20 in 5 -- Vol II -- Message Delivered

Power is in the mind,

not the sword.

Servius crossed the quiet plaza, his sandals feeling heavy on the gritty stones. His toga fluttered in the night’s warm breeze, a hint of persimmon in the air, the moon swathed in clouds like a sleeping child.


The scroll tucked against his skin felt ominous, the weight of parchment and ink made unbearable by their message. The Germanic tribes had united and Rome’s farthest legions were surrounded, cut off from the Seven Hills of home. The message was barely two weeks old, and yet the troubled messenger could not help but feel he was carrying the notice of hundreds already dead.


A scraping sound made Servius pause. The city streets were barren at this hour, but not empty. Too many vermin crawled in the dark, and some of them, Servius knew, walked on two feet.


Pulling his toga a little higher, the messenger hurried a touch more, up the Via Fontana to his patron’s mansion. Gaius Biblius Tacitus, often known as “The Banker”, paid very good money for early news of the far reaches, where turmoil erupted and led to changes in trade that The Banker knew how to play to his every benefit. A dire need now that Marcus Junius Brutus had led a coup that stripped even The Banker of much of his wealth.


Servius rehearsed the greeting phrase that would gain him entrance beyond the gateway slave when suddenly a large bulk blocked his path.


“I’ll take that.” The man’s raspy voice was eerily soft.


A slow flash of moonlight let Servius see his obstacle.


Brutus.


Heavy eyebrows, almost touching in their fierce growth. Small eyes above an un-Roman nose that flared in bovine fashion. A strong chin buttressing a weak mouth. And even in the heavy toga of a senator, a body that spoke of strength and violence.


“Why?” said Servius, relieved his voice didn’t waver. “To kill me as you did Julius Caesar?”


Brutus shrugged. “I struck my blows.” His face twisted in the twilight. “Give me the scroll.”


Servius felt his legs weaken. He never carried a dagger, but knew Brutus was never without one. Even in his whoring, he kept good Phoenician steel at hand. The dream of fifty thousand sesterces had vanished, but the will had yet to concede the point.  
      
“What scroll?”


Brutus shook his head and snorted like an angry mule. “I never took you for a fool, Servius Minius. A better man than your father, I’ve always thought.”


The shot hit its mark. Titus Minius had pursued dreams blindly, dying broken and in poverty. The scars of rising from that humiliation were visible even to one such as Brutus.


The heavy-set man held out his hand. Servius hesitated, but quickly relented, almost flinging the scroll at Brutus. Without thought, he turned and ran back down the Via Fontana, rats skittering at his approach. He thought he heard a dry chuckle, like the sound of a death rattle, coming from behind him. He ran until his breath gave out, stopping to lean against a temple wall to regain it.


And then, with quick glances to ensure he remained unobserved, he reached down behind the stonework, aged and cracked, to pull out a small scroll. The real news lay here, leaving Brutus and his enormous debt fully exposed. With a sharp smile, Servius felt the parchment’s warmth in his hand, the same hand that would very soon hold a note for one hundred thousand sesterces, or maybe even two hundred sesterces, from a very grateful Gaius Biblius.



Announcing January 2012 Edition of "20 in 5"


Please buy the next installment of our monthly ebook "20 in 5." "Message Delivered" is there along with 19 other flash fiction stories. Brought to you directly by Mis Tribus.