Reaching a fork in the street, he came to a halt. ‘Which way to the agora?’
Urceus peered left and right, scowling. ‘I don’t think it matters. Both of them will get us there, won’t they?’
‘True.’ Enna’s strong position on a hilltop, contained within walls, meant that the city was quite small. The buildings sprawled beyond the fortifications, along the sides of the road that wound its way up from the fertile valley below, but the beating heart of it — the central agora, the temples, the rulers’ palatial houses and offices and the best shops — lay within the protective circle of its imposing ramparts. ‘It’s not hard to find one’s way around, even when you’re pissed.’ He headed left.
Urceus chuckled. ‘We’ll have to find that inn we were in last night. What was it called again?’
‘It’s down this way, I think. The Harvest Moon.’
‘That’s the one. The owner was far less sour than the other arseholes here, wasn’t he? And that barmaid with the big tits definitely liked me.’
‘Ever the optimist, Urceus. She smiled at you once!’
‘That’s enough to give a man hope. Better that than the reception we’ve had in most places.’
‘True, but I still wouldn’t trust a single one of them. I’m glad that Pinarius ordered us to remain armed at all times.’
‘Aye. I wouldn’t want to walk around here alone.’
Fifty paces further on, a small wooden sign had been nailed to the wall of a house on the corner of an alley. It depicted a crudely daubed sheaf of wheat beneath a full moon; below it were the Greek words ‘INN’ and ‘GOOD WINE. PRICES REASONABLE’.
‘There it is!’ cried Urceus. ‘Fancy a quick cup?’
‘We’re on duty.’
‘So what? I can’t see an officer, can you?’
Quintus walked past the sign.
Urceus grumbled a little, but he did the same.
Quintus had gone perhaps a dozen steps when a short cry — of pain — reached his ears. It was followed by a burst of laughter. He glanced at Urceus.
‘That came from the direction of the Harvest Moon,’ said Urceus.
The sound was repeated, and again the laughter rang out.
‘It might be some of our lads in trouble,’ Urceus began.
‘Come on,’ said Quintus. ‘If it’s just locals, we can always leave them to it.’
Even though it was the middle of the day, little light penetrated into the narrow alleyway, which lay between a pair of three-storey buildings. Broken pottery, animal bones and other refuse crunched beneath their sandals. ‘Gods, I don’t remember it being this filthy,’ said Quintus. He sniffed. ‘Or smelly.’
Urceus winked. ‘It’s amazing how a man’s thirst before he has a drink and the glow of happiness around him afterwards make him unaware of everything else around him.’
‘Please! Leave her alone!’
The anguished plea sent them pounding towards the entrance of the Harvest Moon. A group of locals, tradesmen from the look of their calloused hands and stained tunics, stood outside. They didn’t seem happy. ‘More fucking Romans,’ Quintus thought he heard one say.
‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded in Greek.
The locals were surprised to be addressed in their own language. ‘Some of your lot are getting fresh with the barmaid. We protested, so they told us to leave or they’d gut us,’ replied the man who’d muttered the insult. ‘No doubt you’ve come to join in.’
‘Watch your damn mouth!’ Quintus snapped. ‘How many of them are there?’
‘Five,’ came the answer.
Quickly, Quintus translated for Urceus. ‘Can they be our men, do you think?’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ said Urceus, as a scream reached them.
They barged in through the doorway, shields at the ready, Quintus in the lead. It was much as he’d remembered it. The room was rectangular, and poorly lit by small oil lamps set in alcoves. A mixture of sand and reeds covered the dirt floor. Simple tables and benches served as its furniture. A bar made of planks stood at the back; on the wall behind, the prices of various wines had been scrawled. There was no sign of the proprietor; Quintus decided he was probably hiding in the back.
Five legionaries were gathered around a table off to one side; their backs were to Quintus and Urceus. Laughs and lewd jokes passed to and fro between them; under the banter, a woman’s moaning could be heard. Quintus peered. Between the soldiers, he could make out the barmaid spreadeagled on the table. Her dress had been shredded from her body, and her arms and legs were tied with lengths of rope. One of the legionaries put a hand to her crotch and set her to fresh wailing. ‘Shut up, bitch!’ snapped another of her tormentors, cuffing her across the head.
‘They’re not from our maniple,’ Quintus whispered to Urceus. ‘Are they Pinarius’ or Pera’s men?’
‘They’ve got to be Pera’s. Pinarius’ soldiers wouldn’t ignore his orders so blatantly, would they?’
‘I don’t fucking know. Do we leave, or get involved?’ Quintus wanted to help the girl, but he didn’t want Pinarius on his back, nor to give Pera another reason to hate him.
The decision was taken from him by Urceus. ‘What’s going on?’ he shouted in a good imitation of Corax.
A stunned silence fell. The legionaries turned. Their shock didn’t last more than two heartbeats, however. ‘What does it look like, idiot?’ demanded one, a fat-lipped man with a deep tan. ‘We’re each going to take a turn with this whore.’
‘She’s no whore,’ snarled Urceus. ‘As you’d know if you had even asked her.’
Fat Lips glanced at his comrades. ‘Do you hear this prick? We should have asked this slut if she’d let us fuck her!’
They all laughed, but their eyes weren’t a bit friendly.
‘This is against orders. Your commanding officer will hear of this,’ said Quintus in a loud voice. He had already noticed that the legionaries’ shields and javelins were stacked together by the door — behind him and Urceus. That was a small blessing.
‘Centurion Pera told us to do as we wished, as long as no one complains,’ drawled another of the legionaries, a slight man with a cast in one eye. ‘We was planning to cut her throat afterwards. She won’t say a word then, will she?’
His companions chortled. The barmaid must have spoken some Latin, because she began to cry.
‘You can either join us, or piss off and leave us to it,’ said Fat Lips. ‘The choice is yours.’
‘I see,’ said Quintus nonchalantly, although his heart was thumping so hard he wondered if the legionaries could hear it. ‘What shall we do, brother?’ he asked Urceus.
‘I’m not leaving her to be raped and murdered,’ muttered Urceus. ‘Are you?’
Trouble beckoned whatever they did, thought Quintus. But he couldn’t stand by and let an unfortunate woman be killed like this — especially as these were Pera’s men. ‘No.’
‘Javelins first?’
‘Aye. I’ll aim at Fat Lips. You take Squint Eye. We can deal with the others once they’re down.’
The ceiling was just high enough for the pair to raise their pila overarm as they would in battle. ‘Back away from the girl,’ ordered Quintus.
‘You want her all for yourselves? Greedy bastards!’ said Fat Lips, but his fingers were straying to his sword hilt.
‘I reckon we can take these whoresons,’ said Squint Eye, leering. Fat Lips sniggered; their companions began to sidle away from the table.
The tension in the room rose several notches, and Quintus readied himself to fight. ‘Take another step and my pilum will end up in your chest,’ he shouted at Fat Lips. ‘My comrade will take your cross-eyed friend, and we can sort out the rest with swords. It shouldn’t be too hard, given that none of you fools have shields.’
No one moved for a heartbeat. Two. Three. In the background, the barmaid sobbed. From outside came the murmur of angry voices — the customers who’d been evicted by the legionaries.
Fat Lips glowered, but moved his hand away from his gladius. His companions looked similarly pissed off, but none reached for their weapons, which relieved Quintus. It was one thing to threaten one’s own men and entirely another to injure or kill them.