Saturnalia Part 17

'Don't you like it?'

'I'll like you better when you take it off,' I affirmed salaciously. If you are going to abandon a mission for an evening, you may as well get into the festive spirit and while you are at it, try to seduce a girl. Helena reddened, so I reckoned I was in there.

Camillus Verus was wearing his normal white, complete with full senatorial purple stripes. 'Olympus, I'm overdressed for this fiasco, Falco!' n.o.body had reminded him that he had to play the part of a slave tonight, and somehow he had omitted to consult on his outfit with his wife. Julia Justa must have been preoccupied; she was having problems remaining decent. She had decided that playing lowborn and low budget must mean wearing low-cut. Inexperienced at flaunting, she kept fiddling with the skimpy drape across her bosom. Her husband tried to stare in other directions, pretending not to notice her difficulties. He was terrified she would ask him to a.s.sist with pinning things.

'And who have you come as, Marcus dear?' chirped Julia, bright with embarra.s.sment. Her discomfiture inevitably drew the eyes directly to its cause.

I must have been wearing the horrified rictus of any man in danger of glimpsing his mother-in-law's nipples. 'I think I'm a back-alley debt-collector. '

'Isn't that rather similar to what you do normally?'

'I don't work in a d.a.m.ned skyblue tunic!'

'Indigo,' murmured Helena.

'I feel like a periwinkle.'

'Be good. It will soon be over.' Helena was fooling. It took us almost an hour merely to obtain seats. You needed to be fit. If there had ever been a table plan, n.o.body could find it. We squeezed in only by shoving harder than the people who were trying to climb on to benches ahead of us. 'As soon as the first course is over, everyone can get out their cloaks. Then it won't matter what you look like.' We did all have cloaks. We needed them too, dining under the stars on a gusty night in the middle of December. To do Saturnalia properly means celebrating the new crops in the wide outdoors. Helena and I were both longing for a warm brazier indoors and two comfortable armed chairs, each with a good scroll to read.

Near the temple steps, adjacent to Saturn's awesome spread, was a table for the imperial family and their courtiers. King for the Day was a public slave, but he had been carefully chosen--an elderly palace scribe who could be trusted to behave sedately. His mischief-making was forced: he kept eyeing the chamberlains to make sure he had not gone too far.

'He's a b.u.mmer. I think I ought to help him out--' That was not me, but the senator.

'You stay where you are!' commanded his wife.

Once I had thought this couple staid, but the more I knew them the more I could see where their three children had acquired eccentricity and humour. There was the senator, winking wickedly at Helena as if she was still a giggly four-year-old. Here was Julia Justa, that rigid pillar of the cult of the Good G.o.ddess, showing more cleavage than a cheap wh.o.r.e in a travellers' inn; what's more, just like Ma, she distrusted food at public banquets and had lugged a hamper here. The only difference was that Julia's home fare had been cooked and packed by a battalion of slaves.

It caused a problem for me. Men of action eat or work. It is bad practice to attempt both simultaneously before a busy night. My physical trainer would have been horrified to see Julia Justa's tempting nibbles and nuggets find their way into the cheap food bowl we had all been provided with.

Vespasian, our untroubled old ruler, tossed away his wreath happily when he progressed to his place at table. He looked jovial, but I noticed he managed to avoid any real indignities. His staff played the festive game by bowling the occasional apple at one another, making quite sure none hit the Father of his People. I recognised Claudius Laeta, plus a couple of other palace retainers I knew, and a man in a discreet moleskin-coloured tunic, who had his back to me but who could only be Anacrites. A small group of Praetorian Guards, bareheaded to suggest informality, were lounging at the back of Saturn on the temple steps; they may have shed their glittering crested helmets, but they were on duty to protect the Emperor.

t.i.tus and Domitian, Vespasian's chubby sons, made themselves amiable by moving around the tables and sitting with ordinary folk. They both wore plain tunics, but in purple, so it was obvious they were princes being gracious. I saw t.i.tus laughing and joking diligently, some distance from us. Domitian was working our sector of the crowd, but came no nearer than the end of our table, still out of earshot. He and I loathed each other, but I was confident he would never start anything with his father or elder brother watching.

