the easy way of a man with a military background, Paetus immediately ran through the situation.
The ground was good. Unless Clodius decided to veer off and head for his villa, which it appeared he was not about to do, considering how close he was to the junction while still riding purposefully forward, then a confrontation was inevitable. Indeed, given the fact that they were so far from Rome and facing an almost certain meeting, Clodius would no more pass up the opportunity to face off against his opponent than would Milo.
No other side roads and hardly an alley big enough to fit a fat man down. Just a single wide, long street through the centre of town, and the two opposing forces approaching one another along it. There was simply no way this was going to end without violence.
Then there were the odds. Paetus had known his employer’s plans. Milo had decided on only a small entourage, mostly of servants and slaves, with just a few bodyguards. Paetus had been theatrically horrified at Milo’s laxity and had persuaded him surprisingly easily to take along a larger group of his murderous gladiators. And just in case, Paetus had filtered his men in among them with specific instructions.
Clodius had the advantage of numbers. Against Milo’s eight gladiators and numerous harmless servants, Clodius had at least two dozen armed thugs.
But that was all they were: thugs. They were slaves and ruffians with clubs and cheap blades. Not the trained killers of the arena that walked before Milo. For all the difference in numbers, Paetus would put his money on Milo every day.
And then he himself was here above the scene, with his four most dangerous men just in case. Years in the making, this was likely a once-in-a-lifetime chance to bring down Clodius, and if it meant his own death, he would see it happen this day.
Clodius would feed the crows tonight, even if Paetus had to lie dead beside him.
‘Hope nothin’ happens to the dominus,’ one of the men behind him muttered, approaching the window as he picked at a thumbnail with a wicked sharp knife.
‘If he’s in trouble, we’ll step in to help,’ assured Paetus, and strangely, he meant it. Milo had been nothing but good to him, giving him a place in his household and inordinate trust in a time when that commodity was extremely hard to come by. He would not see Milo fall today if the choice were his to make. But Clodius’ death was still the highest priority, even if he had to sacrifice all others.
Paetus turned to his men.
‘Be ready. If that piece of camel shit manages to slip out of the combat, the man who lets him get away gets flayed, but the man who guts him gets a month’s wages above the norm.’
He turned back to the street. The two forces were closing on one another. Eudamus was bellowing for Clodius’ party to clear the street, while Clodius was sneering and demanding they move aside for him. It would have been comical had Paetus not had such a vested interest in the meeting.
Both groups slowed. There was a build-up of tension in the air. The inhabitants of the town, right down to the beggars and the thieves, stepped away from the street. Shutters closed over windows and doors were slammed shut and bolted. A tavern nearby remained open, though the men lounging at the tables outside hurried indoors and peered from the windows at the events unfolding in the street.
The world held its breath.
Silence. Even the two groups had stopped demanding each other move, and had slowed to a crawl as they neared one another. They were perhaps thirty paces apart now - a distance that could be closed by a running figure faster than some men could draw a blade.
Clodius was starting to realise his danger now, and his horse slowed further, the armed thugs at his rear picking up the pace slightly in order to ride down the side of the group and protect their master. Time was running out. The moment Clodius was fully protected, what might have been a simple execution could
The ground was good. Unless Clodius decided to veer off and head for his villa, which it appeared he was not about to do, considering how close he was to the junction while still riding purposefully forward, then a confrontation was inevitable. Indeed, given the fact that they were so far from Rome and facing an almost certain meeting, Clodius would no more pass up the opportunity to face off against his opponent than would Milo.
No other side roads and hardly an alley big enough to fit a fat man down. Just a single wide, long street through the centre of town, and the two opposing forces approaching one another along it. There was simply no way this was going to end without violence.
Then there were the odds. Paetus had known his employer’s plans. Milo had decided on only a small entourage, mostly of servants and slaves, with just a few bodyguards. Paetus had been theatrically horrified at Milo’s laxity and had persuaded him surprisingly easily to take along a larger group of his murderous gladiators. And just in case, Paetus had filtered his men in among them with specific instructions.
Clodius had the advantage of numbers. Against Milo’s eight gladiators and numerous harmless servants, Clodius had at least two dozen armed thugs.
But that was all they were: thugs. They were slaves and ruffians with clubs and cheap blades. Not the trained killers of the arena that walked before Milo. For all the difference in numbers, Paetus would put his money on Milo every day.
And then he himself was here above the scene, with his four most dangerous men just in case. Years in the making, this was likely a once-in-a-lifetime chance to bring down Clodius, and if it meant his own death, he would see it happen this day.
Clodius would feed the crows tonight, even if Paetus had to lie dead beside him.
‘Hope nothin’ happens to the dominus,’ one of the men behind him muttered, approaching the window as he picked at a thumbnail with a wicked sharp knife.
‘If he’s in trouble, we’ll step in to help,’ assured Paetus, and strangely, he meant it. Milo had been nothing but good to him, giving him a place in his household and inordinate trust in a time when that commodity was extremely hard to come by. He would not see Milo fall today if the choice were his to make. But Clodius’ death was still the highest priority, even if he had to sacrifice all others.
Paetus turned to his men.
‘Be ready. If that piece of camel shit manages to slip out of the combat, the man who lets him get away gets flayed, but the man who guts him gets a month’s wages above the norm.’
He turned back to the street. The two forces were closing on one another. Eudamus was bellowing for Clodius’ party to clear the street, while Clodius was sneering and demanding they move aside for him. It would have been comical had Paetus not had such a vested interest in the meeting.
Both groups slowed. There was a build-up of tension in the air. The inhabitants of the town, right down to the beggars and the thieves, stepped away from the street. Shutters closed over windows and doors were slammed shut and bolted. A tavern nearby remained open, though the men lounging at the tables outside hurried indoors and peered from the windows at the events unfolding in the street.
The world held its breath.
Silence. Even the two groups had stopped demanding each other move, and had slowed to a crawl as they neared one another. They were perhaps thirty paces apart now - a distance that could be closed by a running figure faster than some men could draw a blade.
Clodius was starting to realise his danger now, and his horse slowed further, the armed thugs at his rear picking up the pace slightly in order to ride down the side of the group and protect their master. Time was running out. The moment Clodius was fully protected, what might have been a simple execution could
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