the frenzy of shadows and struggling men. Already, here and there, dark shapes lay crumpled.
A running figure erupted from the melee. From its dress and hairstyle it was obviously a Blue. Three men gave chase. The first to catch up with the fleeing man grabbed the victim’s long hair, yanked his head back, and cut his throat. The second completed the job by putting his sword into their victim’s back. The straggler had to content himself with kicking a corpse.
The massacre was soon over. The tumult faded. Finally there was only an occasional high-pitched shriek as the wounded were dispatched to oblivion. The Gourd was nothing if not thorough, John acknowledged to himself.
He stepped back from the doorway and was suddenly prodded on his shoulder from behind. He whirled, startled, as Felix stifled a bitter laugh.
Then John saw the cause of his companion’s strange humor.
What had nudged his back dangled from a iron hook in the ceiling. It was the skinned carcass of a monstrous pig, the biggest John had ever seen. They had taken refuge in a butcher’s shop. He pushed the corpse away. It swung ponderously to and fro from its hook.
“A strange place to find shelter from a slaughter,” observed Felix.
“Fortuna is said to have a cruel sense of humor.” John turned back to the door.
The continuing search for survivors was a terrible sight. Several men strolled around the forum, casually thrusting blades into motionless bodies. Others had begun to search the surrounding shops, vanishing into darkened cavities to emerge in one instance with a struggling figure which was soon stilled, but increasingly with shadowy handfuls of whatever goods had taken their fancy.
“It’s one thing for a soldier to take the reward he’s earned from honorably defeating an enemy, but only a thief robs his fellow citizens!” Felix averted his head and spit sideways in disgust.
“Ugh!”
It was a reflexive cry of distress.
John bent down and looked behind the pile of baskets sitting under the butcher’s scarred chopping table. A young boy crouched there, wiping his face. He looked up in terror but made no attempt to escape, frozen in fear like a rabbit. Felix dragged him out.
The boy couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve and small for his age at that. Nonetheless he was dressed as a Blue, with a splendid cloak and his hair shaved high in the front.
“Stole your father’s razor, didn’t you?” Felix gave the boy a rough shake. “Not for that beardless face but to shave your hair. You did a good job, boy. Too good. You look enough like a Blue to get your belly sliced open.”
The boy began to sob. “My tutor said I had to memorize Homer. I thought fighting would be more heroic! I was going to write verse about it. We weren’t hurting anybody. Don’t let them kill me!”
Felix muttered words that weren’t fit for the boy’s ears, not as a response to the lad’s confession, but rather because he had just seen several men working their way down the line of shops.
From what could already be seen and heard, their search was extremely thorough. Furniture was knocked over, crates smashed, sacks torn open and their contents tossed out into the forum.
“He looks enough like a Blue to get all our bellies sliced open if we’re caught hiding him,” John pointed out. “There’s only one solution. Give me your sword!”
Felix regarded John with a sneer. “What, is it anything to save your own skin?” The boy in his grip squirmed convulsively, but had the presence of mind not to begin yelling for help.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt him. Just don’t forget the lesson you learned tonight, young man. Life’s rarely poetic.”
From much too close by came the sound of shattering pottery.
“Give me your sword, Felix. Quickly!” John demanded again.
Felix hesitated for a heartbeat, then complied. John ducked behind the enormous hanging pig carcass and swiftly hacked at the opening made by the butcher
A running figure erupted from the melee. From its dress and hairstyle it was obviously a Blue. Three men gave chase. The first to catch up with the fleeing man grabbed the victim’s long hair, yanked his head back, and cut his throat. The second completed the job by putting his sword into their victim’s back. The straggler had to content himself with kicking a corpse.
The massacre was soon over. The tumult faded. Finally there was only an occasional high-pitched shriek as the wounded were dispatched to oblivion. The Gourd was nothing if not thorough, John acknowledged to himself.
He stepped back from the doorway and was suddenly prodded on his shoulder from behind. He whirled, startled, as Felix stifled a bitter laugh.
Then John saw the cause of his companion’s strange humor.
What had nudged his back dangled from a iron hook in the ceiling. It was the skinned carcass of a monstrous pig, the biggest John had ever seen. They had taken refuge in a butcher’s shop. He pushed the corpse away. It swung ponderously to and fro from its hook.
“A strange place to find shelter from a slaughter,” observed Felix.
“Fortuna is said to have a cruel sense of humor.” John turned back to the door.
The continuing search for survivors was a terrible sight. Several men strolled around the forum, casually thrusting blades into motionless bodies. Others had begun to search the surrounding shops, vanishing into darkened cavities to emerge in one instance with a struggling figure which was soon stilled, but increasingly with shadowy handfuls of whatever goods had taken their fancy.
“It’s one thing for a soldier to take the reward he’s earned from honorably defeating an enemy, but only a thief robs his fellow citizens!” Felix averted his head and spit sideways in disgust.
“Ugh!”
It was a reflexive cry of distress.
John bent down and looked behind the pile of baskets sitting under the butcher’s scarred chopping table. A young boy crouched there, wiping his face. He looked up in terror but made no attempt to escape, frozen in fear like a rabbit. Felix dragged him out.
The boy couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve and small for his age at that. Nonetheless he was dressed as a Blue, with a splendid cloak and his hair shaved high in the front.
“Stole your father’s razor, didn’t you?” Felix gave the boy a rough shake. “Not for that beardless face but to shave your hair. You did a good job, boy. Too good. You look enough like a Blue to get your belly sliced open.”
The boy began to sob. “My tutor said I had to memorize Homer. I thought fighting would be more heroic! I was going to write verse about it. We weren’t hurting anybody. Don’t let them kill me!”
Felix muttered words that weren’t fit for the boy’s ears, not as a response to the lad’s confession, but rather because he had just seen several men working their way down the line of shops.
From what could already be seen and heard, their search was extremely thorough. Furniture was knocked over, crates smashed, sacks torn open and their contents tossed out into the forum.
“He looks enough like a Blue to get all our bellies sliced open if we’re caught hiding him,” John pointed out. “There’s only one solution. Give me your sword!”
Felix regarded John with a sneer. “What, is it anything to save your own skin?” The boy in his grip squirmed convulsively, but had the presence of mind not to begin yelling for help.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt him. Just don’t forget the lesson you learned tonight, young man. Life’s rarely poetic.”
From much too close by came the sound of shattering pottery.
“Give me your sword, Felix. Quickly!” John demanded again.
Felix hesitated for a heartbeat, then complied. John ducked behind the enormous hanging pig carcass and swiftly hacked at the opening made by the butcher
Similar Books
