Alex Gough - Bandits of Rome

To all my loved ones, human and animal, living and no longer with us.

The wooden wheel on the cart hit another pothole in the road and Gurges swore aloud as the bump jolted up his backside and through his spine. From beneath the tarpaulin that covered the cart behind him, he heard an ominous tinkle. Already aching from the long journey, he felt his jaw clench and his head start to throb, and he thumped the mule driver seated on his left with a bony elbow.

By Hercules, how many times? Watch out for the holes. Those arent storage jars in the back there. Those statues are worth a fortune.

The mule driver grunted an apology, eyes set straight ahead. Gurges grumbled to himself. A spot of rain fell, then another, and he looked up at the grey sky with trepidation, knowing another soaking was on its way. Seated on his right, his new young wife drew her cloak more tightly around her. She never complained, but then why would she? He had found her as a destitute freedwoman, and given her a home, food, and now a new life growing inside her. Thinking of his unborn child, he called across to the head of the hired thugs that made up his bodyguard.

How much further till we stop for the night?

The large Gaul shrugged his shoulders, his long, matted blonde hair waving in the breeze. We stop when we get there.

Gurges choked back a reply. This whole journey had been hellish from the start. The euphoria he had experienced when he made his original find in Rhegium had long since evaporated. He recalled the joy he had felt as he paid the uneducated farmer for the statues he had been using to shore up fences and hang washing from. Gurges had a keen eye for all things artistic, and knew that this collection consisted of genuine originals from the time when Rhegium had been a Greek colony, part of Magna Graecia. Bought for a pittance, these statues would fetch a fortune in Rome, enough to propel him at last into the ranks of the equestrian class.

The rain came harder, and the cart rattled over the cobblestones of the Via Popilia that connected Rhegium to Capua. He thought about the swiftness of a sea journey from Rhegium to Ostia, how by now he could already be drinking Falernian wine and eating the choicest sows udders, before taking a slow stroll around Rome with his beautiful woman, to look for their new mansion on the Palatine.

But he would take no chances with this once in a lifetime find. A sea journey always bore risks. Pirates were uncommon these days, but storms and rocks and freak waves took their toll. The seabed along the coast of Italy must be littered with wrecks, and the bones of merchants unwilling to take the slow route. As the rain started to soak through to his skin, and his hair became plastered flat against his head, he consoled himself with Aesops tale of the hare and the tortoise.

The small group, merchant and wife, driver and three bodyguards on foot, moved slowly along the Via Popilia. Other traffic on the road was sparse, just the occasional lone horseman or farmer transporting his goods. Their route continued between some hills. Roman engineers had cut the road into the slopes to avoid having a bend or steep incline, and low cliffs lined the way. Up ahead, Gurges thought he could see something lying in their path. He wiped the rain from his eyes and peered forwards, but couldnt make it out. He watched his head bodyguard. The Gaul had seen it as well, and was watching it closely as they approached.

The visibility in the heavy rain was so poor they were only twenty feet away before Gurges realised that what they had seen was a body, lying sprawled out, clothed in soaked rags. The Gaul held up a hand to stop the group, then motioned one of his men forward. The chosen bodyguard pulled his spear from his backpack. Suspiciously, he approached the body, weapon at the ready. The body made no movement, even when he prodded it. It lay face down, motionless.

The guard gripped a shoulder and heaved so the body rolled onto its back. He stared down in puzzlement.

What is it? called Gurges. The bodyguard turned back, and opened his mouth to speak.

The body sat up.

In shock, Gurges watched the body they had thought dead pull a long, curved dagger from beneath his rags. But his gaze was drawn to the mans face. It wore a mask, bronze, firmly secured by leather straps, the frowning face of a Greek tragedy actor. Gurges opened his mouth to call a warning, but no words came.

The Gaul was not paralysed like his employer. He yelled to his man to look out. It was too late. The guard started to turn, but the curved knife swung upwards, the still-seated man holding it double-handed, so it sank with force up through the bodyguards groin and into his guts. The bodyguard let out a high-pitched scream and fell backwards, clutching between his legs in a vain attempt to stop the river of blood flooding out through the rent the knife had made. Gurges wife let out a shrill scream.

With a roar, the head bodyguard drew his two-handed sword and rushed at the masked man.

An arrow took him cleanly between the shoulder blades, and he sprawled forwards, sword flying out of his hands. Gurges and the remaining bodyguard whirled to see the bowman standing in the road behind them. He too wore a bronze mask, this one the smiling face of a Greek comedian. The bodyguard only had time to draw his spear before the bowman let fly another arrow. It took his target in the throat, and the bodyguard went down, blood and air gurgling around the shaft.

Gurges remained frozen in shock. Beside him, his wife was silent, trembling violently, pulling the cloak ever tighter around her as if it would make her invisible. His driver jumped off the wagon and in blind panic started to run away from the bowman, down the road, head turned back, trying to see the arrow that might bring him down. He ran straight towards the tragedy-masked man, who took two swift steps to intercept him. The curved blade lashed out, eviscerating the mule driver. He let out a plaintive cry and dropped to the ground, trying to hold in the loops of intestine that spilled out onto the road.

Tragedy and Comedy advanced on Gurges. His whole body trembled, and to his shame he felt urine trickling down his leg. Tragedy grabbed Gurges tunic and pulled him off the cart. Comedy kept the bow trained on the shaking merchant, while Tragedy went to the cart. He yanked off the tarpaulin, to reveal a number of delicately made marble statues.

Gurges found his voice. The statues, they they are priceless. Take them, theyre yours. Just let me go, I wont breathe a word. They will make your fortunes, I promise

Silence, said Tragedy. He reached down and unhitched the two-wheeled cart from the mules. He opened the back flap of the cart, then took the tow bar and hoisted it upwards. The cart tilted, and the statues tumbled out of the back and smashed into small pieces on the cobbles.

Gurges stared aghast at the wreckage. He looked back towards the man in the Tragedy mask. The grotesque frown on the mask chilled him to the marrow. Of the bandit, all he could see were the mans stony eyes, and they gave nothing away.

Who are you? said Gurges in a strangled whisper. What do you want?

Im Atreus, said Tragedy, and this is Thyestes. The bowman gave a curt nod.

Atreus fixed his gaze on Gurges, studying him, and Gurges stared back, chilled from the rain and the fear, numb in his extremities, tremors running through his body.