and to give him authority to restore order. Travellers and messengers brought news to Mount Alba, but it was hard to trust their stories, especially since they often contradicted one another. Had Pompey been granted military control of Italy, and left the city to levy troops? Had elections at last been scheduled? Had there been more riots? Had formal charges of murder been lodged against Milo? I heard all these things, which were credible enough, but what was I to make of the tale that Caesar had been seen in the Forum, thinly disguised, or that Milo had killed himself, or that Pompey had been assassinated by a group of radical senators at a meeting in his theatre? I had complained that a man could not think in the city, but after a while the confusion and ignorance in the countryside were even more maddening.
And so Eco, Davus and I set out on a morning that was decidedly more springlike than wintry, so mild in fact that we rode without our cloaks. We should have arrived in the city not long after midday, but a sudden gathering of thunderclouds opened over our heads, forcing us to take refuge in the inn at Bovillae until late in the afternoon. We set out again as the day was waning. Shadows were long, verging into twilight when we at last approached the outskirts of the city.
Be careful passing the Monument of Basilius, goes the commonplace warning. We were not careful enough.
Vigilance alone may not save a man, but it may at least show him the faces of his adversaries. That would have counted for much, in the days that followed; or it might have meant the end of me for good, if I had got a better look at them.
As we passed the monument, I noticed a few dozing drunkards slouched against the wall, broad-brimmed hats pulled down to cover their eyes. By the turn of his head, I saw that Eco took note of them as well. Without a word, we both dismissed them as harmless. But they must have been waiting to spring. There must have been a scout on the road, alerting them that we were corning. They may have been watching and waiting for hours, or days.
I heard a shuffle of footsteps behind us, and then a cry from Davus. As I turned to look, something heavy but soft, like a club wrapped in padding, struck the back of my head. I lost my balance and clutched at the reins. Something gripped my leg and pulled. I fell. Earth and sky changed places. In the confusion I caught a glimpse of Davus flying upward from his horse, his arms outstretched and flailing as if he was climbing an invisible ladder. In one hand he held his dagger. He must have realized what was happening and had time to draw it before we were attacked. But his horse had reared wildly, out of his control If he had been a better horseman…
As I struck the hard, stone surface of the Appian Way, I heard Eco call out 'Papa!' Where was he? I rolled upright, raising my hands to cover my face. Eco was still on his horse, but several men in dark cloaks seemed to be clambering up him, as if horse and man were a tower to be scaled. From the corner of my eye I saw a dark shape approach. I rolled away and collided with something warm and immovable. It was Davus, flat on his back on the paving stones, his eyes closed, his face pale, as still as death. He still held his dagger clutched in his hand. An image of Belbo's lifeless body flashed in my mind -
'Papa!' Eco cried again. Then he made another, muffled noise, as if his mouth had been covered.
I reached for the dagger in Davus's hand. What enormous hands he had! I pried at his fingers until the dagger slipped free. I almost had it -
Then darkness descended all at once as the sack was pulled over my head. It swallowed my shoulders, then my arms. A rope slithered snakelike around my chest. Another rope bit into my ankles. The inside of the sack tasted of onions and dirt. I coughed and spat. Another coil of rope slipped around my throat and began to tighten. What an end- strangled to death inside a filthy sack on the Appian Way!
Someone cursed. 'You've got it around his neck, you idiot!'
The rope loosened, then tightened again around my jaw, working its way between my lips, gagging me.
'Not too tight. We don't want to strangle him.'
'Why not? Say it was an accident — say he died of fright. Save us a lot of trouble.'
'Just shut up and follow orders! How about the other one, tied up tight? Good.'
'And the slave?'
'Looks dead to me.'
'Me, too.' I heard the sound of a vicious kick.
'Then leave him. We weren't meant to take him anyway. Strong-looking fellow — a good thing his horse threw him, or we'd have had our hands full. Enough talk! Bring out the wagon.'
Hooves clopped and wheels rumbled on the paving stones. I was lifted aloft and dumped onto something firm but forgiving. The voice that had ordered the others spoke close to my ear. 'As for you, it's time to be very quiet and very still. You're a sack full of onions, do you understand? Lying in the bed of a wagon with a lot of other sacks full of onions. You're going on a long trip, so wriggle about and make yourself comfortable if you need to. If you have to empty your bladder or your bowels, go ahead and do it, if you can stand to he in your own stink. Then don't move. Understand? Or else this!' Something sharp poked into the small of my back.
I grunted. The dagger poked me harder.
'Not even that much noise, or next time I'll push it in to the hilt! Now we're off'
The driver called out. An ass brayed. The wagon began to roll. The ruts and potholes of any lesser road would have caused it to jostle and pitch, but on the smooth, broad Appian Way, the wagon hardly swayed at all. I tried to lie very, very still.
Part Three
XXII
'Forty,' announced Eco. Then he counted again, wagging his finger at each scraped mark on the earth wall in turn, moving his lips as he pronounced the numbers. Towards the end he counted aloud. 'Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty. Forty days, exactly.'
'Perhaps. You're assuming that it took them four days to bring us here,' I complained. 'How can you know that? It was all so miserable and confused. They gave us almost no food or water, and kept us blindfolded so that I never knew day from night. It might have been three days, or five, or six.'
'Might have been, but wasn't,' said Eco matter-of-factly. 'The trip from the Monument of Basilius to this place, wherever in Hades it is, took four days.'
'How can you be so sure, when I'm not?'
'They hit you on the head, remember, Papa? I think you were more dazed than you realized.'
'I was awake enough to know when we passed through Rome. We should have made a noise then and there, and taken our chances.'
'Chances? Papa, we've been over this a thousand times. We had no chance at all. I had a dagger poking into me the whole time, and so did you, until we were through the city and well out the other side.'
'You're sure it was the Fontinalis Gate that we passed through?' 'Certain. I overheard — '
'Yes, I know: you overheard someone asking directions to the Street of the Silversmiths, and someone else telling them to go straight ahead and turn right.'
'Exactly. So at that moment we had to be passing through the
Fontinalis Gate, heading north out of town on the Flaminian Way.'
'Past the Field of Mars,' I mused, 'and the voting stalls. They must be overgrown with weeds by now.'
'Right past Pompey's villa up on the Pincian Hill,' said Eco ruefully. 'Maybe the Great One himself looked down from his garden and thought, 'I wonder where that wagon with all those lumpy sacks of onions is headed? And when will I hear back from that Finder fellow and his son?' '
'If Pompey has spared a thought for us at all. If it wasn't Pompey himself who's put us here!' I paced, as much as I could in the cramped space of the pit. 'And then on we rolled, into the countryside, heading north and
