“I guess I’m out of practice,” Decimus replied, taking a deep breath and trying to focus his gaze on Carbo.
“Can you see okay?” Carbo asked. Decimus replied with a grin.
“I can see that you’re still one ugly bastard,” he said, prompting Carbo to raise his hand as if to cuff him on his non-injured ear. He then thought better of it and helped his friend to his feet.
As the legionaries started to round up prisoners, Valens walked over to where the woman he knocked unconscious still lay. He sheathed his gladius, leaned his shield against the wall, and knelt down beside her. She was fairly young, with a pretty face accentuated by a small nose and rather short blonde hair. He lifted her up underneath the arms, causing her to stir. She instinctively reached up to where the side of her head was started to swell and turn purple from the blow of Valens’ shield. She looked around confused, her eyes then filling with horror as she caught sight of the legionary’s face. The girl let out a scream of terror as she scrambled to get away from him. In her daze she stumbled and fell onto the corpse of the man who had given his life to save her. This elicited further shrieks and an unending wailing as she clutched his body and sobbed uncontrollably.
“Valens, shut that harlot up already!” Artorius shouted as he looked over his shoulder at the commotion. Valens let out a sigh and tried to coax the girl off the body.
“Come on,” he said in a low voice. She refused to move and only sobbed louder.
“Valens!” Artorius shouted at him again, “quit fucking around back there! Get that bitch up here with the rest of them!” Valens grimaced hard, took a deep breath, and grabbed the young woman by the hair.
“I said come on!” he shouted as he dragged her away. She continued to scream and tried to reach for the slain man as the legionary pulled on her hair even harder. Valens cringed as he felt some of her hairs rip from her scalp as she stumbled along in his grip. The rest of the slaves were placed in a line on their knees, their hands bound behind their backs. Valens dropped the girl at the end of the line, took a length of rope from one of Praxus’ legionaries, and bound her hands.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said quietly. The girl looked at him, her eyes swollen and stained with tears, and started to curse at him in a tongue unknown to him. Valens took a step back and turned to see Magnus watching.
“What did she say?” Valens asked, rightly suspecting that his Nordic friend understood.
“I’ll tell you later,” Magnus replied, smacking him on the shoulder and signaling for them to leave. The urban troopers had taken charge of the prisoners until it was decided what to do with them. Their commander came out of the house that stood next to the now smoldering stockade.
“Sergeant Artorius!” he shouted, recognizing the young Decanus, who in turn walked over to where the man stood in the doorway to the house. “You’re going to want to have a look at this; bloody nasty mess in there.”
“The slave owner?” Artorius asked as he stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The urban commander just shook his head.
“Down here, third door on the left.” They stepped in to find the body of a man sprawled out on a bed, his head severed from his body, blood saturating the bed and pooled on the floor.
“Shit!” Artorius swore.
“It gets better,” his companion replied. “We found his wife and infant child butchered in similar fashion, along with a pair of slaves.” His morbid curiosity getting the best of him, Artorius walked quickly down the hall and almost tripped over one of the decapitated slaves. He then saw one of the urban troopers leaning against the next doorway, his head bowed. The Decanus then decided that he had seen enough and he turned about and walked as quickly as he could without running away from the horrific sight.
Outside, Heracles’ slave who had led them to the alley was hyperventilating, his face soaked in sweat as the horror of his predicament overwhelmed him. His femur was splintered and he was pinned to the post by the Roman javelin. He knew not what to do, panic consuming him; he soiled himself as he saw a pair of enraged legionaries walking briskly over to where he stood.
“Son of a bitch!” Gavius swore as he punched the man across the mouth. The slave fell to the ground, his leg now twisted as it was held in place by the javelin. Gavius drew his gladius and placed the point on the side of the whimpering slave’s neck. Carbo quickly grabbed him by the wrist.
“Not this way,” he said as his friend struggled in his grasp. “Someone sent this bastard; we need to find out whom.” As he pulled Gavius to the side he whispered into his ear, “then we can exact a little payback.” Gavius nodded in reply and sheathed his weapon. He then bent down and wrenched the javelin from the post and the man’s leg. The slave gave a fresh cry of pain and then rolled to his side, clutching the mutilated limb.
Legionary Felix stood panting as he caught his breath. His eyes then fell upon a brutally injured woman; a javelin had mangled her shoulder, splintered bones jutted from the gaping wound.
“Please…” the woman whimpered, “make the pain stop.” Felix glanced over at Sergeant Praxus, who nodded affirmatively. The young soldier then took a deep breath and knelt beside her. She was very young; scarcely even a woman. She was hyperventilating, her face doused in sweat, eyes fixed on Felix.
“Such a waste,” he said quietly as he placed the blade of his weapon and the side of her neck and pulled back hard, slicing the artery. He stood immediately and walked away. In the past, killing had given Felix a sense of raw power, as if he were playing the role of a god. This was different. Those he had killed during the rebellion of Sacrovir and Florus had all be enemy combatants; people who had made war on Rome and had therefore forfeited their lives. This woman had not made war on Rome. She was part of an armed mob yes, but something just did not set right with the legionary. He then thought that perhaps he pitied her because she was so young, and indeed had been very pretty, even while covered in blood and gore. Felix then realized he had never killed a woman before and thought perhaps that played with his emotions as well. After all, he did not believe that women should be combatants in war; it just was not right. He further suspected that this particular woman had been an unwilling combatant.
“You alright?” Praxus asked, placing a hand on his shoulder and walking beside him. The legionary’s face was covered in sweat. Felix removed his helmet and ran his hand through his hair.
“I’m confused, Sergeant,” he replied. “A beautiful young girl like that, part of an armed mob. Doesn’t make sense; somebody forced these slaves to attack us.”
“I know,” Praxus acknowledged. “But fact of the matter is they did attack us.”
“I never thought that women belonged in battle,” Felix said as they continued walking. Praxus gave a short, mirthless laugh.
“There are many things you need to learn then, young legionary. In parts of the world women serve as warriors; not just the men. Know that a woman’s hand, properly trained, can kill you just as well as any man’s.”
“Well look at what we’ve got here,” Magnus remarked as he walked up to the men. Gavius and Carbo both gave a wicked grin. “Bind his hands and drag his pathetic ass over to the Principia.”
“You got it,” Carbo replied. Magnus then walked over to where Artorius was leaving the slave master’s house. His face was pale and the Norseman surmised what his Decanus had seen.
“Pretty bad in there?” he asked. Artorius nodded in reply.
“Fucking brutal,” he remarked. “Someone decapitates the man, his family, and servants, releases the slaves and forces them to attack us; doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well I think we may have some answers soon enough,” Magnus replied, his piercing blue eyes taking on a dark and sinister gaze.
Erin sat trembling, tears flowing freely down her bruised and swollen face, a trickle of blood running from the top of her head and passed her right eye, which was swollen nearly shut. Her hands were bound behind her back, her head hung low. The sight of her slain husband was burned into her mind. He was not even armed, having thrown down his club in his defiance of their ‘liberators.’ And yet the soldiers still killed him. All he had done was tried to protect her, and he had paid with his life. Erin sobbed and cursed her fate that he was dead while she still lived. She swore blasphemous oaths towards the legionary who had killed him; his supposed mercy towards her a fate worse than death. In her sorrow she wobbled sideways and bumped into another slave woman, who shoved her away hard with her shoulder.