As the noise of partic.i.p.ants rose until it almost drowned the music of a few polite tambourinists and flautists, I busied myself attempting to acquire some of the thimble-sized cups of wine. The senator was talking to a neighbouring diner, so he could ignore the fact that his wife kept diving under the table to extract dainties from her hamper for us all. Every time she bobbed up again with new treats hidden in her dinner napkin, her dress had slipped even lower. I rather suspected the n.o.ble Julia had been plied with tots of false courage while her wardrobe mistress and makeup girl were decking her out for this occasion. Maybe the old republicans were right and it was shameful for women to drink. Meanwhile Helena Justina, that model of moral rect.i.tude, grabbed a tot, knocked it back, pulled a face, and snaffled another one.

A sewer rat ran across the table. He thought the Forum belonged to him at night. I was the only one who noticed. Everyone else was screaming with laughter at the antics of a group of professional entertainers who were dressed as circus animals. I had never seen so many fake woollen manes or such thickly plastered artificial hide. They were rather warty. Some were going to lose a lot of skin when they tried removing their rhinoceros masks tomorrow. One frolicking jester tried investigating Julia Justa's cleavage; he got his horn stuck on her pearl necklace, without doubt purposely. 'Aah 'Aah... Decimus, help me!' Decimus, help me!'

Now I was happy. It was worth coming, to have seen my father-in-law removing a clown from his wife's naked bosom by applying the fulcrum principle to the fellow's rhino horn. The appendage had been well glued on. The man's screams must have sounded right up on the Arx.

It was Helena, standing up so she could more easily reorganise her mother's disarray, who spotted another flurry of excitement. 'Marcus! Someone you know has had an accident...'

I followed her gesture. Behind the statue of Saturn a man had fallen over awkwardly on the spilled oil. It was Anacrites. Like me, he must be waiting his moment to slip away from the banquet un.o.btrusively; I thought I could see slaves with a litter waiting in the narrow side street by the temple. He must have tried to disengage from the courtiers' table and sneak around behind the statue, but when his foot skidded under him, he crashed against the image of Saturn and nearly pushed the G.o.d right over into his golden bowls of ambrosia. Fortunately the statue was held in position by hidden wooden bracing. As Anacrites stumbled back on to his feet, concerned slaves rushed to help him--which was what had attracted Helena's notice. They were anxiously checking that Saturn was still safe, under cover of testing if the Spy had a twisted ankle. I wished it was his neck he had twisted.

Another movement caught my eye. A helmet flashed, among the Praetorians a.s.sembled on the temple step. Oh no.

The Chief Spy had been visiting Ma just before me yesterday. She must have told him what she told me. Now Anacrites and some of the Guards were on the move, and I could guess where they were all going. They too were heading to the Temple of Diana Aventinensis--and they would probably arrive ahead of me.

XL.

The senator had half risen from his seat. He liked heroics. Helena Justina pushed him back. 'Marcus, take me!' 'No.' I did not want to tell her that it might be dangerous. 'Stop shutting me out, Marcus.' She would never change. She had tamed a reprobate, settled down, borne two children, run a household--but Helena Justina would never become a respectable matron, satisfied with domesticity. We first met during an adventure. Action formed part of our relations.h.i.+p. Always did, always would do.

She and I shared a tussle of wills, which I enjoyed more than I should have done. As I looked into those determined dark eyes, she n.o.bbled me as she always did, and I felt a smile twitch. I wanted her to be safe--yet I wanted her to come. Helena spotted my weakness. At once she whipped off the costume wig. Her own fine hair had been pinned up under it, but escaped in a whoosh. She wore little jewellery; with the plain brown dress under a plainer cloak, she would be anonymous on the streets. That was obviously planned.

She bent down, mouthing in her mother's ear, 'We are just going to look for--'

'Oh pee on a column, Marcus! Be like everybody else.'

Bright-eyed, Helena exploded into giggles. I grinned at the senator over Julia Justa's head, as she burrowed in her hamper again, oblivious. Camillus Verus, trapped there at the banquet, shot us an envious look. Then I clutched Helena by the hand and we left.

We ran into t.i.tus Caesar. Youthful, splendid in the purple, famously magnanimous, the heir to the Empire greeted us like favourite cousins. 'Not leaving already, Falco?'

