‘Perhaps he’s got his hands on some tech that makes him appear like a god,’ said Maddy. ‘Say a gun… that would do it, right? Make you look like you’ve got super godlike powers? Sheesh, even a plain old flashlight or a cellphone could look godlike, right?’
She looked up at the chaos of wooden slats above them, the colours of robes and togas drying in the noon sun. They were opposite a narrow rat run between buildings, little more than a yard wide, leading to a shadowed courtyard beyond.
The sounds of life echoed out of it: the barking of dogs, the squalling of a baby, the shrill cry of a woman’s voice raised in anger; countless lives lived on top of each other in cramped squalor.
‘Have you seen any tech, Liam? Bob? Anything at all that shouldn’t be here in this time.’
‘Negative.’
‘I’ve seen nothing like that.’ Liam shook his head. ‘If someone did come back here seventeen years ago and they made a big show of themselves, well…’
‘Chariots from the heavens,’ said Maddy, quoting from one of the sources of the time. ‘Some sort of modern vehicles. Trucks or something?’
‘Right… Chariots from the heavens and messengers from God an’ all that. If someone made a big spectacle like that,’ Liam said with a shrug, ‘there’s not a sign of them now.’
Bob hopped down off the cart.
‘It’s like this city just swallowed them up,’ added Liam.
Maddy peered down the rat run into the dark courtyard. ‘That where you were staying?’
‘Aye.’ Liam pointed up the side of a clay-brick wall. ‘Third floor.’ The building looked more modern than she could have imagined a Roman building would look. Five storeys in height, with rickety balconies of wooden slats and wicker screens for privacy.
‘The building’s basic and very smelly. Gets noisy too. And it’s owned by a right miserable old grump. But it is cheap. Just hope he’ll let us have our room back.’ Liam dug into a pouch tied round his waist. Maddy heard coins jangling heavily.
‘Where’d you get the money from?’
Liam looked guiltily at Bob. ‘We, uh… well, we kind of mugged someone.’
‘Kind of… or did?’
‘Did.’
Maddy shrugged. ‘ Needs must and all that.’
‘I better go and speak to the landlord. See about getting our room back.’
‘Those babel-buds work OK?’
Liam shrugged. ‘Aye. You get some gibberish out of them sometimes.’ He turned to Bob. ‘Better bring them ponies in quick.’
‘Affirmative.’
He turned to the others. ‘We used to have four of them… but people are eating horseflesh now. You’re best not to leave ’em unattended.’
Bob began to unhitch the animals from the cart, Sal helping while Liam led Maddy down the narrow rat run into the courtyard.
As she emerged from the narrow passageway, she looked up. All around the courtyard, on all four sides, she could see balconies and walkways hugging the walls, stacked one on top of the other and propped up on wooden support stilts; she could see the curious faces of children and women looking down at them, a dozen different conversations shouted out from one side to the other. Chickens down in the courtyard, chickens wandering freely along the walkways and balconies. And at the very top an overhanging lip of terracotta roof tiles framed a square of daylight.
Liam approached a thickset, bearded man wearing a leather apron, hacking with a cleaver at the skinned carcass of what looked like a greyhound. She heard Liam mutter something to himself, and remembered that’s how the buds worked: they translated what they heard. Liam cocked his head slightly, listening to the almost immediate translation being whispered into his ear, then repeated it to the man.
‘ Salve. Rediimus. Passimus priotem concavem iterum locare? ’
The man stopped hacking at the carcass then eventually shrugged. ‘ Si vis. ’ He held out a bloody hand. ‘ Quiniue sestertii.’
Liam nodded. A barely discernible delay as he listened for the translation. He dug into his pouch and handed over several coins to the man.
Maddy smiled, impressed at how effectively, almost seamlessly, the babel-bud appeared to work. She made a note to give it a try herself.
Liam nodded a thank-you to the man and was about to lead her across the straw and dung-carpeted courtyard towards an external wooden stairway that would take them up to the building’s third floor when they both heard a commotion coming from the rat run.
CHAPTER 39
AD 54, Subura District, Rome
With the sound of raised voices, Liam turned to see Sal dragging one of the ponies by its reins into the courtyard. It was snorting frantically, distressed and wide-eyed, hooves clattering and skidding in the dirt as she tried to manhandle it in. ‘They tried to take our ponies off us!’
‘Who did?’
A moment later, Bob emerged from the rat run dragging the other animal after him. He let the pony’s reins go and smacked its flank so that it darted across the courtyard towards the other one. A dozen chickens squawked, flapped at the disturbance.
‘Caution!’ Bob barked out.
Almost immediately, a dozen men spilled into the courtyard, all of them thickset and muscular. All of them armed with short swords or daggers, drawn ready to use.
Liam heard the landlord’s voice, his bud translating almost as instantly as an echo.
‹ Watch out! Collegia ‘strong-arms’!›
One of the men stepped forward. ‘ Titus Varelius adsumet unam vestrarum bestiarum! ’
‹ Titus Varelius will have one of your beasts!› the bud whispered quietly in his ear.
The landlord snapped an angry reply and thumbed his nose at them defiantly.
The collegia leader smiled, a broad, gap-toothed grin. His gaze settled on Bob.
‹ Titus is owed this month’s payment. The pony will do.›
‹ Titus can go and kiss my arse› said the landlord.
Liam was no longer aware that he was actually listening to the bud in his ear.
‘This animal is ours,’ said Bob in passable Latin. ‘I recommend you leave immediately!’
The collegia leader’s smile broadened. ‘I hoped you’d say that.’ He pulled a short sword from his belt. ‘Then we shall have some sport with you. Mamercus! Mettius! Vel! This big brute’s yours!’
Three of his men stepped forward, grinning like naughty schoolboys as they angled the tips of their blades towards Bob and sized him up.
‘Are you an ox or a man?’ one of them laughed.
Bob scowled. ‘Neither.’ He lunged. A whiplash of movement that concluded with the tips of his fingers lodged firmly beneath the jawline of one of the men; the jab had crushed his windpipe. As the man’s legs began to buckle beneath him, and he choked, gasping for breath, Bob caught his short sword in mid-air as it began to tumble from a limp hand. With a deft flick, he was suddenly holding it by the handle instead of the blade. He lunged forward, swinging it at the throat of the second collegia man. But this one was a little more prepared. He thrust out his blade, managing to parry the heavy sweep barely inches from his neck. The ring of metal echoed round the courtyard and all of a sudden, Liam noticed, every creaking wooden balcony above them seemed to be lined with curious onlookers. It reminded him of a crowded penny theatre.
The gap-toothed leader decided the ‘sport’ was already over with and barked an order to the rest of his men
