, and that only one or two of them were beginning to catch up. Perhaps these would fall back.

  I didn’t dare break the rhythm of my body by looking round. But I knew they weren’t strung out. These were experienced riders. They knew the road. They knew perfectly well how much time they had. If they hadn’t caught up with us already, it was so they could keep together.

  Now, to the rising clatter of hooves were added the cries of pursuit, and then the faint jingle of harness. Even had we been able to get off that road without being seen, there was no cover on either side. Straight as an arrow, it stretched on before us in the moonlight.

  Some years later, I slowed a pursuit by throwing little three-pointed spikes onto the road behind me. On another occasion, I outran a band of Avar raiders by throwing coins over my shoulder. Now, I didn’t even think to empty the loose gold from my purse – and, if I had, I might have doubted its effect on men frantic to recover a much larger sum.

  I still couldn’t – still didn’t dare – turn my head to look behind. But they can’t have been a half-mile behind as I felt my horse begin to flag. I dug in my spurs and shouted at the beast to get a move on. For a moment, I felt a quickening of speed. But it was a momentary quickening. The horse was already approaching the limit of its endurance.