An arrow whizzed by, so close Antonio could feel a brief rush of air on his cheek. Throwing his head back, he chased a lock of sandy brown hair from his face and put his shoulder against the butt of his rifle. Horse hooves pounded the ground, stirring up dust clouds all around the wagon train. With careful, practiced aim, Antonio squeezed the trigger. A rider did a backwards somersault off his animal, landing in a heap about fifty yards away. A second arrow, then a third slammed into the wooden barrel he hid behind.
"Now might be a good time to relocate," Antonio said. The lanky man glanced backwards to make sure no one was about to fire a weapon in his direction – a good fighter made it a point not to be killed by his own allies – and bounded toward the relative safety of a nearby wagon.
Crouching down to take another shot, a familiar voice called out. "Antonio! Stop playing games and back me up!"
The recoil of his rifle was like the kiss of an old lover who'd jilted you Рjarring and painful. After watching the man he'd fired at stagger and fall, Antonio turned to his left. There, on the other side of the wagon, blond hair swayed gently back and forth against a perfectly formed backside in tight corduroy. A leather vest molded carefully and beautifully to curves that would make a grown man cry. As he pondered the clich̩ his life with this woman was turning into, her golden voice shattered the quiet moment. "Don't stand there gawking, back me up!" As if to force the issue, she grabbed the two five shooters at her hips and pulled the hammers back.
Snapped out of his momentary lapse, Antonio gave a glance in the other direction. He couldn't see all the da Milano boys, but Tertio – tall and slender and arrogant in the northern Italian way – and his sister Caterina – demure but sly – were happily blasting away at anything that moved. The pioneer families they were paid to protect were safely tucked away in their wagons, except for the few brave enough to take arms into their own hands and fight for survival.
Satisfied that everything was going as it should, Antonio nodded to the girl with the long blond hair. "Elsebeth," he said softly so she wouldn't hear, "I know you'll come out on top, but I'm afraid this is the end of the line for me." It was a ritual he couldn't do without when going into a firefight. Pessimism always seemed the way to go for Antonio: if you thought about the worst situation possible, anything that turned out better was a victory, of sorts. Inhaling, he nodded again to Elsebeth and moved toward her, taking a position at her hip and crouching down low again.
Once he was in position and aiming at the rider of a charging horse, Elsebeth stepped out from behind her cover, pistols cocked. A group of eight or nine riders pounded their way; in a matter of moments, Elsebeth would have to move or be trampled. Coolly, her wrists flicked up and down so rapidly Antonio couldn't tell which way they were going. When she slowed, every horse was without a person on its back. The animals panicked, turned and fled.
"Did you even fire a shot?" the blond goddess asked, sounding not the least exasperated. Blinking in the mid morning sun, Antonio had trouble focusing on her emerald gaze. He shook his head.
In the distance, a war cry sounded the end of the fighting. The plodding of horses became distant and quieter every moment. One of the da Milano men - Antonio thought it might have been either Ernesto or Sergio - leapt up from his hiding and ran out to the edge of the circle of wagons. "Cowards! We should go after them and massacre them! Animals such as the Seres don't deserve to live!"
Someone in the pioneer group called the all clear. As the women, children and older folks tentatively poked their heads out of their wagons, Antonio stood and dusted off his jeans. Slinging the rifle over his back, he silently surveyed the final cost of the encounter. He was sure he'd seen one of the pioneers go down; sounds of feminine sobbing confirmed the idea.
Scanning the prairie beyond the wagons, bodies were scattered here and there. The largest cluster included the nine Elsebeth expertly slaughtered. Not for the first time, Antonio was glad to have her with him, not just because she was so magnificent in bed. He didn't know her story - Elsebeth would talk about anything current or the times the two had spent together, but she clammed up every time he'd sought to find out why she was driven to the ends of the Empire and why she was such a fantastic shot. In their time together, Antonio had seen some of the fastest gunfighters; none of them held a candle to Elsebeth, and any who challenged her were no longer roaming the plains showing off their quick draw.
A stiff hand cracked against the back of his head. "You were daydreaming again, nitwit," Elsebeth chided. "We need to get the wagon train organized again and get on the move."
