A dying light in Corduba

L

'I thought you would never get here!' the girl snarled angrily.

Whoever had hauled me upright had me bowed over backwards with a torsion as fight as the throwing sling on a rock-hurling artillery mule. Once I realised, I began to react. Hair grows again. I wrenched my head free. I must have left behind a good handful of my bouncing curls, but now I could move. My eyes streamed, but I was bucking and thrashing. Of course he snatched at my wrist in the same way that I had previously grabbed Selia to make her drop her own knife; he was behind me so I dosed my elbow against my side, resisting him.

Blows rained on my spine and kidneys, then I heard somebody else entering the room. The girl meanwhile was rubbing her bruises and finding a tunic as carelessly as if the rest of us were just flies buzzing around the window- frame. Her bodyguards could do the work now.

I had managed to twist free. I jerked around so I could see my assailants: the two dark-skinned musicians from the dinner on the Palatine. It was the elder who had attacked me; he was wiry enough, and full of malice and energy. The other, more youthful, was burly, well-muscled and mean- eyed. I was in deep trouble. These were the men who had smashed in the head of Valentinus and left Anacrites for dead. I was fighting for my life.

'Sort him out!' Selia ordered. She had pulled some clothing over her head, but left it around her neck. She had paid these toughs sufficient to be sure they would kill for her. They looked as if they would enjoy it too. So much for the refining effect of music. Apollo was a thug, according to these two.

It was too small a room to contain four of us. We were close enough to smell each other's breath. Impetuously Selia herself went for my knife arm, grabbing hold and biting me. The others plunged at me too and with three to contend with in such a confined space, I was soon overpowered. Selia took possession of my knife. Her assistants each had me brutally by an arm; they were turning to rush me forwards against the farther wall when the girl complained, 'Oh not in here!' A person of taste: she shrank from having my brains spread over her living space.

As they manhandled me towards the door I grunted in annoyance, 'Just tell me this, Selia – if we're both working for Laeta why in Hades does he want you to remove me?' I ignored the two brutes, who for a moment stopped bundling me out.

'You're in my way,' Selia responded offhandedly.

'Only because I don't know what's going on!' I was stalling. This group had killed. In no circumstances were they on the same side as me. 'Anyway, you take too many risks!'

'If you say so.'

'The Parilia!' I reminded her. 'You should have been lying low, not showing your face.'

'Oh yes?'

'And I went to a daft lads' party afterwards where everyone knew you had gone home to Hispalis. You leave too many tracks. I found you – and so can anyone.'

The heavies again started dragging me out, but Selia halted them with a raised hand. 'Who's looking?' she demanded.

At least I was collecting my strength. The longer I could hold off any final battering, the more hope of escape. I ignored Selia's question. 'If you really are a home-doving Hispalis girl, however did Laeta discover you?'

'I went to Rome, for someone else. I'm a dancer. I went to Rome to dance.'

'So it wasn't Laeta who sent you to that dinner in your little Diana costume, then?'

'Find out, Falco!'

Did Laeta order you to attack Anacrites and his man?' Laeta gives me a free hand.' I noticed it wasn't an answer.

'You're in trouble,' I warned her. 'Don't trust Laeta to support you if the water heats up too much in his own pot.'

'I trust no one, Falco.' She had pulled down her dress and was calmly applying new paint to her face. She stroked it on with a spatula, swiftly and thickly. Before my eyes she was turning back into the archetypal Spanish castanet girl (the one who only exists in men's dreams); the blue-black hair she wore for dancing for Romans had been combed out on a stand. When she bent forwards and pulled it on the effect was as dramatic as when I saw her on the Palatine.

'I hope Laeta paid you. You won't see a sestertius if you're living out here.'

'I've been paid,' she said, perhaps glancing at the heavies to reassure them she would look after them too.

'So what in the name of Olympus is Laeta trying to do?' 'You tell me.'

'Discredit Anacrites? Take over the spy's work?' 'Looks like it.'

'Why does he need two of us?'

'One wasn't good enough.'

'Or wasn't ever meant to be! You mean Laeta's used me as a noodle – and he's using you to hamper me!'

'An easy game, Falco!'

'Easier than playing around with palace politics. But you're lying anyway. Laeta knows Anacrites is a cheap buffoon who could be put out of action with a bit of simple intrigue. Cracking heads wasn't necessary. Laeta's not vicious. He's not crude. He's quite clever enough to outwit Anacrites, and depraved enough as a bureaucrat to enjoy finessing him. Laeta wants a classic power struggle. He wants Anacrites alive, so he knows he has lost the game. Where's the art, otherwise?'

