Greyboy wasn’t slow but Indavara reckoned he was gaining. In the distance were the chalky walls on the far side of the gorge. He had no intention of letting the Syrian get that far.
‘Army business!’
The labourers kept their distance as Cassius sprinted along the side of the aqueduct. When the ground began to drop away into the gorge, he had to clamber up on to the channel. Before continuing, he looked back towards the road; there was no sign of Cosmas or the other sergeants.
Greyboy looked back too; and what he saw evidently unnerved him, because he somehow tripped and fell. Arms flailing, he went down hard on his chest. Indavara was impressed by how swiftly he got back on his feet but the Syrian had lost valuable seconds and considerable momentum. Greyboy took only twenty paces more before realising he was about to be caught.
He stopped and turned, breeze ruffling his hair.
Indavara had been so intent on catching him that he hadn’t noticed another labourer leaning over the wall beyond his opponent. The man straightened up, a paintbrush in his hand.
‘Who are you two?’
‘I’m army,’ said Indavara, knowing that any mention of the legions usually had the desired effect. ‘Clear out.’
The labourer looked over the left side of the channel. ‘Arcus, come up. We’ve got to move. Just hurry!’
Greyboy wiped sweat out of his eyes as he sloshed backwards. The fall had done quite a bit of damage; his forearms had been scraped red and blood was dripping from his knee, colouring the water.
‘You’ve got nowhere to go,’ said Indavara.
‘I’ll go anywhere as long as it’s not the quarries,’ said Greyboy, blade sparkling.
‘We just want to talk to you.’
‘Heard that before.’ Greyboy continued his retreat.
As he followed, Indavara made the mistake of looking over the side. They were directly above the gorge now; a few more steps would take him over the water. Shallow or deep, river or sea, the very thought of it sent icy tremors across his back.
He watched the second labourer clamber up the rope ladder and on to the wall. The man started questioning his friend then spied the knife in the stranger’s hand. He put his pail and paintbrush down and the two of them jogged away along the channel.
Indavara didn’t like the way Greyboy was glancing at the rope ladder. He gripped the hilt of his sword and drew it with a flourish; he had to convince this sly bastard to give up before he even thought about going over the side.
‘No farther. Stay where you are.’
‘You’re not going to cut me. You want what we know. Or what you think we know.’
‘Not another step.’
Greyboy glanced down at his bleeding knee. ‘And I’m definitely not going to outrun you.’
The Syrian kept himself facing Indavara as he climbed on to the side of the channel. He put the knife between his teeth, lowered himself on to the rope ladder and climbed down.
‘Ah, shit.’ Indavara turned round; Corbulo would be there soon.
Having already let himself down once that week, he wasn’t about to do so again. He sheathed his sword and leaped up on to the wall. The ladder was trembling but it must have been tethered lower down because Greyboy had already disappeared under the overhang. Indavara pushed his sword belt over his hip and followed him.
By the time Cassius arrived and looked over the edge, all he could see was the bodyguard’s arms and the top of his head.
‘Indavara, we’ve got the other one. It’s not worth it.’
‘Calm down, your voice is getting squeaky.’
‘There’s a thin line between brave and reckless.’
This was not the first time Indavara had crossed it.
Cassius waved at the labourers. ‘Where does it lead?’
‘Down,’ said one.
‘Where exactly?’
‘Past the top level down the side of a pier,’ said the other man. ‘The bottom is at the base of the second level.’
‘Is there another way down?’
One of the men gestured at the side of the gorge. ‘Think there’s a track there somewhere.’
Cassius ran back along the channel.
Hands and feet, hands and feet.
Indavara was making good progress down the pier – a ten-yard column of brick. Every time he looked down to check his boots were secure on the thin wooden slats, he glimpsed Greyboy, who was now close to the base of the pier, twenty feet below. There was only a yard of space between it and the edge.
Hands and feet, hands and feet. Don’t look at the-
But it was impossible not to with the sun glinting off the river. Indavara had to stop and close his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he saw his white knuckles shaking on the thin, rough rope. In fact, now the whole ladder seemed to be shaking.
He looked down and saw Greyboy’s face set in a sneer as he swung the ladder from side to side.
‘You’re going for a swim, friend! That’s if you survive the fall.’
Indavara wrapped his right arm over one of the slats and clamped his fingers on another. Reaching down with his left hand, he flipped up the stud of his dagger sheath and pulled out the blade. Holding it by the hilt he aimed it at Greyboy.
‘I’ve got a better chance of surviving that than you have a knife through your skull.’
With a final wrench that failed to dislodge his enemy, Greyboy ran nimbly along the edge of the aqueduct and around the corner of the pier.
Indavara sheathed the knife and continued downward.
Cassius had found the top of what looked like an animal trail. It cut steeply down through outcrops of lichen-covered limestone and small, spindly trees.
Cosmas arrived, limping. He looked at the aqueduct. ‘Is that Indavara?’
‘It is.’
‘So where’s … ah.’
Greyboy had reached the far side of the second level’s widest arch. He glanced back briefly, then edged along the pier and disappeared behind it.
‘He’s gone,’ said Cosmas.
They watched as Indavara reached the bottom of the ladder, then gave chase.
‘Gods, he’s like a man possessed,’ said Cassius. ‘What’s the point? We’ve got the other one.’
Cosmas cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘Indavara, leave him! Let it go!’
If he heard him, the bodyguard didn’t show it.
Cassius sighed. ‘Letting things go is not his speciality.’
Indavara checked his knife and sword were secure then ran along to the next pier. Slowing as he reached the gap between it and the edge, he leaned to his right and put a hand against the stone. Determined not to be distracted by the water again, he shuffled forward, eyes fixed on the corner.
Once there, he stopped and listened. He couldn’t hear the bastard running; either he was too far ahead or he was waiting nearby. Indavara drew his sword and held it in his left hand. He flew around the corner, ready to swing at anything that moved.
Apart from two stacks of pails, the broad stone platform beneath the next arch was empty. Hanging from both sides of the aqueduct were several more rope ladders. Indavara decided to keep his blade out. The next pier was forty feet ahead. He had taken only a few steps when he heard boots scrape on stone.
Greyboy had materialised between the pails, arm back, ready to throw.
Indavara had time only to bow his head and raise the sword.
The knife clanged against the middle of the blade and dropped to the floor.
By the time he looked up, Greyboy was on him.
The Syrian came in low under the sword, his shoulder catching Indavara in the ribs. Though by far the bigger man, the impact sent him tottering backwards. Too late he realised how close he was to the edge. His wet left boot slipped off the stone and he fell awkwardly on to his right knee.
Seeing another chance, Greyboy lined up a kick at his head.
Indavara had nowhere to go but down. He dropped his sword and let himself fall. As Greyboy’s boot whistled past his ear, his hands came down hard on the edge, fingers already gripping tight. As he hung there, legs dangling, he was surprised to hear the sound of his sword splashing into the water. It had been a long time in the air.