Commotion drew their attention before Antonio could respond in his usual dry manner. Sergio da Milano - if it was indeed Sergio and not his twin Ernesto - was still ranting and raving about the Seres; he was trying to unhitch one of the horses and get everyone motivated to go after the raiding party. "Come on you slovenly bastards! If we don't ride those dogs down and kill every last one of them, they'll come again and again until they pick us off one by one in our sleep! I say any man who doesn't join me is a coward!"
Instinctively, Antonio's right hand fell to the wooden butt of his fifty-five caliber Tuccio pistol. He wasn't so slow on the draw either, especially when another man called him a coward. As he was about to step forward and make his presence known, that same stiff hand careened off the back of his head.
"You men are so cocksure of yourselves as the greatest gift to life," Elsebeth told him. "Give it a rest, Antonio, here comes the cavalry." One of her slender, powder burnt fingers stretched to Antonio's right. "Sergio's uncle will put him in his place."
Though Antonio didn't care much for the harshness of the da Milano boys, he did have to admit they had a very intelligent and classy man leading them in the right direction. Facio Grassi was as honorable as they came, it was such a shame the boys rarely learned anything. Antonio watched Facio walk calmly out toward Sergio - how Elsebeth knew for certain which brother it was always unnerved Antonio - and grab the boisterous man by the shoulder.
"Watch what you say, Sergio," Antonio heard Facio say. "One day, your mouth will get you into more trouble than your family can get you out of. Let things be and show some respect to these farmers and prospectors - not everyone wants to be a gunfighter." Antonio thought he detected something in Facio's voice that said the elder man was one of those people who didn't care much for the life of a professional fighter.
"You're getting to be an old man, Facio," Sergio shot back. "Maybe some day, I take over the family. Then we do things my way." Despite his tough talk, Sergio backed down. However, when he turned and saw Antonio facing him, Sergio widened his stance and spit in Elsebeth's direction. "What are you two looking at? I could kill you both in an instant."
Although many of the pioneers were now out of their hiding places and attempting to get their wagons moving again, the angry sounds made them stop what they were doing. Most took up their former positions to wait out the next few tense moments. Caterina appeared off to Antonio's left, a twenty-six caliber rifle in her hands. Tertio and Donatello poked their pistols around the edge of a wagon. Not liking the odds, but not willing to back down, Antonio stood his ground, certain that Elsebeth would be able to take care of the two boys to her right and Sergio, leaving him free to take out Caterina.
Luck was with them, however. Facio stood between Antonio and Sergio - his back to Antonio. "We will have none of this, Sergio! Caterina, Tertio, Donatello, put those guns down, now!" He glared at each in turn until they did as ordered. "And you, Sergio, you will mind me, or by God and the Virgin, I will gun you down myself! This man behind me is too honorable to shoot me in the back, but I don't know about you anymore, Sergio. If only your mother could have lived so long to see you like this."
Thoroughly enraged and with his lust for carnage clearly unsated, Sergio spat in Elsebeth's direction again and stalked away. It took several long moments, even after Sergio was out of sight, for the thick tension in the air to abate, but once it was gone, life returned to normal. The pioneer families resumed their work - the wagon train had to start up again - and the gunfighters began cleaning weapons for the next possible encounter.
"You're lucky, Antonio," he heard the beautiful blond next to him say.
Turning, he gazed longingly into her hypnotic stare. He cocked his head to the side and studied her for a moment. "What do you mean, belissimo?"
Tapping the butts of her pistols once, then folding her arms across her chest, Elsebeth whispered in reply. "I hadn't had time to reload, dummkopf. I had one bullet left." As Antonio pondered that potentially deadly mistake, she added, her voice now much louder, "So next time you start thinking with your gee-ba, as the locals call it, you can consider yourself on your own." In a quick, reflexive move, she unfolded her arms, swatting him hard in the shoulder. With the fluidity and grace of a dancer, she spun on her heel and walked away. Antonio heard her say, "Schweinhundt" before she hopped up into a wagon and disappeared from sight.
