commander’s heart fell.
The physician stood, brushing dust, earth and much worse from his hands, and addressed Velutio.
“You say these men died some time in the last six months?”
With a brief look at Sabian, who had been here half a year earlier, the lord nodded.
“They were alive at the last head count here, yes” he said.
The physician shook his head. “These three have been dead much longer than that,” he pronounced confidently. “I would estimate two or three years ago. They do have reasonably fresh damage, however. There have been a number of wounds inflicted on them with blunt objects, possibly masonry, within the time-frame of which you speak, my Lord.”
Sabian stood still as a statue. He daren’t move. Velutio was almost always a calm man, but like all tightly controlled individuals, when something got past that implacable exterior, an explosion was bound to follow and the commander was determined to avoid being the target of the blast. Instead, his Lordship merely shrugged.
“Then these were the three who drowned two and a half years ago whilst fishing among the reefs” Velutio said. “I remember it clearly; as I’m sure do you, Sabian.”
The commander nodded; said nothing. Waiting for the explosion still.
Velutio turned and sought out Minister Sarios in the crowd. Locating him, he strode forward. “Sarios, I would ask you to explain yourself, but I think I see your mind clearly enough. Useful for you that you’d had three deaths of people roughly the same ages as Quintillian, Castus and Stavo eh? I’d never realised that you were capable of such calculated callousness.”
With no warning, Velutio swept his hand up and across Sarios’ face with a resounding slap. The minister staggered and almost fell, his nose fractured and blood running in rivulets down around his mouth. Sabian lurched forward for a moment, intending to intervene, but remembered the likely consequences of such an action and forced himself to stand, impassive. Crosus craned his neck and grinned at the commander.
Sarios grimaced at the steely grey lord. “I am a prisoner for no crime” he announced loudly and defiantly. “Do what you will.”
Velutio sneered. “Where are they now?”
The minister continued to glare at him. “I have no idea” he declared with deep determination.
Reaching down to his belt, Velutio drew out his gauntlets; leather gloves protected by interlocking bronze plates after the fashion of the East. Not taking his eyes off the minister, he drew the glove onto his right hand and flexed his fingers.
“I say again only once: Where is Quintillian?”
The minister held his head high and spat a large gobbet of clotted blood onto the lord’s boot. Velutio clicked his tongue and then brought his right hand round in another back-handed slap. This time the sound of breaking bones was audible even where Sabian stood. The commander closed his eyes, but not quick enough to miss the minister falling to the floor and the spray of blood that dampened the grass.
Velutio reached down and wrenched a length of cloth from Sarios’ mantle, wiping the blood from his gauntlet. He looked up at the assembled group, as Crosus leaned across and whispered something into his ear that Sabian would have killed to have been able to hear.
“Doctor?” the lord addressed his physician without looking around.
“My Lord?” the man replied.
“Take this old fool away and make sure he doesn’t die” Velutio said coldly. “I will have need of him yet.”
He then finally looked around at Sabian. The commander couldn’t read his master’s expression and that was a bad sign. Sabian drew a sigh inwardly but kept his back rigidly straight and his features deadpan.
“Commander.”
“Sir?” he responded. He knew he wasn’t going to like whatever came next.
“Take the rest of this rabble back to the dining hall and lock them in” Velutio commanded. Sabian sighed in relief as he turned to his men, but too soon.
“And Sabian?”
The commander froze.
“Pick three of the young ones at random and have them crucified on the lawns” the older man said calmly as he turned on his heel and strode off in the direction of the palace. Crosus stood still a long moment savouring the look of distaste on Sabian’s face before giving a brief heartless laugh and striding off after his master.
Sabian winced. Again he’d contemplated intervening but there will little chance of Velutio’s mind changing and somehow, though the reason escaped him, he seemed to be slipping from Velutio’s favour at a rate of knots. Instead, he walked over to the minister who lay on the grass, barely conscious, with the physician fussing around him. The commander craned his neck to see what it was the doctor was actually doing and regretted it as he saw the man pop an eyeball back into its socket. The old cleric strained to look up at him, but the pain of his damaged eye was too much and the lids closed. Sabian sighed.
“Minister,” he said very quietly,”you know me as a fair man, yes?”
There was no response from Sarios, not that he’d expected one.
“I beg of you,” he went on, “tell his Lordship what he wants to know. The boy’s probably in great danger wherever he is. There are dangerous wars and feuds in almost every corner of the Empire and this place is at least safe, for all its nature.” He sighed. “Or it was anyway.”
Sarios opened his better eye painfully and the orb swivelled up to Sabian.
“You know I cannot do that” he replied. “You know who he is and you know who I am. Can you imagine I ever stopped serving?”
Sabian nodded. He could understand commitment and loyalty, particularly between this man and that boy, but the whole thing was foolish and with no worthwhile goal. He realised the physician was looking back and forth between them in curiosity. He growled at the man “this is not your concern. Just tend his wounds.”
“Sarios,” he continued turning back to the old man. “I sympathise, but his Lordship is going to have me crucify the young men of your island if you don’t tell him and I’ve no wish to be a part of that. I’m a soldier not an executioner.”
The minister actually smiled through the blood and bruises.
“Then you serve the wrong man, commander.”
Sabian continued to crouch silently for a long moment as the old man collapsed back to the grass, his eyes closing and his breathing erratic. With a sigh of resignation, the commander stood and turned to his men.
“Sergeant Cialo,” he commanded. “Have a detail produce the timber and set up three crosses on the lawn. Find some rope.”
The sergeant, a long-standing member of Sabian’s command and a man that could only be described as a ‘grizzled veteran’, nodded and turned, barking orders at his men. Sabian returned his attention to the crowd.
“Everyone back to the Raven Palace.”
The elders shuffled onwards, silent now with despair settling over them. Sabian walked behind them all the way, the rest of his unit with him, barring those left to re-bury the dead. Once they entered the Ibis Courtyard, he pointed to the door leading to the dining room and, needing no verbal command the group of islanders made their way inside. Had he been less preoccupied, Sabian might have noted the absence of young Darius from the group.
As the commander contemplated how to deal with this most onerous of jobs, his sergeant and four men marched past, carrying lengths of rope and bags that clinked with a metallic sound. Sabian waved at Cialo to get his attention.
“No nails!” he ordered.
The sergeant nodded and Sabian thought the man looked a little relieved. As the five soldiers exited the courtyard through the great Gorgon Gate, they stepped respectfully aside and Velutio once more entered the courtyard, two of his private guard at his shoulders. He spotted Sabian and made directly for him. Sabian noted the absence of Crosus with trepidation. What was the wily bastard up to now?
“Commander,” Velutio announced, “I am returning to the city. I have many resources at my disposal and I intend to find the boy. I’m very much afraid he will have to be killed now. I’m leaving my physician to tend the minister and I want you to crucify the three you select tonight and then ask Sarios each morning from then on where the boy is. If he actually answers you, though I can’t imagine that he would, you may take down the children. If not they stay up there until they rot. I don’t care who’s chosen with the exceptions young Darius. He is not to be
