Tinder

[If this is your first visit please start at chapter one on the right]
[I apologize to my readers for the long delay between this and the last installment]

They had searched for the man for years and across continents. Finding him was the Order’s first priority, and they had expended enormous resources in their hunt. A description of the man had been sent to each of the Order’s hidden monasteries, and from these sanctuaries expeditions were outfitted at enormous expense, and sent out to follow the slimmest of leads.

The Order no longer had the wealth or power it once had. Every year its persecutors found more of its hidden refuges, killing the dwindling number of monks, and destroying the priceless archives that had been dispersed after the death of its great leader. But still the search went on.

Brothers were sent to every major trading post in the known world, and from each corner of the world rumors began to pour in--all contradictory.

The man had been spotted in Anatolia, killing a lion with his bare hands.

The man was in the lands of the Han, carving an empire for himself amongst the nomads in the great northern desert.

The man was in Persia and had killed a tribe of hillmen for insulting him.

…and on and on.

Rumors of an albino in Lanka caused the Hidden Abbots to send spies there in pursuit. They were certain he was the man they were looking for. They called in favors from the Malabar pirates, and mounted an expedition to retrieve the man. But it was all in vain. The man turned out to be an ordinary albino. Not the albino they were seeking.

The younger monks began to question the wisdom of the Abbots. Why were they expending such resources in this search when year after year their brothers everywhere were being hunted down and killed by enemies closer to home?

A clique of the Order’s brothers in Mathura attempted to assassinate the Kushan Emperor, their chief persecutor, in violation of the Abbots’ orders. They succeeded in burning the Emperor alive, but their triumph was short lived.

The next day the Emperor addressed his troops, miraculously unscathed, and declared an all out war on the Order. Even the monks’ strongest supporters in the city then abandoned them. The common people turned against the Order and informers betrayed the last of their refuges in that city; every last brother there was found and butchered.

Soon the great trading families began to refuse to honor the Order’s credit with them, and the Abbots began to lose control of their scattered enclaves.

But still the search went on.

Finally from the land of Crete, far to the west, came rumors of another albino. The man had single-handedly killed six men, before many witnesses. The Abbots had few resources left, but they used them; twenty of the best trained brothers were outfitted and passage for them was bought, at great expense, on a Malabari pirate dhow. The chief Abbot himself came down from his hidden mountain refuge to lead the expedition. He knew this would be their last attempt. If the man was not found, the order would die.

***

Marcus watched the young woman walking up the hill to their cave. She was carrying her usual load--a waterskin and a basket heavy with fruit and dried meat. And because he was a man, he also appreciated the way her hips swayed as she walked up the slope, and the way her shiny, black, waist-length hair fell about bare brown shoulders.

As the girl walked to the cave entrance, Marcus called a couple of his men from within the cave, and they emerged to relieve her of her burden. But the Romans were careful not to cross the invisible line, which, they had seen in the past, provoked the formicans to attack.

The young woman however walked between the giant creatures with impunity, and they gave her no more mind than they gave the rocks that were strewn about them.

“Is enough, this food and drink I bring you?” The woman asked in her broken Vandal dialect.

“Yes, thank you,” said Marcus. “But would you stay for a moment to talk to me?”

“Yes we will talk,” she said with a smile, but then she turned and began to walk back down the hill.

“Wait!” yelled Marcus, his frustration so great that he was tempted to run down the hill after her.

But the woman only turned and waved to him with a smile as she kept walking down the hill.

Marcus found himself annoyed with the woman once again, but he realized, with some embarrassment that he was also attracted to her. As he acknowledged to himself this latter bit of information, he thought briefly about Aula, back in Rome. And for a moment he again felt a stab of guilt. Not because of his attraction to this strange girl—after all he had lain with many women during his time with the legion, it was only natural for a man—but because he regretted not buying Aula’s freedom, and settling down with her, when she had still had her youth, as this girl still did.

“What troubles you Centurion?” asked Gracchus suddenly, startling him from his reverie.

“Eh? … Oh it is nothing … But tell me, how is it that a girl walks freely by those demons, and we, grown men, are still caged here like dogs?”

“Perhaps it is because we are grown men and not beautiful girls, Centurion.”

“Aye, she is beautiful, but I do not think it is that—though I wager we are ugly enough to provoke most beasts.”

“Speak for yourself, Centurion!” said Gracchus, laughing. He rubbed the weeks of gray stubble on his face and exclaimed, “I’m handsome enough to seduce a queen.”

Marcus appraised the battle-scarred face of his comrade and guffawed, “Perhaps a blind queen yes. But even then we would have to fill her nose with bees-wax, so that the stench of you did not drive her away.”

The other legionaries appeared to enjoy the joke as well, and they soon joined in the laughter, which Gracchus took good-naturedly.

