Varro awoke slowly, like a man climbing from a deep, dark tunnel out into a sunlit world. His head once more felt as though it were full of cotton, much as it had when he was first suffering over a week ago. He groaned and slowly moved his head left and right, almost vomiting with the sudden unpleasant sensations that came with the activity. Slowly he focused and became aware of the two figures in the window seat. Salonius and Catilina. Yes, that figured. He tried to sit up and his head filled with what felt like white-hot lead. He collapsed back with a yelp.
“Rest for a moment.”
Varro gritted his teeth against the pain.
Salonius was next to him now.
“I talked to Scortius. He’s adamant that you’d either already taken something just before the strong medication, or you’d had a drink. Either way, whatever you had reacted with the medicine and put you right out. You’ll be fine in about a half hour. Just wait for your head to clear and your strength’ll be back.”
Varro tried to nod, but the sensation was too unpleasant. Somewhere back towards the window, Catilina’s voice said: “Tell him now. While he’s still too fuddled to explode.”
Salonius gave her a sharp look.
“Tell me what?” Varro reached out a hand and gripped Salonius’ tunic just below the neck. “See… my strength’s already coming back…”
Salonius gently detached Varro’s fingers and folded his arm back across his chest.
“I want you to do your very best to remain calm. If your blood pounds too fast, you’ll pass out all over again. Just listen calmly, and try not to react.”
“About what?” growled Varro
“We located the assassins.”
“Good. I personally want to tear pieces off them.”
Salonius shook his head. “The marshal has them in custody. There’s seven of them. Cristus’ men that infiltrated the Second Cohort. He won’t let you near them, Varro. He’s dealing with it in strict military fashion. They’re to go on trial tomorrow. Of course, the verdict will be guilty, and they’ll be executed, but the marshal wants it all done above board. All correct.”
Varro ground his teeth.
“Our own cohort! That bastard Cristus stops at nothing. How did the piece of shit get his men in our unit?”
Salonius glanced round at Catilina and swallowed nervously.
“They were transferred in at Corda’s request.”
Varro stared at him as though he’d changed colour or grown wings, his mouth opening and closing.
Salonius sighed. “Corda’s been involved with Cristus for some time, though he claimed not to have known about or been involved in what happened to you or Petrus…”
“Not known?” Varro growled and slowly sat upright, fighting the nausea, his anger giving him greater fortitude now. “Not bloody known? Corda?”
“Please sit back, Varro. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
Varro’s growl continued to deepen. He sounded like some sort of great predatory cat stalking its prey among the rocks of the southern lands.
“Corda?” His voice rose an octave. “Corda! Are you absolutely positive? Really sure?”
Salonius nodded sadly.
Slowly, menacingly, and with great care, Varro turned his body and slid until his legs bent at the knees and his feet his the floor next to the low couch.
“I am going to go find Corda and beat the living shit out of him.”
“Sir…” Salonius said urgently.
“Get out of my way lad, or I’ll tear something off you too.”
Salonius reached out and gently but firmly restrained the captain. Now Catilina was next to him.
“Varro, you can’t punish Corda” she said quietly.
“Care to put a wager on that? I don’t care if he’s in a cell guarded by your father himself. Corda’s one of my oldest friends. We’ve watched each other’s back for thirty years, even through the civil war, and then he does this? I will tear him a new arsehole!”
“No you won’t.” There was something about Salonius’ expression that stopped Varro in his tracks.
“What is it?”
Salonius cleared his throat anxiously.
“Sergeant Corda fell on his sword about an hour ago. He’s lying in the cellars at the moment and this afternoon he’s being taken out somewhere unknown and being buried somewhere with no marker.”
Varro blinked.
“Sabian let him keep his sword?”
Catilina leaned towards him and placed her hand gently on his chest, lowering him back to the couch.
“My father let him take the soldier’s way out. There were reasons.” She and Salonius shared a look. “Not necessarily a decision we shared, I might add.”
“Take me to the marshal.”
“You’re too weak…” Salonius tried as gently as possible to prevent him from sitting up.