Turning around, Antonio made for a group of barrels - his original hiding place when the fighting started. His pack was there. Every worldly possession inside was a reminder of what he'd accomplished in life. The golden pocket watch was from his dying father; it didn't matter that the mechanism had long since broken, it was far more valuable than as a timepiece or the few coins he could sell it for. By now, however, the watch would be at the bottom of the pack, beneath the barrel of the gun carried by Mykonos of Crete. Mykonos was the first bounty Antonio ever collected on; after defeating the notorious bank robber and murderer in a saloon, Antonio took the barrel as a souvenir. Of course, the fact that Mykonos was so drunk he could barely stand and didn't even notice the first four shots Antonio got off - has hand was trembling so violently - was never mentioned in the official report.
An empty bottle of perfume from Arabia was the next trinket Antonio remembered. The whore house he'd visited - before he met Elsebeth, naturally - was as high class as they came. It had to be, for only the highest of nobility were permitted to enter. Antonio had saved the life of the governor of the province through chance; a plot overheard during a game of skill at a dingy bar led to an undercover operation and a series of arrests. One of the whores, a statuesque, tan skinned, green-eyed Persian beauty rubbed the delightful smelling perfume over every inch of his body before treating him like a king. She let him keep the bottle afterward.
Arriving to find the barrels gone, Antonio expected to find his pack lying on the ground. To his surprise, it wasn't. Before he could question the families whose wagons were nearest his hiding place, the sound of childish giggling filled his ears. "Bang!" The voice was young but strong. A dark brown form darted out from beneath the nearest wagon. "Gotcha!" It was a boy of about ten or so, holding his hands, index fingers extended and thumbs up in the air, as if he was holding guns. He giggled again, possibly unaware of what death meant. Antonio envied the youth if that was the case. After a moment, the boy cocked his head and his smile turned into a flat crease on his spotty, brown face. "I said, I got you; you're dead now, Mister."
"I know," Antonio answered grimly.
"Then why don't you lay down on the ground?" the boy - Arab or Kurdish, possibly Turkish, Antonio guessed - asked him earnestly.
"And who will tell my family that I'm dead?" Antonio replied. "Whose shoulder will my wife and children cry on when they hear that their daddy is dead? Are you prepared to fight and kill those who would seek vengeance for my death? And will you be so willing to kill the next group who seek vengeance for every group before that you kill? When does it stop, my young friend? Your parents are trying to take you away from that kind of life." It was a life Antonio knew all too well, though only in hindsight - foresight was extremely hard to come by, else people wouldn't make so many mistakes they regretted later.
"Jeez, Mister, I was only playing," the boy answered, rolling his eyes.
"Playing is fine, but only if you know the seriousness of what you play at." Antonio hoped the lesson would sink in, but didn't fret too much; youth had a way of discovering things for themselves - often the hard way. "Now, have you seen the pack that lain here before the barrels were removed?"
"I might have," the boy answered mischievously. "What's it worth to you, Mister?"
Trying not to smirk at the kid's gall, but knowing he was failing miserably, Antonio dug into the back pocket of his jeans. "What's your name, son?" he asked.
"Saleed; what's yours?" the youngster answered.
Finding the flat object he sought, the gunfighter removed it from the pocket and glanced at it. "Antonio. It seems I have one bronze coin for which to pay little thieves for information."
"I'm not a thief!" Saleed protested. "My mom picked it up and took it into our wagon because she didn't want you to lose it!" When Antonio responded only by scowling at the boy, he leapt up into the air and pointed to the nearest wagon. "Mom! The gunfighter's here for his bag!"
A somewhat attractive, middle aged woman poked her head out of the wagon. "Saleed, what are you- oh, Mister Giuseppe, I didn't realize you were here. I saved your bag when my husband took his barrels back." She disappeared for a moment, only to return with his pack in one well-calloused hand. "Here you are, and please accept our thanks for protecting us this day." In the other hand, she carried something that really caught Antonio's rapt attention. It was somewhat round, red and looked altogether delicious, so delicious that his stomach growled and he didn't hear what the woman said next.
