danger.'
`You have been discussing me?' I riposted.
Being himself again, he just grunted once more.
*
At the Golden Milestone we went our separate ways. I watched young Aelianus treading his firm path down the Forum away from me, a sturdy figure with solid shoulders and stout calves tramping beneath his neatly draped cloak. The intimate conversation had made me feel more than usually responsible for him. Watch it, Falco. Nannying aristocrats is a slave's task.
He could handle himself. Peddlers shrugged easily as he ignored their trays. He gave a wide berth to a dog with froth on its muzzle and stepped aside as a drunk spoiling for an argument staggered blearily into his path.
Hunched in my cloak, I bore around the shadow of the Capitol and made my way home. I was thinking about the best way forward. Our talk with Scorpus had been refreshing. Calpurnia Cara had always been on my list for investigation; his suggestion that she might have offended her husband was a good lead. It was also time we pursued the Saffia/Lutea angle, and hammered it hard. Then there was the idea that something looked amiss in the family; I trusted Fungibles on that. The peculiarities of the will must have an explanation – not that families always behave understandably. Mine were a cantankerous, deliberately stubborn lot. Maybe the Metelli were the same.
I came around a windswept corner by the cattle market, head down as I forged a path up the Marble Embankment to my house. Chilled now, I was tired and in need of sustenance. The cold was making my eyes water. As darkness began to gather, I saw the welcome sight of my own front door, flanked by two laurel bushes, with an oversized dolphin knocker that my father had installed. Cheered, I failed to notice villains suddenly homing in on me. I was at their mercy. Hands seized me from behind. Legs kicked my weary feet from under me. I was taken aback, thrown down on the road before I knew what was happening. How many there were I had no idea. I let out a disorientated cry, curled up protectively, craned around to look at them.
All I saw as I peered along the gutter was a large boot, coming straight at my right eye.
XXIV
I ROLLED. NOT far enough. Was it better to lose an eye, or to have a fractured skull? I thought I heard my neck crack as I wrenched away. The boot made contact, scraping along the upper bone of my eye socket painfully. Eyes shut against the agony, I screwed on to my back and kicked out hard, both feet together. I found someone, not with much force, but it gave me leeway to start fighting back.
No use. They dragged me over and face down again. My back was being pummelled. Thanks to my cloak, a heavy-duty item bought for long-distance travel, the effects were less than the murderous bastards intended. But I could not rise. I was stuck by the kerb, in the litter and dung. Someone stepped on my hand. Then either they were disturbed, or maybe their task was fulfilled. Now they were leaving. The parting shot came hoarsely right by my ear; the man must have bent double: `Leave it to the big boys, Falco!'
Leave what? No need to ask.
I lay for a while where I was, thankful to be still breathing. Slowly I hauled myself across the pavement to my own threshold. Stumbling upright, I banged at the door, shaking too much to find my key. Somebody must have come to investigate. They would have looked out through the spy window, Albia most likely. The damage to my eye must have made me unrecognisable; instead of opening up, I heard the grim sounds of the bolts being shot home.
I fell down and waited to be rescued. My brain was almost empty – apart from a recurrent thought: I had recognised the boot coming at my eye.
But as usual in these situations, I had no idea where I had seen it before – or on whose foot.
Not too long afterwards, I was woken. A torch flamed, too close to my face. I was aware of a small group, with hard, professional voices.
`Shift that bloody vagrant off Falco's doorstep…'
`Dead?'
`Dying, I think. Give him a few kicks -' I was pulled upright, exclaiming at the pain. `Oh dear, oh dear! Look who it is -' A voice I knew well as Fusculus, one of Petro's men in the vigiles, mocked me sadly. `Helena Justina been knocking you about again, Falco?'
`Just a lovers' tiff…'
Fusculus shook his head, while banging stoutly at my door. It took some time for him to convince the occupants that it was safe to respond. `Helena Justina, somebody does not like your husband!'
I heard Helena swiftly telling Albia to take my daughter Julia out of sight so she would not be scared. Julia was wailing anyway. `Bring him in, will you -'
`You really must stop thumping him,' muttered Fusculus, continuing his tired joke. `And do get him to give up the drink – This is a disgrace to a respectable neighbourhood.'
`Don't be a busybody, Fusculus.' A catch came in Helena's voice. `Oh Juno, where did you find him?'
`Huddled on the step like a bundle of rags. It's all right – much worse than it looks -' The vigiles have a stock soothing repertoire for distressed wives. `I've got him. Tell yourself he's just faking it, for a cheap thrill. Use your damned feet, Falco. Show me where to go, princess -'
They took me upstairs and I was dropped on my bed. I let it happen. Fusculus went off to tell Petronius, then almost at once Petro was there, with the vigiles' doctor, Scythax. They cleaned me up. As always, I refused a sleeping draught but Helena made an uncompromising nurse.
Trying to keep my fears private lest Helena worry even more, I croaked that Petro should contact the Camilli and Hononus. He had worked out that the attack was case-connected and promised safety checks.
`Warning you off, eh? This is a clear message. You could listen!'
`No chance of that,' Helena answered for me. `He'll become more determined. You know him.'
`Yes, he's an idiot,' Petro replied frankly. `Still, somebody thinks it matters to get rid of him. What's he doing this work for? Is there money in it?'
`It's a fight for justice, Lucius Petronius.'
`Oh I can see it's a fight,' Petro scoffed wryly. I felt his finger prod my eyebrow. `But someone else seems to be getting the better of it, and there's no justice in that, is there?'
I buried my head under the pillow and took refuge in a drugged sleep.
Next day I woke, stiff as a post and groaning. I thought about getting up, but abandoned the plan. Helena forbade it, so I tried crawling out of bed after all. Then I dropped any idea of racing around the Circus Maximus and stayed put.
Helena brought up her wicker chair and a low footstool, to sit beside me. Now that I was being sensible, she allowed herself to straighten the coverlet then stroked my hair lovingly. `Tell me what happened, Marcus.'
`You can see what happened.'
`Were you followed?'
'They were lying in wait.' I struggled to think straight. `What about the others?'
`Justinus was at home – Claudia has gone into labour. I ought to go over there.'
`Your mother can look after Claudia.'
`Yes, but I need to look after Quintus. I imagine Claudia is a girl who will scream heartily. If my terrified brother skittles off to the baths to hide, she will never forgive him.'
`You can leave me.'
`I don't want to.'
I found her hand. She was close to tears. That upset me. Later, when she had calmed down over this, I would point out that plenty of householders arrived home in the evening wrecked, after being run over by badly driven carts or mugged by street thieves. `What about Aulus?'
`At home. Honorius stayed out all night somewhere. His frail old mother had a seizure when the vigiles called, but he's turned up now. He and Aulus are downstairs in fact -'
