The Emperor's Knives

4

‘And then he simply set fire to himself?’

Excingus’s voice, usually so carefully controlled in tone and inflection to give every impression of complete imperturbability, was as incredulous as the expression on his face. He’d appeared at the barracks’ gate that morning soon after dawn, unbidden but clearly eager to know what had happened with Dorso. Marcus looked across the table at him, painfully aware that there was only a feeling of emptiness where’d he’d expected some sense of triumph in the wake of the praetorian’s demise.

‘As strange as it sounds, yes. From what he said before he put the torch to himself, he was suffering from an attack of conscience.’

The informer put his head to one side as if trying to work out what the word meant.

‘And it sounds as if he was expecting you to make an appearance?’

The young centurion nodded.

‘Yes. He’d learned enough about the circumstances of Perennis’s death from the praetorians who were on duty when the prefect was murdered by Commodus to realise that I was back in the city.’ Marcus grimaced. ‘We were lucky. If he’d not had such a strong death wish then Dubnus and I would probably have been walking into a trap. As it was, I genuinely believe that he was marking himself for death.’

Excingus nodded slowly.

‘And now you’re not feeling quite as satisfied with the state of affairs as you thought you might, given his death, are you Centurion? You didn’t want contrition, did you? You wanted a fight, and the chance to carve Dorso into ribbons with one of his own swords.’

Scaurus frowned at the informant, but Marcus shook his head.

‘All I want is for the four men who murdered my family to suffer some measure of their misery and agony. And Dorso’s death wasn’t an easy one.’

Excingus laughed tersely.

‘Apparently so. His screams were heard half a dozen streets away, I’m told. So, honour is satisfied to some small degree, and as far as the authorities are concerned it’s a simple enough fire, which ought to stop the others taking fright. So, now that you’ve seen off one of them, are you sure you want to continue? If, of course, I could deliver another of them to the point of your sword?’

Scaurus’s eyes narrowed.

‘If? Share what you have, Informant.’

Excingus tipped his head to one side again, considering the tribune’s demand.

‘Really? I ask a question of the man seeking vengeance and you answer for him? I could wonder which of you feels the most strongly motivated …’

Scaurus turned to Marcus.

‘He’s right, loathe though I am to admit to it. This is first and foremost your concern. So, do you wish to continue?’

His centurion stared blankly at the table for a moment.

‘I have no other choice. What do you have for us, Varius Excingus?’

The informant raised an eyebrow at the use of his name, but spoke quickly nonetheless.

‘The gang leader Brutus has taken to the streets. It seems that there’s another group of thugs who go by the name of the “Dog Eaters” encroaching on his territory, stripping away whole city blocks from his control and attacking his main business in each neighbouring block in turn.’

Julius spoke, having sat quietly throughout the previous discussion.

‘And his main business is …?’

‘The same as every other gang you’ve ever run across, taking a piece of anything and everything he can muscle his way into. Protection money, prostitution, theft … As their name suggests, it’s a dog-eat-dog life at that level of society, and it seems that an even bigger dog has decided to eat dear old Brutus’s dinner.’

‘And what do you mean by “taken to the streets”?’

Excingus turned back to Scaurus.

‘Exactly what it sounds like. He’s fighting a war for survival, and in a war the last thing the general wants is for the enemy to find and overrun his headquarters. He’s gone underground — possibly quite literally so — and is directing his army from a place that should be safe from attack since nobody knows where it is.’

‘And in reality?’

The informant grinned savagely.

‘I have an … associate, shall we say, although associating with him is a little like making a pet of a viper. He lives and practises what I will euphemistically call his trade in the Aventine district, with a loose affiliation to one of the smaller gangs that supports Brutus. It seems that they have been contracted, secretly and under threat of a slow and nasty death, to secure a secret hideout for Brutus and his senior men, somewhere from which they can direct the fight for their ground without the risk of being disturbed by unfriendly strangers. My man Silus, expensively purchased I can assure you, not only knows the location of this place, but has agreed to take a small party of men to it, when the time is right. And word has reached them that Brutus intends taking occupation of this clandestine headquarters for a day or two from tonight. He only stays in each safe house for a short time, choosing the next location at random, but with every change he has to give his men a few hours to make sure that his networks of runners and soldiers can be realigned to keep him informed and protected. So, gentlemen, tomorrow night would appear to be your best opportunity, if you want to put your heads into the lion’s mouth?’

Later that morning, Julius looked around the shop that Cotta had rented, pulling a disgusted face at the state of the space in which he stood. The shop’s floor was little more than a selection of warped and mismatched boards laid over the rough dirt beneath them, while the coating of plaster that had originally adorned the walls had long since been reduced to a few patches that clung stubbornly to the bricks, fragments of paint giving some hint as to their original bright decoration.

‘What a fucking dump! This place can’t have seen a copper coin’s worth of maintenance since Hadrian was on the throne. And we paid how much for this shithole?’

The veteran centurion standing beside him grinned at their surroundings.

‘Your expectations are a little out of alignment with the reality of Rome, First Spear. What we’re paying per month for this place wouldn’t normally cover the cost of a shop like this for a week, but then it’s not really in the best spot and, as you say, it is a little basic …’ He waved a hand at the shop’s dilapidated state. ‘But then we’ve got an asset that’ll make short work of even this mess.’

The other man looked round at him with a snort of incredulity.

‘You think my soldiers can sort this out? We’re fighting men, not the assorted collection of plumbers and plasterers that you were chasing around in your legion cohort.’

Cotta smiled, tapping his purse.

‘In which case I’ll have a wager with you that we can have this place tidied, painted and ready for business inside a day, once the groundwork’s out of the way. I’ve got just the men lined up, since your Centurion Dubnus was kind enough to find me some volunteers who are the least likely to leave a customer looking as if he’s had his hair cut by a butcher. You leave me to it and I’ll have the first customer in here and on his arse being asked how he’d like his hair cut before sunset tomorrow, if your ditch diggers don’t hold the whole thing up. Shall we call it ten sestertii?’

The first spear shook his head hurriedly.

‘No, we fucking well won’t call it ten sestertii. If you’re that sure you can get my lads grafting that hard then you must have some secret weapon up your sleeve. On you go then, I’ve got military matters to be discussing, and no time to bandy words with a man who clearly missed his way in life. A shopkeeper is what you should have been …’

Cotta grinned, calling out into the street for his volunteers. The soldiers filed into the shop with a barrel-chested soldier at their head, the veteran looking about him with eyes that were as alert to the possibilities of the situation as always, and his first spear raised a knowing eyebrow.

‘Morban. I should have known you’d manage to find a way to get out of having to work up a sweat with the rest of your century, rather than just strutting about and pretending to be a soldier. Let’s hope our new colleague here knows what he’s getting into if he’s going to trust this new enterprise of his to your tender care!’

The standard bearer saluted and snapped to attention with a precision that widened the eyes of the men at his back before they caught the look on Julius’s face and hastily followed his example as he stalked past them and out into the street, calling to Avidus who was staring intently at the local architecture with a look of bemusement.

‘Well then, Centurion, that’s not a look I wanted to see on your face.’

The engineer scratched his head, waving a hand at the apartment block at whose base the shop stood.