'You're just delaying,' Selia said. 'Get him out of here!' I shrugged and made no attempt to cause trouble. The two musicians walked me on to the balcony. Just outside I glanced behind and said calmly to the older one on my left, 'She's calling you.'

He turned back. I threw myself forwards and spun my shoulder hard. The man on my right was pitched straight over the balcony.

The other yelled. I kneed him impolitely. He folded up; I chopped down on his neck with a double fist. He crumpled to the ground and I kicked him in the ribs until he lay still.

Below in the courtyard I had heard the crash and a cry as the first man landed. It was only one floor down, so he might still be mobile. There were confused sounds which I could not interpret, but by then Selia had rushed out.

First she flung a tambourine, edge on. I parried with my arm, but it cut my wrist. I hauled up the man at my feet and held him as a human shield while she then threw a knife – mine. He flung himself aside, dragging me. The blade clattered on the boarding, then with me cursing it tumbled over the edge.

The girl came at us; I barged the man into her. She dropped another weapon, then suddenly muttered something and ran towards the stairs. Her groaning bodyguard came back to life enough to grab the new weapon. It was the kind of cleaver girls who live alone keep in their rooms to shorten flower stems, hack up pig carcasses and discourage lovers from leaving early. I'd be afraid to have one in the house.

He set about me again, keeping himself between me and the girl. It was her I wanted; we all knew that.

I managed to dodge the swooping blade. Then I let off a high kick, flummoxed him, and shoved him backwards. I set off around the balcony, sprinting lightly on my toes. I was going the long way, the way I had first come to Selia's room.

The elderly fellow was tougher than he looked. I could hear him chasing after me. At the passageway bridge I slowed my steps. He was gaining, which made him pound harder to catch me. Once across, I turned back just in time to see the bridge give way. With a crack of splitting timber, the musician fell through. The wood was not rotten, just too flimsy for its intended purpose. He was left daugling, trapped between the broken planking. Blood dripped from his wounds where he was impaled on huge splinters of wood. When he tried to move he screamed.

To save time, I flipped over the balcony, clung to the nil, lowered myself as far as possible then dropped. I had just missed the well. (I had forgotten about that.) Neat work, Falco.

In the courtyard to my astonishment I found Placidus, fighting the other bodyguard, who was limping and nursing a broken arm from his fall. Placidus was keeping him under control, though only just. The procurator himself had a long gash in his side. My dagger, which had fallen from the balcony, lay near them, still bloody.

'The girl -' Placidus gasped, as I took over and stopped his opponent with a well-aimed kick. I got one arm around Placidus and leaned him on the well. 'I could have handled this one -' If he was a freedman now, he had been a slave once. Even in the imperial palace that meant a sordid early life. He knew how to take care of himself. 'I just didn't expect her. The girl slashed me before I could square up to her -'

'She got away?' I asked, retrieving my knife. He nodded disconsolately. I was peeling back his tunic gently to reveal the wound. 'Save your strength. Don't talk. We've caught these two gruesome characters anyway.' I was annoyed about losing Selia, but I did not let it show.

Placidus had put himself out for me. He looked pleased with his success, but he had paid a dangerous penalty. His wound was deep and nasty. 'What's the damage, Falco?'

'You'll live – though once the pain sets in you're going to know all about this.'

'Ah well, the scar should be interesting.'

'I can think of easier ways to excite rumours!' 'I'll be all right. You go after the girl.'

If we had been anywhere respectable I would have done.

I could not abandon Placidus in this seedy area where the dancer might have friends. A crowd was gathering. They were silent and still; I would not trust them. No one offered assistance but at least nobody tried to interfere.

I made the man with the limp stand up and walk ahead of me with my knife against his back. Supporting the procurator with my free arm, I slowly set off on a difficult trip to find the nearest guardpost of the local watch.

Fortunately it was not too far. Rather than have placidus faint at their feet, folk did give us directions. The glare I gave them persuaded them to tell us right.

We limped there safely. My prisoner was locked in the cell. Officers went off to bring in his companion. Placidus was carefully stretched out, bathed and bandaged; at first he protested volubly, then he suddenly passed out and made no more fuss. I led a search that lasted the rest of the day, but Selia had slipped away somewhere. I am a realist. She could have gone in any direction, and would be miles from Hispalis by now.

At least I knew something about her. She had lied about most of it, but sinister patterns were emerging. Events had moved on. Suspects had laughed at me and beaten me up, but I had sized up the opposition – including the man who had commissioned me.

If her claim to be working for Laeta was right, Selia and I took our wages from the same soiled hands. I had no real job; I could not rely on being paid. On these terms I was not even sure I wanted to be.

It was time to return to Corduba. I badly needed to discuss all this with Helena. And if she agreed, I could ditch the whole filthy business and go home to Rome.