A dying light in Corduba

XLIX

Luckily for me the wrist I had seized was much smaller than my own; somehow I had encircled it. I felt her bones twisting in my grip and the knife flashed wickedly, but her weapon hand stayed held fast. It wouldn't last. Her all-over lubrication made her impossible to restrain for long.

I kept her at arm's length as she kicked out. Dancers have legs to reckon with. She was strong, but I had the advantage. Barging her shin with mine, I forced her to move back against the wall, making sure the corner of the table bruised her thigh. I banged her arm on the wall to shake the knife free. Spitting, she kept her grip on it. I thought of heaving her off, to spin her round and thrash her back into the wall, but she was so well oiled I would lose my hold. I smashed her elbow on the wall again. She gasped, and struggled to break free.

Her free hand cast behind me, grabbing at a soapstone pot to brain me with. There was no choice. I try hard to avoid naked women who are not my own property, but I had to protect myself. I went in close, throwing my body hard against hers then turning in my shoulder so I could break her hold on the knife two-handedly. This time I did it. The blade clanged to the floor Instantly she went limp, then flexed herself violently. Her arm escaped from my grip.

I still had her pinned against the wall, but her writhing body was so slippery it was like trying to clutch a live fish. I brought up one knee and stopped her reaching the knife again. She squirmed away from me, dropped to the floor, scuttled under the table, then stood up and tilted it. Vases and boxes crashed to the ground, in a hail of broken glass, coloured powders, and thick scents. It didn't stop me, and dropping the heavy table lost her the second it took me to leap forwards and grab her by the only part I could circle with both hands: her throat.

'Keep still or I'll throttle you until your eyes pop out!' She thought about fighting. 'Believe me!' I warned again, kicking out with one foot to free it from a tangle of cheap jewellery. To reinforce the message I was squeezing hard. She was choking. I was out of breath. She saw her situation was desperate. She stood still. I felt her jaw clench as she gritted her teeth, no doubt vowing to say nothing and bite me if she could.

'Well, this is intimate!' Her eyes told me what I could do with myself. I was aware of her hands twitching, ready to go for me. I tightened my grip. She saw sense. Now why is it that when I end up in the arms of beautiful girls with no clothes on they are always trying to kill me?' Her response was a look full of hatred; well, the question had been rhetorical. While she glared, I suddenly wrenched her around so her back was against me and I felt less vulnerable to frontal attack. I kept one arm tight across her throat; with the other hand I was reaching for the knife that I kept down my boot. That improved the situation. I let her see what it was. Then I tucked the tip under one of her ribs so she could feel how sharp the blade was.

'Now we're going to talk.'

She made some sort of angry gurgle. I increased my pressure on her windpipe and she fell quiet again. I edged her over to the table that she had conveniently cleared, then I pushed her face down. I was lying on top of her. This possessed some attractions, though I was too preoccupied to enjoy it. Holding down women is nearly impossible; they're too supple. The gods know how rapists manage it – well, they use terror, which on Selia had no effect. I tweaked my knife against her well-oiled side. 'I can scar you for life, or just kill you. Remember that.'

'Damn you.'

'Is Selia your real name?'

'Get lost.'

'Tell me who you work for.'

'Anyone who pays.'

'You're an agent.'

'I'm a dancer.'

'No, Spanish dancers come from Gades. Who sent you to Rome?'

'I can't remember.'

'This knife advises you to try.'

'All right; kill me with it then.'

'Very professional! Believe me, real dancers give in much more easily. Who asked you to perform at the dinner that night?'

'I was the official entertainment.'

'That was Perella. Stop lying. Who paid you for what you and your two cronies did afterwards?'

'The same person.'

'Oh, you admit you committed murder then?'

'I admit nothing.'

'I want his name.'

'You want your balls hacked off with a disembowelling knife!'

I sighed. 'I'm sorry you're taking this uncooperative attitude.'

'You'll be more than sorry, Falco.' She was probably right there.

'Now listen! You may have killed Valentinus, but you underestimated what a thick skull Anacrites had. Simply cracking the Chief Spy's head will have worse consequences than killing him outright.'

'You're never working for Anacrites?' She sounded surprised.

'You did leave him with a slight headache; he was allowed sick leave for a day or two. So you're right. Anacrites is not commissioning. I'm working for a man called Laeta -' I thought I felt her start. 'Keep still, I said.'

'Why?' jeered Sella. 'What are you worried about?'

'Not a lot. I'm a professional too. Crushing a beautiful naked female on a table has its lighter side – but on the whole I like my women right side up, and I certainly like them affectionate.'

'Oh, you're all heart!'

'A complete softie. That's why you're face down against a plank of wood covered in bruises, and my knife's in your ribs.'

'You're an idiot,' she told me. 'You don't know anything about the mess you're in. Hasn't it struck you that I'm working for Claudius Laeta – just like you!'

That sounded all too plausible. I preferred not to consider it. There was no immediate need to do so: we both abandoned comparing notes on our devious employer. Two things happened. I was unaware of lessening my grip on the dancer, yet somehow she wriggled suddenly and slithered sideways away from me. Then somebody else seized hold of my hair from behind and pulled me backwards in excruciating pain.