‘I’m just trying to work out whether what you want is possible. The good news is that this block looks reasonably sturdy, so it shouldn’t be too difficult for us to do the work without bringing it down on top of us.’ He looked up at the building with a professional’s disdain. ‘Although it wouldn’t take much to have the whole block fall in on itself, since it’s not exactly built to last. The bad news however …’ He looked about him again, shaking his head. ‘Is that I have absolutely no idea what we’ll find once we get the floor up, and if it’s rock we’re going to make a right bloody racket.’

Julius pointed at the main road up the hill, less than fifty paces distant from Felicia’s house on the far side.

‘See that street? It’s quiet enough now, but once it’s dark it’s a non-stop procession of carts, with all of the banging and crashing you could ever want to cover up any noise you’ll be making, not to mention the cursing and shouting when a horse or a mule isn’t pulling its weight or just drops dead from overwork. You could probably quarry out enough rock to build a bath house without anyone being any the wiser. Are your boys ready?’

Avidus grinned and then whistled sharply, and a dozen men lounging against the shop front got to their feet, their tools held ready to work.

‘They’re as eager as shithouse dogs with the smell of a sausage. A night in the brothel of their choice after a month of nothing better than changing hands at ninety-nine, that’s enough to get my lads working up a sweat any time you like!’

Julius nodded, raising his eyebrows in silent comment.

‘And it’s a promise I’ll keep once I’ve got a nice big storeroom underneath the shop, ready to fill with shields and weapons.’

‘You’re sure that’s wise? If the Watch find out …’

The engineer left his statement unfinished, but both men knew the risk involved in what Scaurus and Julius were planning.

‘You can leave me to worry about that. Just concentrate on getting my hole dug, eh?’

Avidus saluted ironically.

‘Same old fuckin’ army. Only difference is I won’t have to fill this hole in once it’s dug.’

The first spear turned away, his face creased by an evil smile.

‘Who says you won’t be filling it in again?’

Excingus met his spies at the Ostian gate, looking about him with his customary caution before squatting down to join the ragged group of children. A grizzled and filthy man wearing the remnants of a military tunic was dozing in the morning sun twenty paces away, but otherwise the scene around the gate was one of busy normality. The children’s leader, a boy so worldly wise before his time that the informant was still uncertain whether to be repelled or fascinated by the urchin, looked up at him with apparent disinterest.

‘We was wondering when you was going to turn up. Or if you was going to turn up, given what you told us to do yesterday got us caught by them bastards in the fort.’

Excingus raised an eyebrow.

‘Somebody’s brighter than I gave them credit for. What did they do to you?’

The child shook his head disparagingly.

‘Nothing. The officer in charge offered us money to work for him.’

The informant clapped his hands together.

‘Excellent! And I presume that you accepted?’

The urchin looked up at him with an expression of disbelief.

‘’Course I did!’

Excingus smiled at him with apparent fondness.

‘You’re a little brighter than your father, aren’t you, Gaius? Silus must have married above himself when it came to intelligence. Very well, what was it that Julius wanted from you?’

Gaius picked at a fingernail.

‘You ain’t getting it that easy. Remember what you said to me when you took us on to be your eyes and ears?’

The informant smiled knowingly.

‘There’s a price for everything …’

‘And everything has its price. So there you go.’

The child raised an expectant eyebrow at Excingus, who sighed and dipped a hand into his pocket.

‘Here.’ He placed a coin on the outstretched palm, shaking his head as the child examined it with pursed lips. ‘Don’t push your luck, brat. Either take the coin or consider the consequences. After all, you have just sold me out.’

Gaius nodded equably.

‘He told me that they don’t trust you.’

Excingus’s face took on a pained expression.

‘I’d managed to deduce that already. What else?’

‘They want us to report back on where you go and what you do. Everything.’

Excingus nodded.

‘Excellent. I do so enjoy the realisation of a scheme.’

The child frowned, tilting his head to one side.

‘You wanted us to get caught?’

‘Oh, well done …’

Gaius shook his head as the man clapped his hands together in ironic applause.

‘You fuckin-’

Excingus reached out and took a handful of the boy’s tunic, pulling him close and showing him the blade of a small dagger.

‘Let’s never forget who the real brains is here, shall we, Gaius? You think in terms of where tonight’s dinner is coming from, whereas I consider how best to set myself up for the rest of my life. This is going to be the last job I ever do, if I get it right, because there’s enough gold washing around for a small but nicely significant fraction of it to stick to my fingers. I dangled you outside that barracks until Julius couldn’t resist taking the bait, and now I have a means of making him believe anything I want. Those idiots are going to dance to my music from now on, and you’re going to make sure that they hear exactly what I want them to hear. Aren’t you?’

By lunchtime the engineers were well into their task, having ripped out the shop’s dingy floorboards and enthusiastically dug down into the spongy tufa beneath them at a pace, which had made the Tungrians wide-eyed with amazement.

‘They’re going at it like madmen!’

Cotta looked down into the rapidly deepening pit, grinning at Morban as the sweating Tungrians passed the clods of freshly hewn tufa out into the street, where it was thrown into the cart waiting at the door.

‘Ah, well that’s the joy of tufa, standard bearer. When you cut it out of the ground it’s more like thick, spongy mud than rock, but once it’s exposed to the air it hardens up like brick. These lads know that as long as they keep going, and don’t give it time to set, they can have a much easier time of it. We’ll …’

He frowned as one of a group of diggers who had been labouring hard at a spot close to the door, which was stubbornly resisting their picks, raised a hand, calling for Avidus. The weather-beaten engineer took one look at whatever it was that his man had unearthed, and looked up at Cotta, beckoning him down into the hole. Intrigued, Morban followed, only to recoil as he realised what it was that the engineers had uncovered.

‘No wonder your boys were going slower in this spot, the tufa’s already been dug up and replaced once. He waved a hand under his nose and grimaced.

‘Stinks too …’

The excavation had revealed a human hand, black with putrefaction but nevertheless clearly recognisable.

‘You!’ Cotta pointed to one of his men. Fetch the doctor.’

Felicia arrived shortly after, and looked at the corpse for a moment before speaking, her professional curiosity softened by compassion and more than a little relief at the news that only one body had been found.

‘I was worried that you might have found my former husband’s brother and his family.’ She bent closer to look at the now fully excavated corpse, ignoring its revolting smell. ‘It’s a woman’s body, but she must have been dead for weeks, poor thing. Will you bury her?’

Cotta nodded at the question.

‘Yes. We’ll wrap her in enough material to disguise what it is we’re carrying out to the cart, once we’ve got something to take the edge off the smell.’ He looked round at Morban, smiling wanly at his green complexion. ‘Make yourself useful, eh, standard bearer? Do the rounds of the local shops for a block or so. Introduce yourself as the new proprietor of this shop, and explain that we’re digging out a basement for storage. While you’re at it, make enquiries, gently mind you, after the owner of this place.’

Morban stared at him grimly.

‘You want me to find out if he had a wife-’

Cotta raised a finger.

‘Has a wife. Let’s assume that nobody else knows about this act of concealment, in which case the lady in question might just be “visiting her mother”. Or this might not be his wife, it might be a girlfriend who threatened to reveal all and paid for it with her life. So gently does it, eh? And while you’re at it, buy some quicklime.’

