Finally, in response to the fire alarm, people began to emerge from both doors and the passage ahead in a panic. Arcadios was there instantly, shouting in his native Greek, directing the terrified slaves and servants back towards the front door, away from danger. As they moved gratefully into captivity more of the thugs began to appear and Fronto’s men set to work, breaking noses and arms, concussing and brutalising with ruthless efficiency. Hierocles’ hirelings, still in panic and confusion at the supposed fire in the baths, ran straight into the arms of Fronto’s men, unaware that they were under attack until they were on the ground, groaning.
As Fronto stood apart from the fighting, keeping his eyes peeled for a sign of the master of the house, he heard a feral roar and Clearchus, still clutching his side from his earlier beating and with poor depth perception from his swollen-shut eye, charged past Fronto and slammed into a big blond man with a flat nose and a single eyebrow that almost circumnavigated his head.
‘Think you’re big and clever now, do you, shithead?’ the man howled through split lips as the two men hit the floor, the blond brute being winded as he struck the marble with the angered Greek atop him. Clearchus hit the man four or five times with bruised and lacerated knuckles until his former attacker’s face was covered with so much blood it was hard to tell which was his and which belonged to Clearchus.
Fronto nodded approvingly. Nemesis was truly at work tonight. Then his eyes caught a stray movement and he leapt forward urgently. His hand locked around Clearchus’ wrist just as the wronged man was about to bring down his knife into the blond ruffian’s face.
‘No!’
Clearchus struggled for a moment, trying to break Fronto’s grasp and finally the fight went out of him. He dropped the knife, submitting to Fronto, and instead delivered another half dozen violent blows to the man’s head. As the Greek rose unsteadily, his anger still simmering, Fronto paused for a long moment, watching nervously, but finally the big blond mess on the floor took a single breath, and then another. Satisfied that at least Clearchus hadn’t killed the man, he looked up.
It was fortuitous timing that he happened to glance around. Another heartbeat and he’d have missed Hierocles. The Greek merchant had emerged from the passage wrapped in a towel and otherwise naked, sweaty and wet. Fronto caught his eye even as the man recognised what was happening in his courtyard and turned, running back into the passage.
Snarling, Fronto gave chase.
In the dark corridor, someone took a swing at the Roman invader and caught him a blow to the side of the head, swinging him around. Then Pamphilus and Clearchus were there, restraining the attacker and laying into him with merry abandon. Fronto reeled for a moment until his head cleared and then ran on. He turned a corner and met two sets of doors both standing open – a store room and a kitchen complex. For a moment he peered into them until he decided they were almost certainly empty and ran on.
The corridor emerged into a small guard chamber and Fronto took in the situation with dismay. Hierocles had reached the house’s rear door and three of his thugs occupied the room with small clubs, protecting their master. Fronto pulled himself up short at the door. He was armed with a gladius if he cared to draw it, but this was still three to one, even if their master stayed out of it. And the three men were, if not professional fighters, then at least clearly gifted amateurs.
‘Shame for you, Fronto. All this effort. And me untouched. But rest assured that when I report this to the boule, they will know that you broke into my house with intent to kill.’ Even as he spoke, Hierocles slipped on his chiton and reached out for his cloak.
‘We’ve killed no one, you idiot. We’ve been careful.’
Hierocles laughed as he slipped into his light leather shoes and gestured at the three other men in the room. ‘When you beat Fronto senseless and toss him out, keep his sword and use it to kill one of the girls.’
Fronto’s eyes widened. As a foreigner in the city – and especially one who had already ranted at the city council in session – it would not take much for them to convict him of murder. His blade in a young girl would almost certainly seal his fate. He looked over his shoulder for aid, but the others were all busy back at the heart of the complex. He was alone and seriously outnumbered.
Shit.
‘Thank you, Fronto. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’ve been struggling for a way to take you out of the equation, but kept coming up blank. Then you do this and answer my prayers. When you meet the young girl in the next world, give her my apologies, won’t you?’
Laughing, Hierocles opened the door and stepped out into the darkness of late evening as the three thugs took a deliberate, menacing pace towards Fronto.
There was a resounding thud and Hierocles reappeared from the dark, spinning. Behind him, Masgava stepped into the room, blowing on sore knuckles, Aurelius at his shoulder, and the two men made their way in to face Fronto’s beaming smile. The big Numidian’s punch had almost killed the Greek merchant. As Hierocles floundered on the floor, groaning, blood began to leak from his nostrils, ear and mouth simultaneously, and bloody snot-bubbles appeared as he breathed through his shattered nose. The bruise began to come up almost immediately and covered almost a quarter of his head. Despite his long shared history with Masgava, Fronto was impressed with the blow.
The three thugs stopped moving. Leaving them to Aurelius and Masgava, Fronto strode over to the fallen Greek. For each step Masgava took, the three thugs took one back away from him towards the room’s corner. One of them dropped his club immediately and held up his hands in surrender, his eyes wide in panic.
Hierocles whimpered. Still dazed, he reached up to touch his bruised head and cried out in pain.
‘Yes. I think Masgava cracked your skull in more than one place. He has strong fists and he’s very quick.’
The man tried to focus on Fronto but one of his eyes seemed unwilling to move from some spot on the floor. ‘Aghhh… I… urgh…’
‘This is where our little competition ends, Hierocles.’
The man could do little but whimper in reply.
‘Know that I am no longer taking any shit from you. You will never again touch my men or my goods. I cannot stop you using mercantile and political practices against me and, while I consider that low and contemptible, there is no law against it. But any more theft or violence against my business will be visited back upon you tenfold. Take this as a friendly warning. There is nowhere you can go and nothing you can do to stop me getting to you.’
Hierocles groaned.
‘I shall take your silence as tacit understanding. The next time one of my men comes home wounded, you will be searching the sewers for your teeth. Final warning. Stay out of my way.’
As the man writhed in pain and panic, Fronto rose and gestured to Masgava and Aurelius. ‘Come on. Time to go home.’
He made his way back to the corridor from whence he came, the other two turning away, but the big Numidian sharply snapped back towards the three thugs and flashed them a smile. The one who’d dropped his club wet his chiton.