escort.’
So long as I had my sword with me, I needed no escort – certainly not in daylight. I agreed to call on Lucius the following day. We’d fix the time by prior message.
‘I was hoping that we could dine again,’ he said. ‘There are so many things to discuss – and not only about this deeply sad matter that has brought us so very close together. Tomorrow, you shall be my guest again. We shall dine in greater style – and for longer. That much I do promise.’
With that, he was off.
I sat a while longer in the wine shop. It was nice to sit there, unregarded, taking in the busy atmosphere. And the wine was rather good. I sat longer there than I’d intended.
I left just as the moon was coming up in the cloudless sky. The streets were silent and empty, except for the usual rats. I traced my way back towards the centre of the city, though I soon realised I had taken a wrong turning – one collapsed facade looks very like another, you know. I thought to turn back and retrace my steps to the last place I definitely recognised.
Then I heard the footsteps behind me.
It was the same soft yet not-too-distant padding on the paving stones that I’d heard those few but long days ago with Maximin as we walked back from the prefect. I turned and pulled out my sword.
‘Show yourselves, you filthy bastards,’ I shouted. ‘Who are you?’
I heard only the scurrying of the rats as they ran away from the sound of my voice.
Staggering a little, I walked quickly back along the street. ‘I know you’re out there. Come on, you piles of shit – come and show yourselves like men.’
I heard a sound behind me. I turned. At first, I saw nothing special in the patterns of dark and of seemingly intense moonlight. Then my eyes focused.
There were four men facing me in the moonlight. I put aside the question of how they could have got behind me. Those streets could do odd things with echoes. I looked at them. They stood very still. They looked the sort of scrawny street trash I’d seen all over Rome, dipping in and out of the cheaper wine shops, lounging about the more populous squares. Only these men were armed. I could see the dull glint of steel from the knives they had in their hands. Silently, they fanned out and moved closer to me.
A sword betters a knife any day. But there were four of these, and the intention was to take me from more than one direction. I backed away. I’d get a wall behind me. Ideally, I’d get into a doorway – that would cover me on three sides. Even against four knives, a sword would then still be better. If they didn’t turn and run, I’d rip a few up and try to keep one for some leisurely questioning.
Such was my plan. But the streets in Rome are a disgrace. I’d have had firmer ground trying to fence on Dover Beach. I stepped back onto a line of fallen brickwork, and the mortar gave way. I fell flat on my back. I heard my sword land with a clank in some shadows.
‘Fucking hell!’ I muttered as I watched the men come closer. I’d really been too long in that wine shop. I could feel a headache coming on as I looked briefly up at the dark sky.
I was up in a moment, my own knife out. But there was an end of my advantage. Even with my back now against a wall, I was one blade against four. Then again, I was bigger. I slashed out at the nearest. He danced away.
‘You’ve got something we want,’ said one of them in a loud yet conversational voice. He was a nasty little brute with his thin arms and pinched face. He didn’t look particularly strong. On the other hand, he did look just the sort of man who’d spent his life cutting people up in dark alleys. ‘Take us to them letters, boy, and you won’t come to no harm. That’s a promise.’
‘Fuck you, gutter-scum!’ I snarled, slashing out again. I sliced the air, a good few feet short of him. ‘Shitty- breathed cocksucker!’ I added.
He smiled. ‘You can make this easy for us or hard for yourself,’ he said. ‘You’ll take us to them letters if you knows what’s best for you.’
I pulled myself together. In England or in Rome, knife fighting is all the same. The first rule is not to move around too much. Don’t let the enemy see how fast you are. Don’t let him gauge how far you can reach. Don’t waste energy. Yes, so far I’d broken those rules. But I began now to keep them in a loose, semi-inebriated way. I stood with my knife at waist level, and waited.
‘Come on,’ the pinched man said impatiently. ‘Just give us what we fucking want.’
‘You want them. You come and get them,’ I snarled. I pulled off my cloak and wrapped it round my left arm.
One of the four moved in just a little too close. I darted at him. I went for the face. That’s what you should do. Groin and face for close combat – arms and face from a distance. Don’t go for the body. It may be armoured. Otherwise, you may not hit something vital. Arms are good. You may get a tendon. Face is always good. You may get an eye if lucky. Even if not, you’ll give your enemy something to think about.
I got him on the forehead, just above an eye. He fell back screaming and clutching at his bloodied eye. A lucky hit, but not at all fatal.
Second rule of knife fighting: don’t try to follow up a hit when there’s more than one attacking you; not, that is, unless you can get a big advantage thereby. I did follow this one. The three others began at once to close in on my sides. One tried to get behind me. Just in time, I danced back against the wall. Out of action for the time being, the wounded man was dabbing at the stream of blood that ran down his face. He’d be back. But there were only three for the moment.
Cautious now, the three spread wider around me. They were trying to wear me out. As one came close enough, I’d go at him. He’d jump back. The others would move in from another side. The trick is to be fast enough and strong enough to stop them from closing in at once – but not to look too fast and strong: you need another one to chance his luck just too far. If you can’t pick them off in this way and level the odds, they will eventually get you.
And these men knew what they were doing. Little by little, they were closing in.
I tried a tactic that had once saved one of my victims on the Wessex border. ‘Help! Help!’ I roared. ‘Bloody murder in the street. A reward for help! You there, go for help!’
I didn’t expect any help. But I did just slightly unnerve them. One looked briefly round.
That was the end of this fucker, I can tell you. I darted suddenly to the right, holding the others off with my covered left arm. I lunged, and got him straight in the bladder. I felt the knife jolt as it hit the back of his pelvis, and felt the gush of blood and piss as I pulled it out.
He fell screaming to the ground. A good thrust straight up through the ball bag is best. You get more blood, and the moral effect is greater. But bladders are still good in themselves. Even if it doesn’t finish an enemy off in short order, it absolutely disables. And there is the added joy that he’ll suppurate in agony for days and days.
Yes, I’d got another one. The only downside was that I’d lost the cover of the wall. I tried to get back there. But the two remaining had got me front and back. I darted sideways again. But they followed me and closed in.
‘Maximin!’ I cried and lunged forward. There’s nothing like a good battle cry. All good soldiers swear by them. They cost a bit in breath. But they can really set you up for a fight, and may unnerve an opponent.
As one of the remaining enemies fell back, I threw my cloak at him, then whipped suddenly round on the other and went for the face. I’d take one more with me. There are worse ways to die than giving out twice what you’re getting.
I got the one now in front of me in the throat at close quarters. It was a slicing, parallel blow. I felt the momentary resistance as my knife brushed hard against flesh and gristle. With a little surge of hope, I grabbed him and twisted round with him in front of me for cover.
I looked at the remaining able attacker. It was the pinched man. He stood a few feet away looking back at me. What was he doing? I wondered as I pulled my human shield better into place. I was ready for him to come at me. I was rather hoping he might run away. I was ready to expect anything but stillness.
He opened his mouth in a silent cry. I saw the trickle of dark blood from his mouth. I saw the dark shining point of a sword projecting from his chest. As the sword was pulled back, he fell to his knees. He raised his eyes to heaven, another silent cry on his bloody, frothing lips. It was almost as if he were praying. He fell face forward with a long, rattling sigh. I heard the crack of his skull on a paving stone.
The one I’d just got on the face was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I saw a darker blackness in the shadow of