Morban was back an hour later, the look on his face no less grim than it had been when he left, and which darkened further at the sight of the dead woman’s excavated corpse.

‘The locals seem like a decent enough lot, especially once they realised we’re not going to give them any competition. Seems our landlord had a young wife, much younger than he is, and the first flush of love was long since over the horizon. More than one of the people I talked to found it fit to mention gladiators …’

Cotta and Avidus exchanged knowing glances.

‘So she was over the side of their canoe and paddling vigorously with men of a more suitable age …’

Avidus nodded wryly at Cotta’s opinion.

‘And stamina.’

‘As a result of which she ended up under the floorboards of his shop. I presume he was just going to give any questions as to her whereabouts a blank face, and wait for her to be forgotten.’

Morban took a foot-high earthenware pot from one of his men and handed it to Avidus.

‘Quicklime. Ought to be more than enough for one little girl like that. What will you do with her?’

Cotta looked down at the corpse for a moment before speaking.

‘Get her in the cart and bury her in rubble, with enough lime to stop her stinking while we take her past the gate guards, and dump her somewhere quiet.’ He gestured to Avidus. ‘You look after that, and I’m going for a chat with our landlord …’

Qadir walked into the tribune’s office and saluted, standing to attention and staring at the wall behind Scaurus’s head, much to Cotta’s amusement. The tribune waved a hand at the spare chair, smiling at his centurion’s determined expression.

‘Do sit down Centurion, and relax just a little?’

Julius nodded encouragingly, and the Hamian perched on the stool provided. Cotta resumed his story of the day’s events in his usual matter-of-fact tone.

‘So I went round to his house, covered in dust from the digging of course, and he came out to greet me with the usual haughty look on his face.’ He grinned at the recollection. ‘I asked him if he had a bad smell in his nose, and then while he was frowning at that, I tossed a piece of her tunic on the floor in front of him. A lovely colour when it was new, I’d imagine, and still recognisable as green despite the fact we had to peel it off her like it was her own skin. He went as white as a vestal’s virgin’s stola, the poor bastard.’

‘And?’

The veteran shrugged at Julius’s question.

‘He stood there for a moment and then just sat down on his arse, as if his legs had suddenly given up on him. I suppose he’d been shitting himself ever since he did it, and then to have the evidence slapped on the floor in front of him without any warning was all too much for him. I helped him up, and got him inside, and then we had a little chat about it. Seems that she got a little too brazen for her own good, thinking that just because he couldn’t get it up any longer he’d tolerate her parading around with her lover. Some gladiator or other. Once she was dead, he realised how deep the shit he’d blundered into was, given that her family aren’t the forgiving kind, so he buried her in the shop by lamplight and then pretended that she’d run off with another man, and that he was the wounded party.’

‘I see.’ Scaurus leaned back in his chair. ‘And what do you propose we do about this crime of passion?’

Cotta shook his head.

‘Beyond using it to make sure that he gives us every little bit of help we ask him for? Nothing. He killed her in a fit of rage, he’s still full of remorse three months on, and turning him over to the Watch isn’t going to bring her back. I think we leave this sleeping dog to lie. Besides, I expect that we can use the leverage to good effect at some point. He owns a selection of commercial properties in some rather nice areas, so there’s bound to be a favour of some sort he can do for us soon enough.

The tribune thought for a moment.

‘I concur. And you, Centurion, what news do you bring?’

Qadir’s Latin, as impeccable as ever, was gently accented from his upbringing in the empire’s east.

‘Tribune, I have a report for you from our spies in the city.’

Scaurus nodded, leaning forward.

‘Julius tells me that you’re to be congratulated on the speed with which you’ve turned some of our wilier soldiers into spies. One of these days you really must take me through how it all works, and where you learned this particular trade for that matter. You’ve had men following Excingus all day?’

‘Indeed, ever since he came here this morning, Tribune.’ Qadir looked down at the tablet he had placed on the desk in front of him. ‘Firstly, the target met with the children who were detained in the barracks yesterday. My best man was close enough to hear the tone of the discussion although not the words, and he reported that it all seemed quite amicable.’

Scaurus looked at Julius.

‘So either they’ve chosen not to tell him about your bribe …’

Julius shrugged.

‘Or they told him and he took his usual pragmatic approach to almost anything, up to and including having a knife at his throat.’

‘Yes. He does rather tend to roll with whatever gets thrown at him, doesn’t he? So we’ll either get accurate information from these children or be fed a pack of lies on the basis that he’ll promptly outbid us on the bribery front.’

Qadir coughed gently, and the two men turned back to him.

‘In either case my men will, it is to be hoped, provide us with definitive evidence of his movements. After meeting with the children, Excingus then went back into the city, and made his way to a rather unexpected location. One of the men set to tail him ran back to our usual meeting place and briefed me, and I had time to make my way to the spot in time to see him leave.’

He stood, pointing to an area on the map of the city that Scaurus had commissioned in order to be able to plan his next steps with better understanding of the distances involved.

‘He went to this place, and was inside for over an hour.’

Scaurus stared at him in silence.

‘The Gardens of Sallust? You’re sure about this? I wouldn’t have had Excingus in mind when I thought about a keen botanist.’

Qadir nodded.

‘And now you understand why I went to see for myself. When Excingus left the gardens, he looked more than usually pleased with himself, and I would judge from his expression that whatever business he had been transacting inside had gone very well.’

The tribune nodded.

‘And the Gardens of Sallust are less than half a mile from Senator Albinus’s villa. It’s as we suspected, I suppose, Excingus has been making friends in high places. And after that?’

The Hamian turned to face Julius.

‘After that, First Spear, he walked across the valley to a small house on the Viminal Hill. He was most cautious as he approached the location, changing direction three times and doubling back twice to expose any potential followers, but by the grace of the goddess Deasura we managed to keep sight of him. His destination appears to have been his home, as he had not come out by the time that night fell.’

Scaurus sat back with a look of satisfaction.

‘Excellent. One day of your men’s work has shown us who’s behind him in this interesting little matter and where our supposedly tame informant lives. That’s good work by any measure.’

Qadir inclined his head gravely in acceptance of the praise.

‘And if I might make a suggestion, Tribune?’

‘Please do.’

The Hamian assumed a thoughtful look.

‘I am comfortable that we have the skills necessary to continue tracking him around the city, but I feel that we were a little lucky to have followed him back to his home without alerting him, given how thoroughly he tried to expose anyone that might be following him. I suggest that now we know where he lives we keep well clear once we know he’s heading in that direction?’

Scaurus nodded.

‘You’re right, there’s no point tipping him off that we know where he sleeps. We’ll stay clear of him once he’s heading for home, but perhaps we ought to watch him once he’s there?’

Qadir smiled slightly.

‘I have predicted this suggestion, Tribune. Rome’s gutters have a new pair of beggars this evening.’

The next morning, with the new cellar excavated, a narrow, open side set of stairs dug into the rock to allow easy access, and with rather better-quality floorboards installed in the shop above, Morban’s men set about renovating their establishment in preparation for its opening. Working at their various tasks under the standard bearer’s guidance, jibes and cajoling, they made swift progress in re-plastering and painting the walls and ceiling.

‘Get your backs into it boys, I’m working to a schedule here!’

