[donaldscrankshaw] Donald: *Artura*, an excerpt from *Water*

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Posted by Donald:
*Artura*, an excerpt from *Water*
http://www.donaldscrankshaw.com/posts/1189476887.shtml


   It occurred to me that this Storyblogging Carnival is our third
   anniversary. It's been a long time since I've submitted a story to the
   Carnival, but I figured for the anniversary edition I ought to include
   something (especially as we only got one story in our first round of
   submissions). What I've been working on recently is Water, the
   "sequel" to Fire. It's not really a sequel, though, only the second
   part of the book of which Fire is part one. I don't intend to publish
   Water online, so that leaves me in a bit of a quandary, since I don't
   have any other stories to share. After some thought, I decided that I
   could publish a small excerpt from Water. I considered putting up
   something from the first chapter, but the first chapter's pretty
   boring. I intend to get rid of it and write something better in its
   place. So instead I'll give you an excerpt from a chapter near the
   end, a bit of which I [1]posted before. This particular scene pretty
   much stands alone, but it works better if you know something about
   Aulus. He's the clever and paranoid older brother of Victor and Lucia.
   If you want more than that, I'm afraid you'll have to read Fire, which
   is freely available on my [2]Writings page. This chapter is the first
   time I reveal what he's up to, or tell any part of the story from his
   perspective. It was a bit of a challenge, making his character
   distinct from all my other characters. From the outside, it's
   easy--he's the paranoid one. But making him an interesting character,
   showing how the world makes sense from his perspective, and making him
   seem at least half-way likable without changing his personality: that
   was a challenge. Anyway, here it is. First, though, a quick warning.
   The subject matter deserves an R rating.
     _________________________________________________________________

