Silvanus was deploying men, some along the warehouse frontages, some on the forum road, some shinning up and clambering all over the roofs. They were silent and quick. Once in position they froze. The Second had always deserved better than their recent reputation. They were the Emperor's old legion, and it showed.
Now we had the place surrounded, every exit covered.
"Something bothering you?" I nudged Petro as he stood in a reverie.
"We were set up at the Shower of Gold," he answered warily. "I'm still wondering why."
"You think there was more to it than Florius paying the Adiutrix to do for us?"
"Not their style, Falco. Florius knows I'm after him, and he wants me. But it's personal. He needs to see me suffer. Then he wants to finish me himself. He had Maia; he could have taken me. This doesn't make sense."
Petro was too good an officer to brush aside his qualms. I trusted his instincts.
"Another thing," I warned him. "If he did lean on Crixus to finish us off, Florius won't now be expecting to go through with the handover. He thinks we're dead…" I tailed off. If he thought Petronius was dead, holding Maia served no purpose.
Unable to face the thought of what they might do to her, Petro found himself some action. Firmus was lying on the walkway being tended by a doctor. He had a deep gash in the side, from which he had lost too much blood. We did not ask whether he would make it; he was conscious, so we tried to seem optimistic.
Petro knelt beside him. "Don't talk much. Just tell me who went into the building, if you can."
"About fifteen or twenty," Firmus croaked. Someone passed Petro a water flask, which he held to the injured man's lips. "Thanks… Heavy weapons…"
"Were there women with them, did you see?"
Firmus was passing out. From the look of him, that might be the last he knew of anything. "Firmus!"
"Couple of camp followers," croaked Firmus, fading fast. Petronius stood up.
Silvanus came to report. "We've staked out the whole locale. We can pin them down for weeks. There's a bivvy set up, two blocks along, if you need a hot drink." He glanced down at the customs officer, then swore under his breath.
Petronius seemed remote. Silvanus-wide, slow, and now oddly respectful-was watching him. Petro started walking up toward the customs house. I quickly informed Silvanus that the hostage situation had to be resolved. He knew about it from the governor. All the men must be aware that Petronius Longus had volunteered to hand himself over to Florius. They had worked this patch. They knew what the Jupiter gang was like. They knew what fate Florius must be planning for Petronius.
Darkness had set in. The troops assembled torches, flooding the wharf with mellow light for a long stretch in either direction. It flickered out across the near side of the river. A crane sent a long distended shadow straight across the boards. We were aware sometimes of faces in the pools of darkness beyond our ground. A crowd must have gathered.
Petronius was now standing in shadow on the opposite side of the road from the customs house, across from the entrance. No point in delay. Silvanus signaled his men to the alert, then himself marched openly to the heavy paneled door. He beat on it with his dagger pommel.
"You inside! This is the centurion Silvanus. We have the building surrounded. If Florius is in there, he can parley with Petronius." After a silence, someone inside spoke. Silvanus turned to us. "They are telling me to get back."
"Do it!" Slight impatience colored Petro's order. Silvanus moved back out of range. "All right!"
For what seemed an age, nothing happened. Then people inside opened the great door a crack. A head, attached to the man who was holding the door, checked the exterior. Various muscular types ran out into the road, covering the space outside. They had an armory none of us expected: two full-size ballistae that they pushed quickly over the threshold and set up to guard the entrance, plus several rare, handheld crossbows. I heard soldiers gasp. This was staggering firepower. Most legionary footsloggers had seldom been so close to artillery, and never when it was in opposition hands.
"Nobody move!" Their centurion's warning was hardly needed.
A quick-thinking soldier passed Petronius a shield. I doubted that even triple laminate would protect him from ballista bolts at short range. But it reassured the rest of us. In theory.
There was a balcony at second-story height above the customs house entrance. A figure had appeared there. Petronius walked straight out to a central point, about twelve strides in front of the door, looking up. The two fixed ballistae continued to sweep the whole area; they had the usual heavy iron frames, maneuvered on wheels, and were easily aimed by swinging their sliders around on universal joints. That was bad enough. Meanwhile, the men with the tension-sprung manual crossbows threatened Petro. If they let fire, he would be killed instantly.
"Florius!" His voice was strong, virile, and seemed fearless. "I'm still here, you see. Crixus let you down and he's in custody."
"You're hard to kill!" jeered Florius, his voice unmistakable. The balcony was in darkness, but our men were bringing torches closer, so his figure and shaven head became eerily outlined against an open doorway.
"I'm not ready to go," answered Petro. "Not while you're alive. We had an agreement about an exchange."
Florius half turned and muttered something to an invisible companion behind him.
"Stop messing me about!" yelled Petro. "Hand her over!"
"Wait there." Florius went back inside.
We waited.
Florius reappeared. "We'll go ahead."
"I'll come in," Petro volunteered, "but I want to see Maia Favonia first."
Florius was curt. "The centurion can come up."
"He doesn't know her. Her brother will identify her."
"The centurion!"
Silvanus courageously marched forward to do it. They let him approach almost as far as the entrance, where he was told to halt. Something went on inside the building. We heard Silvanus speak to someone out of sight indoors. There was no audible answer. Immediately he was motioned away. He came back to Petronius, and I joined them.
"They've got a woman there, all right." The centurion spoke rapidly, in a low voice. "She's bound, and had a cloak or something over her head. They took it off for a moment. Dark hair, her face is bruised-" He looked at us anxiously. "I'd say they've beaten her, but don't fret; I've seen worse when the lads lose their tempers with their girlfriends after a party night… I asked her if she's Maia and she nodded. Red dress. She looks all in; you'd better get her out as soon as possible."
"How many?" I muttered.
"Enough," Silvanus growled.
I wanted to move closer, but they had thought of that. Those two ballistae were angled so they covered a wide arc. No one could approach.
Up on the balcony, safe from a sudden assault, of course, Florius was brandishing one of their crossbows. Clearly it made him feel good. He waved it at Petronius, showing off, then pointed it straight at him and slowly wound the ratchet. Now the bolt would fire anytime he pulled the pin. Set-faced, Petronius did not move.
"I'm ready. So send her out."
"You have to come in."
"Send out Maia and I'll come in past her."
Florius spoke to somebody below him. In the doorway at ground level two figures appeared. One-slick dark hair and handsome bearing-was Norbanus Murena. He was leading a woman, who half collapsed against him. A short, neat figure, wearing a crimson dress, she had her head and shoulders wrapped in material as a blindfold. I could see that her arms were tightly bound behind her.