Hyperborea (Veteran of Rome Book 4), page 17
It took him a while before he could reach the bar but when at last he did, Marcus reached out to grip the owner’s arm in greeting. The tavern owner was a huge hulk of a man, a full head taller than Marcus. He looked around forty.
“Good to see you again Marcus,” the owner said with a little welcoming smile. “Was not expecting to see you so soon though. I presume you have come back for the anniversary parade?”
“The parade?” Marcus frowned.
“To celebrate the sixtieth anniversary of the founding of Londinium,” the tavern owner replied. “Surely you have not forgotten? The parade takes place tomorrow afternoon. The whole garrison is taking part. That’s why all the boys are in town.”
“Of course,” Marcus nodded.
“So do you like what I have done with the tavern?” the innkeeper said.
Fondly Marcus turned to look around, as the crowd inside the inn settled back down. “My father would be horrified,” he said jokingly. “He used to drink here, before you bought the place.”
“This a Batavian tavern now,” the owner said sharply, “No legionaries in here. No beggars and no thieves neither.”
“Quite right,” Marcus said, nodding in agreement, as he took a sip of beer from a cup that had been thrust into his hand.
For a moment he said nothing as he stared at the boisterous crowd. Then he turned to the bar owner and his face grew serious.
“I found Lucius,” he said. “He’s dead. I was going to hand him over to the authorities but he preferred death.”
The tavern owner’s face darkened as he looked down at the wooden bar. Then he nodded.
“I am glad. He had it coming,” the owner growled. “Him and his wretched brother Bestia. What Lucius did during that rebellion was unforgivable. How did you find him?”
“I met Hedwig,” Marcus said. “He’s living in Aquae Sulis. He said he’d seen Lucius and I followed the trail to the lead mines.”
“Then Fridwald and the others have been avenged,” the owner said quickly pouring himself a large helping of wine and downing it in one go. “Here is to all those, whom we have had to leave behind.”
Marcus raised his cup in a salute and for a moment the two of them were silent.
“I am afraid I am not here for the parade,” Marcus said at last. “I am looking for someone and I need your help. I need to find a woman called Emogene. She is a druid. I have been told that her husband may live in Londinium. His name is Meryn. He’s a Caledonian and he used to be a slaver. He must be around a forty-five and he has got tattoos across his chest and shoulders.”
The tavern owner grimaced as he paused to think. Then he shook his head.
“No, can’t say I know them,” he replied, “But if you are looking for information Marcus, then you should speak to Honorius. He’s a retired official from the harbour master’s office. He knows everything that is going on in this town. Maybe he can help you.”
Chapter Twenty-four – Nothing is what it seems
As he strode down the street leading towards the bridge that spanned the Thames, Marcus could not help but be impressed by the sheer scale of the city around him. Londinium was huge, noisy and growing; alive with activity; people thronged its streets and wooden scaffolding was everywhere. Along the water front, cranes were hoisting cargoes from the bellies of sea-going ships and, facing the street the long, narrow strip houses lined the road in endless rows. And rising behind him Marcus could hear the stone masons at work on the largest Forum north of the Alps. The huge, magnificent, brand-new stone market square that dominated the skyline, rose above the city, several storeys high, as it neared completion, and in places the fine red, roof tiles had already been set in place.
A squad of soldiers from the city garrison were on duty at the entrance to the bridge as Marcus and Cunomoltus joined the queue to cross. A column of wagons, laden with amphorae and newly felled tree trunks, was trundling into the city from the south and out on the river, Marcus could see that the tide was in. More ships, their sails stowed, rode at anchor in the middle of the river, whilst a constant procession of smaller craft plied between them and the harbour, transporting their valuable cargoes to and fro.
“There he is,” Cunomoltus muttered as he and Marcus started out across the bridge, heading towards the south bank. “That’s look like him.”
Marcus said nothing as he caught sight of the old man with grey hair, who was leaning against the side of the wooden bridge, staring at the ships on the river. A boy of no more than eight was lounging at his side.
“Are you Honorius?” Marcus called out as he approached.
