After so many days of living on his nerves, Quintus felt overwhelming relief. Oddly, a mad part of him exulted. It might be suicidal to stay, but it would feel incredible to be one of those who let their men into the city. The manic gleam in Marius’ eyes told its own story about how he felt. Before Pera, however, Quintus put on a surprised face. ‘We’re to take part, sir?’
‘Aye, we are.’ Pera revealed his teeth. ‘I think that we should have some wine to celebrate.’
Marius looked delighted, but Quintus held back. There was yet one more name on their list. Even a single man might be the difference between success and failure when they came to seize the gate, he thought. ‘There was one last noble you were to talk to, wasn’t there, sir? Attalus — was that his name?’ Pera’s scowl proved that he had forgotten all about him.
‘We have sufficient numbers, damn it,’ Pera snapped.
Quintus caught the warning shake of Marius’ head and decided not to antagonise Pera further. ‘As you say, sir.’ Great Mars, let nothing go wrong from this point, he prayed.
After a quick drink, Pera had them retire to the fisherman’s house, which had continued to be their refuge. The dwelling was located in a tiny lane populated entirely by the old soak’s crewmembers and their extended families. From the first day, no one had paid them any attention, which had helped to relieve the strain that Quintus and Marius felt each time they’d ventured beyond the rundown quarter and into the city proper. Pera ordered Quintus to stay alert while he retired to his room.
Marius slipped Quintus a wink and whispered, ‘If a nap’s good enough for the centurion, it is for me too,’ and disappeared.
Some of Quintus’ concern slipped from his shoulders as he sat in the tiny, sunlit yard behind the house, watching their host repair his nets. Neither he nor the old man spoke, but Quintus enjoyed watching him. There was a hypnotic quality to the repetitive movement of needle and thread to and fro, the tying of knots, and the way that the fisherman used his last few teeth to bite through the ends each time he was done.
After a while, Quintus felt his eyelids droop. Normally, he would have fought the drowsiness, but in the calm of the yard, there seemed little harm in letting them close. They had finished scouring Syracuse for conspirators. Nothing would happen before nightfall, and the languorous feeling induced by the wine he’d drunk was proving too hard to fight. Quintus slipped into a most enjoyable dream; it involved Elira and her wondrously talented mouth.
A hand shook him.
Quintus dreamed that Elira had gripped his shoulder as they were locked together in passion.
He was shaken again, felt a hot breath on his ear. ‘Wake up! Wake up!’
Quintus opened his eyes and recoiled. There was no perfume in the air, only body odour, no alabaster smooth skin, just the warty chin and the straggly beard of the old fisherman. ‘What? What is it?’ Quintus demanded.
‘Soldiers. Soldiers are coming!’
Quintus’ stomach did a neat somersault. ‘How long have we got?’
‘The warning signal came from my nephew’s house, at the mouth of the alleyway. You have a few moments. Get on the roof’ — he gestured at the red tiles above — ‘and drop down into the lane beyond. Go right, and follow it until you come to the temple to Athena. From there, you’ll know where you are. Make your way to my boat and hide yourselves. If they find no one here, their suspicions will be allayed. I’ll take you across the harbour when it’s dark.’
‘My thanks.’ Quintus was already on his feet, scrambling through the doorway to the room he shared with Marius. He considered not waking Pera — to seal the centurion’s fate, he would have to do nothing more than that. Two things stopped Quintus: the fate of the old fisherman if Pera was found, and the fact that the centurion had saved his life in Enna. He owed Pera for that.
By the time that Quintus had roused the others, and the three had started climbing on to the house’s roof, men’s voices were audible outside. Pera, who had gone up first, reached down for Marius. You miserable fucker! thought Quintus. I save your hide and this is how you repay me?
A fist banged on the door, and a voice demanded: ‘Open up, in the name of Epicydes!’ The old fisherman, who was watching, indicated with his hands that he would take his time responding to the summons.
Marius crouched on the tiles and shoved out a hand. Quintus took the grip and scrabbled up the wall with his feet. One of the tiles half lifted from its position as he clambered up, and he cursed under his breath as it dislodged, fell to the floor of the yard and smashed into fragments.
Quintus and Marius looked at each other. Would the old man have time to clear up the broken tile? If not, things boded ill for all of them.
Pera beckoned from the outer edge of the roof. Then, without a word, he jumped.
The friends followed as fast as they could. The alley beyond was tiny and filthy but fortunately the drop was less than the height of two men. Thud. Thud. The mud softened the sound of their fall.
‘Which way?’ demanded Pera, his voice agitated.
‘Right, sir, until we reach the temple to Athena.’
Pera turned and was gone.
‘The prick is shitting himself,’ pronounced Marius with a grin.
‘I don’t think he’s realised the danger we were in until now,’ said Quintus, also amused. His own fear was far more manageable knowing that Pera was terrified.
They took a moment to listen. Metal hobs clashed off the concrete floor, telling them that the soldiers had entered the house. Marius tugged at Quintus’ arm, but he resisted. Knowing whether the fallen tile had caused suspicion or not was vital.
‘What’s this?’ The angry cry needed no explanation.
‘We can’t stay in the boat,’ Quintus muttered to Marius as they loped off. ‘They’ll come for us, sure as the sun rises in the east.’
‘I’ve got a knife, but you don’t even have that. What the fuck do we do?’
Instinct made both men slow as they came to the end of the alley. Running would draw attention. Quintus scanned the square beyond, which was dominated by the shrine that the old man had mentioned. It was as busy as he’d expect for the time of day. Stallholders proclaimed the quality of their wares; gossiping housewives walked together in twos and threes, inspecting what was on offer. Slaves carrying baskets of shopping walked behind the richer ones. Hawkers of everything from statuettes of the goddess to good-luck charms worked the crowd, smiling and bowing. A pair of cripples — soldiers who’d been injured in the defence of the city? — held up beseeching hands from their positions near the temple steps. Fresh blood glistened on the altar in the centre of the square. A small crowd watched as two acolytes manhandled a dead goat off it. A grey-bearded priest spoke with the merchant who’d paid for the sacrifice that had just taken place.
There was no sign of Pera.
‘The fucker’s gone and left us,’ said Quintus.
‘Maybe he thought we’d look suspicious walking together.’
‘I suppose.’ In Quintus’ mind, however, this was proof of Pera’s cowardice. ‘I can’t see any soldiers.’
‘Nor I.’ They set out across the square.
‘How in Hades’ name did the bastards know where we were?’ asked Marius.
‘Someone must have talked.’
They chewed on the rancid fat of that for a moment. The danger they had been in until that point was as nothing to what it would be in the hours that followed. Epicydes would ransack the city to find them, and all of the conspirators. ‘The boat is our best bet,’ said Quintus. ‘Our only bet,’ he added grimly.
‘But what then?’ hissed Marius as they headed in the direction of the fishermen’s jetty. ‘I can’t sail, or swim. Can you?’