“Weak, bollocks. I can walk. Take me to Sabian.”
Again Salonius shared a look with Catilina.
“Alright, but slowly and carefully.”
The three of them arrived at Sabian’s office ten minutes later, Varro staggering along in the middle like a drunkard, his arms draped over Catilina and Salonius’ shoulders. The lady glared at the guard by the door; her best haughty glare.
“Announce us to my father.”
“Ma’am…”
“You know who we are. Announce us.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The guard turned and knocked gently at the door before opening it a crack.
“Marshal, I have your daughter, Captain Varro and his guard here to see you, sir.”
Sabian’s tired voice issued from within.
“Let them in.”
The three entered the room, where Salonius and Catilina took Varro across to one side of the room and allowed him to slowly sink to the chair. Varro fixed Sabian with a defiant glare while Catilina took the seat next to him and Salonius stood by his shoulder. The marshal narrowed his eyes and cradled his hands as he sized the captain up.
“You’re not looking well Varro. You should be resting and getting your strength back.”
“Pah!”
Sabian sighed. “I presume this is about Corda and the others?”
Varro nodded.
“You know what’s been done to me. You’d no right to take away my revenge. Corda was mine to deal with!”
“Not by military law, Varro. And no matter how much slack I cut you habitually, I am your senior officer and you will not talk to me like that!” The marshal’s word became quiet and menacing as he finished speaking from between clenched teeth.
Varro nodded to himself and looked up.
“My apologies, marshal. No disrespect was meant.”
“Good.” Sabian smiled but with little or no humour. “That sounds more like you. Neither you nor I can afford you to go vengeance-mad right now. Corda made some stupid decisions, and he’s suffered for them, believe me, but that matter’s now done with. However, I have seven men in custody that I still have to play with. I am using them against each other. Iasus is down with them now. After the noon bell tomorrow they’ll go on trial. None of them will walk away free, I assure you.”
Varro glared, but nodded.
Sabian sighed. “I would estimate that, by the time of the trial, at least half of them will have delivered the others to the headsman and given us every ounce of evidence we will need to bring Cristus to justice. They’ll get a custodial sentence, along with loss of all pay and position, with a dishonourable discharge. The others will be a little less lucky. I have men taking the wheels off a cart right now.”
Varro grimaced.
“That’s all well and good, marshal, but with all the respect and goodwill in the world, I intend to deal with Cristus myself.”
Sabian shook his head.
“That’s not a good idea, Varro. I can understand how you feel. I’ve been in a vaguely similar situation of betrayal myself, remember. But we have rules and regulations now and an army worth upholding them for. And besides, if you got into an arena with Cristus, he’d cut you to ribbons.”
Varro growled. “I think you underestimate me, marshal. And Cristus is a politician, not a fighter.”
“Maybe, Varro; maybe. But you are on the verge of falling to pieces without his help. He doesn’t need to fight you. If he breathes too hard at you, you’ll fall apart.”
He shook his head as Varro opened his mouth to speak once more and cut him off, mid-breath.
“Varro, that’s an end to it! They will be judged and punished according to military law. And the information they give us will allow us to remove a traitor from power and all his lackeys. It will be done ‘by the book’ and I will do it myself. I would rather you were with me, to give evidence, to sit in judgement and to oversee the whole thing.” He sighed. “But if you’re going to insist on revenge, I’m going to have you locked in your room for the next few days, do you understand me?”
Varro glared at him and finally slumped, sighing.
“Alright, sir. By the book. But I want to be there for every part of it.”
“Oh, you will, captain. I shall make sure of that.” Sabian looked up at Salonius and then turned to his daughter.
“Get him back to his room and make sure he gets some rest. He’s going to need it.”
Catilina nodded.
“Yes father.”
As she stood and grasped one of Varro’s wrists, she saw Salonius’ face for the first time during this exchange and she nearly recoiled. Salonius looked furious. Trying not to catch his eyes, she helped Varro upright. The burly young man took the other and together they turned him and walked him out of the office. The guards opened and closed the doors for them and stood to attention as they slowly made their way down the corridor. As soon as they’d turned two corners, Varro struggled. They stopped and he pushed them away from him gently. Catilina stared.
