back down the street. Sharing a quick, desperate glance, they ran on into the open space. Already, the former centurion’s leg was juddering, threatening to collapse under the strain and he was starting to fall behind the others. By the time they crossed the Palatine, he would be flat on his face.
Priscus cursed himself as they ran for underestimating the audacity of the man. They were in the very centre of Rome, just after nightfall. There were fewer people about in the chilly damp air than during the day or on a warmer night, but still there must have been at least twenty people witnessed the attack tonight. The man clearly had no fear of discovery or recrimination. It was said that Clodius ‘owned the streets’, and Priscus was starting to see how the saying had come about.
He was trying to figure out a way to gain distance on their pursuers and keep himself in the game when a squawk from ahead startled him. A thrown rock connected with Galronus’ skull hard enough to knock him from his feet. The Remi nobleman fell with a shout, rolling on the pavement. In former times, Priscus would have leapt lithely over him. Not now. Not with the leg the way it was. He tried to clear the rolling form, but his foot barely left the ground and he came down with a crash, falling over the prone form of Galronus.
Milo skidded to a halt and turned. Priscus waved at him.
“Go on. Get back to the house and tell them what happened.”
Priscus glanced around them in desperation. Only three men had emerged at the top of the slope, one of Philopater’s smaller gangs that had approached from the forum end. If he and Galronus could just stand and take them on…
A shout made him turn back. Milo had stopped. Another force of perhaps a score of men was approaching out of the gloom from the direction of the circus, cresting the slope on the very road they were making for. Milo backed toward his fallen companions.
“We may be in trouble.”
Priscus tried to rise, heaving the stunned Galronus as he did. Neither of them had the strength or stamina to stand. Milo backed up to them and ground his teeth. Clodius appeared over the crest of the hill behind them, followed by Philopater and a large group of murderous men.
Briefly, Priscus considered the other exits from the square. They could perhaps have got to the Velabrum and descended the hill there to get lost among the shops and narrow streets. But there was simply not enough time and, even had there been, he had not the strength. There was nowhere to run as the two forces converged on the three men, trapped between the pincers in a vice of mercenaries. Lights in the nearby houses went out as self-preservation led their occupants to an expedient ignorance of events in the square outside.
“It would appear that the Gods are favouring you tonight, Gnaeus Vinicius Priscus. And your friends.”
Priscus frowned as he regarded the man who effectively controlled the streets of the city. Clodius and Philopater had stopped at the edge of the square, their followers gathering around them.
Glancing over his shoulder he heaved a sigh of relief.
Cestus strode out of the front ranks of the other force, the hulking figure of Lod, the Celtic giant beside him. The former Gladiator bore no blade, according to Roman law, but the wooden stave he carried would be, in his capable hands, better than a sword in most.
The small warrior crouched close to the trio of desperate men.
“It would appear that the lady Faleria is right: master Fronto’s suicidal bravado
Priscus grinned, heaving in air in deep gulps.
“How the hell did you know where to find us?”
Cestus laughed.
“Good grief! I’ve had men shadowing you since you left the house. I’m not about to allow a repeat of what happened to Fronto. I have a reputation to maintain.”
Priscus turned again as Clodius shouted to them.
“Be grateful. You’ve been given a reprieve, but the sky is lowering by the hour and it will fall on you and yours presently.”
The man turned and strode off among his men. Philopater continued to glare at them, lingering for a moment then, grinning, drew a finger across his throat meaningfully and turned to leave.
Milo looked across at Priscus, who had begun to chuckle.
“What’s so bloody funny?”
“Did you see the shape of his nose? Like a strawberry!”
Chapter 22
(Late October: House of the Falerii in Rome.)
Fronto slipped his legs over the side of the bed in the large room that had once been his father’s and let his bare feet fall to the marble floor with a cold slap.
“Get back in.”
“Not a chance in Hades, Faleria.”
“You’re in no state to be walking around. Lucilia said at least a day before we were to let you even get up, let alone walk around.”
“It’s just bruising and the odd crack, Faleria. I’ve suffered worse in the stands at the circus. Where are they all?”
Faleria sighed.
“They’re in the summer triclinium discussing what to do next.”
Nodding, Fronto slowly pushed himself upright and, wobbling for a moment, began to stretch his arms and gently test his legs. Certain moves with his left arm sent waves of pain through his shoulder and chest, any sharp movement in his neck was excruciating and there was a constant dull pain in his head but, other than that, he appeared to be in working order. Frowning, he took a tentative step forward. No problem there. They seemed to have left his legs alone nicely.
“I’m fine. A bit of exercise and a couple of cups of good unwatered wine to wash away the headache and I’ll be back to normal.”
“You’re an idiot, my brother.”
He turned and grinned at her.
“Your insults are getting formulaic, Faleria.”
“I worry about you. Don’t do anything stupid.”
He moved toward the door and then stopped, a frown on his face.
“Where
Faleria cast her eyes downwards.
“What?”
“We had a little chat, Marcus.”
His eyes narrowed as he turned back toward her.
“About?”
“About Verginius and Carvalia. Don’t be angry with me, Marcus.”
Fronto’s eyes hardened and he began to grind his teeth.
“I specifically forbade her from talking to you about this.”
Faleria nodded.
“It was a long time ago, Marcus. It doesn’t pain me to talk about it like it does you.” She smiled weakly. “And her reasons for enquiring appeal to me.”
Fronto shook his head.
“She’s an impulsive girl with idiotic ideas.”
Faleria fixed him with a strange look.
“She’s been in Rome for over a week and has not yet even