                                 Chapter 17
                                   Artura

   Aulus adjusted the rough leather cap on his head. Its somewhat conical
   shape was rounded off well before it peaked, and proclaimed to the
   world that he was a freedman. It lied, of course, but while Aulus
   always sought the truth, he felt no compunction to share it. Right
   now, he was more concerned with the physical discomfort it caused him
   than any message it might be sending to the rest of the world. It was
   hot here, and his sweat damp hair itched even worse than the rest of
   his body, chafed as it was by the rough wool tunic he wore. Face it,
   Aulus, youâre just too used to living in comfort, he thought. His
   stomach growled, reminding him of how little comfort his current job
   provided. Fortunately, it was evening, and the oppressive heat was
   slowly fading as Aulus headed home for the night. Occasionally a cool,
   salt-scented breeze from the north would caress the back of his neck
   and nearly take the cap off his head.
   He scratched at his head underneath the cap, careful not to dislodge
   it. A freedman not wearing his cap could be arrested for passing
   himself off as a citizen. Some of the Urban Legionaries were petty
   enough that they would make the arrest even on the poor freedman who
   merely dropped his cap, and some citizens were simply looking for an
   excuse to beat a frail-looking freedman. Aulus detested bullies of
   both types, and while he usually managed to avoid their notice, there
   was no point in taking risks.
   The long shadows cast by the disappearing sun cast their darkness on
   his as he navigated the raised stepping stones that gave pedestrians
   some hope of staying out of the muck covering the paved streets.
   Buildings loomed several stories high on either side of him, and it
   was already late enough to leave some of the particularly narrow
   stretches, where the overhanging buildings nearly hid the sun at high
   noon, in deep shadow. Aulus wished that Artura had the same system of
   street lamps as Novaro, but only a few private homes had lamps, and
   those were only lit in anticipation of the return of the patricrian
   master and mistress of the house. No one wanted to waste lamplight on
   those wretched strangers still out as evening set in.
   Aulus had to move quickly to the side as one of those wealthy
   patricians came by. Slaves carrying torches took the lead, followed by
   a tight knot of burly slaves with clubs around a litter, heavy velvet
   curtains blocking out the sights and sounds of the street. Not the
   smells, I bet, Aulus thought. Just then the overpowering perfume which
   served that purpose swept over him, its sick sweetness causing him to
   break out in a loud coughing fit. One of the thugs who guarded the
   litter glared at him, taking a step in his direction. Fortu¬nately,
   the litter was moving too fast to give him a chance to indulge in a
   little violence, and he had to hurry after it as the rear torchbearers
   caught up to him. Aulus barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief
   when he heard the screaming.
   Loud shouting was not uncommon in Artura. Usually they were cries of
   anger or passion which could be safely ignored. This was more; Aulus
   could tell by the continuous nature of the cries. From the sound of
   it, it had been going on for several moments already, when it had been
   drowned out by the tramping feet of the entourage. The cries were also
   unmistakably feminine.
   Aulus continued walking forward, which unfortunately was in the
   direction of the screaming woman. He wasnât here to play hero. He had
   a job to do, a job which was much more important than some woman being
   mugged or raped or murdered. If he were in a litter surrounded by
   armed guards, heâd have them help out, of course. Assuming I even
   heard it through the curtain. His pace had picked up, and he was
   heading for the commotion faster than he should. Itâs so much easier
   when you donât know about these things, he thought. When you can just
   shrug your shoulders and say, "Well, these things happen in a large
   city, thereâs nothing you can do." He was jogging now, his breath
   com¬ing faster but hardly winded. If I had come this way ten minutes
   earlier or later, or if I had come another way. I could go another way
   now, but I am not going to be frightened off by this. Now his breath
   was coming in quick bursts, and his steps were flying over the ground.
   The straps of his sandals bit painfully as his feet scraped and
   snagged on the raised stepping stones, on loose paving stones, on
   softer objects heâd rather not think about and wished he didnât smell.
   He nearly sprinted past the alley where all the scream¬ing was
   occurring before he realized he had arrived. His chest heaved, his
   breath whistling in his chest. His eyes were blurred and in the
   darkness it was impossible to tell what he was seeing at first.
   A large man, dressed in the leather cuirass and kilt of one of the
   Urban Legionar¬ies, leaned over a woman. The woman wore a tunic that
   bore no resemblance to a proper dress, well short of her knees and
   slit open on one side. It was torn open at the breast, although Aulus
   could tell that had taken very little effort given the depth of the
   neckline. Her face was painted to a white too pale to approximate skin
   tone, with lips too red and eyes too dark with makeup. Her hair hung
   loose, falling well down her back. She was clearly a prostitute, and
   not an expensive one; she was probably a freedwoman, although they
   didnât wear caps to mark themselves as the men did. The soldier was
   too large for his armor, the straps straining at the bulk, rolls of
   fat spilling between them. His puffy face leered, eyes fastened on the
   womanâs bare breast. One of his hands clutched a handful of her hair.
   Her hands were wrapped around his other arm, whose hand held tightly
   to her bare breast. It squeezed and she screamed, in pain and outrage
   and... shame? It couldnât be: she was a prostitute.
   This is none of my business. She was a prostitute. Why was it any of
   Aulusâs con¬cern if a customer didnât want to pay, if he was a little
   rough? The legionary squeezed again and she screamed again; Aulus
   winced. This wouldnât be my business if she were a patrician matron
   about to be raped by her slave. Neither of them had seen him yet, and
   he didnât think they would see him unless he wanted them to. For all
   they know, Iâm not even here. She screamed again, countertimed to his
   squeezing, and the brute laughed, giggled really, uncharacteristically
   high-pitched for his girth. All I want to do is go home and have
   dinner. I wish I wasnât here.
   He heard the tramping of feet as another entourage neared the alley,
   and Aulus turned to look. Torchlight licked down the alley, and the
   torchbearers came into sight. They were craning their necks, looking
   for the source of the noise they had heard. Aulus heard a sob behind
   him. The litter hove into view with its guards. They too watched, some
   troubled, some leering, some indifferent to anything that wasnât a
   direct threat to their charge. It was hard to tell the color of the
   litter in the torchlight, just that it was a dark color, maybe a deep
   blue or green. âHelp me!â he heard. A hand emerged from the litter,
   and Aulus let himself feel relief for the first time. Someone else
