Great wooden doors framed the entrance to the cella, the long narrow room that formed the main part of the temple. A group of people clustered there around a stout, robed priest with a beard, listening as he held forth on the goddess’ intent for Capua and its citizens. There was no sign of Phanes. Hanno padded inside, wary and alert. His eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom, which was alleviated by an occasional oil lamp on a bronze stand. The chamber’s walls had been decorated with panelled murals of Fortuna: she stood with her father, Jupiter Optimus Maximus, and other deities; presided over fields of ripe wheat as the goddess Annonaria; watched chariots race at a stadium while men placed wagers. Hanno did not like the last depiction, that of Mala Fortuna, in which she stood over the entrance to Hades, watching as those who had died through bad luck filed past with miserable faces. Although she was not one of his gods, he offered her a prayer nonetheless, asking that his fortunes remain good — while he was in Capua at least.
At the far end of the room stood a low altar. Behind it was an enormous painted statue of Fortuna, her lips curved in an enigmatic smile. It was a little disquieting that her dark-rimmed eyes seemed to follow Hanno as he wove his way through the throng, but he told himself it was just his imagination. The other devotees were a mixture of men and women, young and old. Everyone needed Fortuna on their side, thought Hanno, from the crone who needed money to buy food to the man who was fond of gambling and the wife who could not conceive.
Phanes was standing near the altar, his head bowed. Hanno slipped in behind him, grateful for the loud prayers of an elderly woman nearby. He moved past the Greek to place his figurine on the altar among the other offerings, confirming with a sidelong glance that he’d found his man. Poised behind his quarry once more, his heart began to race. Whatever he did would have to be rapid and brief. It had to take place within the cella and in a manner that didn’t alarm those around them. He doubted that anyone would intervene but if the two brutes outside were alerted to what was going on, he’d be lucky to escape with his life — even though he was now armed. Steady, he thought. It will go to plan. Soon Atia will have less to worry about, and I will know where to find Aurelia. That thought was calming.
He reached under his tunic and took hold of the knife’s hilt, readying himself. When Phanes began to turn, Hanno slid forward on the balls of his feet. He grabbed the Greek’s left hand and twisted it behind his back, at the same time tickling the skin over his right kidney with the blade’s tip. With his lips against Phanes’ ear, he whispered, ‘Keep turning. If anyone looks, smile at them. Do not cry for help, or I’ll slide this iron in so deep that it comes out of your filthy chest.’
Phanes obeyed. His head twisted. ‘Who in Hades’ name are you? What do you want?’
Hanno shoved him forward a step. ‘That’s an odd question for a stinking moneylender to ask. I’d wager you have plenty of enemies. That’s why you employ those two apes outside.’
‘They’ll gut you when this is done,’ hissed Phanes. He squawked with pain as Hanno pushed the knife hard enough to draw blood.
‘Shut your mouth. Keep walking,’ ordered Hanno, smiling at an old man who was gawping. He guided the unresisting Greek over to the side of the room, where there were fewer people. By the mural of Fortuna at the games, he paused, as if to admire it. ‘Are Gaius and Atia Fabricius familiar to you?’ Phanes stiffened and his heart leaped.
‘Yes.’
‘They owe you money.’
‘A great deal,’ agreed the Greek.
‘Are their names among those that Calavius will receive later?’
Phanes’ head twisted again, this time in surprise, and Hanno poked him again with the knife. ‘Keep your eyes to the front. Answer the damn question.’
‘Yes. They’re on the list.’
‘No, they’re not!’ Hanno gave the blade a vicious little twist, and Phanes had to bite back a moan. ‘You are going to leave their names off it. If you don’t, I will hunt you down and cut you into little pieces. That’s after I’ve cut your balls off and fed them to you. The same will happen to you if you harm them or any of their family. Understand?’
‘Y-yes.’ The Greek sounded confused as well as terrified.
Hanno could see beads of sweat trickling down through Phanes’ oiled hair, which pleased him immensely. ‘Good. Do you know their daughter as well?’
‘Aurelia?’
‘Where is she?’
‘I would have thought you’d know that,’ muttered the Greek. ‘You seem aware of everything else.’
‘Tell me,’ demanded Hanno.
Phanes let out a little phhh of contempt. ‘I believe that she’s living with her husband, on his land, to the north of the city. They were married a short time ago.’
Hanno closed his eyes. Disappointment washed over him. These were two eventualities that he hadn’t counted on. That Aurelia would already be married and that not all citizens were too scared to remain on their properties. It was as if the Greek sensed his dismay. With a powerful wriggle and twist, he jerked free of Hanno’s grasp. Whirling, he slammed Hanno’s hand against the wall. The knife clattered to the floor and Phanes clawed at Hanno’s eyes with hooked fingers. As Hanno lurched backwards, the Greek snatched at his neck cloth instead. It wasn’t knotted, so it came away with ease. A heartbeat’s pause; a disbelieving gasp from Phanes. Hanno could almost feel the ‘F’-shaped scar itching.
‘You’re a runaway slave?’ The Greek’s voice was loud and shrill.
The game was up. Hanno ran for the door, shoving past everyone in his way.
‘Stop that slave!’ Phanes cried. ‘He attacked me with a knife. Stop him!’
A middle-aged man stepped into Hanno’s path, arms outstretched. Hanno roared a war cry, and the man abruptly changed his mind.
Hanno pounded towards the entrance, elbowing a youth who grabbed at him in the face. There were a few ineffectual attempts to seize him by the tunic, but he was running at full tilt now. Past a goggle-eyed old woman and into the open air. From behind him, Phanes’ voice, growing louder. Hanno cursed. Unless the Greek’s bodyguards were deaf, they would be waiting for him at the bottom of the steps.
Slowing, he walked to the top of the staircase. Sure enough, the heavies were staring upward, scowls on their faces and cudgels in hand. Every face in between was watching too. Don’t alarm any of them, Hanno thought. He needed the men on the steps to remain calm and Phanes’ thugs to feel confident. With a casual smile, he began to descend. ‘I’ll come down to you,’ he called. The bodyguards glanced at one another, grinning with delight. So far, so good, thought Hanno. His stomach was tying itself in knots, but he waited until he was three-quarters of the way down before making his move.
Grabbing a large woven basket full of poultry from a startled boy, he hurled it straight at Phanes’ men. Loud curses, a crash, the sound of splintering wicker. Feathers flew. The air filled with the distressed squawking of hens. Hanno didn’t wait to see what happened next. With a great leap, he bounded down the last few steps and into the crowd. Worming his way between the passers-by, he was careful not to look at people’s faces. To his relief, no one tried to stop him. Ten paces, twenty, then thirty, forty from the base of the staircase. He slowed his pace, assumed a casual gait. Already few would realise that he was the one being sought. All eyes were on the temple.
Nonetheless, at the first alleyway, Hanno decided to leave the main thoroughfare. Pausing at the corner, he looked back for a moment. Phanes was just visible on the temple steps. His face was purple and he was screaming abuse, no doubt at his hapless bodyguards. Hanno smiled as he turned and sped away. A fresh strip of cloth ripped from his tunic would cover his neck; he would soon become just another member of the crowd. His satisfaction didn’t last, though. It was not safe to remain in Capua. Phanes would not rest until he was found.