And so they drank and ate their rations with smiles on their faces, and forgot for a short while the terrible predicament they were in.

***

Portensia pulled the hood lower over her face. It was unlikely that she would be recognized here in the tanner’s district, but it was best to not take chances. Spies could be anywhere, and while she did not fear for herself, she imagined that her brother’s man, Echus, who had fled the legion in Germanica, would not survive long if found by the Praetorians.

She would have liked to travel alone, but Aula insisted on accompanying her, and she brought one of their house cooks along to boot. The cook, Nigus, was a large, dark, and bald Spaniard, recruited into house Scipio by Aula many years before, and loyal to her.

“It won’t do for us to walk the streets of the city alone at night, my lady. And Nigus is a good sort and a mute as well. So you can be sure his lips will stay sealed.” Aula explained.

“How will a cook be of any help to us Aula? Will he smother our adversaries in gravy?”

“It brings me no small joy that my lady is in good spirits, and jests. But in this case, my lady, there is no need for mirth. My lady knows only of Nigus the cook. But before there was Nigus the cook, there was Nigus the Gladiator. I believe he will be quite adequate, my lady.”

“Someday Aula, you will have to give me a thorough history of all the slaves you have brought into my house. Next you will tell me my masseuse is a prince of Egypt.”
But jesting aside, Nigus the Spaniard did not disappoint. As promised he followed Portensia and her maid discreetly, and the few times a street ruffian or beggar got too close to the ladies, he quietly pulled back his cloak to reveal a legionary sword, which quickly warned off the miscreants. After witnessing the man’s quiet efficiency again and again, Portensia began to wonder why he still remained in the lowly position of a cook, after so many years. She made a note to herself to ask Aula just this question.

At last the three of them arrived before a small, open workshop—one which Aula had been directed to after making inquires that morning.

The workshop had a timber roof held aloft by stone pillars, but no walls. All around the covered area under the roof were low stone tables upon which lay various pieces of leather, which were in the process of being cut and formed for a variety of uses. The whole area was brightly lit by torches, although there were no workers in sight; only a solitary man with a stout club—clearly a watchman of some kind.

The man approached Portensia and her people when he observed them looking into the workshop. He may have been a soldier once, and his arms were still well-muscled, but his round belly, and the loose flesh around his jowls, belied years of easy living. Portensia suspected that he would not fare well against Nigus, if it came to that.

“You’ll have to come back when my master is here,” the watchman said gruffly, banging his club on the stone floor of the workshop, and looking nervously at Nigus.

“We are here to see Echus,” said Aula.

“Oh … yes. I did not expect so many. Come with me then.”

The watchman led them to the back of the workshop, where behind one of the stone tables there was a staircase leading into a cellar of some kind.

“He is down there.”

Aula looked down the stairs with some suspicion. There was a little light visible in the cellar, but not much, and she could not see what awaited them down below.

Nigus needed no instructions. He grabbed a torch off one of the walls and began to descend down the stairs.

“Hey, don’t take that torch …” The watchman began to protest.

But Nigus ignored him, and was already halfway down the stairs. Portensia and Aula followed him.

The stairs led into a fairly small underground room, which was clearly used to store animal skins. There was a very strong and very peculiar smell in the air, pungent and sharp but not unbearably so.

In one corner there was a bedroll on the ground, from which a man was already rising.

“My lady, excuse me for these dismal surroundings. I had little choice of refuge, and your brother instructed me to stay out of sight until I could contact you.”

Portensia looked carefully at the man. His face was familiar to her. She had a natural gift for faces and names, and after a moment she remembered where she knew him from.

“Echus, you accompanied my brother, the last time he visited us, did you not?”

“I did my lady. And I am flattered that you remember one as humble as I.”

“I thank you for your service to our house, Echus. The letter you delivered was invaluable.”

“I give my loyalty to the legion and to your brother my lady. I saw the Consul dead with my own eyes. And yet the next day, someone or something indistinguishable from the Consul, was giving orders to my comrades. If I had not seen Trivarius dead, I too would have believed your brother was a madman or traitor.”

“And you assure me he is not…mad.”

Echus looked intently at Portensia. “Do you think he is?”

“It is one possibility, and perhaps the easiest explanation.”

“My lady, I was there. You brother is not mad! They called him insane when he first brought news of the Formicans—and 5000 other men can now vouch for his honesty in that. In this, I admit, there is only my humble guarantee, but I was there. It was no dream. Trivarius was dead … and that damn Quaestor, and his infernal Nubian … they would have killed us… we lost our evidence.”

Echus began to shake violently.

“I traveled alone, my lady … a long way … to bring you this news. You MUST believe me!”

Nigus walked up to the man, and placing a hand on his shoulder said, “Calm yourself legionnaire.”

