Grumbling under his breath, Urceus followed Quintus. Ten steps in, he stopped dead. ‘This is human shit underfoot. Filthy Syracusan arse-lovers.’
‘Keep going. There isn’t any where I’m standing,’ lied Quintus. By the time that they emerged at the far end of the alleyway, he couldn’t stop chuckling.
‘You bastard. I’ll get you back for this,’ warned Urceus, doing his best to wipe the excrement off his sandals.
‘You can try,’ retorted Quintus, enjoying the moment’s light relief.
Jinking down alleys whenever they could, they made reasonable progress. The noise of metal hitting metal, and men’s screams, drew nearer. Quintus felt his stomach clench, the way it always did before he went into battle. He eyed Urceus, who was licking his lips. ‘It won’t take long, eh? With so many of us inside the city walls, the Syracusans won’t have much stomach for a fight.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ It seemed that Urceus wasn’t looking forward to it either, because his gaze slid sideways. ‘Look! A wine shop. The door’s open too. Why don’t we have a swift drink? Just one. It’ll knock the edges off us.’
‘Aye. Why not? The battle can wait a while longer,’ Quintus replied. The wine might blank out some of the appalling things he’d just seen.
But what they saw inside drove all thoughts of wine from their minds.
A man lay slumped against the counter, his head on his chest. One hand was cupped protectively over his belly. Blood oozed between his fingers, coated his mail, stained his pteryges scarlet. A glistening red trail on the floor reached to his feet, marking his path from the spot where he had been stabbed.
Corax.
Quintus’ gaze shot around the room, but he saw no one. Spitting curses, he raced to Corax’s side. Urceus was one step behind him. They knelt, glancing at each other in fear. ‘Is he dead?’ whispered Urceus.
Quintus reached out and touched Corax’s cheek. It was cold, but not deathly so. With great care, he tipped the centurion’s head back. There was a low clang as Corax’s helmet touched the wall. He moaned, and his eyelids flickered. Quintus and Urceus exchanged another look, hopeful this time.
‘Sir?’ murmured Quintus. ‘Can you hear me?’
Corax let out another moan. ‘Should have … should have known …’
‘It’s me, Crespo, sir. Jug’s here too.’
One corner of Corax’s lips pulled upwards. ‘Crespo. Jug …’ A moment later, he opened his eyes. ‘Take my helmet off. It feels as if it’s made of lead.’
Quintus hurriedly undid the chinstrap and lifted the helmet off Corax’s head. Underneath, the centurion’s felt liner was drenched in sweat.
‘That’s better,’ muttered Corax.
‘Let me take a look at your stomach, sir,’ offered Quintus, his hands reaching for Corax’s belt buckle.
‘Leave it.’ A trace of the familiar iron had reappeared in Corax’s voice. ‘I’m done.’
This time the look Quintus and Urceus shared was despairing. ‘Are you thirsty, sir?’ Quintus asked.
‘No.’ Corax managed a little chuckle. ‘It’s ironic to die in a wine shop without even getting to taste what it has to offer. Ah, Crespo, you were right. I should have known.’
Black fear slithered around Quintus’ stomach, but he dared not vocalise it. ‘I don’t understand, sir.’
‘That Pera was a murderous dog.’
An incandescent rage darkened Quintus’ vision. He heard Urceus’ voice asking, ‘Pera did this to you, sir? Not some Syracusans?’
‘Pera. It was Pera. He lured me in here with a simple ruse, promising the finest vintage he had ever tasted. Like a fool, I sent my men away, told them I’d find them later.’ Corax coughed. There was fluid on his breath. ‘He stuck me the moment we were on our own. I never had a chance.’
Quintus wanted to find Pera and slice him to pieces, but he knew in his gut that the centurion was long gone. ‘Why did he do it, sir?’
‘Because … because of the hold I have over him. He’s scared that Marcellus will find out he’s a mollis.’
The friends gasped in unison, in shock. Love of another man was outlawed in the army.
Pera must also have hated that Corax had defended him, Quintus decided. Guilt scourged him.
‘I never imagined that another centurion would kill me …’ Corax’s voice died away.
Quintus thought for a moment that Corax had gone. Hot tears ran down his face. Urceus was in a similar state. ‘He was the best damn centurion in the whole Roman army,’ he whispered.
Corax took a shuddering breath, visibly rallied himself. ‘You’re good men, both of you. Promise that you’ll get Pera for this. I’d hate to go thinking that he got away with it.’
‘I’ll kill Pera if it’s the last thing I do, sir,’ swore Quintus.
‘Same here, sir,’ said Urceus fervently.
Satisfied, Corax closed his eyes. A moment later, he shivered. ‘I’m cold.’
Quintus could see nothing in the room that they could use as a blanket, but by the time his gaze had returned to Corax, it was too late. The centurion had stopped breathing. His eyes had opened again, and had a glassy look to them. Quintus checked for a pulse, but there was none. He bent to Corax’s lips, to let his soul leave his body.
‘He bled out.’ Urceus’ voice was tight with emotion. ‘Bled out, like a stuck pig.’
‘That fucking whoreson Pera will pay for this,’ said Quintus. ‘Even if I have to hunt him for the rest of my life.’
‘You won’t be alone.’
Both of them wept for a time. There was no shame in it. They had been through so much together, and Corax had always been there to lead them. He had been a permanent feature in their lives, like a great sea wall upon which the waves endlessly break. No matter how bad the situation, they had been able to depend on Corax. The disasters at Trasimene, Cannae and, more recently, Syracuse, had not shaken his resolve. And now he was gone, just like that. Murdered by one of his own. It was so damn pointless, thought Quintus bitterly. Pera would die for what he had done.
When they had reined in their anger and grief a little, they laid Corax out on the floor of an empty storeroom with his hands folded on his chest.
‘Let’s hope that none of our lot touch him,’ said Quintus, knowing that some soldiers wouldn’t think twice about taking something as fine as Corax’s sword.
‘With a bit of luck, they’ll be more interested in the wine. No Syracusans will come in either. They’re all too damn scared. Corax will rest here until we can come back for him.’
Quintus nodded sadly. ‘Aye. We need to find the rest of the maniple. Tell them what happened.’
‘The gods help Pera when we tell the lads. They will want to tear him limb from limb.’
‘We might get lucky and come across him somewhere. I’ll offer up a prize bull to Fortuna if we kill him today,’ swore Quintus.
‘Make that two bulls. And if we don’t find him, well, some Syracusans will do instead.’ Urceus laughed unpleasantly.
Quintus recognised the same ugly feeling in himself. He wasn’t interested in slaying unarmed civilians, but if there were enemy soldiers to lay in the mud, that was a different matter. It wouldn’t bring back Corax, but it would release some of his overpowering rage. In a savage way, harking back to ancient times, it could be considered a sacrifice in the centurion’s honour. After that, Quintus wanted wine. More wine than he had ever drunk in his life.
Then, if Pera wasn’t already dead, he, Urceus and those who wanted to be involved could begin laying their plans. It was a matter that they, the ordinary soldiers, would have to solve for themselves, for there was no way of proving what Pera had done. The knowledge that his comrades would want to help did little to ease Quintus’ pain, which pressed like a heavy weight on his chest. But it gave him a focus, for which he was grateful. Without it, he would have been lost. Keep breathing, he thought. Keep walking. Do as Corax would have wished. Stay alive.