One of the older men shot him a jaundiced look as he trowelled plaster onto his section of the wall, his raised eyebrows revealing just how aware he was of the veteran’s ability to turn a profit from almost any situation.

‘Got a bet on it, have you, Morban?’

His sally was met with a knowing look from the standard bearer.

‘No, but I know something you don’t. If we have this place working by first thing tomorrow then there’s a share of the profit available to us.’

He smiled smugly as the soldiers turned to look at him with new interest.

‘What sort of share?’

‘Thirty per cent, and the rest to the burial club.’ The men nodded to each other at the mention of the fund that would ensure that each of them would receive the proper rites and commemoration at the end of his life. ‘Which means that given there’s eight of you, you lot get three per cent apiece of everything we earn.’

One of the swifter brains among them worked the numbers.

‘Which means you’re taking six per cent?’

Morban raised an eyebrow at him.

‘And …?’

The man in question, a standard bearer from another century, shook his head in mock confusion.

‘So we does all the work for three coins on the hundred apiece, and you does sod all for six? Doesn’t seem straight to me.’

The standard bearer shook his head pityingly.

‘All you’ve got to do is clean this place up, slap on some plaster and paint a flying prick on the wall for luck, carry in a few chairs and then laze about until we actually have hair to cut. I, on the other hand, have to keep you idle bastards working, make sure you do it right, go and find customers, take the money, count the money … Do I need to go on?’

Another man spoke up sardonically.

‘They’re letting you count the money as well?’

Morban smiled happily back at him.

‘Oh yes. My counting skills will be well employed here and that’s a fact.’

The soldier turned back to work.

‘Better resign yourselves to two per cent lads, old sticky fingers is back in the saddle.’

‘The fat one went off round the neighbourhood asking questions, and he bought a pot of quicklime as well. And later on, when it was quieter, they carried something out to the cart, wrapped in a sheet, and it looked wet, or at least the sheet did. Smelled rotten too.’

Excingus stroked his chin, taking a sip of his drink before responding to the child’s story.

‘So they were digging, and in the course of that excavation they found a body of some nature. I find the corpse of little interest, but the digging by which they discovered it is a good deal more fascinating. Why would they be digging a basement for a barber’s shop, I wonder?’ He pondered for a moment. ‘Find out what they’re up to down there, will you, Gaius?’

The child looked back at him with something close to incredulity.

‘How am I supposed to do that? Just wander up and ask for a look in the new cellar?’

The informant waved a hand, dismissing the question.

‘As you get older — if you live long enough to get older, given your constant urge to question the instructions of your betters — you will learn that the most important question a man can ask is not “how”. If I have to tell you how you are to achieve this simple task then I might as well do it myself. I don’t care how you do it, only that you do it. You don’t imagine that these soldiers have rented a shop, and have redecorated it at their own cost, for the simple fun of commerce do you? They have a reason for setting up this establishment, whatever it is that they plan to sell as a cover for their real activities, and I want to know what it is, because not knowing is making me a good deal more nervous than you can imagine.’

He stood, tossing a coin onto the table.

‘Off with you, and don’t come back without a detailed picture of what it is that they have down there or I may be forced to find someone else to do the job. You have a meeting with my good friend Julius today?’ Gaius nodded. ‘And you remember the story I gave you for him?’

‘You met with Senator Albinus yesterday, and agreed to sell him information about where and when he can set a trap for the soldiers.’ The child frowned. ‘But I still don’t see why-’

‘Why I would allow them to learn such a thing?’ He reached forward, putting a hand over the child’s eyes. ‘Tell me, what can you see?’

‘Well I can’t see fuck all, can I?’

‘Exactly. There is a city in front of your eyes, but all you can see is my hand.’

He removed the hand, and Gaius looked up at him with an expression of dawning comprehension.

‘You want the soldiers looking at the hand?’

‘And not the much bigger picture that it conceals. Exactly. Now be off with you, I too have a meeting to attend.’

He strode out into the street, ignoring the beggars who hailed him vociferously from the gutter, and walked away towards the spot he had detailed in his message to Albinus. Arriving to discover that the senator was already in his place, he dropped into a chair beside him, waiting until the guards who had accompanied Albinus to the gardens had withdrawn out of earshot. Since Cotta’s sudden departure from his service, the senator had taken to surround himself with former gladiators, any of whom Excingus suspected would be happy enough to cut his throat just for the simple pleasure of watching a man die.

‘You seem very keen, Senator. I thought I was early for our meeting, but I find you already here.’

The other man replied in a soft tone of voice, but with clear irritation.

‘And I thought you and I had a bargain, Informant? Me to pay you in gold, and you to provide me with the opportunity to take Scaurus and his man Aquila unawares? And now I discover that one of the emperor’s band of killers is dead? I suppose you’ll try to fob me off with some story of suicide, but I-’

‘Far from it, Senator.’

Excingus waited for a moment, allowing Albinus to speak again if he so wished, but the other man simply fixed him with a hard stare and raised his eyebrows.

‘Continue.’

‘As I said, this was no suicide. Aquila and that brute of a centurion who accompanies him everywhere jumped Centurion Dorso and his men on the street, killed the bodyguards, and dragged Dorso into his private residence. They murdered him in a most gruesome way, dousing him with oil before setting light to him.’

Albinus raised his eyebrows in horror, staring up at the trees above them.

‘I heard that his cremated corpse was found in the ruins of a private house, but to have burned him alive? This Aquila has sunk to the level of the barbarians who follow him around! I’ll serve him up some good old-fashioned Roman justice when I get the chance!’ He shook his head, then turned back to the informant. ‘So why is it, given our agreement, that you gave me no forewarning of this opportunity to snap them up?’

Excingus raised an eyebrow.

‘I would have thought that was obvious, Senator. Our deal is for the delivery of both Aquila and Tribune Scaurus, is it not? Were I to have set you in motion to have your revenge last night, then you would only have taken one of the two. Not only would the man who has caused you the greater offence still be alive, but he would also be forewarned, and in command of fifteen hundred men, many of whom, I am informed, feel great loyalty to this Aquila.’ He looked about him at the senator’s ragtag bodyguard. ‘I doubt that your few men, who seem rather better muscled than they are equipped for swift action, would have much hope of holding them off if they came for you in numbers.’ He shook his head and wagged an admonishing finger at the surprised Albinus. ‘No, if this is to be done then it must be done correctly, and last night offered no such opportunity. When the opportunity presents itself, you will be the first to know.’

He smiled at the senator.

‘Trust me.’

Morban looked about him at the shop’s renewed decoration, the paint still drying on parts of the walls while the air was filled with the aroma of fresh plaster. A neatly painted winged phallus adorned one wall, and the chairs in which their customers would sit to receive their barbering were lined up in two ordered rows.

‘Lovely.’ He glanced around the group of soldiers, all of whom had changed into clean tunics, clapping his hands together and rubbing them gleefully. ‘Right then! You lot, brace yourselves for business. I’ve got an idea how we can drum up some custom nice and quickly.’

Strolling out into the sunshine he waddled across the street, filling his lungs with a deep breath before bellowing at the top of his voice, cutting through the hubbub with the practised ease of a man who was used to making himself heard.