The old man slowly turned to gaze at Marcus and Marcus saw that he was blind in one eye. For a moment the retired harbour official studied Marcus carefully.
“I am,” he replied at last, “who wants to know?”
“The Batavians in the Mule told me where I could find you,” Marcus replied, as he stopped beside Honorius and turned to gaze eastwards across the river. “I was told that you are the man who knows everything that goes on in this town.”
Honorius gave a dismissive shrug. “Maybe, maybe not,” he grumbled.
“I will make it worth your time,” Marcus said, as he opened his hand to reveal a couple of silver coins. “I am looking for a woman. A druid. Her name is Emogene. Also her husband. His name is Meryn. He’s a Caledonian, about forty-five and he’s got tattoos across his chest and shoulders. Do you know where I can find them?”
Honorius glanced down at the coins in Marcus’s hand. Then he turned to look at Cunomoltus before his attention drifted back to the traffic on the water.
“Not many druids around these days,” he muttered. “You boys slaughtered them all.”
“Can you help or not?” Marcus growled impatiently.
“Well go on, take the coins, boy,” the retired harbour official snapped at the boy standing at his side. Marcus frowned as the boy reached out and swiftly snatched the coins from his hand and slipped them into his pocket. The boy looked up at him with a fearless, confident and innocent expression and Marcus was suddenly reminded of the gangs of children, who spent their days as pickpockets in the crowded streets and shops.
“You are either brave or foolish,” Honorius muttered, as he stared out across the river, “I do not know any woman claiming to be a druid who goes by the name of Emogene. However, there are three criminal gangs who control Londinium. One of them controls the harbour, one of them runs the traffic on this bridge and the third owns the territory around the Forum. The man you seek is the leader of the gang that runs the harbour front over there. His gang are called the Reds.”
Honorius gestured at the cranes. “A word of warning, Batavian,” Honorius continued quickly. “These gangs are dangerous. They are constantly fighting each other for territory and they don’t like people prying into their affairs. Every day the authorities fish a body from the river or find them dumped down some alley. Anyone whom dares cross these men, they just disappear, so be careful. These criminals have no respect for rank or status, rich or poor.”
“Thank you,” Marcus said. “So where can I find Meryn?”
“He likes to hang out in the Gay Crab,” Honorius replied, “The tavern is over there amongst the harbour warehouses. He uses it as his base. His gang take a cut from every sea captain that wants to ship out or land their goods in the city. Any captain who refuses will soon find his cargo floating away on the tide, if you know what I mean.”
Marcus nodded his thanks as he turned to stare at the jumble of buildings and alleys that lined the river front. Then, gesturing to Cunomoltus, he started back the way he had come.
On the bridge Honorius watched them walk away. Then slowly he turned to the boy.
“Go and warn Meryn that someone is looking for him,” he growled.
***
The Gay Crab stood squashed in between two large warehouses only a dozen paces from the water’s edge. The bawdy sign above the entrance looked like it had seen better days and from his vantage point under the bridge, Marcus could see the two armed gang members, loitering outside the doorway. Marcus tightened his grip on the solid, wooden beam that held up the bridge and which had been driven into the soft riverbed. The piles, upon which London bridge rested, became exposed when the tide was out. Marcus bit his lip impatiently. There had been no sign of Meryn and he’d already identified six gang members. They seemed to relieve each other every hour. But time was not on his side. Soon the tide would start to come back in and then he would be forced from his vantage point. Where was Emogene’s husband? Where was the bastard?
It was morning and over his head Marcus could hear the rattle and creak of wagons, the thud of horse’s hooves and voices. Out in the river, a battered old sea-going craft was being unloaded and the stinking smell of rotting fish-sauce, garum, filled his nostrils. Wearily Marcus wrenched his eyes from the tavern and gazed out across the placid river. At full tide the Thames became a giant, half a mile wide and along its southern bank the sand banks, creeks, waterways and mud flats were covered by reeds and swarms of migrating birds. Only the higher land directly opposite the bridge, Southwark, seemed to contain buildings. As he stared at the traffic on the river, a dripping wet, river rat scuttled past him.
