I just stopped myself from snorting. Immortals were the offspring of a god, or goddess, and an ordinary human. Supposedly, they could not die of illness or old age, although, as there were ways in which they could be killed, their claim to true immortality was suspect. They were reputed to have certain magical powers. There were hundreds of temple stories, religious-based myths, about how gods and goddesses came down from their heavenly home in Elysium to seduce mortal men or women, but oddly enough all such stories seemed to be about the past. From time to time someone would
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come forward to proclaim themselves an immortal, but they were always ultimately exposed as a fraud.
Once Achates started to talk, the story came pouring out of him as though he was glad to be able to tell someone. Mir Ager, he said, was brought into the prison cells unconscious, with a lump on the side of his head. The moment he showed signs of regaining consciousness he was chained to the interrogation table, in itself a form of torture because the table was covered with uneven protuberances that dug into a man's spine. He'd answered the first question, a request for his name, readily enough: they could call him Mir Ager, he said. But when they asked other questions, he refused to reply, or gave smart-tongued answers.
Regius then ordered Achates to take the cane and beat the soles of the man's feet, which he did. After a while Achates had the strange feeling he wasn't actually touching the man at all; that the cane was stopped just short of him, as though an invisible sheet of glass covered his feet. The beating certainly didn't seem to disturb Mir Ager. It didn't even seem to mark him.
Regius became irate at the lack of reaction from the prisoner. He ordered the irons heated and said he was going to put out one of Mir Ager's eyes to see how he would enjoy that. Mir Ager showed no signs of worry. Then, when Regius held the red-hot iron up and began to cross from the fire to the interrogation table, there was a flash of light and the iron suddenly melted, dripping molten metal all over Regius's hand. Mir Ager laughed and none of them doubted the Kardi had been responsible.
They left him on the table that night and returned the next morning. Regius was in terrible pain and
ready to tear the Kardi apart. They walked into the cell to find Mir Ager had managed to free himself from the manacles that had held him. They were in pieces all over the floor, as if they had been cut. The wooden bar on the iron-reinforced door was almost broken through – and the bar was on the outside. True, there had been a crack between the door and the door jamb, but it was just that: a crack. Wide enough for a papyrus sheet to have slipped through, nothing more. Yet Mir Ager had been within a whisker of breaking out of the room.
None of them could discover how he had done any of it. After that, they doubled the number of chains he wore.
Regius wasn't about to try heated irons again after what had happened the day before. Instead, he ordered the Kardi to be suspended from the ceiling by his arms, with his feet off the floor. Then a weight was hooked onto his foot-manacles so that it, too, was off the floor. By this time, they were so rattled by the man's abilities none of them wanted to stay and watch. They left him like that, alone, for half an hour while they waited outside. When they re-entered, at the very least they hoped to find him subdued, if not begging for mercy. Instead, he was sitting on the floor, unhooking the weight. The chain they had hung him from had snapped in two.
Again Achates licked dry lips. 'We was real scared, Legata,' he said. 'Me and the other assistant was begging Rego to forget the whole thing, but Rego was as riled as a fly-blown gorclak. So we doubled the chains and hauled the bastard up again. We'd barely finished, when the whole room was filled with light, golden light. The pain of it was terrible, real bad. And Mir Ager told us – in a voice as calm as a woman nursing her
babe – that he was taking his pain and giving it to us, for as long as he hung there. I sprung to the pulley chains to let him down, right quick, I can tell you, and not even Rego objected.'
They'd talked it over among themselves then, and decided they didn't want to try again. They chained the Kardi in a cell with every chain they could find, put a guard permanently outside and told the Commander that Mir Ager had been tortured and wasn't talking. A day or two later he was executed by burning. Rego died two weeks later, his hand all swelled up green and nasty.
And that's the truth, Legata,' Achates said, 'so help me. It's not my fault if it sounds like one of them folk myths 'bout numina, You asked for the truth, and you got it.'
T believe you, Achates. I can't explain what happened, but I haven't the slightest doubt you have told me what you think you saw.' I looked across at Brand to see his reaction, but his face was impassive. 'Is there anything else I should know? What conclusions did you come to about his character?'
'His character? Ah, he was used to being the cock on the midden heap, that one. Looked at us as though we were dirt specks on the floor.'
'Highborn?'
T would say. Proud bastard. Brave, I'll give him that. He was heaped about with chains, lying in his own muck, given no food, but he could still laugh at us as though we were the bastards in trouble.' He gave a wary glance in Brand's direction. 'Legata, if T could have a word with you in private, like -'
I nodded at Brand, who rose and left the room. 'Yes, what is it, Achates?'
'If you want to know more, ask the Prefect's wife.'
I blinked. 'The Prefecta? Why would the Domina Fabia know more?'
Achates gave a sly smile. 'She's a whore, Legata, begging your pardon. One of them women who can't get what they need from their man. She pretends she's as pure as a virgin, but she likes to lay with the dirt. She pays me to bring her down into the cells when the need is on her – wraps herself in one of them Kardi travelling cloaks – and she wants the condemned men, no less. The worse they are, the better she likes it.'
I gave no sign of surprise. I'd heard stranger stories about even more unlikely people; it was the kind of thing those of the Brotherhood often learned about others. 'She came and asked for Mir Ager?'
Achates nodded. 'She'd already seen him. She was at the slave auction and he took her fancy then. Couldn't have suited her better when he ended up in the cells, condemned to death. She came down the day before the burning. I didn't want her to go to him, not after all that had happened, but she can be a nasty bitch.' He shrugged. 'So I let her have her way. After all, he had enough chains on him for a whole coffle of slaves and I checked to make sure they was tight. I let her into the cell and waited outside, like I always do. Usually she comes out looking like a legionnaire that's just had the free run of a brothel, but not this time. She was as white as fruit-pith. Reckon he'd just about scared the piss out of her. She hasn't been back since. Ask her about him, and see what you get. But don't say I was the one as told.'
'The Brotherhood never reveals its informants,' I said. 'All right, Achates. That will be all. See that the other man I want to talk to is sent in, will you?'
Brand ushered the second legionnaire in a moment later. His name was Ciceron, a centurion nearing
retirement who obviously resented having his competence called into question by a member of the Brotherhood – or, for that matter, by anyone. 'That Mir Ager died,' he said flatly. 'He was burned to death. This man who's wandering around creating problems for us elsewhere is someone else. I reckon Mir Ager is just a title. When the first one died, another took it over. There's no mystery, no fantastical escape, still less the resurrection of a dead man.'
'Why was there so much smoke at his execution?' I asked neutrally.