‘Half-price haircuts! Half-price shaves! Today only, get your hair cut in the latest fashion by trained barbers! Half-price haircuts! Impress the ladies with a smooth chin and be the envy of your friends! Half-price shaves! No more looking as if you’ve cut your hair with a knife, we’ll leave you looking …’

He grinned broadly at a man who had stopped in his tracks.

‘Haircut is it, sir? Or perhaps you’d like to find out just how good you’d look after a shave from one of our expert tonsors? Walk this way, and prepare to be astounded!’

He led the bemused customer into the shop, pointing to the soldier he judged least likely to cut their first customer’s throat by accident.

‘You, here’s a customer. Give him the closest, smoothest shave you can, and as our very first customer we’ll make it gratis as long as he promises to tell his friends just how good our bargain prices are!’

The customer in question beamed happily, quickly taking his place in the chair indicated. Nodding seriously, the ‘tonsor’ in question whipped out a military dagger and set to stropping its edge against a leather strap. Taken aback by the weapon’s unexpected appearance, the man in the chair took on an uneasy look and started to rise from his seated position only to find a powerful hand pushing him back while the soldier addressed him in a gruff voice.

‘Keep still mate. I won’t cut you unless you move, but if I do cut you then it’ll be right nasty …’

He smeared a handful of olive oil around the customer’s chin, quickly coating the now terrified man’s beard with the slippery fluid before setting to with his blade. After a few deft strokes his potential victim began to realise that he’d not actually been cut yet, and that each pass of the knife was painlessly removing a section of what had hitherto been a stubborn growth of stubble. The soldier grinned down at him, seeing the relaxation slowly soften his tensed features.

‘Yeah, good isn’t it? This knife’s a fucking beauty, the best I’ve ever had, holds an edge easy and it’s good for the toughest work. I even did a barbarian with it in Dacia last year, when I lost my sword in a goat-fuck of a fight …’ He paused, shaking his head in irritation as a trickle of blood ran down the now thoroughly terrified customer’s cheek. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do! I told you not to move!’

Cotta walked into the barbers’ shop shortly before dusk, nodding a greeting to Morban. His men, having shaved and tonsored the day’s last customers and swept away their clipped hair, were waiting for the command to be on their way with the eagerness of men who were planning a full night’s entertainment.

‘On your way boys, and remember, you’re all back on duty here at dawn. And no getting so pissed up that your razor hands are still shaking when you get here, eh?’

The soldiers made their exit without having to be asked twice, heading out into the city with respectful nods and half-salutes to the veteran. Morban waved a hand at the chair in front of his desk.

‘Have a seat, Centurion, take the weight off while I finish cashing up.’

Cotta sat, fixing his eyes on the standard bearer and watching with interest as his hands moved deftly over the piles of coins arrayed in neat piles on the desk.

‘My old man always used to say, when he wasn’t face down on his bed from too much wine or chasing recruits and thrashing them with his vine stick, that the way a man looks at things will tell you a lot about him.’

Morban looked up momentarily, feigning a curiosity that Cotta could see through with ease.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, he did. And the older I get, the more I respect the old bastard’s opinion …’

He deliberately went quiet, until the silence got to the other man in exactly the intended manner. Morban looked up, a sudden hint of disquiet in his swift glance, then looked back down at the money.

‘There it is. Just like he said, it’s in the eyes. So, Morban, you came recommended to me as a man with a magical touch with money.’

The standard bearer smiled in an attempt at self-deprecation.

‘Really? That was kind of-’

‘Yes.’ The centurion’s voice hardened. ‘I was told that any money that was put in front of you would, if you were left alone with it, magically start to vanish.’

The other man reared back with an indignant expression.

‘Just a minute! I-’

‘Resemble that comment?’

Morban’s eyes narrowed at the time-honoured put-down.

‘I’ve counted all this money three times now: thirty-three shaves and seventy-five haircuts, which comes to …’

‘So that’s fifty-eight customers, is it?’

The veteran soldier’s eyes narrowed as the deceptive lightness of Cotta’s tone sank in.

‘Ahhh … no. In fact it was seventy-two.’

He met the centurion’s stare with his most impassive mask and waited for a response. Cotta shook his head slowly, and something in his impassive stare sounded a warning in the standard bearer’s mind.

‘Once an officer always an officer, eh? Alright it was seventy-eight …’ The veteran centurion held his gaze steady. I’m telling you, seventy-eight customers. And that’s it.’

Cotta nodded.

‘Very good. I do so like it when I come to an accommodation with an experienced senior man like you.’

He held out a hand, and Morban opened the desk drawer, pulling out a purse and sweeping the money arrayed across the flat wooden surface into it before dropping the purse into the outstretched palm.

‘About the lads’ bonus?’

‘And yours for that matter?’

The standard bearer grinned shamelessly.

‘Well, now that you mention it …’

Cotta shook his head in feigned disbelief.

‘Every time I think I’ve met the most barefaced crook that could ever exist in the army, someone goes and proves me wrong. You can take the bonus out of the money you’re still holding back from the other fifteen heads that your lads cropped today.’

Morban gaped as the secure ground he thought he’d managed to put beneath his feet abruptly dropped away.

‘How …?’

Cotta stood.

‘How did I know how many haircuts your boys have got through today? That’s for me to know and for you to wonder, I’d say. You’ll work it out in your own time. When I see your lads I’ll tell them that you’ve got their share for the day, shall I?’

‘But that won’t cover it!’

Cotta grinned, bending to pinch the older man’s cheek.

‘No, it won’t, will it? Perhaps this old dog might just have learned a new trick tonight — not to lie to a man that’s forgotten more ways to make money vanish than you’ll ever know. Goodnight Morban!’

Excingus dropped wearily into the chair facing Gaius, waving a hand at the landlord who promptly sent one of his daughters over with a flask of wine. Having deposited flask and cups onto the table, she fixed the informer with a sultry pout, squeezing her breasts together to make them protrude alluringly. Excingus waved the hand again to dismiss her, shaking his head firmly as her pout went from allure to disgust.

‘On your way child. You’re too young for me, I’m too tired to do you justice, and my young friend here doesn’t have a fully functioning phallus yet. Come back in two or three years’ time.’

The child frowned at him.

‘How do you know my dick doesn’t work!? For all you know, I could be-’

‘Looking at your hairless sausage in puzzlement, I’d imagine. What did you find out for me?’

Gaius shrugged.

‘About the barber’s new cellar? Nothing.’

Excingus poured himself a cup of wine with an expression of profound disappointment at the child’s answer.

‘I give you one simple thing to find out, and all you can say is “nothing”?’

The boy regarded him steadily.

‘Exactly. Nothing. There’s nothing down there.’

‘What?’ The informer shook his head in fresh irritation. ‘So you did get a look at it! How did you manage that?’

Gaius shrugged.

‘You ain’t the only one with money that wants to know things. We was employed to watch the place and tell that centurion that’s playing at being the boss how many men went in and out.’

Excingus raised his eyes in disbelief.

‘You’re telling me that you were paid to count haircuts? Sometimes I wonder if the whole city has gone mad.’ He shrugged. ‘So, while you were counting heads, exactly how did you manage to get down the stairs?’

Gaius grinned.

‘Simple. I got a haircut.’

