We found mayhem a fist tight all over the roadway. I spotted Gaius, being carried around on a pony behind a small girl- Cyprianus' daughter, Alia. Maybe Gaius had fetched the help. Anyway, he was now riding in circles, letting out war cries. Dog handlers were patrolling the scrimmage, unable to decide where or when to unleash their charges. The men who had ambushed me were dressed in distinguishably in site boots and labourers' tunics, but they were mainly fair or redheads, favouring long moustaches, whereas the new crowd were dark, swarthy and stubbly chinned. These arrived in small numbers- most labourers had left earlier for the canabae but they saw themselves as Roman support against the British barbarians. The rescue gang were Lupus' men, opposing those who had worked with Mandumerus. They could all fight and were eager to demonstrate. Both sides were viciously settling old scores.
We joined in. It seemed polite.
We were hard at it, like drunks at a festival, when we heard more shouts above the melee. Trundling and creaking, along came a row of heavy transports, from which Magnus and Cyprianus leapt down in astonishment. The carts had returned from the Marcellinus villa.
This took the passion out of everything. Those of the Britons who could still stagger made off sheepishly. Some of the rest and a few of the overseas group were suffering, though it looked as though there would only be two fatalities the man I disembowelled first, and the other whose legs I had slashed; he was now bleeding to death in the arms of two colleagues. My party were all bruised, and Aelianus' leg wound must have reopened, adding colour to his bandages. As Cyprianus tore his hair out over the fire damage to the site depot then growled even more when he realised what had happened to some precious stores inside- I recovered my breath then explained how Gaius and I were set upon. Magnus appeared sympathetic, but Cyprianus was angrily kicking a torn-down, smouldering fence panel. He was furious- not least because he now had the Marcellinus material to store, but nowhere secure to keep it.
I nodded at the lads. We made polite farewells. The four of us sauntered, perhaps rather stiffly, back to my suite at the King's palace.
Then, as we approached the 'old house', I saw a man I recognised, shinning up a ladder on the scaffold: Mandumerus.
Nothing for it: my wife, sister, children and female staff were inside that building. Anyway, I was well worked up for action. I reached the building at a run, grasped the wooden ladder and shot up after him. Helena would have said it was typical- one adventure was not enough.
"Go inside and comb your hair, boys. I'D be with you soon," I roared.
"Mad bugger!" That sounded like Larius.
"Has he got a head for heights?" One of the Camilli.
"He gets squeamish standing on a chair to swat a fly." I would deal with that rascal later.
There was a working platform at first-storey height, and another up at roof level. I felt perfectly safe climbing aloft to the first one then deeply insecure. "He's gone all the way up, Falco!" Aelianus was sensibly resting his leg standing back at a distance so he could monitor events and shout advice. I hated being supervised, but if I fell off, I would like to think someone could make out a lucid fatality report. Better anyway than Valla's: What happened to him? He was a roofer. What do you think happened? He fell off a roof!
Grit rattled through the boarding overhead, showering me in the eye. I came to the second ladder. Mandumerus knew I was after him. I heard him growl under his breath. I had my sword. Faced with light fencing practice, twenty feet above the ground, I shoved the weapon into its scabbard. I wanted both hands free for clinging on.
I saw him now. He laughed at me, then ran lightly ahead, vanishing around the building. Beneath my feet the boards seemed far too flimsy. Gaps in the loose, elderly planks gaped. There was a guard rail of sorts, just a few roughly tied cross-pieces that would snap under the slightest pressure. The whole scaffold had been braced with mere scantling. As I walked, I could feel it bowing gently. My footsteps echoed. Bits of old mortar left un swept on the platform made the going treacherous. Obstructions jutted at intervals, forcing me out from the apparent safety of the house wall. Keeping my eyes fixed ahead, I knocked into an old cement-encrusted bucket; it went bowling off the edge and crashed below. Someone cried out in annoyance. Aelianus, probably. He must be tracking me at ground level.
I turned the corner; sudden sea views distracted me. A gust of wind slammed into me frighteningly. I grabbed the guard rail. Mandumerus crouched, waiting. In one hand he wielded a pick handle. He had hammered a nail into the end of it. Not any old nail, but a huge thing like the nine-inch wonders they use for constructing fortress gatehouses. It would go right through my skull and leave a point the other side long enough to hang a cloak on. And a hat.
He made a feint. I had my knife. Small comfort. He lunged. I swung, but was out of reach. I stabbed the air. He laughed again. He was a big, pale, swollen-bellied brute who suffered from pink-eye and eczema-cracked skin. Scars told me not to mess with him.
I He was coming at me. He filled the width of the platform. With the pick handle flailing from side to side in front of him, I had no clear approach, even if I had dared close with him. He flailed at me; the nail point hit the house and screamed down the stonework, leaving a deep white scratch as it gouged the limestone blocks. I grabbed his arm, but he shook me off and viciously jabbed at me again. I turned to flee, my foot slipped on the boards, my hand grabbed for the rail again and it gave way.
Someone had come up behind me. I was barged to safety against the wall. It knocked the breath out of me. As I scrabbled to regain my footing, someone stepped past, featherlight as a trapeze artiste. Larius. He had a shovel and an expression that said he would use it.
Justinus must have run along at ground level and climbed up by another ladder. I glimpsed him too at our height now, crashing towards us on the scaffold from the far side. He only had bare hands, but his arrival was at high speed. He grasped Mandumerus from behind in a bearhug. Using the surprise, Larius then smashed his
shovel on the brute's shoulder, forcing him to drop the wood and nail. I fell on top of him and laid my knife on his windpipe.
He threw us all off. Dear gods.
He was back on his feet and now chose to run up the pan tiles He scaled the palace roof at a slant. The tiles began to suffer. Marcellinus must have provided inferior roof battens. (No surprise; the best probably went to his own villa.) Even climbing at an angle away from us, the steep roof pitch told against Mandumerus. He got halfway up, then lost momentum. With nothing to grab, he began to slow down. Then his feet skidded.
"Not a roofer- wrong boots!" chortled Larius. He was setting off to intercept Mandumerus.
"Watch yourself!" I cried. His mother would kill me if he killed himself up here.
Justinus and I inched warily past the section where the guardrail had gone, then followed Larius. The Briton slid slowly down the roof slope, in a vertical line towards the three of us. We captured him neatly. He seemed to give up. We were taking him back to the ladder when he broke free again. This time he managed to get his great hands on the giant hook on the pulley rope.
"Not that old trick!" scoffed Larius. 'Duck!"
The evil claw, made of heavy metal, came hurtling round in a circle at face height. Justinus leapt back. I crouched. Larius simply gripped the rope, just above the hook, as it reached him. Four years playing about on Neapolis villas had left him fearless. He took off and swung. Feet out, he kicked Mandumerus in the throat.
"Larius! You are not nice."
While I contributed the refined commentary, Justinus rushed past me. He helped my nephew batten onto the man again. Clutching his neck, Mandumerus gave in a second time.