'Following a lead on that case, sir.'

t.i.tus raised his eyebrows and gestured towards Anacrites. 'I thought it was in hand.'

'Joint operation, sir!' I lied. His eyes lingered on Helena Justina, clearly wondering why she was coming with me. 'I always take a girl to hold the cloaks.'

'Chaperon duty!' Helena snorted, as she let t.i.tus see her elbow me hard, correcting my cheeky suggestion. With a jaunty grin for the heir to the Empire, I dragged her away.

Anacrites had been held up. The slaves who guarded the statue were not willing to let him leave the scene until they had checked Saturn over for damage. They milled around the Spy; he was stalled, desperately trying to shake off the unwanted attention without drawing down any more on himselPS The man was completely incompetent. He would be lucky to escape from his ill-timed trip on the spilled oil without a charge of insulting the G.o.d. I did not stay to watch.

We were on foot. In light leather party shoes with sloppy straps and flimsy soles, every uneven pavement tortured our feet. Still, we had no need to mill about making decisions. Our only problem was pus.h.i.+ng through the crowds. First the banqueters, who were merrier than they should have been, given how hard it was to find any of the free wine. Then the unfed onlookers, who saw no reason to let people who had an invitation dodge their duties. '10 Saturnalia!' '10 Saturnalia!' And And 10 10 to you, you gawking menace... We were elbowed and shoved--all in a cheerful spirit, of course--and only escaped after we were bruised and swearing. to you, you gawking menace... We were elbowed and shoved--all in a cheerful spirit, of course--and only escaped after we were bruised and swearing.

I reckoned Anacrites would be heading up the Clivus Capitolinus, so we ducked the other way. I took us through the Arch of Tiberius and the Arch of Ja.n.u.s to the back of the temple, then turned along the dark rear portico of the Basilica. On the Palatine side it was deserted, apart from a few ever-hopeful women of easy virtue, but none tried to approach us. At the far end we took a straight run to the right up the Vicus Tuscus, a swerve as we headed for the Circus Maximus, a rush across the Street of the Twelve Gates. To climb the Aventine, I picked the first steep lane. Temple of Flora, then Temple of the Moon. A veer to the left, a shuffle to the right, and we came out by the Temple of Minerva where I had told Clemens to establish his watch-point. Flanked by enormous double porticoes, the Temple of Diana sprawled at an angle, right next door, just beyond our arrival point.

Everywhere should have been silent and in darkness, but the piazza in front of the temples was ablaze with lamps, music and excited voices.

We had picked a bad night. The neighbourhood was choked with a crowd of manumitted slaves, who claimed the G.o.ddess Diana as a patron. Their main celebration is supposed to be the slaves' holiday on the Ides of August, the day when the temple was inaugurated centuries before; at Saturnalia, freedmen pull their cap of liberty back on if they are tired of being sober citizens and want another chance to indulge in riotous behaviour. The singing, dancing crowd was intermingled with others whose shyness suggested they were fugitives. If these furtive souls had been hiding up at the temple, they had now ventured outside to party in the streets, thinking the festival gave them security. But I thought I recognised some from my dark adventure on the Appian Way. I certainly knew their alarming habits. A flock of them were swooping around like uninvited guests, obviously trying to unnerve other people.

'h.e.l.lo, pretty boy!' Clemens greeted me, with a teasing glance at my blue tunic and soft shoes. Dropping the joke, the acting centurion helped a sword belt over my head. Concealing it beneath my cloak, I nestled the familiar weight of the weapon under my right arm. The others were carrying too. It was illegal--but the laws for private citizens in Rome had not been composed to cover occasions when you might have to search the oldest temple recorded by the pontiff, looking for an enemy of the state.

'This is a bit busy, Falco!'

'The night is going to be fun. I warn you, we'll be vying with the Praetorian Guards.'

'Marcus knows how to organise a good night out,' Helena told Clemens, perhaps with pride in me.

'I-o!'

