Penelope's Secrets

Flashback 200 years

The Frying Pan...

Scythia, on the way to the army camp. Axil, Vargas and Spartak started to veer left of the road when they got within a few miles of the army camp's last known location. Spartak's plan was that they should steer round the edge of the likely patrol perimeter and aim to hit upon the camp from the other side.

"They don't know precisely where we are, but they'll have made a good guess as to our relative whereabouts" Spartak explained. "This way, we can avoid being accidentally discovered by an enthusiastic patrol."

"What if we do meet up with one?" asked Vargas

"Our mission, tonight, is not to kill unnecessarily" Spartak replied. "So we'll do our best to avoid trouble. But if contact is unavoidable... we'll just have to make sure there are no survivors."

Axil grinned at that. He had been behaving strangely, even for a berserker, Whenever they passed by a dead tree, he would stop and snap off the driest twigs, which he was saving in a canvas sack. But apart from that and the frying pan, Vargas could see no other sign of culinary provisions. Axil had also cut and trimmed two long staves, which Vargas and Spartak carried across their shoulders. But unlike the stakes and spears with which he was familiar, the ends of these poles had not yet been sharpened, so their purpose wasn't clear.

They came across two patrols on the way. But because they were both relatively large and noisy, they heard them in advance and it was easy to lay low until they had passed.

Long before darkness had fallen, and now that his legs had straightened out again, and his backside was no longer numb, Vargas began to recall whistfully his earlier journey on horseback. Hooves had definite advantages over feet, when it came to travelling long distances, he decided.

They rested within sight of the camp fires, for a few hours, taking watch in turns, until it seemed that nearly everyone was asleep. It was about two o'clock in the morning when Spartak gave the signal to go in.

This time, he explained to Vargas, the plan was simple. Vargas would lead him to the commander's tent. They would go in quickly and get the commander out. Anyone else in the tent, or who got in their way, would have to be silenced. Axil, would meanwhile create a diversion on the other side of the camp as soon as he could get there. There would be no time for delay, and they would meet again with Axil back here.

It was child's play...

The canvas wall of the tent parted silently like silk under Spartak's razor sharp blade. Parting the folds carefully, Vargs looked inside. In the flickering candle light he recognised the aid de camp playing dice with two guards who should have been standing outside. This was the wrong part of the tent. Closing the flap, Vargas took Spartak's wrist and tapped three times with his finger. Three taps, meant "three to kill." Vargas' own task was to go for the captain. Everyone else in the tent would die.

Spartak carefully changed places with Vargas, while holding the slit closed to avoid starlight going in. Then he looked through for himself. Three men. That was easy. No complicated decision needed about who was whom. Spartak would go in first.

He waited for the next throw of the dice. All eyes inside the tent were on the rolling cubes. But before they had come to rest Spartak was inside, swords flashing. The aid and the guard with his back turned both got heavy cuts to the back of the neck. The guard who had just cast the dice had only just registered his score, when he saw his two companions lurch forward, and something in the shadows also looking at the dice.

"Three sixes? Lucky throw..." Spartak commented conversationally. Before the guard realised that his companions were dead, and not just drunk, he lost his chance to cry a warning or defend himself.

Swipe... one sword removed his hand, while...

Swipe... the other removed his head.

Spartak heard muffled sounds from the other part of the tent on his left, and ran through to join Vargas. Through the dim light in the corner he could see two bodies hald hanging out of the camp bed. One, a growing dark stain in its back, was female, presumably a whore. The other, had a cloth jammed into its mouth. That must be the commander - Spirax. Vargas had stunned him with the hilt of his sword.

Together they hauled Spirax off the bed, bound him securely with Spartak's fine rope and secured his gag. Then they rolled his body into a blanket, and taking one end each, carried him out through a new exit which Spartak sliced casually in the wall of the tent. There was no one outside.

The bundle started to kick and squirm by the time they had reached the edge of the camp. Luckily the gag held. Spartak had tied the commander's legs bent up behind him with a loop around his neck. Spirax must have been a quick learner because he soon stopped struggling. Either that, or he had passed out from lack of air. So another blow to the head was not required.

