Hey! Maybe things were moving after all. One of his bought help might even have identified our mystery freedman. Although if that was the case then it cast serious doubts on Junior being responsible for the murder himself. Still, we’d cross that bridge when we came to it.
‘He supply any more details?’ I said.
‘No, sir. That was the message in its entirety.’ The barest of sniffs: the implication being, of course, that had there been any Bathyllus would bloody well have told me them up front. Yeah, well, fair enough. ‘And Meton says that since you’re back earlier than usual he is prepared as a great personal favour to bring dinner forwards. Should you prefer it.’
‘Good idea, pal. Tell him yes, that’d be great.’ Early though it was, I’d covered a fair stretch of Rome that day on foot with nothing since breakfast but a sesame-seed roll, and I was starving. ‘OK with you, lady?’
‘Certainly.’
‘In about an hour, then, sir.’ He went out.
So I’d have to take another long hike up to the Vatican. I was getting my fair share of exercise on this case, and no mistake. Still, I wasn’t grousing.
This looked promising.
SIXTEEN
I was off and away fairly bright and early the next morning, except that this time I made sure I had a decent breakfast inside me first. Normally, unlike Perilla, who can really sink it, I don’t bother much beyond a roll dipped in olive oil, but this time I had Bathyllus rustle me up a three-egg omelette stuffed with mushrooms, plus a bit of cheese and a couple of apples from the store to take with me for later. The weather wasn’t too bad — evidently, fortunately, we’d hit a comparatively dry spell, although the sky was pretty overcast — and the temperature was a bit on the chilly side, but fine for walking.
So. What did Junior want to see me about? Not to confess to the murder in a sudden fit of abject guilt and remorse, I was sure of that, and I reckoned we’d all drawn a line under the Tarquitia business. Personally, I suspected that although it’d cost him an arm and a leg in the end, he’d simply be relieved to see the back of her and his brother and get on with his everyday boring life. And, looking on the bright side of things, foreign travel was always a risky business. There was always the chance that, when he did set out on his eastern tour, Hellenus would be lost at sea or get himself fatally pirated. I couldn’t see that causing too much grief in the family.
So there wasn’t much left for him to tell me about. I was really, really keeping my fingers crossed that he’d found our freedman friend. If so, then how he’d managed it I didn’t know, but with Cilix having provided a description and the bought-help network on to it, that was at least a possibility. And if we were going to crack the case, then finding the guy was crucial.
I crossed the river at the Sublician and made my way through the immediate built-up area towards the Janiculum and the open countryside. By the time I’d reached it and taken a right along the road to Vatican Hill, what with the increased gradient I was sweating; now the sun was properly up it was beginning to feel positively warm, and the sky was clearing fast. Well, I needn’t’ve bothered bringing my cloak, need I? I took it off, removed an apple from the inside pocket, bundled it up and tucked it under my arm.
I’d only gone a couple of hundred yards further when three men came out of the bushes ahead and fanned out across the road, waiting for me. Two of them — the ones at the sides — had knives in their hands, and the guy in the centre was hefting a nail-studded club.
Shit; muggers, in Rome, don’t usually work during daylight hours, but of course out here in the wilds there was no reason why they shouldn’t put in a bit of overtime. And they’d chosen their spot welclass="underline" no villas in sight on this stretch, with inconvenient gate guards who might decide to step in and spoil the fun, while the chances of another pedestrian turning up and complicating matters were practically zilch.
I reached for my purse, unfastened it from my belt, and threw it towards them.
‘OK, guys,’ I said, ‘you’ve got me fair and square. Drinks are on me. Enjoy.’
The man with the club grinned and took a step forwards. The other two followed him. None of them had even glanced at the purse. I felt a chill run down the back of my neck.
‘Fuck that for now, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘We’ll leave it until after you’re dead. Right, boys.’
They moved forwards again; not quickly, but like they had all the time in the world and meant to enjoy themselves. The guys on the wings moved slightly further out to cut me off if I made a dash to one side. They were professionals, I could tell that from the relaxed, confident manner and the way they held their weapons. All in a day’s work, then.
Fuck. Double fuck. Running wasn’t an option, since they’d be on me before I’d got five yards; I’d no knife myself, and the ground round about was spectacularly empty of hefty branches that I could use as a club of my own, or at least to fend them off with. The best I could do was wrap my cloak round my left arm as a shield and trust to luck …
Something whirred past me two or three feet to my left, and the guy on that side went down like a poleaxed ox, his forehead, suddenly, a pulped mess of blood and bone. The other two stopped, complete astonishment on their faces. Me, I must’ve looked the same.
There was another whirring sound, this time to my right. The other knifeman jerked backwards, slumped to his knees and slowly collapsed. The left-hand side of his face had gone, and I could see his cheekbone protruding through the mangled flesh.
Chummie with the club glanced sideways at him, then shouted and launched himself at me. I threw the apple I was holding straight into his face, and he flinched and ducked; not much of a movement, but the distraction had been enough to break his stride and his speed and let me get inside his guard. I got in one good punch to the throat and a not-so-good one, with my cloak-wrapped left hand, to his chest, then wrapped my arms round him and pitched myself forwards. He went down with my full weight on his ribs, and I heard the thud as the back of his head hit the gravelled roadway. He slumped unconscious.
I stood up, breathing hard, and looked round. A big guy, easily six foot four and built to match, was coming towards me. There was a sling tied to his wrist, and a shot-pouch plus an efficient-looking knife attached to his belt.
‘Thanks, pal,’ I said. ‘You arrived just in the nick of time.’
He ignored me, and without even a glance at the two dead men reached down and hefted my live one into a sitting position. Then, still without speaking, he knelt behind him, took a firm hold of his head with both hands, and gave it a sudden twist to the side. I heard the neck-bone snap.
The slinger let go of the body and stood up.
I’d been watching in horror.
‘What the fuck did you do that for?’ I said.
‘It’s neater that way.’ He unfastened his sling and put it in the pouch.
‘I’d got the bastard cold,’ I said. ‘He wasn’t going anywhere. The other two, fair enough, but that was murder.’ He shrugged and began to walk away back the way he’d come. ‘Hey! Come on! We need to report this!’ No answer; he didn’t even slow down. ‘I need your name, for a start!’
I was talking to his back, and for all the reaction I got he could’ve been stone deaf.
Shit.
Well, at least I was alive, which was something that I wouldn’t have bet on five minutes ago. I lugged the three corpses off the road and into the undergrowth; you can’t have bodies promiscuously impeding the public highway and, like I’d said, I’d be reporting the whole thing to the local Watch commander on my way back, so no doubt they’d be cleared up eventually. I’d had a good look at their faces in the process, to check for birthmarks. The club man and the guy who’d been on my left and got it in the forehead were clean, but of course I couldn’t tell where the one on my right was concerned because the whole left cheek was missing. I hadn’t noticed any distinguishing marks while he was a viable entity, sure, but there again at that point I’d had other things to occupy my attention.