We had a hard time squeezing through the crazy revellers. By the time we reached the altar court below the steep steps to the Temple of Diana, nothing was going as planned. Coming towards us from the gentle dogleg of the Clivus Publicius I now saw Anacrites' litter, presumably with him lolling inside, ma.s.saging his twisted ankle. A small armed escort marched behind. The few Guards who had peeled off from imperial duties at the Temple of Saturn would have been a manageable group for us. But I saw with despondence that a much larger force had already formed up here in the compressed outdoor altar s.p.a.ce, waiting to rendezvous with the Spy.

Pressing forward, Clemens had seen neither the new arrivals nor their waiting phalanx of colleagues. I nudged him hard. 'Hold off!

's.h.i.+t on a stick!' he muttered, behind his hand. He hissed an order and the lads pulled up. We edged back, hoping to hide in the crowd.

No luck. Anacrites had seen us. He had his litter carried right alongside. His sleek head appeared through the curtains. 'Falco! You were perfectly right and I should have listened. Your prescience is wonderful.' Sickened by his fake adulation, I stared around for its cause. The Spy pointed happily. Two figures approached at a fast trot from the direction of Fountain Court: Lentullus, with his ears looking big on a shaven head, loping breathlessly after my taller, faster brother-in-law. ' You warned me I did the wrong thing keeping him in custody. I should have let him go myselPS If the priestess will not come to him,' Anacrites gloated, 'you knew that Camillus Justinus would come straight to her!'

XLI.

The Temple of Diana Aventinensis had been built to dominate the major peak of the Hill. After centuries of isolation, it had succ.u.mbed to the crush when the Aventine became a popular living s.p.a.ce, and it had lost its drama. The view from afar was lost. The altar court was nothing like the grand meat-slaughtering area at Ephesus, where the warm cuts from daily sacrifice feed the entire city. On the Aventine, noisy, narrow streets ab.u.t.ted the two long portico wings, and the front steps came down into an equally squashed thoroughfare where the altar lurked amidst normal toings and froings. It was no place to hold a riot.

The situation deteriorated rapidly. Trust a mob to sense a carnival: the frolicking freedmen immediately saw that they were unwanted obstructions to an official operation. They whooped and set out to disrupt it. Waving their caps of liberty, they began taunting the Guards, oblivious to danger.

Among them, ran a man I had seen on the Via Appia, the one who tootled a one-note pipe until your teeth gritted. I wanted to ask him if he knew anything about the boy flautist from the Quadrumatus house, but I was not free to deal with that.

The Praetorians were not only armed, but every one was an ex-centurion. Many had made it to the top: first-spear, chief centurion in a legion, hard-bitten as they come. All of them were just what you would expect from soldiers who had served out their time yet could not bear to leave the service. These types always begged to be allowed an extra stint in the legions. Then, instead of becoming veterans with provincial farms, the gnarled obsessives signed up for yet another posting, on imperial protection duty. Many had never even been to Rome before. With their special camp on the cityoutskirts that acted like an enormous officers' club, their fabulous figured breastplates and their immense scarlet helmet crests--not to mention their privileged position so close to the Emperor--they then thought they had been posted to be G.o.ds on Mount Olympus.

They rarely had a chance to do more than ceremonial duties. Their mood was edgy. Most Most of these bullies of these bullies would would at some period have served a tour in Germany; inevitably, some must have been there in the Year of the Four Emperors, during the b.l.o.o.d.y rebellion Veleda caused. The barbarian element in their duties tonight must be unsettling them. Grim-faced, scarred, and solid as slaughtered beef carca.s.ses, they were keyed up to whip out their swords and fight someone. It could be anyone who offended them. These b.a.s.t.a.r.ds had a low threshold for annoyance and once they were riled, they were not fussy whom they took it out on. at some period have served a tour in Germany; inevitably, some must have been there in the Year of the Four Emperors, during the b.l.o.o.d.y rebellion Veleda caused. The barbarian element in their duties tonight must be unsettling them. Grim-faced, scarred, and solid as slaughtered beef carca.s.ses, they were keyed up to whip out their swords and fight someone. It could be anyone who offended them. These b.a.s.t.a.r.ds had a low threshold for annoyance and once they were riled, they were not fussy whom they took it out on.

'Hold off!' I ordered my little gang. 'We can't engage with Praetorians.' The lads looked disappointed. I was not sure I could control them. Clemens, inexperienced as an acting centurion, looked as if where they led he would follow.

