While Ruso was hoping a small favour would not mean smuggling him out through the gate, the lad held out one fist, turned it over and opened it to reveal an iron ring and a couple of fat sestertius coins on his palm. ‘I’d be grateful if you could give the ring to Marcia and the money to my aunt, who works at the amphora factory of Lollia Saturnina.’
Ruso took the ring and the coins and slipped them into his purse. ‘Of course.’ He pulled out the writing-tablet that was tucked into his belt and said, ‘Marcia asked me to give you this.’
The youth took the writing-tablet that Ruso had eventually accepted from Marcia late the previous night and refrained from unsealing and reading. Initially she had been so unrepentant over the ‘come home’ letter that he had refused to take it. But she had pointed out that Tertius had done nothing wrong and he might be dead in two days’ time, and did Ruso want to make his last hours on earth even more miserable than they already were? Didn’t he want to make him happy and confident and give him the best possible chance in the arena?
Tertius snapped the thread and ran his finger along the lines of text, his lips forming the words as he deciphered them. He swallowed hard, then held out the tablet to Ruso.
‘I want you to know that your sister’s letter is completely respectable, sir.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ said Ruso, motioning it away with his hand. In the circumstances he felt the lad deserved something passionate rather than respectable, but preferably not from his own sister. ‘I wish I could help.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘We haven’t got the money,’ explained Ruso, feeling irrationally guilty that he had not tried to raise it. ‘At the moment, nobody would want to lend it to me.’
‘That’s all right, sir,’ declared Tertius, raising one arm in a good imitation of a military salute. ‘I wish you good fortune.’
‘And I you,’ said Ruso, returning the salute and noting how much more mature Tertius seemed to be now that there was no hope of escaping the arena tomorrow. He said, ‘I hope we’ll be in a position to discuss this again in the future.’
Tertius dropped his arm. ‘You can count on it, sir,’ he said, his face lighting up in a grin that would have broken Marcia’s heart.
65
‘I hear you young ladies are looking for Copreus.’
The grin was predatory, and the breath stank of cheap wine and onions, but he had the deep tan and the muscled forearms of a mariner. Tilla resisted Cass’s tug on her arm. There was a chance he might know something.
‘We are looking for anyone who knows the crew who sailed with my friend’s brother,’ she said, reaching along the counter and pouring him a drink from their own jug. They had worked their way down to the seediest of the side-street bars now: the sort where nobody bothered to sweep up the cockroaches after they squashed them.
Cass had grown paler and quieter with every place they entered. Tilla was beginning to feel more and more light-headed despite her efforts to drink mostly water. ‘The brother was lost on the
‘A memorial, eh?’ Dark creases of embedded grime appeared on the man’s neck as he raised the cup and drained a long, slow draught of wine. ‘Next time I see old Copreus, I’ll tell him. He’ll like that.’
Tilla felt Cass’s fingers dig into her wrist. She tried to keep her voice calm as she said, ‘You have seen him?’
He held out his cup. When he had drunk the refill the foul breath wafted closer until their heads were almost touching. ‘Large as life,’ he whispered. ‘Sitting over in that corner there.’
Both women turned to peer into the dingy corner, where an old man was hopefully not as dead as he looked.
Cassiana whispered, ‘Real, or a ghost?’
‘Ah,’ said Onion-breath, ‘who knows? It was the end of a long day, I was tired, the wine was cheap.’
‘Did he speak?’ demanded Cass at the same time as Tilla tried, ‘Did you see him eat or drink?’
‘No speaking,’ said the man, shaking his head. ‘No eating, no drinking.’ The breath surrounded them again. ‘Come here and listen carefully, ladies, and I’ll tell you exactly what I saw that night.’
Trying not to think about headlice, Tilla leaned closer. Cass did the same.
‘What I saw,’ he murmured, ‘was old Copreus sitting over there where Grandad is now, just quiet, watching me from the corner. I said, “You’re drowned,” and he lifted up his arm and pointed at me.’ The man leaned back and extended two fingers to point first at Tilla and then at Cass, who flinched, ‘and then he got up out of that chair,’ the man stood up, ‘and there was a flash of light …’ he raised his hands in the air, ‘and then, poof, he vanished!’
Seeing their reaction, the man burst into harsh laughter.
The two women’s eyes met. Without further discussion, they both bent to pick up their bags. For a moment they glanced around the empty floor, bewildered. Then Cass said, ‘Oh, no!’
‘Something the matter, ladies?’ asked Onion-breath. The half-dozen other drinkers at the nearby tables all seemed preoccupied with their own business. None appeared to notice the distress of the two women at the bar. None was holding a blue-and-green-striped bag like Cass’s, or a plain brown one like Tilla’s own that had now vanished with it.
‘We have been robbed!’ cried Cass.
A couple of players glanced up from a board game.
‘I know how you feel, love,’ offered another man, raising his cup. ‘The prices in here, we’ve all been robbed.’
The players resumed their game.
Tilla turned to the man behind the bar. ‘This sailor kept us talking while we were robbed. You must have seen! Who was it?’
The barman’s face was blank. Tilla seized Cass by the arm and made for the door. One of the drinkers got up off his stool and stepped across to stand in their way. The old man in the corner coughed, opened his eyes and went back to sleep.
Cassiana said, ‘We are going to report this place to the authorities!’
A large hand landed on Tilla’s shoulder, and the breath wafted around her again. ‘No need for that, ladies. We’ll look after you. Won’t we, lads?’
The pair at the board game looked up and grinned.
One moment Tilla was standing captive by the bar: the next moment her knife was out and Onion-breath was yelling and clutching at his hand while Cass snatched up a jug and ran to stand beside her.
Someone said, ‘You shouldn’t a’ done that, girl.’
Tilla glanced around the room. The man was right: she had made a foolish mistake. She had run in the only direction open to her, and now they were cornered. They could not fend off six men for long with one knife and a winejug. She muttered a prayer to Christos, but the Briton had been right. Heaven was not much comfort when you needed rescuing here and now.
‘Help us!’ she demanded, looking at the barman, but his attention was fixed on Onion-breath, who had seemed so friendly just a few minutes ago.
‘You’re closing early today,’ Onion-breath told him. ‘Take the afternoon off.’
The barman glanced at Tilla and Cass, then dropped his cloth and fled out into the street.
‘We’ll have a private party.’ Onion-breath shut out the sunlight and swung the wooden bar up to drop it across the door. ‘I’m first with Blondie,’ he announced. ‘Steady on there, Grandad. You’ll get your turn.’
