Ovid

The guy was dead. Very dead. On the corner just inside the alley's mouth was a scythe sharpener's booth. The owner must've hefted a scythe butt down just at the wrong moment and the upturned blade had taken the running man square across the throat. I thought of Davus, although this time there was more blood. A lot more blood. A crowd had collected from nowhere, the way crowds do after an accident. Through the ringing in my ears I could hear the booth proprietor saying over and over again, like some kind of charm: 'I couldn't do nothing. I couldn't do nothing.' A young girl in her early teens sat huddled in the corner between the alley wall and the booth making little grunting noises like a pig with asthma. Her cloak was drenched with red as if someone had poured a full jug of wine over it. The ringing in my head changed to a hot buzz, and the sounds of the street suddenly faded to nothing…

I felt my arm gripped. Scylax steered me out of the alleyway.

'Come on, boy,' he said. 'We're not involved in this.'

'Yeah, but we can't just…'

'You want to explain things to the magistrates?'

That got through. I stumbled after him back up the street. The others followed. They looked pretty shaken, too. You expect decapitations in the arena, they don't shock there, but street corners are different.

'I need a drink,' Scylax said. 'Any wine left in that jug, Corvinus?'

'What jug?'

'Come on, boy! Where you are there's always a jug!'

'Oh yeah. Sure.' I still couldn't get my brain to move. 'That jug. Help yourself.'

We went back to the wineshop in a bunch. There was no point now in pretending we weren't together, not with the guy we were trailing lying in two bits down an alleyway.

The fat Syrian shot us a suspicious look when we walked in, which was understandable under the circumstances; but Suburans learn pretty young to mind their own business if they want to keep breathing, and when Scylax met his gaze he suddenly lost interest. I ordered another round of the rotgut and paid with a silver piece. The Syrian didn't offer any change but I didn't make a fuss. After what we'd just seen even rotgut at ten times the proper price was welcome.

'Some shave, eh?' Daphnis was getting some of his bounce back, and a lot of his basic nastiness.

'I noticed you lost your breakfast pretty quick, friend,' Agron said sourly. Daphnis shut up and sat scowling. The Syrian, oiling over with the wine, gave him a quick look from under his thick scented eyebrows and left us to it. That's another thing Suburans are good at. Gauging situations.

'So what happened?' Scylax set down his empty cup. I reckoned he'd sunk a good half pint at one go.

'The guy spotted Corvinus,' Daphnis grunted. 'I was watching him. He took one look inside here and turned tail.'

Scylax turned to me. He looked dangerous. 'That right, boy?'

I had my mouth open to answer, but Agron beat me to it.

'Wrong. It wasn't Corvinus he recognised. It was me.'

'What?'

'I recognised him too, which is why he ran. That bastard was dead before the scythe touched him. Ten years dead.'

39

When someone says something like that the flesh crawls on your bones. Daphnis's hand came up to make the sign against bad luck and even Scylax drew in his breath.

'What the hell's that supposed to mean?' he said.

Agron lifted the winecup to his lips and set it down empty. His eyes were staring into space.

'His name was Ceionius,' he said. 'He was one of Varus's camp commanders. And he died in the Teutoburg along with the rest of them.'

You could've heard a pin drop.

'Screw that,' Scylax said at last. 'He was no ghost. The guy was flesh and blood. Especially blood.'

Agron's face was expressionless. 'Maybe so. But I saw him captured myself. And the Germans weren't taking prisoners.'

'Where were you at the time?' Daphnis sneered. 'Hiding?'

Agron turned towards him slowly.

'That's right, friend,' he said. 'I was hiding. You want to comment, maybe?'

'Cut that out, Daphnis!' Scylax growled. 'So who was this Ceionius guy?'

'Like I told you. One of the camp commanders. A slimy little bastard who'd have sold his grandmother for a copper coin. If the Germans hadn't killed him his own men would've, eventually. I'd've done it myself.'

I'd started to pour more wine into my cup and decided against it. Treatment for shock's one thing, but I didn't want to take the lining off my palate. 'You say he was in the massacre?' I said.

'Yeah. He was one of the officers who suggested surrender.'

'Tell me.'

Agron shrugged.

'What's to tell? A bunch of them came to the general's tent second day demanding he ask the Germans for terms. Ceionius was the spokesman.'

That fitted with the theory I'd worked out for Vela. Asprenas, of course, wasn't on the march, but he'd've needed an agent to make the right suggestions at the right times. Varus might've survived a surrender to Arminius physically. Politically it would've left him, and Augustus, dead meat. Which was the object of the exercise.

'So what happened?'

'The general told him to piss off. He tried again the next day but it was too late. Arminius had us where he wanted us and it was all over bar the shouting. He threw down his sword and surrendered when the Germans broke our line.'

'Just like that?'

'Just like that.'

'Consistent bastard, anyway,' Scylax grunted.

'If you saw him surrender,' I said, 'how come you were so convinced he was dead?'

'I told you. The Germans weren't taking prisoners. Anyone left alive had his guts wound round a tree-trunk.'

'He could've escaped.'

Agron shook his head. 'Not likely. That bastard didn't escape, not the way you mean. The Germans let him go. And there's only one reason they should do that I know of.

'Because that was the agreement,' I said softly. 'Because he was on their side.'

Scylax's mouth twisted. 'So you finally got your fourth man, Corvinus. Congratulations.'

I wasn't ready yet to put the finger on Asprenas, not in Agron's hearing, anyway. Still, I was feeling pretty sick. I needed proof desperately and for about five minutes I'd had it. I'd had Fat Face, or whoever, cold. We could've made Ceionius talk, and instead the bastard goes and gets himself killed…

'No,' I said. 'The fourth guy wasn't Ceionius. But I'll bet you a gold piece to a used corn plaster he was working for him and being well-paid into the bargain. After all, why shut yourself away in a Suburan tenement unless…' I stopped as the enormity of my stupidity hit me.

Perilla!

The place stank of cabbage water, soiled nappies and poverty. I took the stairs two at a time. Like all tenement staircases they were filthy with urine and worse, and the walls were scarred with knife marks and savage, hopeless graffiti.

There were four doors on the second floor.

'Which one?' I yelled. Daphnis was half a flight behind me, and blowing like a bellows. As he cleared the last step I grabbed him by the neck of his tunic. 'Daphnis! Which sodding flat?'

He knocked my hand away. Maybe he'd've landed me one, but Scylax and Agron were close behind him and he thought better of it. Instead he simply pointed.

The door was locked. I threw myself against it and almost dislocated my shoulder. Agron raised his hobnailed boot and drove hard at the crosspiece above the lower panelling where the lock was. The door burst open and we piled inside.

Nothing. The room was empty except for a cot against the wall, a rickety ironwork table, a cheap wooden stool and — incongruously — a bookcase. No tied-up prisoner. No Perilla.

No Perilla…

'Never mind, Corvinus.' Scylax was frowning. 'Maybe we can find…'

Agron had raised his hand.