   would deal with this. Someone else would help this woman and relieve
   him of the responsibility. The long, soft hand, its bejeweled fingers
   scattering the inconstant torchlight, waved preemp¬torily to the
   litterbearers, and Aulus knew what would happen even before he heard
   the sharp, frightened word emerge from behind the curtains, âHurry!â
   The litterbearers picked up the pace, and the guards, some
   disappointed and some relieved, moved with it. Aulus turned back to
   the tableau before him, which stood unchanged.
   Torchlight flickered down the alley again, touching rapist and victim,
   who watched the procession pass. The man seemed to hold his breath,
   while the woman sobbed almost quietly now. Still, she watched them
   pass through her tears, and the soldier watched with her. Aulus stood
   backlit by the procession; he should be clearly visible to them, he
   was clearly visible, only they still didnât know he was there. They
   wouldnât notice him until he wanted them to. He still had only the
   vaguest idea how he could so easily slip beneath peopleâs notice, and
   it didnât always work, but when it did, it was like magic. The rear
   torchbearers were passing now, and for the first time the light shined
   clearly down the alley, and he could make out the details concealed in
   shadows. The manâs eyes were clouded, his face slack, his nose and
   cheeks florid. Clearly he had had plenty to drink, today and a
   thousand days previous. Tears ran down the womanâs face, tracking
   through black, white, and red makeup to leave an unholy mess. But
   underneath the skin was pale and freckled, not the olive of the
   southerners. The eyes, shining and wet, reflected the torches with
   their own green fire, and the hair shone with a deep, rich red.
   Jaelin? It couldnât be Jaelin. Jaelin was safely with Grandfather,
   hundreds of miles south of here. And she still thinks sheâs Lucia, at
   least according to the latest letter. He was moving forward, alone,
   unarmed, and still unseen. She wouldnât be here, not dressed like
   that, not working as a prostitute. Aulus looked around for a weapon: a
   rock, a large stick, anything that would narrow the soldierâs
   advantage. His eyes fell to the sword hanging from his enemyâs belt.
   Damn, Iâm thinking of him as my enemy now. I do not want to get
   involved in this. He stood beside the man, who, figuring himself free
   from any interruptions, leaned in toward his victim for an obscene
   kiss. Aulus reached for the sword, wrapped his hand about it--Please
   donât notice me now!--and pulled.
   The hand which had been groping the womanâs breast whipped back to
   seize hold of the swordâs hilt, but since Aulus had already pulled it
   halfway out of its scabbard, the hand grasped hold of the blade
   instead. The soldier was looking at Aulus now, seeing him for the
   first time, his expression equal parts shock and fear, which turned to
   simple pain as Aulus yanked the sword the rest of the way from its
   scabbard, slicing the soldierâs hand open in the process. The man was
   the one who screamed this time, but the woman cried out too as he
   turned to face Aulus, his left hand, still caught in her hair, jerking
   her along with him. Aulus had never been a swordsman to match Marcus,
   or even Gaius, but his older brothers had forced him to participate in
   enough sparring lessons that he knew how to use a sword. He held the
   short blade left-handed now, pressing its point against the Urban
   Legionaryâs throat. It was something of a reach, since the man was
   head and shoul¬ders taller than Aulus, but Aulus could still push the
   point home. He didnât dare spare a glance for the woman to see how she
   was taking this, although it seemed to him that she held very still.
   The would-be rapist blinked at him. âWhere diâ ya...?â He swayed and
   blinked a few more times, and Aulus could see the beginnings of anger
   pushing aside the fear. âA freeâman? Whacha thinâ yer doinâ assaultinâ
   one of the Urâan Co-cohorâ?â
   Aulus could smell the alcohol on his breath, so strong that he wasnât
   certain what drink had contained it. Probably the sour wine the
   soldiers drank. This one hadnât watered his down properly. âIâm
   stopping a rape.â
   âYer assaultinâ me,â he said. âDis is assaulâ. You coulâ be
   cru-cruci...fied for dis.â
   Idiot. I could have you crucified. That wasnât strictly true.
   Citizens, of which august assembly this soldier was indubitably an
   unworthy member, could not be cru¬cified. Aulus could probably have
   him executed, but not by crucifixion. Unfortunately, doing so would
   cost him the disguise he had worked so hard to set up, so it was
   probably not the wisest idea.
   âAre you saying that the smart thing for me would be to kill you now?â
   Aulus asked. âBecause I could do that.â Could I? he asked himself.
   Maybe, he thought, glanc¬ing at the woman.
   In retrospect, that was probably a mistake. Aulus never knew whether
   the thug had caught the bluff in his voice, or he had seen his
   distraction, or his anger had simply overcome his fear. He batted the
   sword aside with his already bleeding hand, and before Aulus could
   bring it back, his left hand, which had somehow managed to free itself
   from the womanâs hair, grabbed hold of Aulusâs wrist and twisted it.
   His hand convulsed, and the sword hilt slid from his fingers to
   clatter against the ground. Aulus kicked it aside before the thug
   could reach it, right to the womanâs feet. Aulus didnât see what
   happened to it then, because the soldier gave him a shove which sent
   him five feet down the alley¬way and onto his back, his cap flying
   from his head right before it cracked against the pav¬ing stone with
   a force that set his ears ringing. His eyes cleared just in time to
   see a shapely shadow leap over his face. He turned his head to see the
   woman running into the street, sword in one hand and the other
   clutched to her breast, holding the remains of her dress together.
   Aulus lifted his head to look at the guard, who blinked stupidly after
   the fleeing woman, a dangerous expression on his face. He took a step
   in her direction.
   Aulus came to his feet as quickly as his painfully spinning head would
   allow. Maybe the drunk soldier wouldnât pursue, maybe he couldnât
   catch her, maybe she could fend him off with the sword. Aulus could
   vanish again, slip away. Maybe he had done enough. Maybe... He stepped
   between the soldier and his quarry. He had no weapon, and he hoped the
   soldier was unarmed as well. It made little difference: the man was
   three times his size, and although he was fat and drunk, Aulus had
   reason to know he was fast. Aulus knew he couldnât win this fight, and
   the soldier had good reason to want him dead. Sometimes all you could
   do was stand in the enemyâs way, take the beating given, and hope that
   was enough. And hope I survive in the process.
   Aulus would have liked to say he gave as good as he got, but that
   would have been a lie. The man was armored, for Joveâs sake! His last
   conscious thought, as repeated blows crushed his narrow chest against
   the wall, was surprisingly plaintive: She wasnât Jaelin after all.
     _________________________________________________________________

   This is a 2,549 word excerpt from a 190,000 word novel.

References

   1. http://www.donaldscrankshaw.com/posts/1078629673.shtml
   2. http://www.donaldscrankshaw.com/files/Writings.html#WotE