“I thought you were weak as a kitten?”
Varro gave a horrible smile. “Strength’s coming back in floods now.”
He turned to Salonius.
“You know where they’re keeping Petrus and Corda’s bodies?”
Salonius nodded.
Varro’s grin widened. He resembled a shark.
“Find them. Steal them. Get them to the stable and find our horses and a spare to carry the bodies. We’re going prefect hunting!”
Catilina stared at them.
“Wait!”
Varro’s smile softened and he laid a hand gently on her shoulder.
“You know I’ve got to do this, Cat. I can’t just let this get bureaucratic. I need to look him in the eye as I skewer him. The best thing you can do for me is to keep quiet and not let anyone know I’m gone until we’re well and truly out of the way.”
Catilina frowned.
“He’s right,” added Salonius from between gritted teeth. “Cristus needs to pay in a personal way. Even if Varro didn’t want to do it, he’s not got a choice. There’s a higher power involved in all of this. It’s fated. Varro’s going to kill Cristus even if he tries not to. And I’ll be there to help whether I like it or not.”
Catilina stared at the young man.
Varro smiled. “It sounds insane, but he’s right, Catilina.”
The pale, elegant woman lowered her face and scratched her head for a moment. When she looked up there was a sparkle in her eye that made Varro frown nervously.
“What is it?”
“I know.” She smiled. “Fate, yes?”
Varro’s brow lowered further and Catilina laughed.
“Sorry, my dear, but I won’t be able to keep quiet about your absence.” She unpinned her hair and threw her head back, shaking the black curls out. “Because I’ll be with you.”
Varro shook his head.
“Not this time,” Varro stated flatly. “Your father will…”
“What?” she interrupted. “Kill you? Don’t be naive, Varro. I’m coming with you and the quicker you accept that, the quicker we can be gone.”
Varro sighed. He looked round at Salonius and was surprised to see the young man’s vicious expression had slid back into its habitual good natured smile. “You too?”
“The lady has her mind made up, Varro.”
Another sigh, and Varro smiled at her.
“Alright. Salonius, you get those corpses; can you manage both of them?”
Salonius nodded.
“Catilina: you get your things. I’ll pick a few things, get the horses ready, and meet you in the stable in about fifteen minutes.
With a last deep breath, the three of them split up in the corridor junction and went their separate ways.
Salonius wandered along the corridor. His analytical mind gave him an edge, he thought, that the over-emotional sometimes lacked, particularly when combined with his alertness which led to him needing only five hours sleep a night, give or take, and remaining fully functional. While the others had slept or bathed for the six hours last night before everything went to hell, Salonius had spent time exploring the palace. Combined with his part in the search this morning and further explorations while Varro had slumbered, he had put together a surprisingly complete mental map of the complex.
He had accompanied captain Iasus to the cellars when the seven traitors had been incarcerated. On the way there he noted that they passed a subterranean chapel to the Goddess of the hearth. Lying on the stone benches in this dark and cool place had been the bodies of Petrus and Corda, safe from wandering folk down here in the cellars beyond locked doors and now black clad guards.
He smiled at the guard by the heavy oak door. It was the very same guard that had been placed on the door three hours ago when he’d been here with the captain. The guard, not much older than Salonius, saluted. He continued to smile, raised his arm to salute, and at the last moment, brought it round in a hammering blow to the man’s temple.
The man collapsed in a black heap without a sound. Salonius crouched over him.
“Sorry about that. You’ll have a hell of a headache, and I suspect you’ll be cleaning latrines for a few weeks, but you’ll live.”
Carefully, he retrieved the black tunic with its white raven and wolf emblem and slipped it over the top of his own green one. He grunted as the tunic split beneath the arm. Sadly there would be few guardsmen that matched his own large frame. Still, he mused, no one would have time to examine his armpit. With a smile, he threw the black cloak over his back and, scrabbling around, found the man’s helmet. That was no good, No way would that go over his head. Oh well, the thought as he retrieved the key ring from the guard’s belt. He stood, brushing down and straightening his stolen uniform.
