Brothers in Blood Read Free

from the ceiling, each bearing two brass oil lamps that provided the dull illumination. Besides the table, there appeared to be only one other item of furniture: a small bench upon which lay a set of tools, glinting in the lamplight. Beside the table, his head hidden in shadow, stood a thin man in a clean white tunic and calfskin boots that stretched halfway up his shins. The man stood silently for a moment before speaking in a soft, dry tone, too quietly for Musa to identify his voice.
    ‘Before you even think about it, I should say that any shout or cry that you may make will never be heard by a soul outside of this room. We are in a cellar of a safe house.’
    Musa felt a tremor of fear ripple down his spine. There was only one reason why someone would want to have access to such a place. He glanced at the bench again and understood what the tools were for.
    ‘Good,’ said the other man. ‘You realise what’s coming. I won’t insult your undoubted intelligence by saying that you will tell us what we want to know in the end. If your master has trained you as well as I have trained my men, you will present something of a challenge. I should warn you that there is no better man than Ancus in his field. Given enough time he could make a rock talk. And you, Musa, are no rock. Just a thing of flesh and blood. A weak thing. You have vulnerabilities, like every man. Ancus will discover them in the end, just as surely as day follows night. You will tell us what we want to know. The only question that matters is how long you can hold out. We have plenty of time to find out the answer to that. Or you could talk now and save us all from an unpleasant experience.’
    Musa let his mouth open a fraction to curse the man, then clamped his lips shut again. One of the first things he had been taught about such situations was that it was vital not to utter a single word. The moment you spoke, you opened the door to further exchanges and aside from the danger of letting slip snippets of information, it provided the interrogator with the opportunity to establish a relationship and a means of working his way into your thoughts to play on your weaknesses. Better to say nothing at all.
    ‘I see,’ the other man said. ‘Then we must proceed.’
    In the tense silence that fell between them the only sound that intruded was the steady drip of water on the other side of the chamber. All the time the other man did not move, but stood still, his face concealed. Eventually Musa heard the distant approach of footsteps, then the steady slap of sandals on the steps outside. The door opened and two men entered, the one he already knew, and a squat, powerfully built man with closely cropped hair and scarred features. At first Musa thought that he must have been a gladiator but then he saw the mark of Mithras on the man’s brow and put him down as a soldier.
    ‘He’s all yours, Ancus,’ the man in the shadows said.
    Ancus cuffed his nose and looked Musa over. ‘What do you want from him, master?’
    ‘I want to know why he was visiting the house of Vespasian. And I want to know what designs our good friend Pallas has on the campaign in Britannia. I want the names of any agents Pallas has in that province and what their precise orders are.’
    Ancus nodded. ‘Anything else?’
    ‘That will do for now.’
    Ancus nodded, approached the table and leaned over Musa. ‘I expect you know the form. I’m a stickler for following procedure so we’ll start with the horrors, eh?’
    He crossed to the bench and considered the tools of his trade before making a few selections and returning to the table where he laid them down beside Musa.
    ‘Here we go. Thought we’d start with the feet and work up.’ He held up a pair of iron pincers and winked. ‘For the toes. After that I’ll flay the skin back to your ankles.’ He held up a surgeon’s knife and a pair of slender meat hooks. ‘Then I’ll break your legs and break your knees with this.’ He