Forcing a break from his eager stare, Antonio bowed his head slightly. "I regret ma'am, that I didn't catch the last thing you said."
A genuine smile grew across the lady's thin lips. Had she been of hearty European stock, Antonio noted she likely would be blushing now. "I just asked if you would take this apple to prove our gratitude." She held it out in the palm of her hand.
Before he even reached for his pack, he graciously took the fruit and sunk his teeth into it. It crunched and immediately the juices flowed over his lips and tickled his palate. "Mmm, mighty fine, ma'am." He doffed his old, tattered hat. "I thank you for this delight."
Stuffing another bite in his mouth, he took the pack and smirked again at the brazen boy. "It seems I have been proven wrong about you. A man always admits when he is wrong." He flipped the coin toward Saleed, who deftly caught and pocketed it in a swift, fluid motion. "You have my thanks, young sir."
As he turned away, he heard Saleed say to his mother, "I want to be just like Mister Giuseppe when I grow up!" Hopefully, his parents could change the kid's mind. Though he enjoyed his life well enough, Antonio knew it wasn't for most people. He also knew a few tragic regrets as a result of the life he led. That part, he would wish on no one.
Since there was still at least a couple of hours more work ahead of the pioneers before they could be underway again - it was far easier to get wagons into a protective circle than to get them out again - he strolled away from the hustle and bustle. When the apple was nothing but core, he dropped it and decided he'd found a suitable place to lie down for a spell. A worn green and yellow blanket unrolled from the top of his pack and he placed it down gently on the warm tundra. He sat down atop it and went through his pack.
After taking out his only change of clothes and placing them beside him on the blanket, he dug down for his most prized memento. That it didn't immediately meet his touch disturbed him. "Where is it?" he whispered as he searched. There was the pocket watch of his father, but where was his mother's lace? Could Saleed have removed it to get more money in extortion? If so, why didn't he mention it earlier?
"Looking for something?" The voice behind Antonio was smug and all too familiar and made the hairs at the back of the gunfighter's neck stand on end.
"Mordecai, what do you know about anything?" Antonio asked. He got to his feet, turned and glared at the man. Mordecai Wierzbekie owned all the cattle and other livestock the pioneers were taking with them. Mordecai owned a great deal more than that, which also made him think he owned people as well. Though the man was as low down as they came, Antonio couldn't figure for the life of him why Mordecai would be out here in the wastes talking to him now about a shred of fabric almost fifteen years old.
"I know a lot," Mordecai answered him. "I know we've paid you people plenty of money to keep us safe on this journey and what do we have to show for it? Seven men dead since we set out from Tibetum Province. I've personally lost three steer, two pigs and God knows how many chickens."
"Oh yes, let's not forget the plight of the mighty chicken," Antonio mocked. "So crucial in conquering the virgin territories which lay before us."
"I can see matters of commerce escape one such as you," Mordecai responded slyly. "Maybe you will understand this. You've cost me money, and that means, I need to make it back somehow. We aren't settled yet, so I can't make it back from the goy- uh, I mean, my pioneer brothers and sisters, so I'll make it back from you."
Antonio cocked an eyebrow at the ridiculous man. "If you think you can take me, I'll be more than happy to draw against you." He lightly rubbed his fingertips together to increase their sensitivity and narrowed his gaze down into Mordecai's greed filled soul.
Throwing his hands up in front of him and taking a step back, the herder nearly babbled for a moment before becoming coherent. "Don't be stupid! I'm not here to start shooting! I'm too wealthy to die. I wanted to sell you something."
Antonio didn't let his guard down for an instant; the other man carried a pretty deadly Qalid manufactured nine gauge shotgun that could blow him to pieces at close range. "You're as greasy as a snake oil salesman. What could you have that I'd pay you for?"
Slowly and carefully, Mordecai reached into his coat pocket, all the while Antonio studying his every move, ready to pull his pistol. When it was clear the merchant wasn't reaching for a weapon, Antonio softened a bit. But what was the man reaching for? A strand of dingy, moldy white lace slid out of his pocket and flapped in the gentle breeze. "I stole this back from the man who took it from your pack," Mordecai said. "I want payment for it; everything you were paid to guard us."