By the time they had carried the dead weight of the the trussed up commander back to the rendezvous point, they started to hear a growing commotion from inside the camp. Axil had severed the guide ropes holding up a line of tents. For good measure he had also thrown in a few brands, which he lit from the glowing camp fires. And, as his dripping axe testified, when he came bouncing back, he'd had some other fun along the way.

Collapsing tents and fires were common hazards in tent cities, and at first the soldiers had thought that these were accidents. Then when they saw the widespread confusion, and no sign of an enemy, they thought that maybe some of their companions had got drunk and were playing a practical joke. That was until they started to find the bodies. As Spartak had expected, there was an additional delay when the army suddenly found it had lost its leader, whereupon the new chain of command had to be located, woken up and reordered.

By then, the body snatchers had made a stretcher to which they rebound Spirax, who was, still alive. Spartak and Vargas took one handle each, at the front. Axil took both at the back. They started off at a brisk march away from the camp. It would be light before their tracks could be clearly followed, and that still left them plenty of time...

When they stopped and uncovered the blanket from around his head, Spirax was surprised to find that his captors removed his gag as well. But he kept silent. He would wait for them to speak first. His men were probably a long way beyond summoning. After blinking to clear the dust from his eyes, he saw three men. One, was stoking a small fire and arranging it to heat up a frying pan, as if he were preparing to cook breakfast. Another, he didn't recognise was sharpening the end of of the two poles which he guessed they had used for his stretcher. The third, who had unwrapped him, looked vaguely familiar.

When the second man finished sharpening one end of both stakes, he used the haft of a double handed battle axe to ram one vertically into the ground.

"Careful with that" warned the man with the frying pan.

"If it doesn't duck, I won't miss" replied the man with the axe. Then he measured out a couple of paces and rammed the other stake in too. Spirax expected the man to start sharpening the uprights, but after leaning on the poles and testing their firmness, the man seemed to regard his work as done. When he turned around and stepped over to Spirax, he was able to see him clearly from the front, with that familiar double scabbard profile.

"My name is Spartak. We haven't met before, except through intermediaries at a distance, but I used to know your uncle Glotrix. Please listen carefully to what I have to say. We want to make arrangements for your army to meet our men at a certain location which should be easy for you to find in four days' time. My friend here, Axil..."

Axil looked looked up from his frying pan and smiled. Then he spat into the pan which hissed.

"...and his friends, have a score to settle concerning the butchery of their wives and children, and some other plans which your uncle and the governor had in mind for them."

Spirax understood, and suddenly remembered where he had seen the other man before. The messenger! That meant the rebels could intercept and decipher his messages.

"I didn't have anything to do with it." He stated flatly. "I was at the bottom of that damned hill fighting you."

"I know" agreed Spartak. "That's one of the reasons we're going to leave you alive. However, we do need to know that our message about where and when we are to fight your army units when they regroup, is clearly understood and followed."

"What makes you think we would even consider fighting you on your own chosen terms?"

Spartak sighed, as if he was weary of this discussion.

"Because, they are the only terms we offer. However, I realise that you may need some better arguments. My friend Axil here has found that revenge is a very good motivator. He thinks that your family and associates need to get more personally involved in this decision."

"Give me your message and be done with it" said Spirax, who guessed some of what might be coming. They would probably rough him up a bit. They could have killed him earlier.

"My men will pick up your trail and will be here soon. You'd better clear off."

"We intend to make it easy for them" agreed Spartak. "We'll make sure that the fire is smoking nicely when we've gone. Even your army scouts should be able to spot that. But first..."

He cut the rope binding Spirax's legs. But because his circulation had stopped, his thought did not convert quickly enough to deed, and he wasn't able to kick out before Spartak and the "messenger" grabbed a leg each and dragged him towards the upright stakes. Axil was humming a tune cheerfully. He left the frying pan on the fire and came over.

"My name is Axil" he said. "I want you to remember that. Axil, the Axe-Killer. And I want you to remember this little message about where we will fight you in four days' time. I myself, will be there in person. I guarantee that. You do understand what I'm saying?" asked Axil smiling, and now humming again.

"Yes" said Spirax to pacify him. But secretly Spirax thought that the man might be slightly demented. He seemed to be rambling, and had a crazed look. He couldn't see the point of this discussion. So he just waited for Axil to go on.

"You're a lucky man Spirax, because I promised Spartak not to kill you. But we really do want you to meet with us and your army and finish things off tidily in person."

