Read Online Fists of Iron: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume Two by Nick Morris - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nick Morris
Tags: Fiction
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need another to hold him down.”
“Good,” said Belua, knowing that Neo could be relied upon in things that really mattered. The matter of holding down his old friend fresh in his mind, he pointed his head towards the unsuspecting Clodian.
Chapter 8
PHYSICIAN
Belua and Neo stood in the shade of the inn’s tattered front awning.
Belua knew The Inn of Mithras by reputation. A real shit-hole, it was rumoured that the cockroaches were the size of mice and the resident whores putrid.
After a brief enquiry in the bar it was revealed that Prudes had rented a room on the third floor at the back; the inn’s cheapest . Stood at the inn’s entrance Belua wrinkled his nose, the smell of stale sweat, piss and vomit wafting from the narrow street as the afternoon sunlit its shadowy recesses. In the adjacent alleyway a fat drunk was fucking a whore bent double against the insula wall. The whore kicked out at a stray dog that was licking her calf. The fat drunk didn’t miss a stroke.
“Do you think Clodian has had difficulty getting the right Falerian?” Belua asked.
“No,” replied Neo. “He’s a bright lad and the city’s busy. Don’t worry, he’ll be along.”
“Perhaps I should have gone?” said Belua, starting to feel edgy.
“You really like him, don’t you?”
“It’s what I’m paid to do.”
“After all these years you think I don’t know you at all.”
“None of your Greek logic please.”
“I think the young noble brings out the best in most people. “
“Even a sour bastard like you?” said Belua, uncomfortable that Neo saw through him so easily.
“Even me,” said Neo. “He has a keen eye and an enquiring mind. I can imagine he is much more comfortable with a stylus in his hand than a sword.”
Before Belua could respond, Neo pointed to a figure dodging through the crowd towards them. It was Clodian. Looking flushed and a little breathless, he handed Belua the small amphora he’d been holding tightly against his chest.
“It’s the dark Falerian, the strongest the inn-keeper had,” said Clodian, looking pleased with himself.
“Good,” said Belua, before suggesting, “perhaps I should have just a small sip to confirm its strength?”
It was halfway to his lips before Neo prised the amphora from his grasp, stating firmly, “No need for that. What I’ll add to it will finish what the wine cannot. I suggest you get on with it. We’ll wait here until you summon us.”
Belua pushed back his shoulders and headed into the inn. Worried about what he‘d find, he was sure a swallow of the potent wine would have helped.
The inn was busy. All the wooden tables were occupied by a selection of early drinkers. There was a smattering of artisans, and a group of gladiators joking loudly. Sat in one corner was a brace of Nubian sailors, their skin the colour of ebony. A whore draped herself around the more sober of the two, one hand coaxing her breast to his mouth. Belua took it all in without breaking his stride to the stairwell. The steps creaked under his weight and he headed to the third floor without pause.
Stepping over a sleeping guest he stopped at the entrance to Prudes’ room. A filthy drape covered the doorway. The smell of stale body fluids from the interior was overpowering.
Swallowing his gorge he went in.
Feeling the muscular legs tense beneath him, Clodian bore his weight down on the knees as instructed. Belua gripped Prudes’ shoulders. He watched, fascinated, as Neo reached for a curved blade; honed to a razor edge. The blade was eased beneath Prudes’ damaged arm just above the elbow. A thin leather strap was fastened tightly around the bicep. Neo said that it would restrict the flow of blood and prevent Prudes from bleeding to death when the first cut was made.
Prudes’ eyes were half closed and Clodian thought that he was lapsing into sleep. The wine with the tincture Neo added to it had quickly done its work. Prudes wore a ragged tunic, its
“Good,” said Belua, knowing that Neo could be relied upon in things that really mattered. The matter of holding down his old friend fresh in his mind, he pointed his head towards the unsuspecting Clodian.
Chapter 8
PHYSICIAN
Belua and Neo stood in the shade of the inn’s tattered front awning.
Belua knew The Inn of Mithras by reputation. A real shit-hole, it was rumoured that the cockroaches were the size of mice and the resident whores putrid.
After a brief enquiry in the bar it was revealed that Prudes had rented a room on the third floor at the back; the inn’s cheapest . Stood at the inn’s entrance Belua wrinkled his nose, the smell of stale sweat, piss and vomit wafting from the narrow street as the afternoon sunlit its shadowy recesses. In the adjacent alleyway a fat drunk was fucking a whore bent double against the insula wall. The whore kicked out at a stray dog that was licking her calf. The fat drunk didn’t miss a stroke.
“Do you think Clodian has had difficulty getting the right Falerian?” Belua asked.
“No,” replied Neo. “He’s a bright lad and the city’s busy. Don’t worry, he’ll be along.”
“Perhaps I should have gone?” said Belua, starting to feel edgy.
“You really like him, don’t you?”
“It’s what I’m paid to do.”
“After all these years you think I don’t know you at all.”
“None of your Greek logic please.”
“I think the young noble brings out the best in most people. “
“Even a sour bastard like you?” said Belua, uncomfortable that Neo saw through him so easily.
“Even me,” said Neo. “He has a keen eye and an enquiring mind. I can imagine he is much more comfortable with a stylus in his hand than a sword.”
Before Belua could respond, Neo pointed to a figure dodging through the crowd towards them. It was Clodian. Looking flushed and a little breathless, he handed Belua the small amphora he’d been holding tightly against his chest.
“It’s the dark Falerian, the strongest the inn-keeper had,” said Clodian, looking pleased with himself.
“Good,” said Belua, before suggesting, “perhaps I should have just a small sip to confirm its strength?”
It was halfway to his lips before Neo prised the amphora from his grasp, stating firmly, “No need for that. What I’ll add to it will finish what the wine cannot. I suggest you get on with it. We’ll wait here until you summon us.”
Belua pushed back his shoulders and headed into the inn. Worried about what he‘d find, he was sure a swallow of the potent wine would have helped.
The inn was busy. All the wooden tables were occupied by a selection of early drinkers. There was a smattering of artisans, and a group of gladiators joking loudly. Sat in one corner was a brace of Nubian sailors, their skin the colour of ebony. A whore draped herself around the more sober of the two, one hand coaxing her breast to his mouth. Belua took it all in without breaking his stride to the stairwell. The steps creaked under his weight and he headed to the third floor without pause.
Stepping over a sleeping guest he stopped at the entrance to Prudes’ room. A filthy drape covered the doorway. The smell of stale body fluids from the interior was overpowering.
Swallowing his gorge he went in.
Feeling the muscular legs tense beneath him, Clodian bore his weight down on the knees as instructed. Belua gripped Prudes’ shoulders. He watched, fascinated, as Neo reached for a curved blade; honed to a razor edge. The blade was eased beneath Prudes’ damaged arm just above the elbow. A thin leather strap was fastened tightly around the bicep. Neo said that it would restrict the flow of blood and prevent Prudes from bleeding to death when the first cut was made.
Prudes’ eyes were half closed and Clodian thought that he was lapsing into sleep. The wine with the tincture Neo added to it had quickly done its work. Prudes wore a ragged tunic, its
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