Ovid

'Yeah, that too. Anyway, he saw the whole thing. Tailed the guy all the way home, like I told you.'

'You mean you know where Perilla is?' Gods!

'Could be. We won't know until we've looked. But at least we've got an address. It's a start.'

I was on my feet by this time. My depression was gone. If we'd found Perilla then I might be back in the game again. Once, that is, we got her back safely. That was the priority. The only priority.

'So what're we waiting for?'

'Hold on a minute.' Scylax's hand against my chest was like a brick wall. 'We've got to work out how to play this.'

'Screw that. It's simple. I get the Sunshine Boys, you whistle up a few sympathetic greasers and we tear the bastard into inch-square pieces.'

Scylax was shaking his head. 'Uh-uh. Daphnis only found the messenger, remember. We don't know that he's got the girl himself.'

'Okay. So we walk on his balls until he tells us all he does know and then we tear him up.'

The hand against my chest increased its pressure. I felt myself pushed backwards and down onto the bench.

'Listen, Corvinus. I know how you feel, believe me. But if you think about it you'll realise that taking this guy out isn't going to solve anything.'

I was beginning to calm down now. Scylax was right. Of course he was. We wanted the boss, not the errand boy. Charging in with hob-nail boots on would do more harm than good.

'So who is he?'

'Use your head, boy! We know where he is and what he looks like, that's enough. Daphnis didn't stop to ask questions, especially at that time of night. If the guy found out we were on to him he'd be off like a scalded cat.'

I was beginning to suspect that Scylax's executive assistant wasn't the chicken-brain I'd thought he was. The guy obviously had hidden talents.

'So what part of town are we talking about? You can tell me that, anyway.'

'Sure. Launderers' Street. Third tenement along, second floor up.'

Definitely no chicken-brain. As an investigator Daphnis must be red-hot. I wouldn't have fancied my chances following anyone up the stairs of a city tenement, especially at night. There's plenty of cover in the open street, but once you're inside one of these places you'd need to be a cockroach to pass notice. A resident cockroach, at that.

'Good address.' The Subura again. And not one of its best parts, either.

'It's not the Palatine. But then our friend is no purple-striper.'

'So what's the plan?'

'Another stake-out. We watch him, follow him when he leaves, mark where he goes, check up on any visitors. I doubt if we'll see the actual boss at the tenement — any purple-striper'd stand out like a sore thumb in that district — but our friend will lead us to him. If we're lucky, that is.'

The boss could be Asprenas. I was pretty sure he was, but not sure enough to put Perilla's life on the line by going for him direct. I wanted hard proof first. 'What if we aren't lucky?' I said.

'Then we walk on his balls and listen to him squeal. But we try this way first, right?

'Okay.' I got to my feet. 'So let's go.'

Scylax pushed me back. 'Hold on. When I said "we" I didn't mean we.'

'Run that one past me again. Maybe I missed something.'

'You're not invited, Corvinus. Daphnis and I can handle this on our own.'

'The hell you can!'

'You want this to work or not?'

His hand was gripping my tunic. I shook it off. 'Scylax, this is non- negotiable. Include me in. I mean it.'

'I said any purple-striper would stand out. Have you looked at the edge of your tunic recently, boy?'

'Come on! I can borrow another one if that's all that's worrying you.'

'Screw the tunic. You've got patrician written all over you, friend. Or do you think you've time for a nose job?'

'Oh, let him come, boss.' I turned round. Unbelievably, it was Daphnis. Slapped all over his face was the evillest grin I'd seen in a long time. 'The guy's a born piss-merchant.'

Humour, now. Puns, even. Launderers' Street meant laundries; and city laundries send their slaves round the public privies to collect the stale urine. Not the most salubrious job in the world, but one appropriate for where we were going. Daphnis was definitely rounding out into someone I might grow to dislike. All the same I kept my mouth shut. I wasn't about to pass up an ally just for the sake of a cheap retort. And after all I owed the guy.

Scylax shrugged. 'Okay. Fair enough. If Daphnis says you're in then you're in. Just don't blow it, right?'

'Why should I blow it?' I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt. 'There's one more thing. I want someone else along.'

'Jupiter, boy!' Scylax growled. 'Why don't we just take a fucking army and be done with it?'

'This guy might qualify. Anyway we can split up two and two in case we have to cover another entrance.'

'What other entrance? This is a tenement. Unless you think the guy can fly.

'Stranger things have happened.'

'Not in my book.' It was a token protest. I was right and Scylax knew it. Two pairs were better than a group of three. One man from each to stay put, the other to cut loose if necessary.

'You won't regret it,' I said. 'Agron's good.'

Scylax stared at me like I'd grown an extra head. 'We're talking about the Illyrian? The guy who beat you up?'

'That's him.'

'And you say I won't regret taking him along?'

'Yeah.'

He shook his head slowly. 'Shit, Corvinus, you've got even less between the ears than I thought you had.'

'It's my responsibility.'

'It could also be your funeral. And your girlfriend's.'

'Let me worry about that.'

He agreed. It was touch and go, but finally he agreed. I just hoped that neither of us was making a mistake.

38

Launderers' Street was off the Corneta, right next to Tannery Row and not far from the knackers' yards and the meat market. Not a salubrious area, in other words. There was a breeze of sorts, but that was no help. Wherever it was blowing from smelt worse.

We'd split up already. Scylax and Daphnis had gone on ahead while I stopped round at the blacksmith's shop to pick up Agron. That was tactics. In Rome apart from purple-stripers with their retinues at one end of the scale and gangs of wide-boys looking for trouble at the other only Egyptian tourists go round in threes or more. And any tourist stupid enough to go sightseeing in the Subura is asking to come out minus his purse, if he comes out at all.

The other two were already in place when we got there, lounging in the shade of a dusty oleander opposite one of the high-rise tenements: ‘slaves’ killing time while their master's mantle was being cleaned in one of the shops nearby. As we passed Scylax raised his hand as if he were brushing a fly from his face.

'So how about that jug of wine?' Agron said.

I'd worked out a compromise with Scylax; not very flattering, but I had to agree it was sensible. I could tag along and bring Agron with me, but we had to stay out of the way until we were needed. Daphnis had suggested a wineshop on the opposite side further down the street, because (and I quote) 'if the bastard can't blend in there he can't blend in anyplace.'

Daphnis was really beginning to get up my nose.

The wineshop was empty. I didn't realise why until the fat Syrian who owned the place brought us our wine. It looked, smelt and tasted like the spillage you get on the floor of a vintner's cellar, murky rotgut stuff I wouldn't've passed off on my slaves. As I sipped it I looked out and down the street towards the tenement. We'd picked a table just inside the door but set slightly back, which meant we could see out but we were under the shadow of the lintel. The street wasn't too crowded and I doubted if we'd miss much. Barring the quality of the wine we couldn't've had a better place to watch from.