His voice tailed off as Salonius put a restraining hand on his arm.
“What?”
“We need to move, now!” the young man said quietly but with force. As he bent and collected up the bags, Catilina frowned and leaned across to him.
“What’s happened, Salonius?”
The young man gestured subtly toward the bar.
“That man who just came in. He told the barman to get his best glasses out, coz some new soldiers were on their way.”
“Shit!”
The other two quickly shuffled out from behind the table and began gathering up their kit as fast as possible. Petrus grumbled in the background, his hand slipping from his belt and beginning to twitch more violently.
“You were followed? Varro, you idiot!”
“Not like I had a great deal of choice in the matter, Petrus. We need to get somewhere safe right now!”
The man ground his teeth for a moment and then nodded.
“Follow me.”
Varro couldn’t help noticing the slight limp as his cousin walking surprisingly swiftly and quietly to the door. The three of them caught up with him as he stepped out into the sunshine. Varro carefully scanned the crowd outside with a practiced eye but there was no immediate sign of their pursuers. Petrus limped off along the front of the inn and round the corner. As they followed, he disappeared into an alley and along the side of the building. Rounding the next corner, they found themselves at a single story wooden wall with a single small door.
“Stables. Back entrance.” Petrus announced, as he flipped open the latch and entered the building. The smell of horse sweat and leather flooded out of the building and the three of them followed him in to a large stable surrounded by a dozen stalls, many of which were occupied. A large open door stood at the other side, the common entrance to the building, a young boy with a pitchfork leaning against the jamb, chewing on an apple. A second stable door to their right stood solid with the top half open. The sounds of the bar issued from it. Petrus pointed to a fourth door, small and unobtrusive, to the right, in the corner.
As the other three made for that door, Petrus pointed at the boy and the door and threw him a coin. The stable hand nodded his understanding and pocketed the coin, turning his attention to the grassy bank outside.
Petrus wandered over to join the others as they entered the small door one by one. The space beyond was dark and surprisingly cold. After a short corridor, the space ended with a set of wooden steps descending into further darkness.
“What is this place?” Salonius asked.
“Cellar,” Petrus replied. “Where they keep the beer barrels and the crates of wine. I’m taking you to the safest place I can think of: my room.”
Salonius blinked at him in surprise and then turned and began to follow Catilina down the stairs. Slowly, his eyes became accustomed to the change in light levels. It wasn’t actually pitch black in the cellar, just considerably dimmer than the bright day above. The longer they stood in the room, the stone flagged floor covered with a light carpet of rushes, the more they could see in the low light cast by the minute skylights at ceiling height, set into the base of the inn’s walls.
The cellar was large, likely half the size of the inn itself, with a huge dividing arch supporting the heavy building above. The centre of the large space was filled with stacked wooden tables and chairs. Along the cellar’s outer wall huge beer casks were stacked two deep, kept cool by the natural chill of the cold earth seeping through the stonework. To the other side, wine bottles stood in wooden crates and beyond them a solid set of wooden stairs ascended to the inn’s interior.
“You’ve been staying here?” Catilina asked incredulously. “How have you not been caught by the innkeeper?”
Petrus smiled his unpleasant smile again.
“Arun and I have an understanding. A silver coin every few days buys a lot of understanding. And I don’t sleep in here. I have a hidden room. A secret space.”
Varro nodded. “Reasonable. Arun will have it for smuggling purposes, out here on the border, but under the watchful eyes of an Imperial garrison.”
Petrus crossed to the far wall and pulled a rickety wooden shelf unit aside to reveal a door. Varro shook his head. Had they stood by the unit, he’d have been able to see the door between the shelves.
“That’s not hidden. It’s just not very obvious!”
Petrus flashed him a sharp look as he unlatched the door and swung it open.
“You’d prefer perhaps to stay out here and get caught?”
Varro shook his head with a cheeky smile.
“No. Let’s get ourselves almost hidden in your ‘not very obvious’ room!”
“Gah!” Petrus disappeared into the darkness within.
Catilina gave Varro a warning glance and then followed their guide within.
Varro shrugged at Salonius and the two entered, closing the door behind them.
“Shit!” Varro’s voice called from the darkness.
“Shut up” grunted Petrus in a forceful whisper. “If we…”
The sound of Varro slumping to the floor and breathing as though he’d been punched heavily in the gut stopped him mid-sentence.
“What happened?” whispered Catilina.
Over Varro’s laboured breathing, Salonius’ concerned voice answered. “I think he caught his side on something sticking out of the wall next to the door. I’ve just put my hand on it and it’s wet. I think it might have opened his wound.”
“Uh!” Varro was trying to stand with a great deal of grunting.
“For fuck’s sake, shut him up!” whispered Petrus urgently.
There was the sound of a leather flap being unfastened and further rustling.
“What the hell are you doing?” demanded Petrus again, the anger rising in his voice, even as the level remained quiet.
Salonius bit back an angry retort and replied patiently.
“He’s got a few doses of medication in case his pain gets too bad. I’m finding that and some water. If he’s bleeding badly, it’ll have to wait until we can get into the light.”
“Not the third… one!” grunted Varro between gasps. “Just… give me some of the ordinary… one for now. Can’t afford… to be out of it right now.”
Salonius nodded, unseen in the dark and passed over the bag of medication for Varro. “Be careful.”
“Huh!”
“What’s he got medicine for?” Petrus asked quietly, concern suddenly filling his voice.
“He can tell you when we get out of here later. Wait!”
There was a creak as a door was opened at the far end of the room and heavy footfalls on the wooden stairs. The four refugees fell completely still in the silent darkness, the only sound the faintly laboured breathing of the wounded captain. They could hear voices through the door, but not clearly enough to discern what they were saying. The conversation stopped as the boots of two men rand out on the stone flags. Clearly the two separated at the bottom of the stairs and were searching the cellar.
Varro’s voice whispered so quietly the others barely heard the bitter humour in his voice.
“You’d better hope they’re blind or stupid or both. Your ‘not very obvious’ room’s not hidden by the shelves anymore!”
Petrus replied just as quietly “Yes it is, now shut up!”
The only sounds for what felt like hours were those of boots thumping around on the cellar floor and crates being pushed aside. Every time one of the searchers began a particularly loud action, Varro took the opportunity to gingerly unwrap the medicine in the bag. During one particularly loud scrape beyond the door, Varro lifted a water flask to his lips and swigged down his medicine.
“There’s nothing down here. Come on!”
The welcome sound of receding footsteps brought relief washing over the four hidden figures. Petrus waited around a minute after the sounds of the door closing before striking flint and steel and sparking a small oil lamp into