Spirax couldn't take much more of this nonsense.

"I would advise against it. It's not sound military tactics."

"Neither is torturing women and children" hissed Axil. "Still, you do have a valid point. It wouldn't be sound from the military point of view, even if you outnumbered us fifty to one."

That was a disturbingly accurate guess... Spirax thought. That definitely confirmed they had been reading his mail.

"The problem is, that even if you did agree to meet us now, you might change your mind later. So I'm hoping that your uncle and companions will also think it's a good idea to get things over and done with quickly. There's nothing like the support of your family and friends when you're making a difficult decision. As I said, the message is very short and simple, but I'm still worried you might forget it after we've gone. Memory is a tricky thing. But luckily there are some things you don't forget. So I'm going to give you a few reminders to jog your memory in case you've forgotten our little discussion by the time your men have got here and you're safely back in your camp."

Axil went off to retrieve his axe from where Spartak had left it standing upright on its heavy end. Then the "messenger" cut away the rope which tied his arms. They too were dead. Spartak grabbed his left hand and tied it quickly to his side. Meanwhile Vargas pulled his right arm straight on the ground and stood on the forearm.

Spirax knew then that they were going to cut off his right hand. But he wasn't too worried about that. His uncle was rich, and he knew that the surgeons in New Rome were even able to regrow a whole arm, if the family connections and price were right. He could put up with a little pain. But in fact he felt remarkably little when, as expected, the blow came. It surprisingly hurt more when they cauterised the stump with the heated up blades of Spartak's swords. Somewhere in the background he heard the mocking sizzle of the frying pan as Spartak and Vargas tied a cloth over his stump to quell the bleeding.

He only started to worry when Axil walked around the stakes at his feet and pulled out a knife... he had stopped humming now, and the mad look had left his eyes. He seemed to be saner.

"Do you know what they did to my wife?" asked Axil calmly while pulling up up Spirax's night shirt. Spirax could guess only too well, and was starting to get worried now.

"But don't worry. I'm not going to rape you."

Spirax felt a rough hand grabbing his private parts which had given him so much pleasure only a few hours earlier. A sick cold dread washed over him like a wave. There were some things, he knew, which even the surgeons in New Rome couldn't grow back. They had been the subject matter of ribald jokes when he was a cadet.

Vargas now realised what the frying pan was for. he wanted to look away, but despite himself he continued to watch as Axil carefully removed and fried the commander's balls in a juice of his own blood.

Axil started humming again, even more merrily. He brought the frying pan over so that Spirax could see it.

"The Scythian army serves up such delicacies, don't you think?"

Spirax was revolted when he saw Axil pick out a crisply fried sweetmeat and put it into his mouth.

"Quite tasty" said Axil. "Much better than salami. Shame we've only got a limited supply. Would you like to try one?"

To his horror Spirax observed that Axil was looking directly at him.

"Shame to waste it" Axil continued.

He tried to keep his mouth closed and his jaws clamped firmly shut, and he struggled in vain for what seemed like forever. But in the end, with his nose held tight, and one of them holding his stump, and hands pushing at his mouth he could not resist the force of the three of them, as he knew he could not even before the next part came.

He tried not to taste it when something hot and meaty went into his mouth and so, despite himself, he had to swallow to avoid the taste of his own fried flesh. they jammed his partly cooked, amputated hand into his mouth after that and tied a gag around it. Axil wiped out his pan with some grass while Spartak and Vargas piled greenery onto the small fire to make it smoky.

"We'll have to be going now" said Axil. "But I do so look forward to seeing you again in four days close by that other hill. You won't forget now or change your mind will you? Cheerio."

When they had gone Spirax didn't know whether he should wish for his men to find him quickly and discover his disgrace, or come later and find him safely dead. Axil. That was the name he would never forget, if he lived. And he couldn't get that irritating humming out of his mind. He was still humming that tune when the first scouts arrived...

The gladiator trio had to take an even longer detour around the camp this time, because the patrols would be scurrying over a wider area after last night's events. When they eventually got back to their own camp, even though he was exhausted, Vargas insisted on washing Axil's frying pan himself before anyone used it to cook supper.

"Take as long as you like" beamed Axil. "I'm not as hungry as you two. I had the advantage of a cooked breakfast."