Unlocking the door with the heavy iron key, he pulled it open and stepped through, locking it behind him. He would have to be careful down here. He’d seen some of this massive complex of tunnels, but apart from the chapel and the cellars, there were also the dungeons, some store houses and, presumably at least one guard room somewhere. With a deep breath, he strode off into the dark, dank tunnels, lit only by occasional tiny skylights high in the outer wall.
Holding his breath, he reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs and turned right, deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels.
As he turned the corner at the next junction, the tunnels now lit by guttering oil lamps, he almost walked straight into a servant carrying a sack of something over his shoulder. He stepped aside and the servant made very apologetic sounds and sidled round him before rushing off. Salonius took another deep breath and walked on. Two more corners and the shorter flight of stairs. Ahead he could see the corner he didn’t want to get to. Light flickered around the bend and there would be at least a couple of men, if not more, guarding the outer door to the prison area. But before then, just ahead, the doorway to the right led into the small chapel. Hurrying now, he ducked aside. He could clearly hear the voices of the guards round the corner and was glad, for the hundredth time, that he had worn soft leather boots and not the hob-nailed standard military fare he usually wore.
The chapel was lit by a flame on the altar at the far end. A barrel-vaulted room, it was not much larger than one of the guest rooms in the palace above. The walls and curved ceiling were of plain grey stone, with just a touch of nitre glistening. The far end wall was decorated with a mural of the gods of house and family, with the Goddess of the hearth, protector of the home, at the centre. Her altar burned forever with a single flame. It was said that nothing was required to fuel the flame on her altar. Salonius had surreptitiously checked the one at Crow Hill and had discovered that the priests filled a recess in the altar with oil every few hours and a clever spring-loaded mechanism kept the oil at the top of the container to burn visibly.
Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the task at hand.
As if to facilitate their retrieval, the thoughtful priest who’d prepared them on the stone benches had removed all of their armour and accoutrements, leaving them in only tunic and breeches. With only a slight grunt, he lifted Corda from the bench and tested the weight. The sergeant had been a wiry man. Tough, but far from large. Damn. The man’s leg was tangled in the black cloak. With another grunt, he dropped the body back to the stone and removed the cloak, casting it away to the side of the chapel.
Stepping to the other block, he tested the weight of Petrus. Just as he’d thought, a decade of deprivation had left the veteran with a spindly light frame and very little muscle. Sheer determination had been driving him where muscle couldn’t. He could have carried five Petrus’.
Making sure the scarred body was securely in position on his left shoulder, he stepped sideways and lifted Corda with his massive muscled arms, hauling the man onto his shoulder. Bending his knees a couple of times, he tested the weight and how securely they were held.
Satisfied, he stepped slowly and carefully to the entrance of the chapel and peered around the wall. The laughter continued to issue from the lit area further on, but the corridor was empty. Taking another deep breath, he stepped out and turned the other way, carefully and slowly making his way up the first, short flight of stairs.
Under his breath, he continued to mutter prayers to Cernus and any other God that he could name that he make it to the stables unobserved. In retrospect, he should have asked Varro to come with him. The captain couldn’t have carried anything, but he could have acted as lookout.
He reached the top step and turned, peering carefully around the corner. Nothing. He stopped and listened. The now-distant sound of laughter behind him down the stairs. Somewhere up ahead was the sound of tramping military boots. Two pairs by the sound of it. Well he couldn’t stay in the stairs. He’d just have to hope they were in some other side tunnel.
He stepped out into the corridor and moved along it as fast as he could, his footfalls soft and delicate for a man his size. For a moment, he uttered a quiet curse, as Corda’s body slipped on his shoulder and almost fell. He jerked his shoulder to reposition it and changed his grip on the corpse’s wrist.
The corridor seemed to go one forever, but finally, the next junction came into sight. As he approached it, he paused for a moment and listened. Those heavy footsteps were now worryingly close; coming from the other branch to the one he needed, but too close for comfort. He held his breath and sank against the wall of the tunnel in as much shadow as he could manage, given the bulk on his shoulders.