The informant smirked.

‘Yes, now you mention it, you do look a little more military than you did this morning.’

The boy ignored his comment.

‘And when I was done I took a quick peek down the stairs. They never even knew I’d done it. After all, nobody gives any mind to a little boy being a bit nosey, do they?’

‘And?’

‘I told you. Nothing!’

‘It is with the greatest of difficulty that I am restraining myself from taking a handful of what little hair you have left and banging your irritating fucking head on this table.’ Excingus was grating his words out in a mixture of fatigue and irritation. ‘What. Did. You. See?’

‘An empty cellar. Just rough rock walls and nothing else.’

Excingus sat back with a frown.

‘Why? Why go to all the trouble of building a cellar and then leaving it empty? I was sure there’d be weapons down there, but if it’s just a bare storeroom perhaps that’s all there is to it.’ He mused in silence for a moment. ‘Perhaps I’m reading too much into it after all. They are soldiers, and the army always likes to overdo anything it takes on …’

He shrugged.

‘No matter. And it’s time I was elsewhere.’ Taking his cup from the table, he downed its remaining contents and stood. ‘It’s time to go and meet your father, and encourage him to deliver young Aquila’s next victim. With a little luck Brutus’s thugs will catch the arrogant young bastard and carve his lungs out.’

Cotta led six of his men through the Viminal district’s darkened streets behind Excingus, with Marcus close at his heels, while the informant’s man Silus walked cautiously twenty paces ahead of the party to check each road junction for any presence of the city’s Watch before signalling that the path was clear. The veteran centurion had bluntly refused to consider Marcus’s attempts to leave him behind when they had set off from the barracks.

‘And besides, you’ll need some men at your back if you’re going to put this Brutus to the knife, or you’ll never get past his men. And you can’t take soldiers. Trailing Excingus around is one thing, but going up against a gang like the Silver Dagger will need men who know these streets, and how to fight in them, and that means my lads. And what about this Silus, eh? How likely is he to be trustworthy?’

The veteran soldier had predictably taken an instant dislike to their guide upon meeting him an hour or so before, when Excingus had beckoned him from the shadows of the Baths of Trajan to join their small, furtive party. To the veteran centurion’s experienced eye, the informer’s man had the look of a killer, the same dead look to his eyes that he saw in some of his own men.

‘But whereas I know my men well enough to trust them, this Silus is a stranger to me. He can be trusted not to lead us into a fucking great trap, I assume?’

He’d asked the question of Excingus bluntly, albeit having led the informant far enough from the group of soldiers for a degree of privacy.

‘No.’ The answer had been equally frank, in Excingus’s usual matter-of-fact tone. ‘I expect he would sell us out, given half a chance, but I have him by the balls, or at least I hope so. He knows that my sponsor in this matter is fully aware of his part in it, and where his family resides. I’d like to think that he’s tied to me by the fear of whatever retribution might be visited on him, and his enormous herd of children and blood relatives, but ultimately there’s no denying that we’re taking a risk in employing his services.’ His teeth had flashed in the moonlight, the familiar smile that made Cotta want to punch him with every ounce of his strength. ‘And if you have a better idea as to how we can make this happen, I am veritably all ears.’

The veteran centurion had simply shaken his head in the face of the smug smile and gestured for Excingus to carry on. Gathering the party around him, the informant’s briefing had been short and to the point.

‘Brutus and his men have moved into an insula not far from here. It has five floors. I can take you to it.’

Cotta had waited a moment, looking expectantly at Silus, then leaned forward to whisper a question with a disbelieving tone in his voice.

‘That’s it? That’s all we know? We’ve no idea how many of them there are? Or what defences they might have installed to fend off an attack by their rivals?’

The street thug had nodded dourly.

‘That’s all I know. I can tell you from experience that Brutus will have at least a dozen of his best men with him, although they won’t all be standing guard at the same time. And he usually puts a man on the roof to watch the surrounding streets, and another one or two at ground level to guard the entrance. After that?’ He shrugged disinterestedly. ‘After that it’s anyone’s guess. Perhaps half of them will be asleep … perhaps.’

Cotta had shaken his head in disgust.

‘And not your problem, eh? This is going to be bloody interesting …’

Now they were within a hundred paces or so of the building, and Silus’s progress had slowed to a cautious creep through the shadows of the insulae that towered over them on either side. The streets were quiet, and Cotta’s party were moving with the stealth of men who understood that their lives might well depend on remaining undiscovered until the very last moment. Without warning, Silus sank into the deeper shadows, raising a palm to warn them of approaching danger, and Cotta’s men followed his example and went to ground in the gloom.

A pair of men walked past at the street’s end, each of them carrying a heavy club.

‘City Watch?’

Excingus shrugged.

‘Impossible to say without asking them. And even if they are the Watch, they’ll be in Brutus’s pocket, most likely, so the end result would probably be much the same whether they were or not. If they catch sight of us creeping about in the darkness they’ll call for help, and that’ll be it.’

They waited until Silus got cautiously back to his feet, following in his footsteps as he peered around the corner in both directions and then slipped around it to the left. Twenty paces down the street he stopped, gesturing for Cotta to come forward.

‘The building you’re looking for is fifty paces down on your left. If we go any closer we’ll probably be spotted by the man on the roof … there, see?’ A smug tone crept into his voice. ‘Told you so …’

Squinting up at the line of buildings, Marcus saw a figure outlined against the stars, the watcher staring down into the street for a moment before stepping back from the building’s parapet. A framework of wooden poles had been erected around the building, the sort of scaffolding used by builders.

‘Once a man’s under that scaffolding he’ll be invisible from above.’

Cotta nodded at Excingus’s statement.

‘Exactly what I was thinking. I’ll just-’

Marcus interrupted.

‘No. This is my fight. I’ll make the approach and get the front door open, then you can bring your men up.’

He stepped around the crouching men and slid down the wall of the insula in whose shadow they had taken cover. Advancing gingerly towards the safe house, he heard a scrape of cloth on brick behind him, turning to find Cotta at his back. He pointed to where the rest of the veteran’s men waited.

‘Go back! I told you, this is my fight!’

The veteran centurion grinned fiercely at his savage whisper, shaking his head.

‘No one’s going to thank me if I come back without you. And you’re not the only one with a score to settle here.’

Marcus stared at him for a moment and then nodded, turning back to their target, then froze as he realised that the rooftop watcher had reappeared high above them, silhouetted once more against the blaze of stars. Cotta muttered quietly in his ear.

‘We’re close enough. When he moves again we go for the door.’

The younger man nodded, and when the lookout stepped back from the parapet once more they hurried forward, flattening themselves against the safe house’s wall under the cover of the scaffolding. The window shutters were closed, and so, to Marcus’s dismay, was the door itself. A hiss from the shadows made Marcus turn to look at where the rest of the party waited, to see Silus pointing back down the road. Cotta scowled at the realisation of what he was trying to tell them.

‘They must be coming back!’

He waved at his men, pointing to the right in an order for them to make their escape while they still could. They hesitated, clearly unwilling to leave their chief, but he repeated the gesture again with an angry emphasis. As the two men watched, their guide led Excingus and the rest of the party away down the side street and into the deeper shadows, leaving Marcus and Cotta alone.

