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Some messengers had been lost back on the road between Scythia and
the advancing army camp. There was no trace of them, which was strange, because
there were no rebel forces known to be in that area. (Axilka had hidden the
bodies well, and they would not be discovered till long after.) Conversely, in
the hot rebel area known as the rough lands, no messengers had yet been reported
missing. The consensus seemed to be that Spartak only had a handful of men left.
Formidable opponents to soldiers on foot, to be sure, but the rebel gladiators
were not mounted, and so the despatch riders should have little to fear.
"Just go at a fast canter through the woods" suggested an older
rider who had already been up and down this road a few times himself in the
last few days. "A man on foot is no match for a fast rider. Save your
horse's energy for the woods. Then go like the clappers. The road is clear on
either side, and you'll see trouble ahead quite easily."
Barrak and Klepto heard the rider coming, but they were well out of sight of
the road. Even a skilled swordsman on foot would be a fool to challenge a
horseman. If they could have seen the road, they would have seen the messenger
suddenly rise out of his seat, as if lifted by an invisible hand. Meanwhile his
horse rode on. At first the horse speeded up, as its burden was released. Then
it turned around and looked back down the road. Like any sensible horse which
has no-one on its back, it suddenly noticed the grass at the side of the road
and started grazing.
Barrak and Klepto raced out from behind their cover, swords in hand. The
rider had twitched a few times after hitting the road, but was now lying still
at an unhealthy angle. When they reached him, it was obvious he was dead.
"You get the horse" said Barrak "I'll drag him away from the
road. Shame he's dead. Now we'll never know what message he was carrying."
"I doubt if he would be trusted to memorise it, and I don't think he
had time to swallow it" said Klepto dismissively. "It'll be written
down."
"Ah, the advantages of a navy education" sneered Barrak, so that's
why Spartak said you should come along.
Klepto ignored him. He had worked his way up to stealing ships from stealing
horses, and he had no intention of chasing this one half way round the
countryside. He approached the grazing mare in a semicircle from around her
front so he could be seen walking towards the sun, and so that the horse would
see him before his shadow.
"Good girl" he said, offering one hand to her nostrils and firmly
taking hold of the bridle with the other. He led her to a tree, and tied the
bridle securely to a branch before looking in the saddle bag. Rolled up in a
silk shirt, as he expected, was a message pouch sealed with a combination
padlock. The pouch was soft leather and would show any tampering. He wondered,
if traditions had changed much since his own officer days.
Barrak was very impressed a few seconds later to hear a click, as the
padlock opened, and then another, as Klepto snapped it shut again for
safekeeping.
"I take it back" said Barrak. "Education is a marvellous
thing. Can you show me that trick?"
"Maybe later" said Klepto. "They always said in our
communications classes, that you should change the combination from time to
time, according to the season, or some such. Hardly anyone ever did, which is
why the manufactured codes were kept secret from the lower ranks."
"You mean, they're all made with the same code?" Barrak was
genuinely surprised at this seeming stupidity.
"Not quite" said Klepto. "One code for the navy, another for
army, a third for diplomats. We were never told that one. Luckily, to avoid
confusion, in the case of messages sent between services, there was another
code. That was the easiest one to remember so I tried it first, and that was the
one which worked. Now we have the message" said Klepto, rolling it up again
and putting it inside his own shirt. "We should get his clothes off, before
he gets stiff."
"Is there any food in that saddle bag?" asked Barrak hopefully.
"Yes, but it's staying there until after Spartak has decided what to
do. Just give me a hand getting his things off. Do you want to ride the horse
back, or shall I?"
Barrak gave him a look which said he would rather fight twenty horsemen than
actually sit on a horse himself. When the rider was stripped, they dragged his
body under some ferns. Then Barrak retrieved Spartak's deadly cord which was
still taught across the path. He used it to tie everything in a bundle to the
saddle. When Klepto mounted the horse, she realised that her riderless freedom
had only been for a short time, and she readily gave in to his familiar demands.
"I'll see you back at the camp" said Klepto.
Barrak waved cheerfully at Klepto's receding back. Then, when he was sure he
had gone, he pulled out the small bag of food which the messenger had been
carrying, which he had removed from the bundle of clothes and hidden on one
side. Klepto may be good at stealing horses, and opening padlocks, but there was
more to life than that.
"Might as well have a little snack first" he said to himself
taking a swig of army issue watered wine.
Back at the rebel camp, Klepto found Axil and Spartak discussing the finer
points of strategy. He handed Spartak the message pouch first. He turned it over
admiringly, and then passed it to Axil, who wiped his hands first on his shirt.
Although worn and functional, the pouch was also a beautiful object with a gold
inlaid coat of arms. Axil held it up to the light.
"Where's the rider?" Spartak asked absently.
"Unfortunately he was more fragile than his message pouch" Klepto
replied. "His neck broke when he came off the horse. But the horse, as you
can see, is OK."
"Shame," said Axil, handing it back to Spartak, "I can't see
how we can open it without leaving marks"
"Oh well" said Spartak, "things don't always go according to
plan but we might as well see what it says." He was on the verge of
unsheathing one of his notoriously razor sharp swords.
