There was a brief sound of a struggle, a surprised grunt. Then Suni called up, ‘You can come down, sir.’
Nelo led the way down the ladder.
The cellar, whatever it had once stored, was stripped as bare as the rest of the house. In one corner a man lay face down on a pile of blankets, with Suni grasping one twisted arm and kneeling on his back. There was a heap of clothes, a discarded mail coat, and weapons — a battleaxe leaning against one wall. And there was a woman, Nelo saw, cowering in the corner, grasping a blanket to her chest.
Gisco took in the scene at a glance. ‘Good work, Suni.’ He strode across to the man, got a handful of hair and pulled his head back, making the man grunt. Nelo saw the hair was bright red, and that the man was bearded. Gisco dropped the man’s head casually, as if dropping a sack of potatoes. ‘This is the one. Who’s she?’
The woman sat up straighter. ‘Sir. My name is Satilis. My husband owns this shop. Owned — I have not seen him for some time.’
Gisco leaned down and peered at her in the lantern light. ‘She’s older than I thought.’
Suni grinned. ‘Maybe this fellow likes ‘em wrinkly.’
‘Sir — are you acting under the orders of the suffetes? Of the Popular Assembly?’
‘Aren’t we all?’
‘I demand my rights. We have always paid our taxes and tolls, officer. My husband’s father once served on the Tribunal of One Hundred and Four. It was bad enough that my shop, my home, was forced to open its doors to stinking farmers’ families from the country. Now this man has come, he just walked in here, he doesn’t even speak our tongue, but he had a letter demanding asylum, a letter from General Fabius, and, and-’
Suni guffawed. ‘General Fabius? Sure he did.’
Gisco stood straight. ‘Get out of here, madam.’
‘What?’
‘You won’t want to see what’s to come. Get out. Shoo, shoo.’ And he chased her as he would a reluctant dog.
The woman got up and scrambled for the ladder, which was hard to negotiate in her blanket. Both Gisco and Suniatus stared as she climbed, revealing thighs, buttocks, ample hips.
Gisco sighed. ‘That will keep me warm tonight.’
Suni laughed again. ‘Now what, sir? What do we do with this fellow? Haul him in?’
‘No time for that, Suni. He’s an obvious saboteur. Placed here to open the gates and let his brutish comrades into our city, along with their Hatti overlords. Finish him off.’
‘With pleasure. How?’
‘Behead him. Make it neat, would you?’
Suniatus lifted his blade, yanking the man’s head back; the man began to struggle, his teeth grating.
‘Oh, by the left bollock of mighty Teshub, kill the man first. Have some manners, Suniatus.’
‘Sorry, sir.’ Suniatus efficiently slit the man’s throat with a scrape of his blade, held him down while he bled out, and then sawed off the head, grunting and complaining as his blade got stuck in the vertebrae.
Meanwhile Gisco turned to Nelo. ‘You. Find a sack, a bag.’
‘Yes, sir. What for, sir?’
‘Our keepsake. This brute’s crimson head, boy. We’re on a mission to root out agents of the Hatti princes, like this one.’ He said this absently, while perusing his list by the light of the lantern. ‘You still here? Go, boy, go!’
So they proceeded through Megara. Nelo had to carry the sack, which dripped blood as they walked, and was surprisingly heavy. It got heavier yet as they visited a second house, and a third, each time finding a solitary Rus or Scand warrior living among fearful Carthaginians, each time coming upon him without warning, each time coming away with a head. The whole business, the stink of the heads, sickened Nelo.
Yet it puzzled him too. Even when the warriors saw them coming they made no attempt to resist, not until it was too late and they realised their fate at Suniatus’ hands. They did jabber out pleas in their own harsh tongues, but that was to be expected, and none of the killing party understood a word.
On the fourth killing Suniatus whistled as he sawed at the man’s neck. ‘This is the life for me, aurochs,’ he said to Nelo. ‘Killing these brutes is as easy as picking olives off a tree.’ He threw over the head for Nelo to catch.
They came upon the fifth man in an upper room of a small abandoned temple. By now the day was bright, the curfew lifted, and in the streets outside the wagons of the dead continued their mournful progress, amid the gathering noises of the city day. This time Suniatus struggled to get the Scand on his back before despatching him. Gisco was forced to help, sitting on the man’s legs while Suniatus pinned his chest.
And the man saw Nelo. His eyes widened. ‘Northlander.’
Nelo was startled. He had said the word in the tongue of Etxelur.
‘Northlander. You are a Northlander. I can tell, the hair, the eyes. I visit — I have visited-’ Suniatus punched him in the mouth, knocking his head to the side. But he stayed conscious, and spoke from a bloody mouth. ‘Please. Mistake. They make mistake. I am loyal, loyal to Fabius!’
Suniatus recognised the general’s name, and sat back, panting, pinning the man’s arms. ‘What did he say? Something about my general?’ And he slammed the back of his hand into the Scand’s face.
‘Get on with it, Suni,’ growled Gisco, pressing on the man’s legs.
‘Sir.’ Suniatus made a more determined effort to contain the man’s struggles.
But the Scand still tried to talk to Nelo. ‘Please! Fabius, his men take us, he speaks to us. Offers us gold and bread, more than the Hatti, if we fight for him. He will give us back to our families, when Hatti are gone. That’s what he said.’
‘Shut up!’ Another blow with the back of the hand.
‘That’s what he said! Gold and bread! Look, look-’ But, pinned, he could not reach whatever he was after. Some proof of a contract with Fabius? ‘That’s what he said-’
At last Suniatus drew his blade across the neck. The man died, choking on his own blood, gaze still fixed on Nelo.
As Suniatus removed the head, Nelo said, ‘Sir. He was speaking Northlander.’
‘What of it?’
‘He said the general recruited them. General Fabius, sir.’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘He gave them gold and bread, and told them-’
Gisco stalked over to Nelo and loomed over him. ‘No, he didn’t, aurochs. You didn’t hear him say any such thing. Because if you did I’d have to cut off your precious artist’s hands, and then I’d let Suni finish you off like the rest of these treacherous scum, and maybe I’ll do that anyhow because you annoy me, Nelo, you’re a waste of good muscle. Now. Did this man say anything to you?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Good. Right. Where to next?’
64
There were two more items on Gisco’s list, two more addresses. Two more heads to collect. By the time they were done it was mid-morning, and Suniatus had to take three of the heads from Nelo to carry in a separate sack.
Now they had a fresh appointment, Gisco said.
He led them through the streets of the lower city to the ancient inner wall that enclosed the Byrsa, the citadel. People were going about their business, to work if they had it, or to queue for the daily dole of grey bread and water if not. Nelo was aware of the glances they attracted, for the sacks dribbled blood, but people knew not to stare at soldiers.
They reached a gate in the citadel wall where more soldiers had gathered, with more bloody sacks. Comrades hailed each other, and made black jokes about what their sacks contained. Gisco spoke quietly to other officers, and they scrutinised each others’ lists, comparing notes. Nobody asked why they were waiting, or what for, or why the heads were needed. You weren’t supposed to ask such questions.