I had other problems. Anacrites jumped from his conveyance. Before I could intervene, Helena Justina stormed up to him. Delight at being in ascendance had healed his ankle magically, but Helena looked ready to kick his legs from under him. She had not yet spotted her brother; she was concentrating on the Chief Spy. Ever since Anacrites and I once worked together on the Census, she treated him like my junior clerk.

'This is a mess! Anacrites, I hope you have a properly thought-out public safety plan!' I doubted that Anacrites had put in place any any crowd-control measures. In fairness, he would have thought it unnecessary. Like me, he had believed he was coming to conduct a quiet search, when the temple would be virtually closed. Now he discovered innocent members of the public milling about. From his behaviour, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d did not care. crowd-control measures. In fairness, he would have thought it unnecessary. Like me, he had believed he was coming to conduct a quiet search, when the temple would be virtually closed. Now he discovered innocent members of the public milling about. From his behaviour, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d did not care.

My mood took another knock. As Justinus worked his way around one of the portico buildings, he had noticed the Guards and must have guessed why they were here. It made no difference. He did dodge behind a swarm of bystanders, but when they failed to provide sufficient cover, he broke free and raced straight up the central temple steps and into its colonnaded porch. We glimpsed him, but not for long. Although it was night-time, the great doors had not yet been closed but stood open as a concession to the revellers. Justinus pushed straight through a clutch of priests and priestesses, who had been watching the street party; they were too startled to stop him. He vanished into the interior. Lentullus followed. n.o.body imagined they wanted to check the time on the elderly sundial fixed outside, or to consult the ancient treaty between Rome and the cities of Latium that was housed in the cella. cella.

'That was Quintus!' Before Helena could take off after him, I managed to grab her.

Anacrites signalled the Guards. Hampered by the marauding crowd, the heavy troops gathered themselves for an onslaught on the temple. Clemens and I exchanged anguished glances. We reached a decision. He and I stripped off our cloaks, followed by the men of the First Adiutrix who had spotted their comrade Lentullus entering the precinct and knew he was in trouble. As one, we piled the garments in Helena's arms. 'Marcus, I did not not come just to be the girl who holds the cloaks!' come just to be the girl who holds the cloaks!'

'Do it. You're a heroine--but you can't fight the Guards. In any case, lady, you know the price of cloaks!' My grin stalled her. Staggering under the weight of heavy winter wool, she succ.u.mbed momentarily. 'Seems we should give your men a hand,' I said, very politely, to Anacrites. That simpleton looked shocked that we were armed with swords. Then we were all storming through the crowd and up the steps, trampling the big-booted heels of the Praetorians as they clambered ahead of us.

Everyone on the Aventine has a sense of being separate from Rome. It goes right back to Romulus and Remus. Our Hill was occupied by Remus; when he was murdered by his twin, the Aventine was excluded from the original city walls that Romulus completed. The Temple of Diana is the oldest and most venerable in Rome--but it was once outside outside Rome and that makes its priests reek of superiority. These indignant figures held up their hands and forbade the Guards entrance. 'You desecrate our shrine! Do not offer violence to a place of asylum!' There are precedents for requesting the return of a fugitive from the G.o.ddess Diana, but even if you are Alexander the Great and all his hosts, you are supposed to be polite. Rome and that makes its priests reek of superiority. These indignant figures held up their hands and forbade the Guards entrance. 'You desecrate our shrine! Do not offer violence to a place of asylum!' There are precedents for requesting the return of a fugitive from the G.o.ddess Diana, but even if you are Alexander the Great and all his hosts, you are supposed to be polite.

The Guards, who reckoned they could go anywhere, were outraged. An altercation ensued. Negotiation achieved nothing, so by virtue of their weaponry, the Guards carried the motion and clanked straight indoors. They had slowed down though. Some even removed their helmets deferentially as they reached the inner precincts.

We were not wearing helmets. But like the Guards, once we crushed into the dimly lit interior, we walked more quietly. We pa.s.sed through a forest of columns, to murky, incense-scented s.p.a.ces. Statues of Amazons, with disconcerting friendly expressions, gazed at us from all sides. In the centre of the shrine was a lofty statue, modelled on the one at Ephesus: Diana, as a many-breasted mother-G.o.ddess, a serene smile on her gilded lips, holding out her hands, palms up, as if in welcome to fugitives.

