Act 2, Chapter 3 of The Ashes of Rome
“They’ve vanished,” I muttered.
“They’re here. We must simply keep searching,” Brennus replied.
We stood within the city of Rome, our forces having entered through the unguarded gate shortly after sunrise. The air was still and heavy, and nowhere had we seen any sign of a living person. The hush held as we crept street by street into the city, weighing on our souls and turning what should have been victory shouts into murmurings of unease. It was like—
“The gods spirited them away!” Garamaros whispered.
“Stop that!” I smacked the back of his head.
Garamaros jerked away. “What other explanation could there be? A whole city, just…gone!”
The sound of shattering crockery from a nearby home was as loud as thunder. Immediately, Urus and Iestinus dashed through the door and into the gloom. Shouts and the sounds of more crockery shattering came from within. I was just about to step in and lend a hand when they emerged. The look of disgust on Iestinus’s face contrasted with the huge grin Urus wore. The big man’s hand was clamped around a—
“A chicken?” I asked.
Urus’s grin grew huge. “I’m going to keep her!”
“She’d be better in the cookpot!” Garamaros said, then roared with laughter.
Urus’s face darkened. “Try it, and I’ll put you in the cookpot, Gar.” He looked back at the chicken. “I’m going to call her Cluck, and she can sleep in my tent.”
“I’m going to call her supper,” Iestinus jibed.
“You’d better hope Boudia doesn’t mind sharing her man with another woman!” someone shouted.
The laughter broke the tension and, while silence still reigned over the city, it was no longer oppressive. It was probably my imagination, but the sunlight suddenly seemed brighter.
“Right, time to get back to the task at hand,” Brennus ordered, giving Urus a look that said he’d had enough of his distractions for the moment. “Talos, Garamaros, you’re with me. Iestinus, you and Urus find Lukotorix and Boudia. I want each of you who was here previously to lead a group through the city. The gods-cursed Romans have gone to ground, and it’s your job to find out where.”
With nowhere to store his newfound friend, Urus stuffed Cluck into his tunic for safekeeping. Her head popped out a moment later, and she peered around, but seemed content with her lot. Within moments, he and Iestinus had disappeared in search of the others.
Brennus clapped me on the shoulder. “Come, let’s be about this.”
✸✸✸
“They’re ghosts or gods.”
I rolled my eyes. “Brennus, why did we bring this fool?”
Brennus chuckled. “What he lacks in intellect he makes up for in other ways.”
“Sheer ego?”
“I’m standing right here,” Garamaros protested.
I returned to the object of our scrutiny. “I suppose not all of the Romans hid from us.”
Gar and I had led Brennus and four others through the city toward the Forum and the Curia Hostilia, where we had spoken before the Senate. The thought of that snake, Marcus Fabius Ambustus, cowing his fellow Romans still rankled. As we neared the Forum, the architecture around us changed. These were the homes of wealthy Romans, positioned closer to the seats of power on the Palatine and Capitoline Hills, as well as the Forum itself. Many of them boasted porticos leading to their entrances or even colonnaded walkways.
Here and there under these roofs sat figures. Hoary-headed, stoop-shouldered, white-bearded, and garbed in white robes, they sat with preternatural stillness. At first, I’d taken them to be statues, although I did not recall seeing them on our previous visit. That illusion was broken when I realized they were breathing. Not statues, then. Not likely gods, either, I thought, unless the Romans were hoping to inspire us to conquer the entire city.
Not once did they glance at us as we passed. They stared into space or at one another. Not once did they move, other than to take air into their lungs and then to expel it. No one so much as scratched his nose. The amount of effort it took to appear so impervious was monumental. Maybe they were something more than mortals after all.
“Why are they sitting there?”
“Who knows why the Romans do anything, Gar? Leave them alone and let’s see what else we can find.”
I led our little group forward, most of us casting bewildered glances at the old men as we passed. The Forum was much the same. Silent old men sat here and there, some on canvas chairs, others on ivory stools. All wore the same white robes and refused to so much as acknowledge us. Eventually, it was too much for one of our number, a young warrior named Manta.
We were approaching the Curia Hostilia through the Forum. I led, with Brennus and Garamaros behind. The others in the group followed a bit more slowly, watchfully, although we’d seen no one other than the silent old men the entire way. Suddenly, a glint of sunlight high up on the Capitoline Hill caught my eye, but when I paused to look more closely, I saw nothing. My pause was all that was needed to set things in motion. Manta had stopped close to an old man with the thickest beard I’d ever seen. It fairly glistened in the morning light.
Looking away from Capitoline Hill, I saw trouble as it started. Manta stared at the man and his beard, eyes wide and wondering. Slowly, he reached out, fingers splayed. The old man stared past him, with eyes only for whatever he saw in the distance.
Manta’s hand connected with the man’s beard and gently stroked downward, fingers sliding through the luxurious hair. The Roman cocked his head, and I saw something in his rheumy eyes. It was not fear, nor was it anger. It was outrage.
As Manta’s hand came away from the man’s face, the Roman raised an ivory rod and cracked Manta in the side of the head. The blow echoed through the Forum, and everything seemed to stop. Manta’s face went slack with shock, and then I saw the anger blossom. His spear came off his shoulder, but I was powerless to do anything to intervene. Manta’s mouth opened wide in a shout of anger, and the spear blade plunged into the Roman’s torso with a wet squelch. The old man’s eyes widened, and he grabbed at the haft, trying to push away the weapon that was eating his life. His knees buckled and his eyes glazed, before he finally fell to the floor.
