Saturnalia

XLVII

I had brought my own sword, but could not immediately unsheathed it from its scabbard's cosy nook under my armpit. At first I was too busy dodging. There were plenty of trees to jump behind, but most were too slender to provide real cover. My opponent sliced through the sapling stems with all the hatred of a gardener slashing giant thistles.

Once I got my sword out, I was in a real predicament. I learned to fight in the army. We were taught to parry a stroke as violently as possible, jar the other man half senseless, then plunge in and kill him. I was happy to send this madman straight to the River Styx – but the investigator in me yearned to know first why the suicidal menace was attacking me. As we danced around and clashed blades, the effort seemed pointless. I was on the verge of ending it with one brutal stab through his ribs.

He was desperate. Every time I lunged forwards, he managed to stop me. I stabbed again: he accepted it like a gladiator who knows he won't leave the arena alive. Soon it was all defensive work; every time I attacked, he furiously protected himself If I slacked off, he should have gone for me with renewed vigour, but he seemed to have lost his initiative.

In the end I took a chance. I let my sword dangle from my hand, point down. I held open my arms, baring my chest for a death blow. (Believe me, I was out of range and I kept a good grip on the sword.) 'So kill me,' I taunted him. The moment seemed ageless and endless. Then I heard him whimper.

I whipped up my sword, jumped across the clearing, knocked him flat and fell on top of him. My sword point was pressing on his neck. I noticed it was slitting the complicated gold braid of a rather fine long white tunic – out of keeping with its wearer. He had a face like a milk pudding, with a dumpling where his nose should be and his body was degraded by rickets. His manner was an odd combination: bombastic authority mingled with sheer terror. The closest I had seen to this clown was a bankrupt financier when the bailiffs came – immediately before denial and self-justification set in. 'I know who you are!' the curious specimen gurgled. 'I bet you bloody don't… Who are you? Apart from a raving maniac?' 'I am nameless,' he wavered. This mission was full of spooks. 'Well that was an oversight on your father's part.' I released him abruptly and stood up, taking his weapon. I sheathed my own sword immediately, and stood back. 'Can I get up?' 'No. Stay there on the ground. I've had enough of you jumping around like a Spanish flea and trying to do me in.' 'I've been following you. I watched you searching -' 'I wasn't searching for you. Not unless you are a woman and extremely well disguised. Now listen to me. Whoever you think I am, my name – given to me by my mother, in fact, since my father was off buying a statue in Praeneste at the time – my name is Falco. Marcus Didius Falco, son of Marcus – a free Roman citizen.' He gasped. By then I thought he would. In a quieter tone I said encouragingly, 'That's right. Calm down; I am neither a slave nor a runaway. So I haven't come for you. You are the King of the Grove, I presume?'

'Yes I am.' The Rex Nemorensis spoke proudly, even though he was lying on his back in his own grove, covered with leaf litter and squashed toadstools, while being insulted by me. 'Now you know what it is all about, can I get up please?'

'You can't get up until you've answered my question.' I kept my tone rough. I was tired of my quest and ready to be ruthless in ending it. 'The woman I am looking for is a high-status German, who would have skulked here very recently. Good-looking number; sent on from Diana Aventinensis; seeking sanctuary. She may be ill. She has good reason to be desperate.'

'Oh that one! Arrived two days ago,' said the Rex Nemorensis, grateful that my demands could be met so easily. He did not care about Veleda. All he wanted was his own survival. 'Claims she is a victim of international injustice, hounded by violent elements in her own country, kidnapped against her will, due for intolerable punishment, under a death threat – the usual foreign woes. You'll soon find her moping around if you look.' 'I was looking, when you jumped me,' I reminded him. 'I thought my time had come,' pleaded the King of the Grove, his belligerent spirit now collapsed like a rotten gourd. 'Not yet,' 1 said kindly, gripping his arm and pulling him back on to his feet. 'Oh you have no idea what it is like, Falco, hiding behind trees all day, just waiting for someone new to turn up and kill you.' 'I thought they'd put a stop to all that.' 'So they say – but can 1 believe them? 1 took sword lessons from an old gladiator before 1 came, but I've forgotten all the theory. Besides, I'm not getting any younger…' 1 felt as if 1 was listening to some antiquated fisherman deploring how the younger generation had fished out all the mullet. 'Dead men's shoes,' he muttered. No, he was like some ghastly public scribe, anticipating the day a spotty underling with a sharper stylus finally usurped his place.

I brushed down his long priestly tunic, gave him back his sword, put him on a path with his face to the main road, and left him to his perpetual wait for death.

I quite liked him, once 1 got to know him. Still, the man was doomed. Being in proximity to inevitable failure is bad news. It makes you start thinking too much about your own life.

The Rex Nemorensis offered to assist me. 1 wanted to go on by myself, but when 1 set off, he came tagging along behind me like an inquisitive goat. 1 was heading down to the lake again. That was when 1 spotted her. A woman was standing motionless, right on the shoreline, wrapped in a long dark cloak with its hood up. She had her back to me. She was quite alone, either gazing into the water or simply staring out across it. She was the right height and 1 thought 1 recognised her bearing. From behind there was no way of interpreting her mood, but her stillness and her posture suggested deep melancholia.

The King of the Grove could be useful after all. Looking back over my shoulder, 1 called quietly, 'One question: since she came here, has anybody died a violent death?' He shook his head, almost sadly. 'Nobody.' 1 pulled my own cloak across so it was hiding my sword again, then 1 walked cautiously out from the woods and crossed the low flat beach until 1 reached Veleda at the water's edge.