of the few still erected.
He moved by himself, wanting his men to cover as much ground as quickly as possible.
There was a short flight of stairs leading into the storehouse, which were partly burnt, but still sturdy enough to support his weight. The two doors were left wide open, a long dark abyss greeting him as he ventured into the structure.
A streak of lightning momentarily illuminated the dark interior, causing Gaius to jump at his own shadow. The light, however, did illustrate that the building had indeed been a warehouse. Where normally stacks of crates, jugs, sacks of grain and other assortments should have been the storehouse was mostly empty. There were signs that what had been inside was taken, and with haste as trails of spilled grain and flower covered the wooden floors.
Gaius saw nothing or no one that would raise his alarm, but as he continued deeper into the building, he noticed a far room, most likely an office where the quartermaster would have kept a tally on the goods kept inside the building, before being sold.
Inside the office, there was still a fire burning, not enraged that it threatened the whole structure, but still sufficient that it provided adequate light for Gaius to notice the room, unlike the storehouse, wasn’t empty.
There was no way for Gaius to be stealthy as he approached, which unnerved him even more as his feet scratched against the spilled contents that would have stacked the building’s walls, or the increasing creaking the floorboards made with each careful step. However, as he drew nearer, he noticed what appeared to be legs sticking out in front of the doorway. Upon seeing them Gaius called, “I’m a Roman officer, do not be alarmed. If you have a weapon, lower it now!” He spoke the last part of his sentence with more authority, or as much as his shacking nerves could allow. Still, there was no movement or reply.
Gaius was about to call again, but he decided against it as he came closer to the open door. Only then as he came within sight of the pair of legs did he notice how small the feet were, like that of a child.
“Do not be afraid, I’m a Roman — “Gaius froze as he gasped.
In the flickering light from the flames, he saw two girls, lying next to one another, their clothes torn to shred, eyes wide open, and limbs covered with their own blood. Their throats had been cut, and their legs were spread broad, telling Gaius all he needed to know. Whoever had sacked this estate showed no mercy, not even for the very young.
Gaius fixed his eyes on the girls, one of whom had half of her body burnt to a crisp.
His back dropped against the side of the doorway as the sword in his hand felt too heavy to carry any longer.
He couldn’t help but tear at the sight as he studied it, unable to turn away, but wanting too badly. It was only when he heard his name called out by Maurus did he pull away from the sight.
“What is it?” he asked, not allowing Maurus to cross the threshold.
“We found no signs of attackers, only tracks leading outside. I don’t’ suspect the assault happened from out there, but from within.”
“What else?” Gaius asked. He could feel that Maurus was holding something back.
“We…” he struggled to say. “You should see for yourself.”
Gaius tried not to look back inside the small room, forcing himself to pull his gaze from the carnage and replied, “Lead the way.” What greeted him next was worse.
Moments later, Gaius stood in the center courtyard, surround by his men who each looked down at the collection of thirty bodies, most of whom were slaves, and others that weren’t, including children. Everyone was executed, head's cut off, limbs hacked, or throats slit. The women were all naked, having clearly been rapped before they too were murdered and left face-down in the mud.
The bodies that held Gaius attention now were different. Each was knelt down on their knees, hands tied behind their backs. There was one woman, middle aged, four children, and one man, his age impossible to determine as he had been set on fire.
“I would wager that he is the owner of this estate,” Maurus reported as he had pieced together what information her could figure. “And I think they would be his children and wife, more than likely.”
“Looks like he was forced to watch them slaughtered before they set him on fire,” Gaius concluded.
“Why do you say that?” Maurus asked.
Gaius just glanced back at him, “Why else take the time to set this up if they were simply to kill him first.”
“Then who could have done this?” Maurus pondered.
Gaius pulled his dagger out from his belt and knelt down behind the burnt man. He carefully cut his bond; thankfully, the man’s body remained knelling. Gaius then proceeded to cut a ring that was attached to one of his fingers.
When the bone snapped, Gaius wiggled the ring free. It was solid gold and engraved.
“Strange, you would think the ring would have melted when this poor fool was set ablaze,” Maurus commented.
“That is because it was placed on his hand after he was killed, and the fires died away,” Gaius had realized.
“Why would they do that? The things got to be worth some money, and everything else of value is gone, as far as we can tell.”
“Because, they wanted us to know who he was,” Gaius pointed out as he stood back to his feet, examine the ring more carefully — seeing that it was inscribed.
“Decima Felix Titus,” Gaius read.
“Titus,” Maurus’ eyes widen. “He was a gladiator promoter. He ran one of the finest schools in all of Rome. I’ve seen a few of his games. Last years’ Games of Jupiter, wow! What a show,” Maurus commented as the name was quite familiar to him.
Gaius pocked the ring as he turned to face Maurus.
“I want all the bodies to be burnt and giving proper burial rights, slaves included.”
“Do we really have the time for that?” Maurus asked, as he clearly wasn’t looking forward to the grim work.
“Do as I have ordered,” Gaius replied as he turned, looking around the compound a moment longer before he decided on his course.
“Alright lads, you heard the Centurion, on with it,” Maurus spoke to men, once he realized that Gaius was continuing his own investigation.
Gaius pulled a wooden beam out from the doorway that led down into what he assumed was the holding pen for the men who had committed the murder of Titus and his family. He was in the rear of the compound, near an area that was surrounded by a large iron fence and several smaller buildings, each of which was still standing, undamaged by the fires. A few more bodies lied before Gaius’ path, each of them guards he assumed, their weapons and armor stripped from their corpse.
Gaius walked down a set of stairs, heading into what looked to be a kitchen and holding pins for animals and men. The stench below was horrible, nearly causing him to wish he hadn’t decided to venture further. Blood was splattered on the ground; more men must have died during the escape, but their bodies not left behind for whatever reason.
Food that had been cooking had boiled over in a large copper pot, some kind of terrible porridge, brown with unidentifiable cuts of beef and other mixings.
Soon he found what he was expecting, several dozen cells, each with their heavy wooden doors pulled open. Again, there were more signs of blood as some of the men: slaves of another sort died trying to escape. Inside were stray and dirty stained beds, with a bucket for shit and piss in the corner. The walls were layered with scratching, piled on top of one another for decades, written by the various men kept imprisoned within the walls.
Later, Gaius left the cells and the kitchen area and ventured through the training yard. There were a few dozen timber post and human-sized mannequins placed within the muddied sand covered courtyard. Each wood figure was horribly scared with repeated sword strikes, training designed to hone a man’s skill with the sword, something Gaius was all too familiar with.
Another building stood across the yard — its doors had been ripped clear off the hinges. A couple more
