Read Online Marius' Mules: Prelude to War by S.J.A. Turney - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: S.J.A. Turney
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scent of sweat and blood, cheap wine and fermented fish entrails, but Paetus’ senses were seeking one thing only. Even as he broke into a run to catch the two enemies at the bottom step, the thug let go of Clodius, propelling him up the stairs with a shout of warning as he turned to face the threat.
Paetus had to hand it to the man. He was alone, unarmoured and with only a stout length of ash for a weapon, facing four clearly very motivated killers, each with a naked blade - two of which already ran with blood, and yet his first priority had not been his own safety, but to look to the security of his employer.
Paetus waved for Saufeius to fall in at his shoulder, and the four men slowed, approaching the thug with an air of focused menace. Behind him, Clodius was moving up the stairs relatively slowly, holding one arm tight over his shoulder wound and using the other to haul on the bannister. For the first time, the mettle in the hireling’s eyes started to waver but, to his credit, he simply slapped the ash club into the palm of his hand.
‘Alright,’ he grinned humourlessly, ‘who’s first?’
Saufeius lifted his sword and made to step forward, but Paetus simply held out his arm to keep his lieutenant still and returned the man’s smile with one that contained even less mirth.
‘You can die here, cut to slices in order to buy ten more heartbeats for that sack of shit, or you can step out of the way and sign on with my lads. You’ll either spend tonight feeding the stray dogs from your belly-rope, or looking forward to a pay increase, a warm room and a jar of wine. Your choice.’
Paetus saw the indecision in the man’s eyes and for a moment seriously wondered whether the man would fight but finally, with a nod, the man lowered his club and stepped aside. Clemens moved next to him and nodded up the stairs.
Leaving his comrade with the club man to be certain of no attack from the rear, Paetus planted a booted foot on the bottom step and began to climb the staircase, slowly, implacably.
There was no safe way to leave the inn from the top floor. No doorways leading to outside stairs. Just windows with a twelve foot drop to hard stone. A fit man could manage it. Not Clodius with his wounded shoulder, his blood spattering across the timbers with each step. He was trapped. Paetus knew it and so did Clodius, yet his prey had no option but to keep climbing.
Time was pressing, of course. Soon the fight in the street outside would end one way or another and people would be coming into the building. If Milo’s gang won out, which was both Paetus’ fervent hope and solid expectation, then they would be chasing down the fleeing Clodius to make sure they ended him, now that things had come this far. If they did so and found Paetus and his men at the scene, things might go badly for him. And on the slim chance that Clodius’ men won in the street, then Paetus and his few might suddenly be surrounded by a far larger force and in serious trouble. But still, despite any restrictions some things in life had to be savoured. This moment had been so long in the making, Paetus had earned the right to relish it.
Keeping his footsteps deliberately unhurried and loud, he moved implacably up the steps, matching Clodius’ slow, wounded pace… hunter and prey. Inexorable. Monomaniacal. Deadly.
The light leaking in between the battered, peeling shutters from the street outside glinted menacingly on Paetus’ reddened blade as he climbed.
Clodius threw a frightened glance over his shoulder and his attempts to ascend redoubled. Taking his hand from his wound and allowing the blood to flow freely once more, the former master of killers and criminals - who had held Rome in a grip of iron for nearly a decade with the patronage of great men - staggered up the stairs in terror, both hands hauling on the bannister despite the agony it caused in his shoulder.
Paetus heard Saufeius and his companion on the stairs behind him, but his eyes
Paetus had to hand it to the man. He was alone, unarmoured and with only a stout length of ash for a weapon, facing four clearly very motivated killers, each with a naked blade - two of which already ran with blood, and yet his first priority had not been his own safety, but to look to the security of his employer.
Paetus waved for Saufeius to fall in at his shoulder, and the four men slowed, approaching the thug with an air of focused menace. Behind him, Clodius was moving up the stairs relatively slowly, holding one arm tight over his shoulder wound and using the other to haul on the bannister. For the first time, the mettle in the hireling’s eyes started to waver but, to his credit, he simply slapped the ash club into the palm of his hand.
‘Alright,’ he grinned humourlessly, ‘who’s first?’
Saufeius lifted his sword and made to step forward, but Paetus simply held out his arm to keep his lieutenant still and returned the man’s smile with one that contained even less mirth.
‘You can die here, cut to slices in order to buy ten more heartbeats for that sack of shit, or you can step out of the way and sign on with my lads. You’ll either spend tonight feeding the stray dogs from your belly-rope, or looking forward to a pay increase, a warm room and a jar of wine. Your choice.’
Paetus saw the indecision in the man’s eyes and for a moment seriously wondered whether the man would fight but finally, with a nod, the man lowered his club and stepped aside. Clemens moved next to him and nodded up the stairs.
Leaving his comrade with the club man to be certain of no attack from the rear, Paetus planted a booted foot on the bottom step and began to climb the staircase, slowly, implacably.
There was no safe way to leave the inn from the top floor. No doorways leading to outside stairs. Just windows with a twelve foot drop to hard stone. A fit man could manage it. Not Clodius with his wounded shoulder, his blood spattering across the timbers with each step. He was trapped. Paetus knew it and so did Clodius, yet his prey had no option but to keep climbing.
Time was pressing, of course. Soon the fight in the street outside would end one way or another and people would be coming into the building. If Milo’s gang won out, which was both Paetus’ fervent hope and solid expectation, then they would be chasing down the fleeing Clodius to make sure they ended him, now that things had come this far. If they did so and found Paetus and his men at the scene, things might go badly for him. And on the slim chance that Clodius’ men won in the street, then Paetus and his few might suddenly be surrounded by a far larger force and in serious trouble. But still, despite any restrictions some things in life had to be savoured. This moment had been so long in the making, Paetus had earned the right to relish it.
Keeping his footsteps deliberately unhurried and loud, he moved implacably up the steps, matching Clodius’ slow, wounded pace… hunter and prey. Inexorable. Monomaniacal. Deadly.
The light leaking in between the battered, peeling shutters from the street outside glinted menacingly on Paetus’ reddened blade as he climbed.
Clodius threw a frightened glance over his shoulder and his attempts to ascend redoubled. Taking his hand from his wound and allowing the blood to flow freely once more, the former master of killers and criminals - who had held Rome in a grip of iron for nearly a decade with the patronage of great men - staggered up the stairs in terror, both hands hauling on the bannister despite the agony it caused in his shoulder.
Paetus heard Saufeius and his companion on the stairs behind him, but his eyes
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