A man’s voice broke the silence. “Barbarians!”
I looked and saw a man standing before an ivory stool, a dark rod clutched in his hand. Something about him was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. Brennus led me closer to the Roman, and I suddenly realized who it was: Marcus Fabius Ambustus, father of the three betrayers at Clusium and chief architect of our current situation. I couldn’t suppress a grin. The gods were definitely with us if they were putting the old man in our path.
“Pontifex Maximus, we meet again!” I greeted him.
He looked surprised to see me at first, but then anger blazed in his dark eyes. “You!”
My grin widened. “This is quite a different reception from our previous visit.”
“You bastards,” he raged. “You think you’ve won? The gods will rain their vengeance down on you for your temerity!”
“Which gods? Seems to me that yours aren’t particularly keen on putting in an appearance. In case you missed it, your army is no more. Your city is in our hands. Your people are in hiding.”
He only glared at me. Then Brennus pushed past, and I saw Marcus’s eyes widen.
“Marcus Fabius Ambustus, Pontifex Maximus of Rome, let me introduce you to Brennus, war leader of the Senones, beloved of Clutoidā, and chosen of Senonos.”
“Barbarian titles and barbarian gods,” Marcus spat, but I could see the fear in his eyes.
“Think what you will,” Brennus said. “Your opinion carries as much weight as a goat’s fart on a mountainside.”
Marcus drew himself up at that, although he reached barely to Brennus’s nose. “I—”
“Be silent.” Brennus poked one finger into Marcus’s chest, and the Roman’s jaw snapped shut. “Where are your sons? They must answer for the betrayal of the truce and the murder of my brother.”
A small smile crawled across Marcus’s lips. “High above your reach.”
I remembered the glint of sunlight on the hillside. “The Capitoline Hill!”
“So, that’s where your people went,” Brennus muttered. He glanced up at the hill towering above the Forum.
Marcus sneered. “Try as you like, you’ll not breach those defenses.”
“An impressive place, certainly, but far too limited to support your entire population.” He took in the elders scattered around the Forum. “You are the sacrifice.”
“Do what you will, you bastards! By our blood will the gods grant our people victory!”
Brennus threw back his head and laughed. “We’ll do as we like, but I would wager that your sacrifice has more to do with limited supplies and your inability to be of any use to the defenders above.”
Marcus glared but had little argument against the truth. “Kill me, then. Get on with it!”
“I think not. When we leave here, you will remain, alive and a burden on your people. I want you to witness the consequences of faithlessness.”
“You’re a coward!” Marcus raged.
“Talos, take Garamaros and check the defenses of this Capitoline Hill. Be swift about it,” Brennus ordered before turning back to the patrician. “No one can claim any act of mine is from cowardice. You will live as you have lived: a parasite. But let us make it plainer to your fellows what you are, hmm?”
Quick as thought, Brennus had his sword drawn. With one glittering slash, he severed Marcus’s left leg at the knee. The old man cried out and toppled to the cobbles, blood fountaining from his stump. Another slash, and Brennus took his right hand. Marcus screamed and clutched at his mangled limbs, but Brennus was not done. He held the tip of the sword to Marcus’s throat, and the man choked back his screams. “I leave you one hand and one leg. A diligent man might yet find a way to give more than he takes. Perhaps you can still be an example to your sons.”
✸✸✸
“Gods above and below,” I breathed.
“You said it.”
“Must you?”
“We need to tell Brennus.”
“You love the sound of your own voice, Gar. Why don’t you tell him?”
“Because I also love the feeling of my head being connected to my neck, Talos, and whoever brings this news to him isn’t going to keep theirs for long.”
The Capitoline Hill rose high over the Forum, much of it sheer cliffs and tumbled stone. Stone and earth walls and ramparts guarded the few natural paths up the hill. Atop that, the Arx hulked, and soldiers patrolled its walls. Taking it by force did not seem likely, which left two options: stealth and starvation.
It took us only a short time to return to Brennus. We found him where we’d left him, on the Forum floor. Someone had bandaged Marcus’s stumps, and the patrician sat on a stool some distance from our leader, his face haggard and eyes downcast. He glanced up at our return, but I did not see even a spark of his old spirit. Perhaps Brennus had broken the man after all. The thought did not displease me.
“Well?” Brennus asked.
“I’ve seen better positions, but I couldn’t tell you when.” I briefly outlined the Romans’ position atop the hill and explained what I saw as our options.
Brennus nodded along, but I could tell he had something else in mind.
“We can starve them out, certainly. We may even attempt subterfuge of some sort if the situation becomes dire. However, there’s one choice that you seem to have omitted.”
“I’m listening.”
He grinned. “Let’s see what happens if we set fire to their city. Perhaps they’ll come down from their lofty seats to save it.”
“Devious, Brennus, but we can’t burn the entire lower city if we’re to successfully lay siege. Houses are so much more comfortable than tents.”
“An excellent point, Talos. So, let’s meet somewhere in the middle, shall we? Burn every third house and every business not built from stone.”
“And what of these?” Garamaros asked, pointing his sword at one of the aged Romans who still occupied their silent seats in the Forum.
Brennus shrugged. “Usher them outside the city if you can. They can seek succor within the surrounding towns.”
“And if they give us trouble?”
“Kill them.”
Within moments of the order being given, smoke rose over the city of Rome, and ash blew on the hot wind.
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