A few moments passed and he let his breath escape with a quiet hiss. The steps were going the other way, disappearing off down the corridor.
He shook his head in amazement. Just over a week ago the most exciting thing he’d ever done was oversee the assembly of a giant bolt thrower while scores of enemy stood on the opposite ridge. Now here he was stealing corpses from the dungeons of the greatest Imperial fortress in the north. Astounding. How the hell had he got himself involved in this?
With another deep breath, he settled the two figures draped over his shoulders and stepped out into the next corridor. Ahead, he could see the pale grey glow of natural light. He was getting close to the stairs. Just one more corner.
Slowly, with breath held, he approached that corner, feeling the seconds pass like hours. There was no sound from ahead, but his heart took no notice of the fact and continued to race, regardless.
He turned the corner.
Nothing there. Just dank stairs leading up into the gloom.
Slowly, he climbed the stairs, pausing every now and then to take a breath. The two bodies may be light, but even so, their weight was beginning to make his sore and short of breath. Finally he reached the top and paused again to listen. Distant sounds; from beyond the door, out in the palace proper. Damn it!
As quietly as he could, he padded along the corridor until he was only around ten paces from the door. Very, very slowly and quietly, he lowered the two corpses to the floor and approached the door. He listened.
Just one man. He was down by the bottom of the door, speaking softly. Salonius retrieved the key from his pocket as he strained to hear.
“I’ll have to go report it!”
“Not yet. Let’s go find him. If I get another black mark, I’ll be sent to a frontier post! It’s only one man and we’ve got the jump on him now.”
“No, Marco, I’ve got to report it!”
“Listen: imagine how good we’ll look when we bring him in!”
Salonius smiled as he inserted the key into the lock with incredible slowness and began to turn it, waiting for each new line in the argument to help mask the sound of the key turning. He felt the pressure release as the lock completely opened. With a wide grin, he pictured the scene beyond the door and very slowly turned the handle. As the latch slid free, he almost laughed out loud. Stepping back a few paces, he turned his shoulder toward the door and ran.
The impact made his shoulder feel as though it had exploded, but the effect was much as he’d hoped. The door burst open into the room beyond, hitting the guard crouched behind it with tremendous force and a loud crack. As he sailed on through, Salonius brought himself to a halt as sharply as he could. The new guard had been hit in the forehead by the door and thrown back. The guard who was still recovering from Salonius’ entry five or six minutes ago was by the wall behind the door, which had come to a stop as it thumped into his shoulder. Salonius turned the second guard over with his foot. The huge red welt and wound on his forehead suggested he would be out for some time.
The other guard was mouthing things with a frightened look on his face. Salonius gave him a grin that he hoped was as feral as the one he kept seeing on Varro. The guard quailed.
“I’m a little concerned that I’ve done a bit too much damage to your friend here. So we’re going to make a deal, yes?”
The guard nodded, wide eyed and terrified.
“Good,” Salonius continued. “I’m not going to knock you out because you need to help your friend. I’m going to collect my things and walk slowly and quietly out of here. You’re going to wait at least ten minutes after I’ve gone, during which time you can do your best to stop his wound bleeding. Once ten minutes is up, you can shout for help, run, or whatever it is you want to do. Just not until I’m away from here. And if I hear anything as I leave, I will come back here and leave you in… let’s just say a ‘worse’ condition, eh?”
The guard gave another frightened nod and from somewhere within found a tiny voice.
“Why are you doing this? You’re one of the marshal’s men.”
Salonius smiled.
“Not quite. I’m under the marshal’s command, but I’m one of Varro’s men. Not stay quiet.”
Biting his lip, hoping he’d done the right thing, Salonius stood and returned to the corridor beyond the portal. There he spent a moment collecting the two corpses and settling them as comfortably as possible on his shoulders. It was not easy. His left shoulder ached painfully. It was possible he’d chipped the bone on the door. There’ll be a hell of a bruise.
