Drawing his gladius, Lucius ignored the merchant and ventured out into the darkness to investigate the sound. When he was finally satisfied that it could be nothing more than the scamper of some nocturnal rodent, he returned to the shallow defile in the forest where the plump merchant still lounged on a half-rotten log.
“Why don’t you relax, legionary?” the merchant said amusingly, his voice thick with the accent of his native tongue. “It has all been arranged. He will not come until the moon is at its zenith. We have some time yet. As I told you before, this man is a professional. He will not arrive early.”
“It is not your man that concerns me,” Lucius replied, though that was not entirely true. He was not certain he could trust this assassin. He was not sure he could trust the merchant, either, but Lucius had to go through with his plan if he wished to remain alive. Lucius was certain of that. The senator had a dozen agents to call on, and could strike at any moment and from any quarter, perhaps even enlisting men in Lucius’s own century. Lucius had no choice but to act first, and to do so he had to act swiftly.
He had never hired anyone to commit murder before. The thought made him uneasy, and there was something tediously dishonorable about it, but it was the only option he could think of that might save him, short of desertion, and he would not do that.
Lucius had approached the Scythian earlier in the day, while the contingent of mule drivers employed by the easterner prepared his small armada of wagons and carts to move with the army on the next day. Lucius was not the only legionary there. It had been advertised amongst the army that the Scythian was offering high prices in exchange for guaranteed purchases on future slave acquisitions, and many legionaries and officers were rushing to solidify eleventh hour deals. After feigning interest in such an arrangement, Lucius had asked the shifty-eyed Scythian for a private audience to discuss other, more lucrative matters. Probably more out of curiosity than anything else, the Scythian had showed a marginal interest and had invited Lucius to his private tent while he took his midday repose. This consisted of two strikingly attractive Germanic slave girls appearing from seemingly out of nowhere, methodically undressing the paunchy merchant, and then proceeding to attend to his every need. The Scythian then listened to Lucius’s proposition while one of the women hand-fed him pickled olives and the other performed carnal acts that appeared more ritual than sensual.
“So, you need the services of an assassin, do you?” the merchant had said with some suspicion in his voice. “Yes, I have arranged such things before. I warn you, though, the risk is high, and so is the fee – perhaps too high for you, legionary, eh? Two hundred denarii, all in advance, you understand?”
Lucius had shaken his head, trying hard not to be distracted by the woman straddling the repellant man’s hair-covered body. “Half now, and half when the job is done,” he said firmly.
The Scythian chuckled. “But you are a common soldier, are you not? Can you afford such a price?”
Lucius would have to give up every last coin he had plundered from the Belgic villager’s hidden stash, and even then he would need to borrow some. “I will pay it, but it must be half now, and half when the job is done.”
“But that is no good for me, young man. You obviously do not understand how this works.” The Scythian had said it as a weary schoolmaster instructs a slow child. “You pay me. I find an assassin and arrange a meeting between the two of you. Then I pay him, and he performs whatever task you have given him. I am none the wiser for it, and have no knowledge of your intended victim. That is the key, you see. I will not take the risk of being implicated in any way.”
“But suppose the bastard you hire doesn’t do what I’ve paid him for?”
“Then you come to me, and I will deal with it quietly, you understand? But that will not be the case. I only hire reliable men. You have nothing to worry about, as long as you pay me. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”
They had bargained until finally the Scythian had reluctantly agreed to take half of the money, which Lucius had immediately produced, and then the other half when Lucius met with the assassin. Now, as Lucius and the Scythian waited at the agreed upon spot, a mile from the camp, Lucius was ever aware of the bulge of the purse full of coins tucked into his tunic and being pressed to his abdomen by his mail shirt. He could barely make out the Scythian’s plump form only a few paces away, but he could see the white teeth of the man’s smile, and it carried a sinister aspect in the moonlight.
Again, there was a noise in the brush, and Lucius looked to see what it was, gripping the hilt of the gladius that was carefully hidden from the moonlight by his cloak. He half wished he had brought his helmet along, but he had left it in the camp for fear that its polished surface might have given away his position too easily.
“There you go again,” the Scythian said, without attempting to keep his voice low. “I tell you, legionary, there is no one out here but us. My associate will arrive in good time. Perhaps while we are waiting, you might show me that you brought the remaining balance with you.”
“I have it,” Lucius said, eyeing the man cautiously. “But you will not see it until your man arrives.”
“Suit yourself,” the merchant replied casually. “You know, legionary, there are two sides to every story. Perhaps, the individual you are trying to kill also wants you dead. Am I right?”
“I thought it was your rule never to know anything about the victim.”
“In most cases, yes. But your situation intrigues me. It has made me most curious – yes, most curious indeed. I have to ask myself why a common soldier would give up a year’s pay to see a man dead. I also have to ask why you wouldn’t just do it yourself. You are a soldier, are you not?”
“I think you should remember your own principle, and not ask.”
“It is possible for me to find out such things, legionary. You are aware of this, no? There are many tribunes and centurions that owe me many favors. Perhaps I ask around. Perhaps I do some digging and find out this man you want dead is worth more than you are. Perhaps I inform him of our deal and he offers to pay me triple what you are paying if I simply betray you to him. Could you blame me for doing such a thing?”
Lucius looked across the dark space at the grinning merchant, wondering where this line of questioning was leading, when he heard the sound in the brush again. This time it was clearly something larger than a rodent. It moved steadily closer, crunching through the leaves on the forest floor. Lucius listened for the distinct footfalls of a single man, but there were more than one set of footfalls approaching. His first thought was a bear, or perhaps one of the wild boars that roamed these woods, but then two cloaked men materialized out of the shadows several paces before him. Both men stopped when they saw him, but they said nothing and expressed no alarm, as if they had fully expected to encounter him here in the middle of the woods. Lucius gripped the gladius tighter as his mind ran through the possibilities. Perhaps this was the assassin and one of his retainers. Perhaps it was the roving watchmen. Should he greet them?
Just then, he heard the Scythian moving behind him in a rustle of silk garments. It was a racing movement, and Lucius wheeled around just in time to see the bug-eyed man charging at him with a cudgel raised high above his head, the grin now replaced by a maniacal scowl. As Lucius’s mind registered the man’s betrayal, the iron ball on the end of the shaft swung and he ducked an instant too late, receiving a glancing blow to the side of his head. The blow stunned him, and might have been fatal had it been delivered with greater skill, but it had not dulled his instincts enough to stop his hand from driving his sword through the Scythian's protruding belly. The merchant shrieked, his eyes wide as he stared in terror at the few inches of steel that was not buried in his gut. Lucius jerked on the hilt several times, the Scythian whimpering with every blood-gushing movement of the blade, but Lucius could not muster the strength to tear it free. The blow to his head had left him in a daze, and he lost his grip on the sword as the dying merchant’s body fell away. Lucius instantly clawed for the dagger at his belt, but before he could reach it, the other two men were upon him, landing solid blows with wooden clubs of their own, blows that would have shattered the skulls of most men. Lucius reeled and fell to the ground. He felt the cold earth against his face, his eyes mere inches away from the twisted face of the dying Scythian. The man was in immense pain, and his screams were loud enough to make Lucius’s already throbbing head hurt even more. The bastard had betrayed him, probably selling him out to the senator, but Lucius clearly saw regret in the man’s eyes as he squirmed and suffered.