Our hands were on our sword hilts, but we kept them sheathed. We struggled to overtake the Guards, but the overbearing b.a.s.t.a.r.ds held us back. Some wheeled around, set themselves shoulder to shoulder, and penned us in a corner. It would be a bad idea to try and hack our wayout.

Justinus and Lentullus had disappeared. n.o.body else seemed to be there. A gaggle of priests and priestesses pushed in behind us. They hissed when the Guards started systematically searching. For a time those oafs tried not to cause disruption in the precinct, but their standard approach was to fling property about carelessly. Pretty soon a candelabrum went over. There was a scuffie while quacking priests doused the flames with a curtain, 'helped' by emboldened Guards plucking more draperies from their hanging-rods and tossing them aside. Votive statuettes were kicked around under needlessly clumsy boots. As priestesses shrieked and swooped protectively on temple furniture and treasure, the jubilant Guards found Ganna.

A group of Praetorians bunched tightly around her, to prevent escape. They were not harming her. But Ganna was young, female, foreign--and had no experience of defusing trouble. She screamed, and of course she kept on screaming. It was too much for Justinus, who burst trom his hiding-place. Lentullus was at his heels again.

Things grew ugly. Guards finally drew their swords, so the temple staff went crazy. Justinus and Lentullus, both shouting, raced through the shrine towards Ganna, to be faced by a row of glitteringly sharp swords, wielded by brutal men who had twenty years' experience in using them. The light was bad; the s.p.a.ce was cramped; in moments it turned into a nightmare. Justinus, though unarmed, was shouting at the Guards to free the young girl. They advanced on him, intentions clear; Lentullus, who did have a sword, flung himself between them. Clemens and I tried to exert a sensible influence, but we were all still penned in our corner by other Guards, who now decided to disarm us. As we pa.s.sed our weapons from hand to hand among ourselves, to avoid confiscation, I watched Ganna being dragged outside. Breaking free, I rushed out on to the steps, only to see her carried down into the piazza, where she was bundled through the chanting crowds and shoved into the litter that had brought Anacrites. He shot me a repulsive look of triumph.

Somebody intervened: Helena Justina dropped her armful of cloaks and again accosted the Spy. The crowd hushed to hear her. She understood the situation. I knew she would be disgusted at Ganna's treatment, but she was clear and polite, with a ringing tone for all to hear: 'Anacrites, I am here to chaperon Ganna--with t.i.tus Caesar's approval. Please be careful. You need all your diplomacy. Ganna is too young to have taken part in the rebellion--and she is not not under threat of execution. This innocent girl came to Rome merely as a companion of Veleda--a chaperon herself. The intention now is to treat her well and make her a friend of Rome. Then we can send her back where she came from, to spread word among the barbarians that we are civilised people who should be seen as allies.' under threat of execution. This innocent girl came to Rome merely as a companion of Veleda--a chaperon herself. The intention now is to treat her well and make her a friend of Rome. Then we can send her back where she came from, to spread word among the barbarians that we are civilised people who should be seen as allies.'

'I know what I'm doing!' the Spy scoffed gracelessly.

'Of course. But wherever you are sending her, I shall go myself.'

Without waiting for the Spy's answer, Helena climbed into the litter with Ganna. The slaves did not wait for his reaction either. They picked up the shafts and moved off, escorted by a straggle of Praetorians. The cheering crowds divided to allow the party to leave the scene, heading down the Aventine. Anacrites had probably given orders for Ganna to be taken to some terrifying interrogation cell. With Helena on hand as an intermediary, it could be a very different occasion to the torture he had planned. For me, Helena's abrupt departure was both good and bad--but I had worse matters to deal with.