‘What do we do now?’

The veteran grinned at his former pupil.

‘Well we can’t stay here, can we? We need to get into that insula, and quickly! The only thing I can think of …’ He reached under his tunic. ‘Is this!’

He directed the steaming stream of fluid at the bottom of the door, squatting to get a better angle and directing the urine into the narrow gap between door and lintel. For a moment the only sound in the still of the night was the splashing of his urine against the hard surfaces, and then Marcus’s keen ears heard a sudden outburst from inside the building.

‘What the fuck! Some dirty bastard’s having a piss on the fucking door!’

The veteran centurion cupped his hand, filling his palm with what was left of his urination and whispered harshly to Marcus.

‘Ready!’

With a sudden clatter, the first of the door’s bolts were pulled back, and Marcus drew his patterned dagger, raising the blade and drawing back his hand. As the door swung open to reveal an angry-faced bruiser, Cotta hurled the handful of urine into his face. Before the doorman had the chance to override his instinctive disgust at the warm liquid’s pungent aroma and the sudden sting in his eyes, Marcus pounced forward with the blade, stabbing the sharp iron into the doorman’s neck. Cotta hurried forward, pushing the dying man back into the building and beckoning Marcus in behind him.

‘Shut the door!’

He lowered the shaking sentry to the hallway’s floor and squatted next to him, shaking his head as the guard’s lips twitched in an effort to speak.

‘I know. One minute you’re bored to tears, the next some bastard’s chucked piss in your face and opened your throat. Seems a little unfair, doesn’t it?’ He watched while Marcus shot the heavy door’s bolts as quietly as he could, whispering to the younger man with a look of disbelief on his shadowed face. ‘Well then, we’re in. Although given there’s only two of us, I think I’ve finally worked out what my old man meant when he told me to be careful what I wished for, just in case I actually got it. We can either wait for the Watch to bugger off and then try to find the lads, although the Lightbringer only knows where Excingus and Silus will have led them in their haste to get away, or we can go and see how many more of them we’ll have to kill to get to their boss. You choose …’

Marcus raised his knife, the blade still dark with the dead sentry’s blood.

‘You know my choice.’

His friend nodded and stood up, pulling out his own dagger and tip toeing down the hall to the first doorway with the younger man at his back. Taking a quick peep around the door frame he shook his head.

‘Nothing. Which makes sense, because if there was anyone else down here with him they’d have heard us killing him and come out to play. So where are they, I wonder?’

They climbed the stairs to the first floor, back to back, Cotta leading and Marcus staring into the ground floor’s gloom as he backed up the steps behind him. The first-floor landing was just as silent, and a cautious examination of the rooms to either side of the stairs revealed nothing but empty rooms. The two men repeated their cautious climb to the second-floor landing, but found the building’s next floor equally silent. Looking up the next flight of stairs, Cotta nudged Marcus with an elbow and pointed up into the gloom.

‘See that?’

The Tungrian stared hard, realising what it was that the veteran was showing him. A thick wooden door, criss-crossed with iron reinforcing bars, had been installed at the top of the stairs, and was hanging half open in the building’s silence.

‘There’ll be men on that floor for certain.’

Marcus nodded.

‘There’s no point to an obstacle unless you man it.’

His friend mounted the first step, placing his foot down with slow, delicate care.

‘We take our time from here, and get it right. If we wake them now we might as well slit our own throats.’

They went up the stairs in complete silence, stopping with each faint creak of the treads to listen for any sign that they might have been heard, both men steeled to charge up through the door with their knives ready to fight. Reaching the door, Cotta gently pushed at it, grimacing at the hinges’ thin squeal of protest as he overcame the weight of the iron-studded wood, opening it sufficiently to slip through. Standing on the landing beyond, he cocked his head to listen, grinning at Marcus as the sound of snoring reached them. Somewhere in the unlit gloom one of the sleepers broke wind and muttered something unintelligible, and the veteran soldier waved a hand under his nose with a grin, leaning over to whisper in his friend’s ear.

‘How’s that to make you feel alive, eh boy? One cough and these slumbering idiots will be up and all over us, but right now we’re walking through them like ghosts. Come on …’

As he turned towards the next flight of stairs a figure emerged from the half-lit gloom of the room to Marcus’s left with the stiff-legged half-steps of a man more asleep than awake. He mumbled an irritated question, peering owlishly at Marcus in the dim light.

‘What’re you noisy bastards-’

Cotta took a single quick step and wrapped his arm around the sleepy man’s mouth, driving his dagger into his back. His victim spasmed, his bare feet slapping lightly on the floorboards as he fought the dagger’s cold, agonising intrusion. Marcus put the point of his own knife against the man’s bare chest, looking into his imploring eyes for a moment before pushing the blade home with a single thrust. The gang member’s eyes widened at the sudden intense pain, then rolled upwards as his torn heart stopped beating, the body slumping back against Cotta who lowered it slowly to the floor.

‘Come on!’

His face and tunic were covered in blood, and the coppery stink filled the dank air as he beckoned Marcus on, making the Roman wonder how long it would take for the stench to awaken one of the dead man’s comrades. They crossed the landing with slow, careful steps and then mounted the stairs, Cotta leading with his former pupil once more at his back. On the floor above there was quiet, and the veteran centurion took a moment to lean against the wall and blow out a long, slow breath.

‘Fuck me but that was close!’

Marcus looked up at the floor above them, protected by a door like the one they had passed through a few moments before, this one closed and presumably bolted.

‘Brutus should be up there, if he’s here.’

His friend nodded grimly.

‘And no amount of sneaking around is going to open that door. I think it’s time for a more direct approach.’

He led the young centurion quickly up the stairs, ignoring the inevitable noise of their footsteps just as the gang leader’s men would have done, raising his dagger and tapping smartly at the door with its handle. The two men looked at each other as footsteps thudded down the hallway on the other side.

‘Who is it?’

Cotta raised a hand to Marcus, putting his mouth close to the wood and growling a response.

‘Secundus.’

He winked, and bent close to Marcus’s ear.

‘What are the odds on there being at least one second son in a dozen men, do you think?’

The voice on the other side of the door laughed tersely.

‘Hah! Only you would be stupid enough to forget to give the password.’

Marcus raised his eyebrows at Cotta, who shrugged, then deepened his voice again.

‘Forgotten the fuckin’ password too.’

The man on the other side of the door was silent for a moment, and in that brief space of time the veteran’s face creased with concern as he waited for the sentry’s next words.

‘Fuck me backwards, surely even you can’t be that-’

His words were lost in the clatter of iron as the guard drew first the topmost bolt, then its twin at floor level. The two men braced themselves to attack, only to hear a sudden shout of alarm from two floors below. Marcus could hear the uncertainty from the other side of the door as the noise reached the guard’s ears. His voice was suddenly clearer, presumably as he flattened his ear against the door to hear better.

‘What’s that noise?’