‘Ah well’, he thought, as he carried the two bodies through the door and stopped for a moment. He turned to the seated guard and put his finger to his lips.
“Shhhh.”
The guard gave another nod, staring with wide eyes at the hulking brute and his grisly burden. Salonius gave the grin again and walked off.
Catilina stopped a few steps from the junction in the corridor. She watched Varro limp off slowly toward the guest quarters and Salonius striding off into the depths of the palace. Putting her finger to her mouth, she tapped her elegantly manicured nail on her ruby lip, deep in thought.
After a moment a smile slowly spread across her face, ending in a broad grin.
Changing her direction, she padded off along the corridor that Salonius had taken, then selected a side-corridor and stepped into it. A few more turns and junctions that she’d known well since childhood, and she arrived at the offices of the garrison clerks. She’d played here often as a girl, since the clerks always had plenty of materials to draw with. Many happy hours had been spent sitting at the desk in these four offices and drawing pictures of animals and cloudy skies. She smiled and glanced up and down the corridor at the four offices. There were four chief clerks of the fortress, each in charge of one aspect of administration, and several lesser clerks beneath them. Each office housed desks for six people, but they were rarely occupied by more than one or two at a time, their duties often taking them elsewhere in the fortress or into the civilian town.
Smiling, she peered at the office doors that stood open or ajar. Two were brightly lit, one with a low light and one dark. Sadly, the empty, dark office was the only one that would be of no use to her. The office at the far left, however, was clearly lit by only one guttering oil lamp. That meant only one occupant. She squared her shoulders and strode along the corridor and boldly through the door.
The young clerk busy at his desk looked up as the figure came through the door. The paperwork he was involved in was suddenly forgotten as he scrambled to his feet and stood straight as a javelin.
“My lady?”
Catilina smiled at him.
“At ease, man. You must be new. Is Tarsus around?”
“Er, no, ma’am” the young man replied. “He’s in the town with the council. Can I help, ma’am?”
Catilina shook her head.
“Just here for some supplies. Just ignore me. I’ll be out of your hair in just a minute.”
The young man continued to stand, torn between two courses of action.
“Er…”
“What?” Catilina asked pleasantly.
“It’s rules, ma’am. No one can just help themselves. We’ve got to keep charge.”
Catilina laughed a carefree laugh.
“Oh don’t be so silly. I’ve been taking things out of here since I was four. Just get on with your work. My father’s waiting for me, so I have to hurry.”
The young man struggled for a moment longer and then gave up and visibly deflated slightly.
“Very well, ma’am. But please leave everything the way you found it, or master Tarsus will hoist me for it.”
Catilina nodded and crouched by one of the large wooden cabinets at the back of the office. Unlocking the door with the key that sat jutting out, she scanned the contents. Damn it. Someone had reorganised the office. Closing and locking the door, she moved on to the next large cupboard and opened that. A quick scan and she saw what she was looking for. At the back, a pile of very neat, official looking papers.
She smiled and fished two out. She was about to close the cupboard again when another thought struck her and she had another glance around the interior. With a smile, she fished out a different paper, several sheets of meaningless bureaucratic paperwork and, closing the door, stood straight. As subtly as she could manage, she tucked her four prizes in among the unimportant paper. Smiling, she noted that the young man was going about his work, deliberately not looking in her direction.
Almost laugh, she collected a charcoal stick, a seal-stamp, hammer, lead discs and wax from the rear-most desk and slid them into a pocket in her skirts. With a warm smile she crossed the room and stopped at the door to look back at the clerk.
“Thank you, kind sir. Perhaps I’ll be back for more supplies later. I’ll be sure to tell Tarsus how accommodating you were.”
The clerk gave her a nervous smile and, as she left the room, Catilina felt a little cruel. The lad would probably lose his position for this. Still, he shouldn’t have let her have free reign among the office paperwork, should he?
Almost skipping along the corridor, she took three more side turnings and arrived at another door. This door, however, was dark and solid, locked and protected by a guard who stood to attention and almost strained something trying to stand even further to attention as the most important lady in Vengen appeared in front of him. These were ordinary soldiers of the garrison, not the veteran black-clad marshal’s guard.