"Who stole it?" Antonio asked, not believing Mordecai's statement for a second.
"Caterina da Milano," Mordecai responded immediately.
Snake in the grass, Antonio thought angrily. He practiced that so he'd spit it out fast and smooth. Dirty low down sidewinder also picked a perfect target; he knows I can't check out his claims without starting a war against her brothers. Aloud, he said, "What makes you think I care anything about that scrap of whore cloth?"
"I know a lot, as I said before." Mordecai grinned like one of the great apes in Africa Antonio read about once. Did the pudgy little man actually know more than he was letting on? How could he know what that piece of cloth meant to Antonio. "I know you got this in Kiev, Ukrainus Province," Mordecai added. "I also know what it means to you, because I was there. What was it, Antonio, about fifteen years ago?" He grinned again. No, Antonio decided, it wasn't the grin of a great ape, it was the toothy grin of a wolf.
Antonio immediately thought of the pocket watch. It was just laying there in the street, a few feet from the body of his father where it had fallen from his pocket and rolled. His mother's body wasn't far away; her dainty hand still clutched the fancy piece of lace made in Paris, Gallia Province. The same piece of lace Mordecai held now. Though it was made in Paris, the bloated pig was right; when Antonio took it from Zaneta's - his mother - hand, it was outside a bakery in Kiev. Both his parents died that day, not quite fifteen years ago. Could Mordecai have worked at that bakery and seen it all? It seemed so unlikely that the bastard would remember something like that; after all, Antonio had never set eyes on the cattle herder until they met in Tibetum Province in May when the pioneers hired Elsebeth and him.
"Too wrapped up in emotion to respond?" Mordecai's voice was as unwelcome as any plague. "You can have this back when I see those coins."
Dark temptations grew and twisted in Antonio's gut. "What if I drop you right now instead?" he asked through gritted teeth. "I could say you were going for that fancy shotgun and I had no choice."
For the first time, in the warm afternoon sun of a balmy July, Antonio saw Mordecai sweat. "You wouldn't," the herder replied. He swallowed hard. "You'd be killing an innocent man. I'm innocent, I swear it; I didn't steal it, I merely got it back for you."
"An honest man would reckon it right to give someone back their property, not charge them for it," Antonio informed him.
"That's a difference of opinion," Mordecai answered. "I'm not trying to change your opinion, and I would hope you would respect my rights to have my own opinions. We're not barbarians like the Seres, after all. We're all Roman citizens, equal under the law."
"Some are more equal than others, or so it would seem." Antonio had said that more to himself, and so he wasn't surprised that Mordecai seemed not to hear it.
"So, are you going to shoot me, or pay me for this scrap of memory?" Mordecai dared to say. "Because those are the only two ways you'll get it." He was brave when it concerned money, that Antonio gave him.
The small bag of coins, mostly silver with a couple gold thrown in, jingled when he took it out of the inside pocket of his duster coat. "Here, take it and be gone," Antonio said unhappily. He approached Mordecai, tossing him the bag. The herder giddily hefted the weight and handed the lace to Antonio.
"A pleasure doing business with you," the herder said before turning tail and heading back to the wagons and his line of livestock.
"Ass," Antonio muttered under his breath. It was all the money he had left and now as if to punish him for his kindness in not killing Mordecai, his stomach rumbled. "Now I can't even buy a hot meal." Dejected, Antonio ran the lace through his fingers once before returning it to the safety of his pack. Rolling up the blanket, he bundled that with the pack as well and slung the entire thing over his shoulder. Though he'd wanted to, he wouldn't harm anyone who didn't try to reciprocate. "Maybe in New Milan I can find some work," he said as he walked slowly back toward the caravan. "Or maybe I'll get lucky and someone will take a shot at me." New Milan was still a ways off, but it was the last stop the pioneers would make before moving on to the land they purchased from the Empire.
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You can order it here in Kindle version: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0052E9ML2
Or here in softcover book version: http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/universalis-romana-betrayed/15366540
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