He touched Festus’s arm and whispered, ‘What if she’s here? We should check this place first.’
‘No. We can’t risk it. We start waking people up, they’ll make a noise and the rest of Decimus’s thugs will be down on us like a ton of bricks. We stick to the plan. Come on.’
They made for a small arch on the far side of the slave quarters and entered a narrow service passage leading along the length of the private garden towards the rear of the main villa. Marcus trembled as the walls pressed in on either side while ragged wreaths of cloud hid the stars above. At the end of the passage was a door leading into the kitchen, a large space with enough cooking hearths and large work tables for the villa’s slaves to produce a banquet for their master and his guests. Storerooms were set off to one side and the air was filled with the smells of woodsmoke, roast meat and the heady aroma of spices.
A dim light burned in the far corner of the kitchen and Marcus saw a handful of figures sitting round a table on which a single oil lamp provided just enough illumination for them to see.
‘They ain’t ever going to bed at this rate,’ one of the kitchen slaves muttered. ‘Same as last night. Same as it’s been since he got back from Athens. Him, and that man of his.’
‘Aye, and that Thermon’s a dark one,’ another voice added. ‘Right nasty-looking bugger. Sitting there, plotting with the master.’
‘And he’s looking scared, is Decimus,’ the first voice responded. ‘Never seen him so on edge. And he’s taking it out on us. All of us, even his favourite.’
Marcus felt his blood stir at the mention of Thermon, but Festus plucked his tunic and they set off round the edge of the large room, keeping to the shadows as the slaves continued grumbling about being kept up to wait on their master. There was a heavy curtain over a doorway at the far end of the kitchen and they gently eased the material aside as they slipped out into a corridor beyond. Marcus heard the sound of more conversation ahead where a light glowed at the end. As they padded down the passage, Marcus could see that there was a large room ahead and the voices echoed off the high walls of the triclinium, the dining chamber of the villa. It was Decimus’s voice that Marcus recognized first.
‘You’ll have to oversee the collection of taxes in Corinth for me.’
‘Me?’ a dry, deep voice replied. ‘That ain’t my speciality. Why not find someone else? Or better still, go yourself. The boys and I can keep you safe.’
‘No. I’m staying here. Until it’s over. We’ll put a price on their heads, dead or alive. Big enough that there won’t be a man in Greece who wouldn’t stick a knife in their hearts to claim the reward.’
There was a muted exchange with another person in the room as Marcus and Festus crept closer, sticking to the wall as they edged towards the entrance to the triclinium. As they reached the corner Festus held his hand up to stop Marcus, then eased himself forward and peered round before moving back into the shadows of the corridor.
‘Three of them,’ he said softly. ‘Two men and a woman. No one else. We’re in luck. When I give the word we move in quickly. We’ll deal with the other man and I’ll handle Decimus while you take care of the woman. Keep her guarded and keep her quiet.’
‘I can handle Decimus.’
‘I know you can. But we need him alive.’
Marcus felt a surge of anger. ‘I know that.’
‘Marcus, hate can turn a person’s mind. Make them do something they know they shouldn’t. It’s better we don’t take the risk. Now, draw your sword.’
Marcus swallowed his feelings and eased his blade from his scabbard as Festus readied another arrow. ‘Ready?’
Marcus swallowed. ‘Ready.’
Festus rose up and stepped into the chamber, Marcus hurrying forward at his side. It was a large space, some fifteen paces across and thirty or so in length, with couches and low tables arranged round a large open space. At the far end three people were seated round a table, on which several silver trays carried the remains of a meal. Their backs were towards Festus and Marcus. Decimus, instantly recognizable from his bald head, sat in the middle. To his left lay Thermon in a plain black tunic. To his right lay a thin woman in a finely embroidered green stola. She had ornately styled dark hair. At first the diners ignored the sound of light footsteps and then Decimus turned to look over his shoulder as he spoke harshly.
‘I did not send for … What the?’
Thermon looked up and instantly sprang to his feet, lowering into a crouch as he snatched up a knife from the table. Festus stopped, fifteen feet away, took aim and loosed an arrow. The shaft blurred through the air as Thermon leapt to one side. The woman let out a cry of shock as the barbed head gashed his shoulder. He sprang forward as Festus frantically tried to fit another arrow. He had only pulled back the arrow a short way before Thermon crashed into him. Even so the arrow pierced the other man’s chest as they tumbled on to the floor.
Marcus glanced at Decimus and saw that he was still too shocked to react and then turned to help his friend. Thermon had his weight on top of Festus, the knife clenched in his fist as he strained to stab it into the bodyguard’s throat. Festus had a fist clamped round his opponent’s wrist, trying to hold the blade off, but inch by inch it drew closer.
Marcus reached the struggling men in an instant and did not hesitate as he slashed his sword into the back of Thermon’s skull. He heard the bone crack and Thermon let out a loud grunt, before Festus thrust him away and rolled to one side. Marcus glanced down and saw that Thermon’s eyes were blinking wildly as his jaw shuddered. A dark pool of blood was spilling out across the tiled floor round his head.
‘He’s done for,’ said Festus as he drew his sword. ‘Let’s deal with Decimus.’
Decimus had already grasped the danger he was in and surged up from his couch as he plucked a knife from the table. Without a moment’s hesitation he grabbed the woman who had been lying on the couch next to him and spun her round so that she faced the intruders. Clamping one arm across her chest he brought his knife hand up with the point barely an inch from the woman’s slender throat. She let out another quick cry of terror and clenched her eyes shut.
‘Come any closer, and I’ll kill her!’ Decimus snarled. ‘I mean it!’
Festus gave a dry laugh. ‘We’ve come for you, Decimus. Nothing’s going to stop us.’
‘Come for me?’ Now it was Decimus who laughed. ‘Nonsense. You’ve come for that boy’s mother.’
At his words the woman opened her eyes and Marcus focused his attention fully on her for the first time since they had entered the room. As he recognized her familiar features he felt the strength drain from his limbs and he lowered his sword in shock.
‘Mother …’
She gasped and made an impulsive gesture to reach out as she tried to step away from Decimus. ‘Marcus … My Marcus.’
Decimus wrenched her back harshly. ‘Stand still, you bitch! Don’t you dare move again, if you want to live.’
Her voice trembled as she spoke. ‘You told me that he was being held — ’
‘Shut up!’ Decimus shouted in her ear. ‘Shut your mouth!’
Festus lowered his sword and held out his other hand. ‘Let her go, Decimus. If you want to live. She’s the one we’ve come for. Let her go, and we’ll leave.’
‘Ha!’ he spat. ‘You think me a fool? The moment she’s out of my hands I’ll end up like Thermon down there.’
Marcus glanced aside and saw Thermon’s body twitching as he bled out. Then his eyes snapped back to his mother as he spoke in a clear, cold voice. ‘Let her go.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Decimus grinned, then drew a deep breath and called out at the top of his voice. ‘Guards! Slaves! On me! Help! Help!’
Marcus and Festus looked on helplessly as he raised the alarm. It was Livia who reacted first. Bunching her fist, she drove her elbow back and up into Decimus’s face. There was a light crunch as his nose broke and he let out a gasp of pain and surprise, loosening his grip. With her other hand she snatched at his knife hand and wrestled it away from her throat.