She smiled.
“For Gods’ sake man, at ease. You’ll rupture something.”
The guard gave a brief smile and then fell serious again.
“If you would be so good, I need to retrieve something for my father.”
“Ma’am?”
She smiled inwardly.
“I need a sash of office for the marshal’s guard. My father’s transferring Captain Varro to his own unit. He can collect his uniform later, but we need the sash now.”
The guard frowned and opened his mouth but Catilina interrupted.
“Look, you can go in and get it for me if you like. It’s only a damn sash.”
The guard continued to frown and then gave a curt nod.
“I’ll have to find it for you ma’am. If you would kindly wait here.”
Catilina nodded and smiled. She folded her arms as the guard turned and fumbled with his keys. Finally finding the correct one, he unlocked the door to the uniform store room.
As he pulled the door open, behind his, Catilina unfolded her arms. In one was the seal hammer; around a foot long, narrow and tapering, with a wooden mallet head, coated in steel for hammering the marshal’s seal in lead. The guard began to turn towards her and caught the full force of the seal hammer on his temple. His eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped to the floor. With a smiled, Catilina pocked the hammer once more and climbed over the recumbent guard and into the room. She game a small laugh as she pored over the racks and racks and shelves of clothing by the light of the window on the outer wall, mulling over what sizes she thought might fit Varro and Salonius. The young man might be a problem, she thought, as she retrieved the largest garment in stock.
Finally, her arms full of garments, she put them to one side and, bending down, grasped the wrists of the guard and dragged him slowly into the room. Once he was fully inside, she collected the pile of clothing, closed the door behind her and locked it with the guard’s key.
Laughing and almost with a skip to her step, she walked off toward the stables.
Varro ran to his room as soon as they separated, gathered all his things and rolled them up and stuffed them unceremoniously in his kit. He’d carefully selected several large burlap bags rather than the saddle bags they’d arrived with. A little too unsubtle, wandering around with saddle bags. As he left his room, the marshal’s guard standing at attention in the corridor coughed.
“What?
“What do you think you’re doing, sir?”
Varro gave him an unhappy look.
“It seems we’re going to be here for a while and we’re involved in the upcoming trials and tribulations. The Marshal wants us to look smart, so we’re cleaning and tidying all our kit.”
The captain turned his back on the man, who looked distinctly unconvinced, and entered Salonius’ room. Damn it. He was no good at deception. He’d carefully prepared his excuse and tried to pass it off to the guard as naturally as he could but, as he thought back over what he’d just said, it sounded more like a prepared speech the more he repeated it in his head. Damn it. Let’s hope the guards were as bad at detecting lies as he was at telling them.
He wandered over to Salonius’ bed and cupboard and almost laughed out loud at how everything was laid out, neat and clean. Even the folding shovel the engineer carried gleamed like shiny steel. His clothing was stacked in piles: tunics, breeches, socks, underwear, scarves. It was ridiculous. Even his small personal items were arranged by type and size. Varro chuckled as he grasped the two bags from the floor and thoughtlessly stuffed everything messily inside.
As he finally forced the second bag shut with some difficulty, he collected his own bag and picked up Salonius’ three.
“Shit!”
He almost buckled under the weight. How could the lad carry this stuff for hours at a time? He must be made of rock and iron, the tough little sod! Shifting the weight to a position that was only slightly less uncomfortable, he let out an explosive breath and left the room, feeling like a pack mule.
The two guards in the corridor, who were now standing together and had obviously been chatting, tried to restrain their laughter as a collection of sacks and bags came fumbling out of the young soldier’s room, with a person somewhere underneath, grunting and breathing heavily.
“Would you like a hand with that down to the laundry, sir?”
Varro puffed and panted and tried unsuccessfully to straighten. Natural. That was the key. Be natural! He grumbled.
“No, you’re alright. Should have let him come and get his own stuff. We might be a while, looking at the amount of shit he carries. He can carry it back up, while I go to the garrison surgeon for back repairs!”
