The Furies of Rome Read Free Page B

Blaesus?’ Sabinus asked as the iron-reinforced wooden door to the prison was opened by a heavily muscled, bald man, wearing a tunic protected by a stained leather apron.
    Blaesus shrugged. ‘I haven’t touched him, prefect; I hear the odd moan from down there but other than that he’s been quiet. He certainly hasn’t volunteered to talk, if that’s what you’re asking.’
    ‘I suppose it was.’ Sabinus sighed as he sat down on the only comfortable chair in the low-ceilinged room and looked at a trapdoor towards the far end just visible in the dim light of an oil lamp set in the middle of the sole table. ‘Well, we’d better get him up then and carry on. I think we’ll try slightly stronger encouragement this time; I need the answer tonight as I’m leaving the city for a few days tomorrow morning.’
    Blaesus beckoned to a corner. A hirsute giant of a man, dressed only in a loincloth, unfurled himself from where he had been curled up on a pile of rags in the shadows; he held a bone in one hand whose provenance Sabinus did not like to guess at. ‘Down you go, Beauty,’ Blaesus said as he hauled on a rope that raised the trapdoor. ‘Bring him up and don’t bite him more than once.’
    Beauty grunted, his face, flat as if it had been pummelled by a spade, cracked into a leer and he nodded furious understanding of his instructions, dropping his bone. Sabinus watched the monstrosity lower himself through the floor and out of sight, revolted by his grossness and briefly wondering what his real name was before deeming it far beneath his dignity to ask.
    A cry of pain echoed around the bare stone walls, emanating from the cell below, which was the only other room in Rome’s public prison; the cry was followed by a deep snarl, which Sabinus took to be Beauty encouraging his charge to move. A few moments later, the head of the only occupant of the Tullianum appeared through the hole in the floor, his arms pulling himself up, wriggling his body in his desperation to get away from the hideous beast below him. After a couple more racing heartbeats of scrabbling, the terrified prisoner emerged, whole but naked, from the dark pit below, his long hair and moustaches matted with filth.
    ‘Good evening, Venutius,’ Sabinus crooned as if the sight of the prisoner was the most pleasing thing in the world. ‘I’m so pleased that you managed to avoid becoming Beauty’s dinner; now perhaps we can get back to what we were discussing this afternoon.’
    Venutius drew himself up; the muscles in his chest, thighs and arms were sculpted and pronounced, and, despite his nudity, he managed to exude an air of dignity as he looked down at his gaoler. ‘I have nothing to say to you, Titus Flavius Sabinus; and as a citizen of Rome you can do nothing to me until I’ve exercised my right to appeal to the Emperor.’
    Sabinus smiled without humour. ‘You betrayed that citizenship when you led the Brigantes in revolt against Rome; your citizenship, as I told you earlier, is revoked and I don’t think you’ll find anyone who would argue against a traitor having his legal protection removed. The Emperor is unaware of your presence in Rome, which is just as well for you as I believe he would order your immediate execution. So, I’ll ask you again, nicely, and for the last time: who gave you the money to finance your rebellion in Britannia?’
    Venutius flinched and moved away from the trapdoor as Beauty reappeared, snarling softly to himself in what could be described as a form of singing as of one happy in his work. ‘I’m protected by someone very close to the Emperor; you can’t touch me,’ Venutius said once Beauty had retrieved his bone and retired to his rags to gnaw on it.
    ‘And I’ve been asked by someone very close to the Emperor to find out where all your cash came from.’ That, Sabinus knew, was a lie; however, it was close enough to the truth for it to be believable. ‘And that someone is very anxious to find out