The King's Gambit (20 page)

"I'll accompany you to your house," Milo offered.

"I thank you." I wasn't about to let any foolish pride compel me to go alone. "You may stay there for the night, if you wish."

He shook his head, the gesture barely visible in the gloom which deepened with every step we took. "It's you they're after. No one will bother me."

Soon we were feeling our way along like blind men. The feeble light shed by the stars barely revealed the outlines of the larger buildings, and it reflected dimly from pavement wet from a recent shower. I jerked as Milo touched my shoulder. He leaned forward and whispered in my ear: "Someone behind us." We were still several streets from my house.

Quietly, I reached into my tunic. With my right hand I grasped the hilt of my dagger and drew it. On my left I slipped the
caestus
. We walked on for a while and Milo whispered again.

"There were four behind us. Now there are two. Two others have slipped around a block to get ahead of us." Whoever they were, the one with cat's eyes was their guide. I could hear them, but Milo was better at judging their number. He was also a better tactician. "Let's turn and get the ones behind us first," he said, "then tackle the other two afterward."

"Good idea," I acknowledged. We whirled in our tracks I could hear the two nearing us; then I heard their footsteps falter as they realized that our steps had stopped. There was a whispered consultation between them. "Now!" Milo said, rushing forward. I heard him collide with one and I rushed in as blindly, leading with my dagger. I could feel someone there, but I wasn't exactly sure where he stood and I was afraid of stabbing Milo. Then there was a face near mine and a blast of winy, garlic-laden breath and I knew this was my target. I thrust with my dagger as I saw starlight glitter on something coming toward me. I managed to bat the sword aside with the bronze strap over my knuckles just as I felt the dagger blade strike home.

At times of such desperation, such urgency of immediate action, all things take on an air of unreality. Time has a new meaning. As the man before me fell, I was whirled around by his collapsing body and saw coming up behind me a faint, diffuse glow, like the marsh-light that flickers over swamps to lure unwary travelers. In that moment, I think I truly believed that there was a ghost after us. But whose? There had been so many new-made lately.

Beside me there were multiple thuds and grunts as Milo took care of his own attacker. Then two more were on us and I reached out, grasped cloth and pulled it toward me, thinking that this was a tunic and I was dragging another man within reach of my dagger. Instead, I jerked a cloak from a lantern held by a man who gripped a sword in his other hand. Another stood crouched next to him, and behind them I could just glimpse a third hanging back. That meant five in all. So much for Milo's superior hearing.

I immediately attacked the lantern-holder, assuming that it would make him a bit more awkward, but he dropped the lantern and came for me. The lantern continued to cast its flickering illumination from the street, making the brutal, violent scene truly eerie and unreal. The sword was real enough as it came for me, though. I dodged aside but bumped into somebody, either Milo or his opponent, and saved myself from gutting only by sucking in my stomach as the weapon lanced inward. Even so, I felt its edge slice my flesh in passing. With my dagger I cut at his forearm, stepping in as I did so, catching his jaw with a neat left cross. I felt the jawbone crack under the
caestus
, but for good measure I ran my dagger through his body as he fell. It is never good to assume that a wounded man is through fighting.

When he was down I whirled to see Milo wrestling his own second opponent to the street. The fifth person was nowhere to be seen.

"Bring the lantern," Milo said. I picked it up by its carrying-ring, carefully so as not to snuff out the light.I opened its gate and with the point of my dagger teased the wick up from its oil reservoir until it was burning brightly, and walked to where Milo held his man in an armlock with one foot on his chest. The handle of a
sica
protruded from the fellow's chest. Apparently, Milo had stabbed him with his own weapon. The other three seemed to be dead. Weapons littered the street: a short
sica
and a long
sica
and even a
gladius
. The sword was smaller than those used by the legions: wasp-waisted with a long, tapering point like an oversized dagger. It was the type used by Roman soldiers a century before and still used in the amphitheater. I recognized none of the men. Rome was full of such gang-members and they were of little account.

The one Milo had down was of the usual type: a burly cretin whose age was difficult to judge through the map of scars that made up his face. He bore the
caestus
scars of a pugilist rather than the sword marks of a gladiator, and men of superior intelligence seldom took up the profession of pugilist.

"I think this fellow has some things to tell us, sir," Milo said, giving the arm a twist and getting a groan in return.

"Excellent," I answered. I squatted beside the man, holding the lantern high. He hadn't long to live and so I had to ask my question quickly. "Who hired you?"

"Claudius," he groaned as Milo continued the pressure. "He said that you'd be wearing a yellow scarf around your neck."

I touched the scarf ruefully. I had been talking of disguise, forgetting that I was wearing the conspicuous thing when Claudius had seen me the day before.

"Who was your eyes tonight, pig?" Milo demanded. "Who guided you through these streets and kept us in sight?"