That small action was enough to transform Echus. He bunched his fists and straightened his back. “If you do not believe me, my lady, then your brother is lost.”

“Even if I do believe you, what can be done?”

“Give me horses and men. I get can get Tribune Scipio out, and once back in Rome, he can bring his case before the Senate.”

“Legionary, this Senate is not the one my brother remembers. House Scipio has little influence there now. Even if you could free my brother from the legion, Rome would be no safer. It may make more sense for him to head to Spain. Our uncle, Genucius Scipio, commands IX Hispana. He loyalty to our family is certain.”

“Then you will give me men and horses, my lady?”

“I must think more on this, and consult with my people. I will send word to you within a day. Be prepared to journey again.”

“I thank you, my lady.”

And with that Portensia turned and walked back up the stairs.

Before she followed her mistress, Aula walked to Echus and placed a bag of coins in his hand. “Thank you for your service to our family,” She said.

“That is not necessary.”

“It is not. But it is yours now, nonetheless. My suggestion is that you buy yourself some food and wine. Maybe even a woman. You must be ready to travel on the morrow, and likely you will not see Rome again for some time. You might as well enjoy her charms while you can.”

And with that Aula was gone.

Nigus stayed for a moment longer to pat Echus’ shoulder again. “Good man.”

Then he climbed the stairs after the women.

***

Becunus, the praetorian, walked with a spring in his step. The day had been one full of good fortune. He had been in love with a butcher’s daughter for many months, and finally they had gotten her father’s permission to marry. Then as a complete surprise, his future father-in-law had also offered to take him in as an apprentice! Becunus had always thought that the old goat had hated him, but praise Jupiter, he had clearly misread the man.

Becunus was overjoyed. In truth, though his position with the Praetorians paid well, the work did not suit him at all. He had joined the legions to fight as an honest soldier, but whilst serving amongst Senator Secundinus’ guards, he had seen and done many things which weighed heavily on him.

As a younger man he had desired wealth and station, but after several years of service his appetite for gold had diminished, and he had begun to look for a way out of the Praetorian Guard. Now he only wanted a quiet and honest life with the pleasantly plump butcher’s daughter by his side.

Just that morning his prayers were answered. At the Praetorian barracks, a scribe had offered to move his name onto the discharge lists, for a modest bribe. Becunus did not have the money to pay the bribe, but his future father-in-law had offered to loan him a sum to cover it.

So now it was just a matter of days before Becunus became a free man. He was overjoyed.

In his happiness he began to whistle while patrolling along Senator Secundinus’ compound wall. His comrade, Decoros, quickly became annoyed with him.

“Stop that you idiot. We’re to patrol in silence. You want to get us on latrine duty again?”

“I’m sorry, Decoros. It’s just that, well … it’s a good day.”

“Actually it is night, Becunus. You damned idiot! And if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish this shift in silence so I can get some gods damned sleep before we have to wake up for morning muster. The last thing I need is another late night latrine duty from that ass of a Centurion.”

“I’m sorry, Deco. I’ll be silent now.”

“Thank you. Jupiter! Now hold up while I take a piss. That fucking Greek wine was nine-parts water.”

Decoros leaned his pilum against the compound wall, and supporting his weight with an outstretched arm, began to pee against the stone.

Becunus turned away from his comrade, and looked up at the full moon that was in the sky.

“You know Decoros, a Greek I met in the market once told me that he believed the moon was an enormous glowing sphere, hanging in the heavens, and not the chariot of Goddess Luna. Do you think he might be right?” asked Becunus.

“You are an idiot. If the moon was a sphere, then how would it hang so pleasantly high in the heavens? Would it not fall down to the earth?”

“Yes I suppose you are right,” laughed Becunus.

And then, because he was so happy, he absentmindedly began to hum to himself.

“Fucking Pluto!” grunted Decoros.

“Well you needn’t overreact comrade, if my humming troubles you, I’ll stop it…” said Becunus, turning back to his comrade with a smile on his face.

He stood there for a moment in shock, his mouth hanging open.

Decoros was held against the wall, his throat open from ear to ear. Even now he was attempting to speak, but all that came out from between his lips was a bloody gurgle.

Holding him up was a black apparition.

No not an apparition, a man, naked save a loincloth, rubbed with charcoal or some other dark substance The man had no hair anywhere on his body, and his back was covered with a patchwork of scars, which showed up as raised silver streaks through the charcoal.

The Albino lowered Decoros’ corpse slowly to the ground. Then he turned languorously to face Becunus.

“Don’t cry out, praetorian,” he said.

But Becunus did not heed the man’s request; he opened his mouth to scream an alarm.

But before he could make a sound, the Albino moved like a flash of lightning in the moonlight, and everything went black.

***