word that the same day, if I chose, I could find you being heartily welcomed into his home by none other than the great general Belisarius. So what am I to conclude? I think it speaks for itself, but I’ll let you tell me in your own words.’
He whirled on Marius. ‘You! What’s the meaning of it all?’
The legionary stared back in contemptuous silence.
‘Very well.’
In sick realisation, Nicander knew what was next.
Turning to him, Marcellus eased into a smile. ‘Why, what a shame to tearabout such soft skin – or will it be the hot iron? I haven’t really decided yet.’ His tone became mournful. ‘Why don’t you tell me? It would save so much hurt and pain, when you know I’ll find out in the end …’
Nicander threw Marius a look of apology. He knew he did not have his friend’s powers of endurance but could he bluff their way free?
He blurted hoarsely, ‘All right, I’ll tell you what you want to know.’
In jerking, terrified sentences Nicander explained about the silk tree expedition and its need for funding, but was cut off impatiently.
‘Utter pig’s turds. If all this silk seed nonsense really needed was support, any right-minded citizen would go straight to His Resplendency and fall at his feet.’
‘It’s true,
I swear it!
’
‘Don’t try my patience, dog. There’s only one reason you’ve been to see all those grand names …’ He drew a savage breath. ‘It’s all a monstrous plot against the life of our most Divine Caesar, Emperor Justinian!’
‘
No!
’
‘Yes! You’re part of a wider conspiracy touching every corner of the realm, and I’ll screw it out of you, this I swear!’
There was nothing else for it now. ‘No – it’s … I’ll confess.’
In broken sentences Nicander admitted that the whole thing was a fraud, calculated to lift riches from those investing in the expedition.
‘Enough! You think I’m simple?’ barked Marcellus. ‘You’re determined to make it hard for yourself; I can accommodate you. Khosrau! Start the fire – I’ll be back in an hour.’
‘Marius!’ Nicander gasped. ‘He’s not believing any of it!’
There was no response.
‘What can we do?’
Marius snarled, ‘Die like a Roman, Greek!’
Time passed infinitely slowly, then the door crashed open.
‘Right. Shall we start the fun?’ Marcellus went to the brazier and lifted an iron. It was a flat arrow-shape and glowed white-hot. He sauntered over and flourished it before Nicander.
He flinched in terror, his mind near unhinged.
Marcellus lowered the iron. ‘I think not.’
He selected a more elaborate one, a distorted corkscrew. Speculatively he held it up, watching Nicander’s eyes following its every move.
The Excubitor tested its heat. ‘Ah yes, this will do. I should tell you we normally have a little ceremony before proceedings really begin, more of an entertainment for you.’
A young pig was brought into the cell on a long rope. The animal snuffled about, investigating busily, its farmyard snorts out of character in such a place of torment. It made its way over to the chained men, looking up in puzzlement with innocent eyes.
It was a mistake.
Marcellus stabbed down with the white-hot iron, directly into its pink body. It shrieked in pain, convulsing and thrashing while the Excubitor twisted the iron expertly. The reek of burnt fat rose up as the crazed animal screamed its life away.
Trembling, the handler lifted up the carcass and hurried out.
‘There, now. We know what it’s going to be like, don’t we?’ Marcellus said. ‘Then shall we begin? Who’s to be first?’
Almost fainting with horror, Nicander tried to flog his mind to reason. There were only minutes of sanity left to him – then, as if in a dream, he heard the dry, age-withered voice of an old man standing in the doorway. ‘Marcellus, I thought it was you! Good God, are you at it again?’
He was frail but in a crimson-edged robe that told of a rank of eminence.
Marcellus
He whirled on Marius. ‘You! What’s the meaning of it all?’
The legionary stared back in contemptuous silence.
‘Very well.’
In sick realisation, Nicander knew what was next.
Turning to him, Marcellus eased into a smile. ‘Why, what a shame to tearabout such soft skin – or will it be the hot iron? I haven’t really decided yet.’ His tone became mournful. ‘Why don’t you tell me? It would save so much hurt and pain, when you know I’ll find out in the end …’
Nicander threw Marius a look of apology. He knew he did not have his friend’s powers of endurance but could he bluff their way free?
He blurted hoarsely, ‘All right, I’ll tell you what you want to know.’
In jerking, terrified sentences Nicander explained about the silk tree expedition and its need for funding, but was cut off impatiently.
‘Utter pig’s turds. If all this silk seed nonsense really needed was support, any right-minded citizen would go straight to His Resplendency and fall at his feet.’
‘It’s true,
I swear it!
’
‘Don’t try my patience, dog. There’s only one reason you’ve been to see all those grand names …’ He drew a savage breath. ‘It’s all a monstrous plot against the life of our most Divine Caesar, Emperor Justinian!’
‘
No!
’
‘Yes! You’re part of a wider conspiracy touching every corner of the realm, and I’ll screw it out of you, this I swear!’
There was nothing else for it now. ‘No – it’s … I’ll confess.’
In broken sentences Nicander admitted that the whole thing was a fraud, calculated to lift riches from those investing in the expedition.
‘Enough! You think I’m simple?’ barked Marcellus. ‘You’re determined to make it hard for yourself; I can accommodate you. Khosrau! Start the fire – I’ll be back in an hour.’
‘Marius!’ Nicander gasped. ‘He’s not believing any of it!’
There was no response.
‘What can we do?’
Marius snarled, ‘Die like a Roman, Greek!’
Time passed infinitely slowly, then the door crashed open.
‘Right. Shall we start the fun?’ Marcellus went to the brazier and lifted an iron. It was a flat arrow-shape and glowed white-hot. He sauntered over and flourished it before Nicander.
He flinched in terror, his mind near unhinged.
Marcellus lowered the iron. ‘I think not.’
He selected a more elaborate one, a distorted corkscrew. Speculatively he held it up, watching Nicander’s eyes following its every move.
The Excubitor tested its heat. ‘Ah yes, this will do. I should tell you we normally have a little ceremony before proceedings really begin, more of an entertainment for you.’
A young pig was brought into the cell on a long rope. The animal snuffled about, investigating busily, its farmyard snorts out of character in such a place of torment. It made its way over to the chained men, looking up in puzzlement with innocent eyes.
It was a mistake.
Marcellus stabbed down with the white-hot iron, directly into its pink body. It shrieked in pain, convulsing and thrashing while the Excubitor twisted the iron expertly. The reek of burnt fat rose up as the crazed animal screamed its life away.
Trembling, the handler lifted up the carcass and hurried out.
‘There, now. We know what it’s going to be like, don’t we?’ Marcellus said. ‘Then shall we begin? Who’s to be first?’
Almost fainting with horror, Nicander tried to flog his mind to reason. There were only minutes of sanity left to him – then, as if in a dream, he heard the dry, age-withered voice of an old man standing in the doorway. ‘Marcellus, I thought it was you! Good God, are you at it again?’
He was frail but in a crimson-edged robe that told of a rank of eminence.
Marcellus
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