"A boy." He seemed disinclined to say more, so Milo encouraged him to greater eloquence. "Ahh! It was a foreign boy, eastern. Had an Oriental accent. Said he'd know our man by sight. Went back and forth all day between the river and the Ostian gate. Came to join us when the gate shut for the night, got to the dock just as you did, says there's our man. Led us through the street and around in front of you like it was daylight. Eyes in his toes, that boy has." These last words were spoken in a whispering mumble and Milo released his arm.

"Well, that's all we'll get from this one. What now, sir?"

"Leave them for the vigiles. I'll make a full report of it all when I get this case wrapped up. It would just be a waste of time now. Let's go to my house."

Now that we had a lamp, we made it to my doorway without difficulty.

"I'll leave you here now, sir," Milo said as Cato opened the door.

"I won't forget your service," I told him. "You were a great deal more than a guide on this little journey."

"Just keep me in mind when you're an important magistrate," he said, then he left. I thought at the time he meant that he was likely to end up before me in court, but young Milo had higher ambitions than that.

I ignored Cato's scandalized protestations about my late hours and dubious companions as I went to my bedroom. I told him to bring me something to eat and a basin and clean towels. Grumbling, he did as ordered. When he delivered what I had asked for, I bade him be off to his bed and closed the door behind him.

I stripped off my tunic and by lamplight examined the cut I had taken in the scuffle. It looked fairly trivial, but it stung when I washed it with wine as best I could, then bandaged it with a folded towel and strips cut from my tunic and tied around my waist. I would have Asklepiodes examine it in the morning.

Drained by the journey and the events in the street, I sat on my bed and forced unwanted food into my empty stomach. I had dealt wounds in battle, but this sort of close-in fighting was something new to me. I decided that it was the aftermath of the sudden, unexpected violence that made me feel dull and melancholy. The men had wished to kill me and they had been the lowest scum imaginable.

Also, I was unhappy that the boy had been so close and once again had escaped me. Only he could lead me to the amulet that had been taken from this very room. With this thought, I looked to make sure that the ornamental bronze bars I had commissioned were in good order. For what it was worth, they seemed to be. I was beginning to believe that the creature was supernatural, though, and that no mere barrier would be proof against him and his strangling cord.

Wincing at the pain, I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes. I had learned much, and yet it was still not enough. Thus ended another day.

The next day I composed a letter. It was something I had been pondering since I had seen the palanquin carrying one of the vestals a few days before. I had toyed with the idea, then discarded it. Now I picked it up again. What I was contemplating was not merely extra-legal, it was sacrilegious. However, I now believed that the good of the state was at stake. Also, my life had been threatened, and that gives one a different perspective on man's relationship to the gods.

"Reverend Aunt," I began. "From your obscure nephew Decius Caecilius Metellus, greeting. I would esteem it the greatest personal favor if you would allow me to call upon you at your earliest convenience. My reasons for wishing to visit with you are twofold: First, I have for far too long neglected my familial obligation toward you, and because of a certain sensitive matter of state which I believe you may be able to help me with, if you would be so kind. If it is at all possible, please send your reply by this messenger." I rolled the papyrus into a scroll and sealed it with wax. On the outside I wrote: "For the eyes of the Reverend Lady Caecilia Metelli."

I gave the scroll to a slave boy borrowed from a neighbor and told him to deliver it to the House of the Vestals I wait there for a reply. The boy scampered off, doubt-less wondering what sort of reward he would earn. It was customary to tip generously when you employed somebody else's slave.

The captain of the vigiles had reported the four bodies found in the street that morning, but I was able to delay looking into it since, first, it looked like any other gang killing and, second, I could claim that the murder of Paulus took precedence. The deaths of four more thugs would not reach the Senate even as a rumor and I would only need to find out their identities and scratch their names off the grain dole, if any of them were citizens. In all likelihood, no one would come forward to identify them and in three days the bodies would be taken to the mass burial pits and would be forgotten.

As soon as the early part of the day's business was transacted, I excused myself and went to the Ludus Statilius to call upon Asklepiodes. He was surprised to see me again so soon.

"What?" he said. "Surely there has not been another exotic murder for me to analyze, has there?"

"No, but there almost was. However, the victim is up and walking around this morning, and has come to you for treatment. Are your slaves discreet?"

"Come in," he said, concerned, standing aside as I entered the chamber in which he had nearly throttled me two days before.

"You are the most interesting person I have encountered since coming to Rome," Asklepiodes said. I sat on a stool and dragged my tunic over my head. He stripped off my amateur attempt at wound-dressing and called for one of his slaves. The man came in and Asklepiodes gave him instructions in some language I did not recognize, then he returned to his examination of my wound. "I have lived in some uncivilized places, but I have never known a public official to be assaulted quite so frequently."