“Wait,” Velus said in a tired voice. He thought for a moment. “The problem for a tribune in a situation like this,” he said, “the problem with your sacrosanctity, if I may call it that, is that you don’t have any lictors for protection. I mean, why would you need any, if just bumping up against you in a crowd could get you thrown off the Tarpeian Rock? But the only crowd that matters here is us.
“You’ve seen us,” he said, working it out, “so that’s no good for us, and not very good for you. I could kill you, but much as I like these fellows, I don’t trust ‘em worth spit, and I can’t very well kill them all to keep them quiet, so here’s what I’m thinking. You take you and yours and go about your business, and we’ll go about ours, without the killing you part. Everybody’s happy. Oh, and we’ll take that fancy box before you go. Go get it, Palaemon.”
“This box is on my person, therefore part of my person.”
“But we’re not taking it from you, tribune. You’re giving it to us as a, hmm, parting gift, if I may call it that, to thank us for letting you go. Isn’t that right?”
Palaemon reached Gaius Cato and held out a scarlet and crooked hand. “Outrageous,” the tribune sputtered, reluctantly surrendering the box. “There’s nothing in here of any value to you,” he said in a voice that declared quite clearly that there was indeed something of value within, if not in the thing itself, than in the knowledge of its existence. Not that bribery wasn’t as common as cleaning your teeth with crushed oyster shells, bones and olive oil, it was just that it was one of the few transactions Romans preferred to conduct in the shadows.
Palaemon trotted back to Velus and gave him the box. Then he sauntered over to the two men holding Livia. “Ah’m the only one doing any work here. Ah’ll take the redhead.” Velus nodded, and his reprobate accomplice took hold of Livia’s wrist. The crooked smile that contorted his lips made me want to wretch. I strained in vain against the hands that held me.
“I shall commit your faces to memory,” said Gaius Cato.
“Fine by me,” Velus said to the tribune. “I’m going to treat myself to a shave after today’s labors. Best of luck remembering this face.”
“Thass not right,” Palaemon said, “Ah haff no beard.”
“Then grow one,” Malchus said.
Malchus!
“Or develop a limp,” added Betto.
A hobnailed military boot came thrusting out from behind Velus and crashed into the back of Palaemon’s leg. He fell screaming, releasing his hold on both Livia and his iron rod. It landed at her bare feet; she bent to scoop it up. Even scoundrels possess the reflex to help a downed comrade; in the instant when their grip loosened I wrenched free of the two that held me and rushed to Livia’s side.
“No one move!” Velus called out in alarm. Something very sharp was prodding painfully into his lower back. Lady Cornelia pulled away from him and ran to join Buccio and the two of us. Livia held the iron rod against Palaemon’s neck, not particularly careful of the pressure she applied.
From behind him, Malchus said in an amiable tone, “Velus Herclides, how long has it been?”
“Malchus? Drusus Malchus?”
“If you are speaking of the same Drusus Malchus who yanked your inattentive innards away from more than one mortal thrust, then yes, that’s me. What brings a fine legionary like you to this gutter work?”
“I thought I left two men to guard the front entrance.”
“You did.”
Velus shrugged and sighed. “Pompeius Magnus disbanded our unit three years ago. You know me: I’m shit at anything but soldiering. Anywise, the pay’s decent.”
“Not decent enough,” Malchus said.
“There are other benefits,” the villain countered, smiling at the women. Can you imagine the acidic stew of furor and impotence in my breast? My mind, a treacherous thing, forced me to paint in lurid detail what it was he was seeing when his eyes roved over Livia. I wanted to rip his lungs out with my teeth. I looked at Malchus, looming behind Herclides, sword drawn, completely at ease in the role of savior. My friend, my hero. The phrase “what would I do without him” was for me a real and frightening question. With good reason, slave, the fruit of love hangs so high; Unless both slave and warrior thou be, then come not nigh. I determined that at the earliest possible moment, I would have a word with the towering Malchus, so confident in his skill at arms, and become once again, as I had been so long ago in Athens, a student.
“Not today, there aren’t,” Malchus answered Velus, his voice as sure as the tip of his gladius was sharp.
“Not at the moment, no,” Herclides answered. “But the funny thing about moments, Drusus, is that there are always more of them.”
“Until you’re dead.”
“Until you’re dead,” he agreed. They made it sound like they were drinking to each other’s health. “You realize, this still leaves you outnumbered, what, eight to two?”
“More like six to three,” Minucius Valens called from where he stood facing the two men in the middle of the palaestra, his sword and dagger drawn. “I wouldn’t count these two.”
“Velus, there are no odds here,” Malchus said reasonably. “There’s you, there’s me and there’s Camilla.”
“Camilla, is that your tongue tickling my back? Hello, sweetheart! Drusus, you’re such a romantic. Who else do you know who does that? Who names their sword?” Herclides started to turn around, but Malchus put a hand on his shoulder and a little more pressure on his gladius.
“If you tell your people to fight, Velus, Camilla will leave you ever curious-you will never know how the battle ends. Quickly now-everything that isn’t clothing and isn’t attached to you, on the ground.”
“Now that’s unkind. Leave a man a little dignity, Drusus. I’ve yielded. You’ve seen the streets; at least let us withdraw with our weapons.”
Malchus twisted Camilla, at the same time adding a feather’s weight more insistence from his sword arm.
Herclides cursed. “Throw down your weapons,” he called. “We are done here.” Palaemon’s face was so contorted it was not clear, from his supine and restricted pose, if he was filled with anger, regret or relief. Except for the chill the scarred man sent rippling across my skin from the look he gave Livia as he scrambled away from her, I had never felt so unencumbered.
The ordeal over, Livia put a trembling hand on my shoulder for support. With an uncharacteristic tremor in her voice she said, “I think I’ll leave the herbalist for another day.”
“A wise plan.”
•••
“Why did you come back?” I asked.
“To settle a bet,” Betto said mildly. “I knew that was the healer you were talking to.” I cocked my head and curled my mouth up on one side, a mannerism which, over the years, the familia of the house of Crassus had come to learn as shorthand for ‘you’re not telling me everything; out with it.’ After a moment, he said, “Fine. After we left, we passed this bunch”-he motioned toward the brigands-“and saw them going in. They didn’t look as if they were going to the baths for a dip and a scrape.”
“Into the pool with them,” Minucius Valens said. “We’ll hold them here and send the slaves to the comitium for help.”
“No,” Malchus said. “Herclides, take your wounded and leave this place.”
Betto said, “What? What kind of a rescue do you call that?”
“This here is a twenty-year man,” Malchus said, never taking his sword from the spot where it might easily find the strapping ex-soldier’s right kidney. “He’s come on hard times, but no real harm has been done here. We’ve seen to that. So what if we rescue a few more than we intended? Eh, tribune Cato? That agreeable with you?”
“No, it isn’t. Not really. The man has interfered with the tiny part of my day where I attempt to recover some sense of otium.” He blew a blubbery breath through those shining lips. “Well, I suppose a good supper will restore my equanimity.” With the roasted leg he still clutched, he waved his permission at us and skirted the empty frigidarium with the rest of his party.