At the door to the Gay Crab there was sudden movement. A man had appeared and was speaking to the two gang members. He had his back turned to Marcus but there was no mistaking the blue tattoos that snaked down both his arms. Marcus muttered something to himself. Then the man turned to stare at a ship that lay at anchor in the river and, as he did, Marcus caught a glimpse of his face. It was Meryn. The man looked exactly as Fergus had described him. With a final word to the gangsters, Meryn started to walk away along the harbour front. Marcus took a deep breath and emerged from his hiding place. Keeping a respectable distance between himself and Meryn, he started to follow him. The gang master seemed in no hurry as he wove a path along the quays, pausing here and there to speak to the merchants, workers and slaves. As he passed a fast-food shack selling roasted chicken legs, Meryn was beset by a group of children whom he fended off with a laugh and a wave. In an alley the gang master paused to have a word with a prostitute, affectionately running his fingers down her face. Marcus grunted as he pretended to inspect the food in the shack. The way Meryn was treating the prostitute suggested that he’d not seen his wife for a long time.
When Meryn reached the end of the harbour, he paused and turned to glance idly in Marcus’s direction before suddenly ducking into an alley and vanishing from sight. Marcus frowned as he closed in on the entrance to the alley. Carefully, he glanced around but no one seemed to be paying him any attention. Quickly he turned and snatched a look down the alley. It was deserted except for a pile of discarded building material and it seemed to end in a solid stone wall. Where the hell had Meryn gone? Marcus leaned back against the wall as he pondered what to do. Then boldly he stepped into the alley.
The dank passageway was just wide enough to allow a single person through at a time and the stone walls stank of stale piss and here and there graffiti had been scratched into the stones. Swiftly Marcus advanced down the alley until he reached the stone wall. There were no doors anywhere but close by, the stone wall bulged outwards, forming a narrow ledge a yard or so from the ground. How could Meryn have just disappeared? What was going on? Confused Marcus turned around and touched the cold stones. Then he looked up. A small window loomed right above him but it was too high for him to climb up to, even if he had ten fingers. Marcus squinted. The window however seemed large enough for a man to clamber through but how had he got up there? A sudden pang of unease made itself felt. Had he walked into a trap? Hesitantly Marcus turned and started back the way he’d come but it was too late. A figure had appeared at the entrance to the alley. He was quickly followed by another and then another. As the men came towards him Marcus swore. It was Meryn. The gang master was smiling broadly but there was nothing friendly about the way he was staring at Marcus.
“That’s far enough,” Marcus growled in warning as his fingers came to rest on the pommel of his sword.
Meryn caught the movement and paused. He was a big man and although older than Marcus, he still looked agile and formidable. Behind him were four, unfriendly looking men, armed with swords, clubs and knives.
“Did you really think that I wouldn’t notice you following me along the harbour front,” Meryn snapped. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“I am looking for Emogene, your wife.”
The gang master’s eyes narrowed and his face darkened.
“My wife?” he growled raising his eyebrows in surprise, “What do you want with her? Who the fuck are you?” he cried, as he took a step forwards and angrily yanked a knife from his belt.
Marcus drew his sword and pushed his left leg forwards and raised his sword arm. “One more step and I will gut you,” he said in a calm, dangerous voice.
Meryn hesitated.
“No one comes into my part of town without showing me their respect,” he hissed. “So I will ask you one final time. Who are you?”
“I have business with your wife,” Marcus growled, “And if you tell me where she is I will let you live.”
Meryn shook his head in mock confusion. “What,” he cried out, “You think you are going to kill me, you piece of useless, pig shit. Have you forgotten where you are? Look around man, it is you who is trapped, not me. It is you who is not going to leave this alley alive.”
