Free The Ides of March by Valerio Massimo Manfredi, Christine Feddersen-Manfredi Page A

Dirty son of a bitch, but he’s rarely wrong. I can’t tell you any more, but I want you to realize that the lives of a great number of men – perhaps the destinies of entire cities and even nations – depend on this message reaching its destination in time. It must be delivered orally to the old guard post at the eighth milestone on the Via Cassia. I don’t care how you get there – take any damned route you please – and I don’t care if you have to sweat blood to make it, but for all the demons in Hades, before you breathe your last, you must deliver this fucking message. Is that clear?’
    ‘Perfectly clear, commander.’
    ‘Someone is already taking care of getting your gear together. The horses will be ready as I finish speaking. You will take off in two different directions. You can decide between you which routes you’re going to take. I’m not saying you have to remain on a single road the whole time, but since you’ll be needing to change horses, you will have to use a road as your reference point. For the sake of security, I do not know the itineraries of any other couriers, but it’s possible that they are different from your own. If necessary use your speculator badge to identify yourself as a scout, although it’s best to complete the mission incognito if possible. The system is designed to guarantee that at least one message arrives, if the other attempts fail for any reason.’
    ‘The reason,’ said Rufus, ‘being that the messenger is killed. Correct, commander?’
    ‘That is correct,’ replied his superior. ‘Those are the rules of the game.’
    ‘Who, besides us, may be aware of the operation?’ asked Vibius.
    ‘No one, as far as I understand. But that’s not to say we know everything we’d like to know, and what we think most probable may be the furthest from the truth. So keep your eyes and ears open. Your order is this and only this: deliver the message at any cost.’
    Taking leave of the commander, the two men went down the stairs that led to the inner courtyard, where a couple of sorrels had been kitted out for a long journey: blankets, knapsacks containing food, flasks containing watered-down wine, moneybelts. A servant helped them put on their reinforced leather corselets, thick enough to stop an arrow from getting to the heart but light enough to permit agile movement. A Celtic dagger was the standard weapon for this type of mission. The baggage was completely covered by a coarse woollen cloak, good in the cold, good in the heat.
    They walked their horses out through the main gate, where two lanterns cast a yellow halo on to snow soiled by mud and horse dung.
    ‘What now?’ asked Vibius. ‘Shall we separate here or ride down to the bottom of the valley together?’
    Rufus stroked the neck of his horse, who was restlessly pawing the ground and snorting big puffs of steam from his nostrils.
    ‘That would be most logical and I’d greatly prefer it. But if they sent the signal in this direction it’s because they expect at least one of us to take the short cut across the ridge in the direction of the Via Flaminia. It’s tough going but will save a good half-day’s journey. Sometimes half a day can make all the difference.’
    ‘You’re right,’ agreed Vibius. ‘So what do we use? A straw or a coin?’
    ‘Straw burns, coins endure,’ replied Rufus, and tossed a shiny Caius Marius penny into the air. It glittered like gold.
    ‘Heads you get the short cut,’ said Vibius.
    Rufus clapped his hand down over the coin in his left palm, then looked.
    ‘Horses!’ he said, showing Vibius the quadriga that adorned the back of the coin. ‘You win. I’ll take the Via Flaminia Minor.’
    The two friends looked each other straight in the eye for a moment, as they drew their horses close and gave each other a big punch on the right shoulder.
    ‘Watch out for cow shit!’ exclaimed Vibius, reciting his favourite charm against the evil eye.
    ‘Same to you, you cut-throat!’