Three Hands in The Fountain

LV

We watched outside the Circus all night. Once again I was patrolling the Street of the Three Altars; Petro set up camp at the Temple of the Sun and Moon. It was mild, clear-skied and humid. Not too hot, yet enough to generate an exciting atmosphere. Girls were floating about the streets in flimsy dresses, their shoulder brooches half unpinned and their sideseams agape while they burrowed happily in their packets of nuts and sweetmeats, hardly looking around to see who might be ogling and following them. Bare-armed, bare-necked, bare-headed: open invitations to lust. I had never seen so many carefree and confident Roman women, all apparently oblivious of their physical insecurity.

I was losing heart. There were far too many people, far too few of us on duty, far too many exits from the Circus, far too many streets where unwary home-goers might be picked up in the dark.

We stayed there until we were dropping. Our concentration was stretched unendurably, not least because we were so unsure who we were looking for amongst the throng. The Games had ended, the litters and chairs had come and gone, the prostitutes and drunks had taken over the district, and then even they went home. As first light began to show, I walked along to the Temple. Petro and I stood together for a few minutes, looking around.

The streets and temple steps were strewn with litter. Stray dogs and huddled vagrants rooted among the debris. A few lamps dwindled. There was silence at last, broken only by occasional disturbing noises from dark alleyways.

'If he was here, then we missed him,' said Petronius in a low voice. 'He may have got someone.'

'What do you think?'

'I hope not.'

'But what do you think, partner?'

'Don't ask, Falco.'

We walked home together wearily to Fountain Court.