watched intently as the two men scurried across to the side of the street only two doors down from the balcony occupied by Paetus and, skirting the external tables and benches, carried their burden into the building and out of immediate danger.
Paetus turned. His four men were standing poised, their weapons bared.
‘What now, sir?’
‘They’ve taken him into the inn. He must not escape. Saufeius? You take two men out into the street and get into that inn door. Don’t under any circumstances get involved in the fight. And try not to get seen by Milo or the lead gladiators. There’s a good chance they’d recognise you, and then we’d have some uncomfortable questions to answer. Just get into the inn and sweep through it until you find Clodius. Don’t miss him and don’t let him escape. Clemens and I will go around to the back door of the inn and work our way through, trapping him against you.’
Marcus Saufeius, the oldest and most trusted of Paetus’ men, nodded his understanding and turned, waving on two of the others and pounding down the stairs.
Paetus took another look out from the balcony. It was extremely risky. If Milo were to discover that he and his men were here and not in Lanuvio chopping vegetables and heating the baths then they would have to explain themselves, probably under torture. Better for everyone if this meeting had all the hallmarks of an unfortunate chance encounter.
With a deep breath, he gestured to Clemens, drew his own gladius and moved into the stairwell hot on the heels of the first three men.
At the ground floor, Saufeius had turned and taken the others out the front, where they could dash along the pavement close to the wall and straight into the inn. Paetus and Clemens instead ducked straight out through the low doorway and into the narrow alley that ran between tall insulae, parallel with the main road, packed with ordure and the detritus of urban life. Ahead, they could see the rear doors of the inn. Surely Clodius was still inside - he couldn’t have yet had time to emerge into the alley and escape into any side passage.
‘Come on.’
Down a narrow canyon of chipped and discoloured red brick walls with the smell of ammonia assaulting their nostrils the two men ran, their eyes darting down each narrow alley they passed between buildings. All they could hear was the muted sound of combat from the Via Appia on the far side of the insulae, though through the subdued din they could just hear the clanging gong from the great temple of Vesta that dominated the town. The sky above, a leaden grey, threatened snow as it had for days, though Paetus and Clemens felt no urge to shiver in the cold. Adrenaline warmed them.
Taking a steadying breath, the pair closed on the rear door of the inn, weapons at the ready. The outward-opening wooden door was shut, and the dead, half-chewed rat that lay on the step outside confirmed that it had not been opened recently. Clodius was, indeed, still inside.
It came down to this.
For six long years Paetus had dreamed of revenge, hungered for it, longed for it. Two men had ruined his world and he had vowed with spite and venom that he would see both of them dead for it. Caesar might be out of his reach for now, but Clodius’ end was so close he could almost taste the blood.
Six years!
Turning, he mouthed a silent question at Clemens. His companion tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and nodded his readiness.
His heart pounding, blood rushing through his veins like a runaway horse, Paetus steadied his right hand, knuckles tightening on the shaped ivory handle of his own weapon as his left reached up for the latch that would swing open the door.
His thumb flicked the catch and his fingers closed on the iron handle.
The door smashed open without warning, propelling the dead rat into Paetus’ shin, almost breaking his fingers and narrowly avoiding smashing his face to a pulp. Staggering backwards through necessity, desperately trying
Paetus turned. His four men were standing poised, their weapons bared.
‘What now, sir?’
‘They’ve taken him into the inn. He must not escape. Saufeius? You take two men out into the street and get into that inn door. Don’t under any circumstances get involved in the fight. And try not to get seen by Milo or the lead gladiators. There’s a good chance they’d recognise you, and then we’d have some uncomfortable questions to answer. Just get into the inn and sweep through it until you find Clodius. Don’t miss him and don’t let him escape. Clemens and I will go around to the back door of the inn and work our way through, trapping him against you.’
Marcus Saufeius, the oldest and most trusted of Paetus’ men, nodded his understanding and turned, waving on two of the others and pounding down the stairs.
Paetus took another look out from the balcony. It was extremely risky. If Milo were to discover that he and his men were here and not in Lanuvio chopping vegetables and heating the baths then they would have to explain themselves, probably under torture. Better for everyone if this meeting had all the hallmarks of an unfortunate chance encounter.
With a deep breath, he gestured to Clemens, drew his own gladius and moved into the stairwell hot on the heels of the first three men.
At the ground floor, Saufeius had turned and taken the others out the front, where they could dash along the pavement close to the wall and straight into the inn. Paetus and Clemens instead ducked straight out through the low doorway and into the narrow alley that ran between tall insulae, parallel with the main road, packed with ordure and the detritus of urban life. Ahead, they could see the rear doors of the inn. Surely Clodius was still inside - he couldn’t have yet had time to emerge into the alley and escape into any side passage.
‘Come on.’
Down a narrow canyon of chipped and discoloured red brick walls with the smell of ammonia assaulting their nostrils the two men ran, their eyes darting down each narrow alley they passed between buildings. All they could hear was the muted sound of combat from the Via Appia on the far side of the insulae, though through the subdued din they could just hear the clanging gong from the great temple of Vesta that dominated the town. The sky above, a leaden grey, threatened snow as it had for days, though Paetus and Clemens felt no urge to shiver in the cold. Adrenaline warmed them.
Taking a steadying breath, the pair closed on the rear door of the inn, weapons at the ready. The outward-opening wooden door was shut, and the dead, half-chewed rat that lay on the step outside confirmed that it had not been opened recently. Clodius was, indeed, still inside.
It came down to this.
For six long years Paetus had dreamed of revenge, hungered for it, longed for it. Two men had ruined his world and he had vowed with spite and venom that he would see both of them dead for it. Caesar might be out of his reach for now, but Clodius’ end was so close he could almost taste the blood.
Six years!
Turning, he mouthed a silent question at Clemens. His companion tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and nodded his readiness.
His heart pounding, blood rushing through his veins like a runaway horse, Paetus steadied his right hand, knuckles tightening on the shaped ivory handle of his own weapon as his left reached up for the latch that would swing open the door.
His thumb flicked the catch and his fingers closed on the iron handle.
The door smashed open without warning, propelling the dead rat into Paetus’ shin, almost breaking his fingers and narrowly avoiding smashing his face to a pulp. Staggering backwards through necessity, desperately trying
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