The Ex-Centurion stumbled from the brothel into the bright, late, spring afternoon, sunshine. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the light a chill in the air made him remember his bladder so he relieved himself on the back wheel of a stationary cart. A beggar noticed him and crossed the street with his bowl but The Ex-centurion dismissed him with just a snarl.
He looked around to see a small throng push it's way down the street. He needed to get passed the crowd to get back to his lodgings and so stepped back into the brothels doorway to wait them out.
As the crowd approached It became apparent that what it had in density it lacked in numbers as it seemed to consist solely of burly young men pushing a bedraggled man before them. The Ex-centurion had no intention of getting involved until The Bedraggled Man called him by name. The Ex-centurion knew all too well the fate of a disgraced legionary and assumed The Bedraggled Man had been one of his brothers in arms. He called a halt to the crowd.
His authoritative voice and commanding volume stopped the crowd in its tracks and the Ex-Centurion pushed forward to examine The Bedraggled Man. He didn't recognise the man but wasn't too surprised as the man had appeared to have been kicked in the face by a horse. “Do I know you?”
“Yes sir, I was the Housekeeper on a farm you billeted in, not less than a year ago!”
“That's pretty tenuous I'm not sure I owe you anything.” The Ex-centurion looked up at the crowd of rotund faces about to send them on their way.
“Wait Sir! I have news of my master and mistress… they were murdered!” The Bedraggled Man seemed desperate.
“That's still not my business. Even if I were still in the army it would be down to the local magistrates to find the killers.”
“It was The Stranger, Sir! The Shaman with his magic tattoos.”
For some reason, perhaps because The Bedraggled Man had already reminded him of his last year the Ex-centurion immediately thought of the naked man with strange tattoos he had been presented with whilst he had been putting down a rebellious village. It was funny how the mind works he was sure until that point he had forgot all about The Naked Prisoner .
“The Tattooed man killed your master?” The Ex-centurion recalled the Farmer and his wife. He recalled he hadn't liked them much all the Farmer liked to talk about was money and his wife was a sourpuss. Still he had had the tattooed man in his custody and had left him to kill. Now that he thought if it. The prisoner’s capture preceded an attack by the rebellious Britons. Perhaps this man was a powerful Shaman as The Bedraggled Man had put it.
He looked for an authoritative figure in the crowd but was confronted with nothing but boys, burly boys, but boys nonetheless. Eventually he picked the oldest looking in one. “I'm taking this man into custody on behalf of the imperial army.” It was a lie. He had been stripped of his rank after failing to halt the rebellion.
The Eldest Boy looked worried about being singled out. “Is that like the city watch? We were told to take him there?”
The centurion smiled. “It's better.” This at least was true, the city watch were no better than thieves, beggars and cutthroats they were meant to police.
The boy looked concerned but didn't know how to argue with an adult. Eventually he shrugged. “I suppose if it's better.” He turned back the way he came and his docile herd followed.
The Ex-centurion was left in the street with The Bedraggled Man. “It appears you're in my debt. I want to know everything. What's your name Housekeeper?”
“I'm currently going by the name Revenge.” Revenge seemed deadly serious but The Ex-centurion suppressed a laugh and tried to look beyond the beating and judge the man beneath. He recognised the glint in the cold stare he was met with. It was the stare of a killer.
“It looks like you need a drink, soldier.”
Revenge understood his place in this duo. “Sir, yes Sir”