If that blow connected, it could kill the young fool. I jerked his head out of the way before tearing my hand free along with some of his curls. As Tur scrambled to his feet, I stepped into the stonemason’s path.
‘Leave him to Dionysos, citizen. He’s an idiot and he’s drunk.’
It took the man a breath to realise I wasn’t going to let him have Tur. His face twisted with contempt. ‘So you do suck Persian cock!’
I didn’t debate the point. As the mason threw a punch, I sidestepped so quickly that his knuckles barely grazed me. As I moved, I shoved his other shoulder, hard. Hooking my heel behind his forward knee knocked him off balance completely. He landed hard on his back, left gasping, winded by the impact.
I made sure he stayed down by stamping on his belly. Noble families’ sons learn the niceties of Olympic competition. The old wrestler who taught me and my brothers reckoned Athenian lads like us needed to know how to fight dirty.
Where was Tur? What about Sarkuk? I looked swiftly around, all the while alert for anyone keen to take up the stonemason’s cause.
The older Pargasarene was holding his own with no need for a knife. Sarkuk used his fists like a man who’d fought his way out of a fair share of trouble. He blocked a wild blow with his forearm and drove his other fist straight into an attacker’s eye.
Reeling backwards, the Athenian tried to flee. He didn’t find that easy. Men were fighting on all sides now. Some had been stirred up by the orator. Others were just caught up in the fracas.
It wouldn’t be long before the Scythians arrived and they don’t carry those bows for show. Anyone running away from a brawl in the agora risked an arrow in the leg or the shoulder. Let the Carians try denying their role in this riot after that. The best they could hope for was being thrown out of the city and then we’d never learn the truth of all this.
I grabbed Sarkuk’s shoulder. ‘We have to get out of here!’
He spun around, his clenched fist pulled back. Recognising me, he abandoned the blow. ‘Which way?’
‘Head for the Temple of Hephaistos!’ I jabbed a finger at the shining new temple half-built up on Kolonos Hill.
That was our quickest route out of the agora to somewhere with enough people for us to lose ourselves in a crowd. Given the choice, I’d have run straight for Aristarchos’s house, but trying to fight all the way across the marketplace would be madness.
I still had to rescue Tur. The lad wasn’t faring nearly as well as his father. He’d been surrounded before he’d recovered his balance and five men were attacking him now. Too many to fight all at once. Trying to do that was the boy’s first mistake. He was still on his feet but barely. They’d have him on the ground any minute and then he’d be kicked to death.
I threw a punch at the closest man’s head. He must have glimpsed me in the corner of his eye and blocked my fist with an upraised elbow. So I grabbed his arm and hauled him sideways. As he staggered I drove my knuckles into his midriff. He decided that beating the shit out of some Persian sympathiser wasn’t worth any more bruises and scurried away.
One of the others surrounding Tur tried to punch me in the side. I barely managed to twist away to save myself from broken ribs. Even so, his fist landed hard enough to force me backwards. He followed up with a jab to my belly.
I met his knuckles with my outspread palm, drawing the force from the blow. I tried for a curving punch to his ear with my other hand but he knocked my fist aside with a bruising sweep of his forearm. Doing that spun him around. As he took a step to keep his balance, his feet spread wide. I kicked him hard in the balls and he collapsed, retching.
Now he was facing better odds, Tur was holding his own against the other three. I winced at the crack of a man’s jaw breaking. One of the others recoiled. Not fast enough. Tur dropped him with a kick in the gut. The last one seized his chance to flee.
‘Tur!’ I bellowed. ‘Tur!’
He stood swaying like a pine tree in a gale. Perhaps he couldn’t hear me. The din all around us was deafening. Some men shouted insults while others protested this was none of their business. The rest just howled wordless abuse.
No, it wasn’t the noise. The young Carian might still be on his feet, but he was barely conscious. One eye was swelling red while blood streamed from brutal cuts on both his cheekbones and across one thick eyebrow. Another blow had split the corner of his mouth and his nose was surely broken.
‘It’s me, Philocles!’ I hesitated before trying to grab him. He might be half stunned but I didn’t want to risk taking one of his punches.
‘Tur!’ Sarkuk shouted something in their mother tongue.
The boy’s open eye focused blearily on his father. Sarkuk shouted again, pointing up at the temple.
‘Grab him and follow me!’ I started to force a path through the fray. That won me a whole new collection of scrapes and bruises before we reached the Council Chamber at the side of the agora. That’s what happens when you’re more concerned with getting away from a fight than defending yourself.
Someone grabbed hold of my tunic. I tore myself free with savage threats and ripping cloth. Behind me, I heard Sarkuk cursing. As long as I could hear him, I didn’t bother looking back, shoving and shouldering my way through the crowd.
Finally we slid into the narrow space between the Temple of the Mother of the Gods and the Council Chamber. I paused, leaning forward, hands braced on my thighs and wondering if