Klepto realised what he was about to do, and intercepted the pouch before
any slicing could occur. "My apologies. I just didn't want the message to
fall out. He turned his back so they couldn't see what he was doing. There was a
click, and he turned back to show the pouch open.
"That's a good trick" said Axil visibly impressed.
"I must remember to count my swords when you go" Spartak drily
commented.
"What does it say?" asked Axil.
Spartak carefully unrolled the letter which was written on several sheets of
thick paper. He stared at it for a while, and seemed to be reading the same
first sentences over and over.
"I can't make sense of this," he sighed. "The words look
simple enough, but I can't understand what it's saying. It seems to be written
in some kind of confusing code." He offered it to Axil, who declined.
"If you can't read it, I've got no chance."
Klepto cleared his throat. "Perhaps I might have a go?" he
offered. "There's sometimes a kind of formal style to these communications,
which is rather stilted to the unitiated."
He took all the sheets, and quickly shuffled through them.
"Yes, just as I thought. The first couple of sheets are all formal
stuff, greetings, personal rubbish to establish the identification of the
sender, receiver etc. It's only on about the second and third pages, that you
start to get into normal Scythian. Ah here we are. Now that is interesting."
He gave Axil a significant look and went quiet for a few minutes. As he
continued reading. Spartak and Axil, waited patiently. He handed the sheets back
to Spartak, and pointed at the various pages to illustrate his commentary.
"This is a message from the governor's equerry Glotrix to his nephew
Spirax, who it appears was the commander of those soldiers who kept us perched
up that hill for so many days. It starts off by mentioning what's been happening
back in the city. The Etruscan ambassador, games. I'm sorry... you already know
about that part from Axilka."
Axil's face reddened with anger. Spartak looked Axil steadily in the eye, as
if to calm him. "It's all right," he said to Klepto, "do go on."
"It seems that Spirax had some standing orders, which are countermanded
by this letter. I'm guessing that after Axil killed us, the idea was to have
some sort of celebration with Axil's remaining men."
"Just as I told you" said Axil.
Klepto continued, "But then after that, you would have all been killed:
at night, I think."
Spartak's eyebrow raised a little, as if to say "I told you so."
"Anyway, all that has been cancelled because of this ambassador
business. His new instructions, after he's sure that Axil has despatched us, are
to avoid close contact for a couple of days, and to delay any action which might
involve fighting or killing..."
Surprised looks from both Spartak and Axil at this point.
"...avoid contact until all the big knobs, including Glotrix, the
ambassador, and governor Julian himself can arrive on the scene, to take part in
the Entertainment. That's the word the letter uses, not mine. The
entertainment which will consist of a pitched battle and hunt, after Axil and
his men have been suitably disarmed and drugged etc to reduce the risk to the
ambassador... Yes, well that's it really."
"Thank you" said Spartak. "It seems like that rider's death
was wasted. We don't need to change any part of this message. In fact, we have
to get it to commander Spirax without further delay. Who is the closest person
we have in appearance to the despatch rider in terms of size and age?"
"My guess would be Vargas" said Klepto.
"Tell him he's got five minutes to change himself into a presentable
despatch rider. He can ride a horse can't he? There isn't enough time to learn."
"Yes, he came from a good family. Poor but well bred."
"Before you go" said Axil. "I have a question. The name of
this Etruscan ambassador, for whose pleasure we have been spared for a few more
days. Does the letter mention his name?"
"Yes, I think it's mentioned here. Tiberian."
When Klepto had gone to round up Vargas for his new "volonteer"
mission, Axil and Spartak continued outstaring each other for a few minutes. In
the end Spartak broke the silence.
"You want to change the plan?" he stated.
"Only one small change."
"Tiberian?"
"All of them Tiberian, Glotrix and Julian. They must all be made to
suffer."
"They'll be strongly guarded. We can't guarantee the resources it would
take to kill them" cautioned Spartak.
"I didn't say killed. I said made to suffer. There must
be a way we can work this into the plan."
"Agreed" Spartak sighed. It was just one more detail to fit into
what already seemed like an intricate plan with too many parts which could
fail. But it would have to be done.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" asked Axil.
"No. If I did, my nights would get very crowded."
"I didn't mean ghosts of the men you have killed. I meant the ghosts of
the innocent. They talk to me all the time and ask how they can be avenged."
Spartak unsheathed his swords, and sharpened the blades on each other. "These
things I believe in. They have always been true. And I swear that I will help
you be avenged. But first, I'll have to give Vargas a shave."
Axil smiled. "I like the cold killer in you Spartak. When I feel the
heat of rage start to rise within me, and worry that it might cause me to slip
and fail, I take comfort from knowing that we cannot fail while you remain cool
and detached."
"Take comfort then Axil that Tiberian, Glotrix and Julian will rather
wish they were dead men. I will think of a way it can be brought to pass. But as
to my being detached? It is true, I have been very detached for a very long
time. But it was not always so. I once had warm blood in my veins just as you."
Vargas came in and rubbed his beard regretfully. He looked at Spartak's
drwan swords suspiciously. He had seen their effect many times. "Is this
going to hurt?" he asked. He didn't understand when Axil and Spartak both
burst into manic laughter. |