Marcus flung the stone he’d picked up from the ground straight at Meryn, striking him squarely in the face and forcing him backwards with a howl and as he did, Marcus, leapt onto the narrow ledge of the protruding stone wall and with a mighty effort flung himself across the narrow alley against the far wall. Desperately his hands and elbows grasped hold of the top of the wall and he heaved himself upwards and over the top, losing his sword in the process. The force of his lunge was just enough however and with a cry he went tumbling over the side of the wall and into space. He landed heavily and for a stunned moment, he lay on his back staring up at the sky. Blood was oozing out of a wound to his head but he felt no pain. On the other side of the wall, men were shouting, cursing and yelling. Grimly Marcus forced himself up onto his feet and hastily looked around. He’d lost his sword and there was no question of making a stand now. Hastily he yanked his Pugio army knife from his belt. He was in a small courtyard filled with wooden barrels and a single doorway. Without hesitation he launched himself at the door and crashed through it into a long, dark hallway. A stark-naked woman was coming towards him. As she caught sight of him clutching his knife, she screamed. Marcus pushed her out of the way as he stumbled on down the hall, searching for the exit. As he fled down the passageway one of the door’s ahead opened and a naked man appeared, followed moments later by a woman. Marcus shoved the man back into the room as he blundered onwards. Behind him, he heard someone shouting and ahead someone opened a door, caught sight of Marcus and quickly closed it again.
The corridor ended in a reception hall with large erotic paintings adorning the walls and Marcus suddenly realised he was in a whorehouse. A fat madam and a younger man had risen from where they had been sitting behind a table. They looked at Marcus in alarm and the man was reaching for a club.
“No,” Marcus shouted at the man as he ran towards the entrance door, “No, you will not.”
And the force and tone in his voice made the man hesitate. Marcus flung open the door and poked his head out. The harbour was as if nothing had happened and there was no sign of Meryn and his men. With a grunt, Marcus forced himself out through the door and quickly melted away into the crowd.
Chapter Twenty-Five - Cunomoltus’ Woman
The crowds lining both sides of Watling street were in an excited mood as they craned their heads to get a glimpse of the military parade coming towards them. Further down the street, just out of sight, the noise of the roaring, yelling and clapping crowd was steadily drawing closer to where Marcus and Cunomoltus stood hidden amongst the throng of expectant spectators. Marcus, the hood of his cloak pulled over his head, looked annoyed.
“They will be watching the Mule by now,” he hissed turning to Cunomoltus, “Meryn knew I was coming. Someone warned him.”
“I bet it was that prick on the bridge,” Cunomoltus muttered, “I didn’t like the look of him or that boy with him.”
“I should had seen that coming,” Marcus snapped angrily, “Now the task has just got a whole lot harder. Meryn will be on his guard. He will be well protected and he will probably know who we are by now. How long will it be before he either finds us or leaves the city?”
“Marcus, I have an idea,” Cunomoltus said suddenly, but just as he was about to explain, the crowd around them suddenly broke into a loud cheering roar.
Coming towards them down the empty street was a lone Imaginifer, standard bearer, his helmet and armour covered by a bear skin. The soldier came on at a steady walk, proudly clutching a small, round shield and in his other hand holding up the Imago standard, a wooden pole bearing the image of Emperor Trajan. He was swiftly followed by three Vexillari, legionaries with wolf skins covering their helmets and armour and holding aloft the Vexillum standards of the Twentieth Valeria Victrix, Ninth Hispana and Second Augusta Legions. As they approached the spot where Marcus and Cunomoltus were standing, some in the crowd broke out into loud ecstatic cries, as they flung small garlands into the path of the soldiers.
“Hail to the divine Emperor Trajan. Hail to our brave, conquering legions. Hail to the gods who protect us!”
The standard bearers were followed by a column of cavalrymen walking their horses down the street, three abreast, with the riders’ faces completely covered by their beautiful yet sinister-looking ceremonial, cavalry masks.
The cavalrymen were followed by the stern-looking Governor of Britannia, riding on horseback and accompanied by his staff and, as they clattered down the street, Marcus suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of hissing from some within the crowd. And close by, a bold spirit dared to shout a curse. The Governor however, did not seem to have heard and kept his eyes fixed firmly on the street ahead.
