Conspiracies of Rome by Richard Blake Page B

sword, loose in its scabbard.
        ‘Greetings, my son,’ said Maximin, his voice bright and steady, ‘and a benediction upon your head. If you and like you are all we shall see this night, God will have smiled on us.’
        One-Eye looked keenly at me. His good eye glittered cold in the moonlight. ‘You must be in a hurry for Rome – if that’s where you want to be,’ he said, speaking evenly. ‘Have you seen anything back along the road that so drives you forward?’
        ‘Nothing,’ said I in my best drawl. ‘We have business in Rome that will wait no longer.’ I added: ‘What do you think we might have seen?’
        ‘Perhaps nothing,’ came the reply. The face was now in shadow, but I could still feel the cold and searching look upon me. Was he looking at me or at my clothes? ‘Perhaps nothing at all,’ he repeated. ‘Or perhaps two men. Or perhaps more  . . . This road is not always as lonely as it seems, nor as safe.’
        We hadn’t yet passed again the spot where I’d killed the men. It had been a hot day, and those bodies must now be decidedly on the turn. Unless One-Eye had been in a gallop from before we’d seen him – and even then, he’d have needed a leather nose – he must have noticed some smell.
        He continued to face in my direction, ignoring Maximin even when speaking with him. Was he thinking of some other question? Or was he merely setting me firmly into his memory?
        He confirmed there was still an inn further along the road, though seemed deliberately vague about its distance. He spoke of other matters with Maximin. A casual listener might have found these matters unconnected with our journey. I could tell he was fishing for information.
        Maximin answered him readily enough. An accomplished liar, he had no trouble keeping up a flow of chatter that gave out nothing of substance.
        At last, though, One-Eye raised his hand in a gesture of parting and was on his way past us. He was no longer galloping. Whatever emergency had brought him tearing along the road seemed over for the moment.
        While just within easy conversation distance, he turned and looked back. ‘You have good Latin for a barbarian,’ he observed. For the first time, I could hear a smile in his voice. ‘I may hear it again.’
        With that, he was off. So were we. Every so often, I turned to look back. One-Eye kept up a steady trot that, as we both moved further apart, took him down to an indeterminate patch of darkness on the bright road, and then to a moving dot, and then to nothingness. We were alone again.

8
    Mindful of the extra weight, we still didn’t want to push the horses. But the bright, silent stillness of that road was having its effect on us. The moon was now fully risen, and while the colour was bleached out, all around was clearly visible. There was no wind to disturb the dust on the road. The only noise was the striking of eight hooves on the paving stones and our own occasional and listless conversation.
        By tacit consent, we chose not to discuss what we’d done that evening. The brief exultation of the getaway had worn off. I’d got the money. Now I had to make sure to keep it. We’d ride through the night, I told myself. We’d surely reach the inn by early morning. We’d eat. We’d sleep. We’d wash. I’d change into the less beautiful and well-fitting suit of clothes the tailors had found in a box. Then we’d join with the largest and best-armed group of travellers who were heading on to Rome. There, we’d make whatever introductions were in the detailed orders that Maximin had received in Canterbury but had never bothered sharing with me. After that – well, I had a few ideas of my own forming, and most of these didn’t bear discussing with Maximin; but I’d need to see that gigantic city for myself before deciding anything for certain.
        In the meantime, we rode alone along that straight and interminable streak of