Cotta nodded to himself and stamped at the spot where the door’s catch would be located. The thin iron catch snapped under the kick’s force, sending the door flying back into the sentry’s face with a solid thud of wood on bone. Marcus went through the opening first, flipping his knife to catch it by the blade before whipping his hand forward to send the sliver of metal flying the corridor’s length. The dagger buried itself in the throat of another gang member who was still struggling to draw the short sword from his waist, and he fell backwards, clawing at the wound as it spurted blood onto the floor at his feet. Without warning, a pair of men erupted from a room to their left, both armed with knives whose blades glinted in the dim lamplight. Cotta squared off with one of them, a vicious stab of his dagger making the other man recoil from the threat, while his companion snarled at the unarmed Marcus and drove his blade forward at the Roman with more enthusiasm than skill.

Sliding his body to one side the Roman took the extended knife arm, gripped it by the wrist and shoulder and snapped a knee up to break the elbow, plucking the blade free as his attacker’s face crumpled into a gasping shriek of agony. Cotta parried a knife thrust and punched his assailant hard in the face, sending him staggering backwards, shouting back over his shoulder as he followed up with his dagger raised.

‘The door!’

Marcus lunged for the door and slammed it closed, shooting the upper bolt as the first shouts echoed up from below, pushing its lower counterpart into place as footsteps hammered on the stairs. The sliding catch was broken, but the screaming bodyguard’s fallen knife slotted neatly into its keep and secured the door well enough to afford them a moment or two of respite from the men bellowing at them from the other side of its stout defence. He turned back to the fight to find Cotta locked in a death struggle with his opponent, the younger man’s greater strength slowly forcing his blade in towards the veteran’s throat. Seeing Marcus advancing on him, he grunted with renewed effort, forcing the knife down by sheer brute force against which Cotta was able to do no more than deflect its path to slice a deep gash into his arm. Before the gang member could raise the weapon to strike again, Marcus was upon him, punching a half-fist into his throat and dropping him choking to the floor.

‘He’s yours!’

Striding up the corridor he felt the familiar burn of rage wash through him with the knowledge that one of his family’s murderers was close at hand. Pulling his knife from the stricken swordsman’s throat he tugged the unused gladius from the scabbard at the dying man’s side and stood to face the last door in the corridor’s short run. It opened easily, revealing a pair of hard-faced bodyguards with a squat, muscular man standing behind them.

‘Get him!’

Both of the men were armed with swords, and at Brutus’s command they advanced with the blades raised, ready to strike. Marcus threw his knife at the closer man’s feet, the blade sticking into the floorboard between them and distracting his attention for an instant in which Marcus lunged forwards and stabbed the sword’s point deep into his thigh, wrenching the blade free in a gush of arterial blood. The bodyguard staggered backwards, his breath whooping with shock as his life spurted from the torn limb, and the other man hesitated momentarily in the face of their attacker’s bloodied blade. He turned to flee but the Roman was faster, raising his stolen gladius two-handed and ramming the long blade through the terrified guard’s neck, snapping his spine and dropping him flopping to the floor. Marcus looked up to see Brutus climbing through the window with a look of abject terror as he stared back at his nemesis, and went after him with narrow-eyed purpose, snatching his knife from the floorboards.

The wooden scaffolding swayed gently as he climbed through the window and stepped out onto it, looking to his right to see the gang leader’s head vanish as he climbed down through a hole in the boards with a frantic haste that shook the flimsy platform. Two big steps took his pursuer to the opening in the scaffold’s rough planks, and he slid down the ladder with his feet braced against its legs to land with a thump. Brutus was in the act of climbing onto the next ladder down, squealing in terror as he realised that Marcus was gaining on him, but he was no better than halfway down the rungs when his grip on the ladder’s sides was brutally broken by the impact of the younger man’s booted feet. Scrabbling up from the floor, he drew a knife, but Marcus slapped it from his hand with casual ease and punched him once, a swift jab between the eyes that sent him reeling back against the building’s side, momentarily helpless. When his senses returned he found himself standing with his back to the open air beyond the scaffold, held erect by a powerful hand in his hair.

‘I can pay you! Whatever they’ve promised you, I can double it! Name your price!’

Marcus dragged his head close until the two men were eye-to-eye, his lip curling in disgust.

‘This has nothing to do with the Dog Eaters, Brutus! This is personal. My name is Marcus Valerius Aquila!’

He held the terrified man out at arm’s length for a moment, waiting while the realisation of who it was that had hunted him down sank into the gang leader’s battered consciousness.

‘Aquila? The senator’s boy?’

Marcus smiled cruelly, jerking the hand that was holding Brutus upright.

‘The same. I swore to find and kill you all. And now it’s your turn.’

Brutus’s eyes widened as he realised what was about to happen.

‘No! I-’

Marcus released his hair, put the hand into his face and pushed, sending the gang leader staggering backwards until his back foot found only empty space. He toppled into thin air with a screech of terror, but only fell as far as the end of a broken scaffold pole that protruded invisibly up into the night air twenty feet below. With a horrible crunch of bone, the two-inch thick pole’s jagged wooden end punched through Brutus’s body, suspending him ten feet above the ground and protruding up through his back. Terribly wounded, he groaned in shocked agony as the depth of his predicament became clear, slipping down a foot as his blood lubricated the pole’s wooden shaft. Marcus turned back to the ladder without a backwards glance as Cotta came down it one-handed, his other arm black with blood.

‘We need to get that cut bandaged-’

‘There’s no time. They’re breaking the door down!’

The two men hurried down the remaining ladders while voices shouted and cursed distantly above them. When they reached the ground, Marcus took a moment to look up at Brutus’s body. As the two men stared upwards, he slid further down the pole’s length, dropping to their eye level with another deathly moan of terror and pain, his hand ineffectually gripping at the gore-slathered wood in a vain attempt to arrest his descent. Cotta looked at the long, blood-smeared shaft rising out of the gang leader’s back with a soldier’s expertise, pulling a face at the monstrous wound.

‘That thing’s clean through his liver. Leave him. If he’s not already dead, he’ll soon wish he was.’

The Roman shook his head, staring dispassionately at Brutus’s contorted and blood-flecked face.

‘We can’t risk him telling anyone else who killed him before he gives up his life.’

Cotta hefted his knife.

‘Is that all that’s worrying you? Here, I’ll just have his tongue out then.’

He took a firm grip of the dying man’s chin, but Brutus summoned his last reserve of strength and pulled his jaw from the veteran soldier’s grip. His voice was no more than a ragged, choking whisper, but the hatred in his voice was unmistakable.

‘Death … Bringer … will … slaughter … you … all.’

He coughed up a gout of blood, his entire body shaking with the horrendous pain, and Marcus took his chin in one hand, pulling the gang leader’s contorted face round to look at him.

‘When you reach the other side of the river, if you can fool the ferryman into taking you across, you’d best start running. Because if Mortiferum does kill me, I’ll be coming after you to do this all over again.’

Brutus stared at him glassy-eyed. The young Roman realised that the man had lost his grip on life, and released his hold on the corpse’s jaw, allowing its head to hang loosely. He stood and stared at the corpse for a moment, feeling the same numbness that had overtaken him when he’d realised that Dorso was dead. He shook his head slowly at the absence of the elation he’d still hoped to feel in his moment of triumph.

‘Come on, there’s no time for that!’ Cotta dragged him away from the macabre scene, shouting back up at the gang members clattering down the scaffold’s ladders above them.

‘Victory to the Dog Eaters!’

The two men hurried away into the darkness pursued by the shouts of the dead gang leader’s bodyguards.