I grinned and wiped the sweat from my eyes. ‘Yeah,’ I gasped. ‘Yeah, no argument, pal. Sorry. Want to try again? I’ll try to concentrate more.’
He came on guard, but this time he made the first move. The stab came quick as a striking snake, and I just managed to catch the edge of his sword between my blade and hilt and turn it away from my exposed side. He stepped back, changed the angle and lunged again: all far too fast for me to bring the sword round to block the thrust, but I somehow managed to swerve and the point just brushed my tunic. Then I lunged in my turn at his exposed armpit, but there, suddenly, where it shouldn’t have been, was his hilt between us. The jar and wrench as the blades met threw me to one side and his sword was coming straight for my unguarded chest. I leaped away so the wooden tip barely touched me. Not that I had any illusions on that score: he’d pulled the punch, and if it’d been a real fight he’d’ve skewered me.
‘Much better,’ he said. ‘You’re thinking ahead now and you’re moving faster. Still, not good enough yet. On your guard again, please.’
We kept it up for another half hour or so with breaks for me to get my breath back. By the end I was sweating like a pig, Publius was looking as cool as when we’d started and my ribs were sore from half a dozen thrusts I hadn’t managed to block. I’d touched him once, more by luck than design, or maybe he’d just felt sorry for me: but it was on the arm, not in the chest, and I’d left myself open when I did it so if he’d wanted to he could’ve given me a real stinger. I stepped back and held up my sword.
‘That’ll do me for today, pal,’ I said when I had enough breath to speak. ‘Thanks a lot.’
‘Any time, sir.’ He grounded his own sword. ‘Like I said, not bad. But watch your point and be a lot faster on the return.’
I gave him the usual salute at the end of a bout, sword to chin, nose and forehead, then handed the blade over and walked back towards the admin buildings. Time for the massage part of the proceedings, if the new masseur wasn’t occupied, before I stiffened up completely. I wasn’t totally displeased by the way the workout had gone. Even on my best day I’d never been able to give Publius a real match, but like I say there wasn’t a swordsman in Rome to touch him. If you can last half an hour with Publius Avillius and walk away with only half a dozen bruises you’re doing pretty well.
There was no sound from the massage room. Yeah, well, that was all to the good, anyway: when Scylax had done the slapping and rolling you could hear the screams half way to the Racetrack. I pushed open the door and went in. It took a moment for my eyes to accustom themselves to the dimness, and in that moment, at the back of the room beyond the massage table, something loomed.
‘Afternoon, sir,’ it growled.
My eyes had adjusted now. They went up…and up…
Oh, bugger.
Daphnis hadn’t been kidding. The guy was the size of a small house, and he had to hold his arms out at an angle to give the muscles room to fit in. His hands, knuckle to knuckle, must’ve been nine inches across, at least. This was not going to be fun. Still, it was too late to back out now, and after my bout with Publius I could do with loosening up if I didn’t want to crawl home to the Caelian.
Mind you, that might be preferable to doing the trip on a stretcher.
‘Uh…What’s your name, pal?’ I said.
‘Orestes.’
‘That so?’ I started removing my tunic. ‘I’m Valerius Corvinus.’
‘The owner?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
He grinned and reached for a towel. ‘Pleased to meet you, sir. Mister Daphnis has told me a lot about you. A very nice guy, Mister Daphnis.’
Oh, shit.
‘Just lie flat on the table and we’ll have these muscles purring in no time at all.’
He cracked his knuckles and picked up the oil jar.
It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
It was worse.
I staggered out of the massage room half an hour later feeling like I’d been mugged by a sadistic gorilla. Constructively mugged, though, if you know what I mean: Big Orestes might be a complete sadist — ninety-nine out of a hundred masseurs are — but he knew his job, and like he’d said my muscles were purring. Taken together with the workout, I reckoned I couldn’t’ve spent a more profitable hour and a half.
In more ways than one. In between the screams, and to take my mind off the bastard’s knuckles forcing their sadistic way between the plates of muscle in my back, I’d been running over certain aspects of the case. And I’d had an idea. It was an outside chance, of course, but not one to pass up on just for that reason. They’re a close family, the military.
‘Hey, Publius!’ I shouted. The ex-centurion was busy with a middle-aged purple-striper with a gut like an amphora. He turned round, said something to the guy and then limped over.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said
‘Just a thought. You ever come across a couple of ex-army men by the names of Aponius and Pettius?’
‘Sextus Aponius?’
I blinked. Shit. ‘Uh…yeah. Yeah, that’s him.’
‘Yes, sir. Knew him well. He was a centurion in the First Germanica, time I got this leg of mine. He’s no ex, though, or he wasn’t last I heard.’
‘But if he’s still with the First he’d be on the Rhine, right?’
‘No, sir. At least, what I mean to say is he’s not with the First any more. After the Frisian business he got transferred to the Praetorians.’ He grinned. ‘Lucky bugger. Those sods have it cushy, pardon my Greek, sir.’
My brain was whirling. ‘The guy’s a Praetorian?’
‘Far as I know, sir, unless you know different or it’s a different man altogether. I haven’t seen him in quite a while. I can’t help you with the second name, mind.’ He looked over his shoulder at the fat purple-striper. ‘Was that all, sir? Because Tattius Geminus can be a bit stroppy if he doesn’t get his full time.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s all.’ Jupiter bloody Best and Greatest! ‘Thanks, Publius.’
‘You’re very welcome, sir. I’ll see you again soon, I hope.’
‘Ah…yeah. Yeah, right.’
He gave me a funny look — I must’ve looked as out of things as I felt — and went back to his pupil.
I shook my head to clear it. Shit. Okay: collect the dog, go home, talk to Perilla. I walked across to the office and opened the door…
Placida was sitting just inside the threshold. Daphnis was on his feet, back pressed hard against the far wall. He couldn’t’ve got any closer if he’d been a coat of paint.
‘Having fun, pal?’ I said.
‘You bastard, Corvinus!’
Placida growled a warning, and Daphnis tried to squirm his way up the wall.
‘She’s been there practically since you left,’ he whispered. ‘She wouldn’t let me near the door and I didn’t even dare fucking scream.’
‘Must be your breath-freshener. She’s never done that with anyone else.’
‘And she’s eaten the abacus!’
I looked down. Sure enough, there it was, reduced to a tangle of wires and vulgar fractions. ‘Placida’s very, uh, tactile. If that’s the word. Or do I mean oral? Can you say that?’
‘Just get her out of here, okay?’
‘You sure?’
‘Corvinus!’
I grinned. ‘Yeah, okay, pal. Come on, Placida. Home.’
I set off back to the Caelian, brain buzzing. So. At least one of my fake stonemasons was a Praetorian, eh? Oh, sure: it made finding the guy easy-peasie, because the Praetorian camp was slap-bang next to the city boundaries, just beyond the Viminal Gate; but at the same time it left me with two major questions and a bigger-than-major worry. First question was what the hell was a serving Praetorian — possibly two — doing mixed up in this business? Second, if they were moonlighting or doing a favour for a pal then what had made them confident enough to give me their real names?
The worry was that slice it how you would Praetorians were Praetorians, and some of these pals were very important men. A couple even had names ending with ‘Caesar’.