Some time went by, and the early-morning rush to buy bread died away. Hanno began to feel self-conscious again, and he was glad that there was an open-fronted inn on the little square opposite. None of the other customers gave him a second glance as he occupied an outside seat and ordered a cup of wine. An hour and a second cup, then another hour and a third cup, slipped past without any sign of Elira. Hanno’s worries began to grow. Maybe something was wrong? Maybe Aurelia had been taken ill as well, forcing Elira to look after her? To distract himself, he went to empty his bladder in the tavern’s facility — a section of its wall that lined one side of a tiny alleyway. As was commonplace, graffiti had been scratched into every visible part of the brickwork. Hanno grinned as he read. It was a combination of the usuaclass="underline" ‘I had a good shit here’; ‘Eumenes loves Agape’; ‘The whores in this inn have the pox’.
Back at his seat, he resumed his study of the people who entered and left the bakery. It was with real shock that he saw Elira walking out, clutching a bulging bag. She was thinner than he remembered, and there were new lines of unhappiness that ran from the corners of her nose to her lips. Throwing back the last of his wine, he sauntered after her.
He waited until no more than three steps separated them before speaking. ‘Elira.’
She spun, nearly dropping her bag as she recognised him. ‘What a surprise,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Keep walking.’ Hanno drew alongside. ‘How is Aurelia?’
‘Not good, sir. Her son Publius — he’s dead.’
‘What? How?’
‘Malaria. He died during the night.’
‘Gods, that’s terrible.’ At once Hanno felt torn. This was horrific news for Aurelia, yet now he had one less person to magic out of the palace. The realisation that that too might not be necessary sank home a heartbeat later. ‘Will a funeral be permitted?’
‘We don’t know. With the gods’ help’ — here Elira put on her most seductive face — ‘and mine, I hope so.’
Rage bubbled up inside Hanno, and he tried not to think of what Elira and Aurelia had been forced to do to survive since their capture. ‘If you are, that is when we will strike. When will you know?’ He heard how stupid that question was as it left his lips. ‘You don’t know that either.’
‘No, sir.’
‘No matter.’ Kleitos had already mentioned a gang of street urchins who might be used to cause a diversion on the street. They could surely be paid to keep watch on the palace gates too. ‘When you find out about the funeral, try to come to the baker’s to let me, or one of the soldiers, know. If that proves impossible, you’re to tell Aurelia that we’ll be ready, regardless.’
Elira looked scared. ‘How will you free us?’
‘Leave that to us. Be ready from the moment you leave the palace gate. It will be done as fast and as bloodlessly as possible,’ he declared, glad that Elira couldn’t hear his thumping heart. ‘Give Aurelia my deepest sympathies. Tell her-’ He stopped. What could he say that would make any difference to her grief? ‘Tell her that I’m sorry.’
‘I will, sir. You’ll be able to tell her yourself soon.’ She gave him a tremulous smile. ‘I’d best go now. I can’t stay away too long, or the guard might become suspicious.’
‘Stay strong.’ It was harder than Hanno expected to watch Elira walk away, back to captivity. He consoled himself with the knowledge that within the next few days, she and Aurelia would have both escaped. Though quite how they would hide away from the search that Hippocrates’ soldiers would embark upon afterwards, he had no idea.
‘You’re ready for this?’ Kleitos’ voice was muffled by the cloth that covered the lower half of his face. He was standing with Hanno and a group of children in an alleyway that lay near one of the city’s main gates. It was a calculated gamble, the first of many, that Aurelia and Elira would come this way with Publius’ body. Most of the tombs, and the largest area of graves, lay to either side of the road that led away from the city here.
‘Course we are,’ insisted the gang’s leader, a crop-haired, broad-faced boy who went by the nickname of ‘Bear’. His followers, nine children ranging from his age, which was about eleven or twelve, down to what Hanno reckoned was only around six or seven, muttered or shook their heads in fierce agreement. At first glance, they didn’t look like much — apart from Bear, who was as stocky as many grown men. They were thin, clad in little more than rags, and with bones showing everywhere, but their appearance deceived. Kleitos had shown them in action to Hanno, descending like a pack of wolves on a hapless vendor of cheese who was dismantling his stall. It had taken them less than twenty heartbeats to floor the man, knock him half unconscious, and steal his purse and every last piece of his merchandise.
‘Tell me what you have to do again,’ ordered Kleitos.
Bear gave him a truculent stare that would have earned one of Kleitos’ men a beating. ‘When they’re close enough, we grab hold of the wagonload of hay that’s parked in the yard opposite and push it out into the street.’
‘They need to be within thirty paces of the alley,’ warned Hanno.
‘I know, I know. We hone in on the soldiers who’ll be guarding two women. Distract them, knock ’em down. It doesn’t matter too much as long as we don’t kill them.’
These children’s lives must be brutal, thought Hanno. At least half of them had knives, and not one looked shocked by the idea of murder.
‘What matters is that the women get away,’ Kleitos said. ‘You just have to delay the soldiers as long as you can, and not get caught. If that happens, you’re on your own.’
‘You don’t need to tell us,’ replied Bear, curling his lip. ‘It’s one of our rules. There’s fuck all we can do if the soldiers take one of us, so we forget about whoever it was. Don’t we, lads?’
‘Aye.’ ‘That’s right.’ ‘Better dead than captured.’
‘Good,’ said Kleitos, casting a look at Hanno. It was their fervent hope too that none of the urchins was taken. Both had worn masks and nondescript chitons every time that they’d met Bear and his gang, but there was still a risk that some of the boys could be overpowered. Under torture, they might remember a detail that would send armed men to Hanno’s or Kleitos’ doors.
‘What’s so special about these women?’ demanded Bear.
‘You’re being paid enough not to care.’ Kleitos held up a bulging leather purse. Because his native accent wouldn’t sound out of place, it was he who’d done the recruiting, and most of the talking. The chink, chink sound from his bag drew every urchin’s stare like a cat to an injured mouse. ‘As we agreed, there’s a gold piece for each of you if this is successful.’
Bear puffed up his chest. ‘I want half now.’ His followers moved a little closer to him, and Hanno saw some even lay hands to their daggers. Little bastards. He tensed, ready to fight.
‘Don’t piss about with me, boy. I gave you three gold pieces already as a goodwill gesture. That’s more than you see in a fucking year of thieving. You’ll get the money when we’re done, as I said. If you don’t like that, to Hades with the lot of you.’
Bear’s eyes flickered to his companions.
‘Lay hands on your weapons,’ said Kleitos menacingly, ‘and we’ll gut half of you before you’ve taken a breath, and the rest two heartbeats after that.’
Bear glowered at Kleitos, and then Hanno. Both men returned the stare with equal intensity. After a moment, Bear laughed. ‘I’m joking with you. Our deal is good. You pay me outside the temple to Demeter in Achradina, at the beginning of the third watch tonight.’