Infuriated, Anacrites came running up the steps, barging through the rest of the Guards and demanding to see Justinus. But when we all struggled back into the temple, pus.h.i.+ng against one another vindictively and knocking priests aside, there was no longer any sign of him. In the dark interior--darker still, now lamps had been blown out in the skirmish--Clemens and most of our men were huddled around a p.r.o.ne figure. Lentullus lay on the ground, right in froont of the statue of Diana. His left leg looked as if it was almost severed, but Clemens had it raised: Minnius and Gaudus were supporting the leg, while Paullus knelt behind Lentullus, holding his head. As Clemens struggled to apply a tourniquet, blood was soaking the tunic he had stripped off and used for this purpose. Blood was pooling all across the stone floor too. The soldiers were chivvying, calling Lentullus by name. No sound or movement came fi-om him.

The temple attendants were useless, concerned only about the desecration in their shrine. A bunch of the Guards were pretending to be solicitous. I saw what they were up to. One of their number had done this, and they were starting to sense difficulties ahead. Most had fallen silent. Old centurions know what to do when things go wrong. They would be planning what let-out to claim, if there was an enquiry. Some approached, pretending to be helpful, offering to lift the lifeless young soldier and carry him outside.

On the verge of losing a man in his charge, Clemens went crazy. 'Leave him! Leave him to stabilise, you fools! Somebody get these murderous b.a.s.t.a.r.ds out of the b.l.o.o.d.y way--'

I strode up. I let the Guards know from my voice how furious I was at having to sound reasonable. 'Just leave us to it now, lads. Better get lost. We were all on the same side, today. This was supposed to be a joint exercise--or hadn't anyone explained that?' Already displaying embarra.s.sment, the Guards quickly decided to evacuate. Anacrites must have melted away from the scene ahead of them.

. Kneeling by Lentullus, Clemens was still desperately trying to stanch the blood. He looked back over one shoulder, recognised me as I came to a.s.sess the problem, and yelled: 'Don't just stand there, Falco! Get some help--get a doctor!'

XLII.

This mission was stuffed with doctors. I knew only one who might be close at hand. It was quickest to visit him. As soon as we could safely shoulder Lentullus, we rushed him to the vigiles. Their outstation was barely two streets away. Luckily, I had underestimated the Fourth Cohort's ability to recover from their Saturnalia drinks: a skeleton staff was on duty that night, and to my relief, one of them was Scythax, their morose doctor. He looked put out at the interruption, but he reacted quickly.

We lugged Lentullus in, and Scythax cleared a working s.p.a.ce. A body was already on the table, but that was a dead man so he lost his place in the queue. The lads dumped the corpse outside in the exercise yard. At first we cl.u.s.tered round, but pretty soon Scythax shooed us out. He just kept Clemens to pa.s.s him equipment and take orders.

'Is there any hope?'

'Very little.' Scythax was a dour b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

We sat in the yard, half of us on the cold ground, some on coils of rope. I tried both; they were equally uncomfortable. Fortunately Sentius--another dismal, peculiar type--turned up with our abandoned cloaks. Two were unaccounted for. On a headcount we realised t.i.tus and Gaudus were missing. If they went down in the fight, n.o.body had seen it. We just had to hope they had fled in the confusion--perhaps with Justinus.

We waited.

Young soldiers spend a great deal of time sitting around while nothing much is happening--but that doesn't mean they are good at it. Bored, Lusius took a look at the corpse Scythax had had in his cubicle. Fresh meat, Lusius said. To ease my stiffness I straightened up, and strolled over for a professional appraisal. He was fresh all right. I had seen this man alive not much more than an hour ago. It was the vagrant from the Via Appia, the musical one with the limited repertoire. He still had his deplorable one-note pipe, twisted into an indescribably filthy string he had been using as a tunic belt.

There was no indication what killed him. Lusius and I rolled him. Nothing.

Quietly I walked to the door of the medical cubicle.

Night had fallen hours ago, so the scene was lamp-lit; Clemens was holding a small pottery oil lamp, while the doctor carefully inserted a few animal-gut st.i.tches to keep the flesh together on Lentullus' mangled thigh.

'How did this happen?' Scythax asked, between actions with the needle. He was no fine embroiderer. Nor was he confident at sewing; he liked a challenge, but his normal work was with b.u.ms and crush wounds. Vigiles who were cut in accidents ended up with very crooked scars.

'He tried attacking armed men when he didn't have a sword.' Clemens must have seen it occur. 'So he used his feet. He stamped them; they were not happy.'