He turned and stomped off down the corridor toward the laundry and palace bathhouse area, grumbling about the young engineer as loudly and convincingly as he could. He left the corridor with the sound of the guards laughing at his misfortune ringing in his ears. Good. As long as they were concentrating on the humour, they wouldn’t think too hard.
Continuing to grumble about Salonius, but this time for real, he turned the corner and, once out of sight, ducked away into a side passage and headed toward the stables.
Varro glared at Salonius as the young engineer stumbled through the doorway into the stable. There was no one here yet, though in an hour the stable hands would be here feeding the horses. Salonius blinked.
“What’s up?”
Varro growled and pointed to the large collection of freshly-stolen saddle bags on a nice sleek grey horse near the door.
“How the hell do you carry all…” He stopped mid sentence. It sounded so foolish saying something like that to a person who was carrying two dead bodies at once.
“Never mind.”
He gestured around.
“The grey’s yours and all loaded up. Let’s get these two covered up and secured on that bay over there.”
A quiet, lyrical voice from the second doorway said “Don’t bother with that.”
They turned to Catilina, who strolled in as though they were going about everyday business.
“Good. I see you’ve got the horses ready. I take it the chestnut’s mine?”
Varro coughed.
“Yes. What’s all that?” He pointed at the bundle of clothing in her arms.
Catilina smiled like a mother indulging an errant child. When she spoke it was in a slightly condescending tone.
“Boys, did you really think this through? How are you expecting to get out of the fortress? Just ride at the gates and hope they let you through?”
Salonius turned and looked at Varro.
“I presumed you had a plan?”
Varro grinned at him.
“I was expecting that something would turn up. If we’re fated to do something, surely, it’s going to happen anyway?”
Salonius sighed.
“I’m not sure it works quite like that.”
Catilina smiled benignly.
“And that’s why you two need me. Here.”
She tossed articles of clothing at them one at a time.
Varro stared at the tunic in his hand.
“This is the tunic of a soldier in your father’s guard!”
“They both are.” Catilina kept throwing items at them. “Full uniforms, in fact. The way I look at it, if you just keep the hoods up, you should be able to move around without being questioned unless you happen to bump into a captain or sergeant, and that’s not likely between here and the gate.”
Salonius blinked. “That’s brilliant.”
“Why thank you.” Catilina fumbled in her deep pocket, withdrew all the goods she’d stolen from the office and began to write on the two official papers with the charcoal pen. As she wrote, she looked up at the other two.
“Well? Get changed, then!”
As the two of them hurriedly changed into the black uniforms, Catilina finished her writing, placed the two lead discs on the floor and brought the hammer down on them, creating official seals. A moment with her flint and tinder and she melted the wax blobs onto the papers and added the lead seals.
Extinguishing the flame, she blew on the wax and as soon as it was dry enough, passed the two papers to Varro. He examined them.
“How the hell did you get all this?”
“What are they? Enquired Salonius adjusting the black cloak and pulling his boots back on.
“They’re dishonourable burial orders. They give us permission to take those two out and bury them in an undisclosed location. Strange, as there’s probably one of these papers already floating around somewhere with Corda’s name on it. These are really rare. They…”
He stared at the papers and up at Catilina.
“Very clever. No one’s going to stop two soldiers escorting bodies for burial with all the appropriate paperwork.”
Salonius nodded and, unfastening his tool roll, removed a shovel and a pickaxe. With a grin he tossed the pick to Varro who caught it and examined it.
“You do know that it’s not normal for digging tools to gleam that much!”
The young man laughed.
“We’ve got the uniform, the tools and the paperwork. Varro, we’re now a burial detail.”
Varro turned to Catilina.
“What about you?”
She smiled.
“I’ll meet you at the ford about a mile east. I’ve got my own papers, and it’s a determined guard who questions the daughter of the marshal. Now get going and I’ll see you in about an hour.”
“At the ford, then.” Said Varro as he helped Salonius load their burned onto the spare horse. “Burial detail: forward!”