‘What about them?’ Cavarinos gestured to the brawl with a thumb.
‘Nothing we can do for them. If it was an ordinary fight I’d weigh in, but they’ve broken both the city’s sacred laws and their vows to me. They’ve brought this on themselves and they’re beyond help now.’
As they moved up the hill to meet up once more with Procles and Agesander, Fronto found himself praying as hard as he ever had that Aurelius be careful.
* * * * *
Fronto had been pacing back and forth across the tablinum, nervous and impatient, almost since they had returned to the house. He’d half expected some heavy handed mob of angry citizens to turn up at his door baying for blood from the man whose hirelings had broken the most sacred laws of Rome. Or a deputation from the consul inviting him to a lengthy and dangerous court appearance for the same. But aside from the things he worried over, the thing he’d really waited for was his missing man, and so when he heard the front door opened and closed by Glyptus with muttered conversation and then the striking of hobnails on the marble floor, he almost collapsed with relief.
Aurelius appeared in the doorway of the office where the other five men waited – Dyrakhes and Biorix were on watch at the tavern – and there was a collective catching of breath. What had happened with the brothers in the forum suddenly paled into unimportance. Aurelius was limping, gripping the doorframe to remain upright. His left leg was soaked through with dark, sticky crimson and a rent in his tunic at the upper thigh told why. From the amount of blood, he was clearly lucky to be using the leg at all and not lying in a ditch somewhere. His face, correspondingly, was so pale as to be almost translucent. Blood dripped in a slow but regular patter from his right hand which hung loose at his side, and there was an area of his scalp that was matted and torn, the flesh cut and blood snagging his hair together.
As Fronto’s eyes flitted hither and thither over his friend, assessing the damage, they widened.
Aurelius’ right hand dripped blood, but his left was intact and clutched in the whitened, tightened fist were two cult masks, one with a piece missing from the mouth slit down, both spattered with blood.
‘Hope you don’t mind,’ Aurelius murmured with a smile, ‘but I started the party without you.’
Balbus was there as Aurelius collapsed, grabbing his arm to stop him falling and lifting him, supporting him by the shoulders. Cavarinos was there a moment later at the other shoulder and the two men gently helped the former legionary across to the nearest couch and lowered him to it.
Fronto looked up to see the concerned face of Glyptus in the doorway.
‘You know of any local medicus?’ he asked the caretaker.
‘There’s a Greek down near the Porta Lavernalis who people say is good but extortionate, and there’s a Jew near the circus who sorted my gammy leg out and is a bit easier on the purse.’
Fronto didn’t even need to think or look at Aurelius. ‘Go get the Greek. If he’s busy, tell him I’ll pay double, but get him here as soon as you can.’
Balbus was looking Aurelius over. ‘I wish my medicus was here,’ his face darkened at the memory of the servant’s body lying with the pile in the atrium of his villa. ‘I owe these scum for that among many other things.’ He gently probed and moved Aurelius’ right arm, causing gasps and whimpers. ‘Grip my finger.’ Aurelius did so, a weak grin spreading across his face. ‘If you tell me to pull it, I might have to punch you, sir.’
‘What with?’
Aurelius’ fingers wrapped feebly around the old man’s finger.
‘Nothing permanent, by the looks of it, and the wounds have all begun to clot. You’ll be alright until the medicus gets here. Unless there’s something I’m not seeing, you should be fine in time.’
The former legionary snorted and threw the two masks across the floor, where the broken one hit the leg of the table that held the model and shattered. ‘I’ll be fine. Them, less so.’
Fronto leaned close to him. ‘What happened?’
‘Let him rest, Marcus,’ murmured Balbus, but Aurelius shook his head.
‘I’m alright. The man in the cloak spotted me following him at the forum. I saw him slip into the metalworker’s market in the Subura. I guess he thought all the noise and clutter would save him. Problem is, my dad used to sell pots and pans there and I know the place well.’ He paused, wincing, as the effort of talking took its toll, and finally breathed slowly three times and despite Balbus’ protestations continued. ‘There are three other entrances to the place, but one comes out near where he went in and one is usually closed because the horse traders are across the road and the smell is appalling. So I just went round the outside to the Vicus Longus entrance and waited there until he emerged, thinking he’d lost me.’
‘Good man,’ Fronto nodded. ‘So what happened?’
‘There’s a house in the shadow of the temple of Salus on the Quirinal where they’re staying. The one I followed went in and I slipped into a doorway opposite. I saw another one appear at a window. It was a woman, without a mask on, and she closed the shutters as soon as they went in. I asked one of the locals about the house, wondering who rented it to the Gauls, but apparently the owner died a month back with a missing will and his twin sons are in litigation over the house’s ownership, so it’s been empty for weeks. Perfect hiding place for the Gauls.’
Fronto nodded. ‘No one up in that area is going to ask too many questions either. Proper gang territory round there.’
‘Precisely,’ Aurelius nodded. ‘Anyway, I was just moving around the other side of the house, trying to listen in at a window when the shutters opened and this young lad with blond hair saw me and yelled. Next thing I know I’m belting through streets and alleys on the Quirinal with three of the bastards chasing me. I lost one of them soon enough, and the other two caught me in the knife-workers’ street. Good luck for me, ‘cause as soon as I was armed, I stopped running. I had to empty my purse to a bunch of street kids to dispose of the bodies for me, so I might need a bonus this month, boss. That head’s weight in denarii you offered, maybe?’
Fronto snorted. ‘You took two of them down on your own? Impressive.’
Aurelius shrugged modestly then groaned with pain at the movement. ‘The tall one I took by surprise as he rounded the corner. I left him with a fork sticking out of his eye, so he didn’t get much chance to do anything, let alone unshoulder his bow. Imagine that! The pisspot had a bow and a sheaf of arrows within the pomerium, the brazen tossbag. Anyway, the other one was a bit tougher – the blond lad. He gave me a real run for my money. Took some putting down, I can tell you.’
He frowned and then smiled as he recalled something and fished in the pouch at his belt. With an exhale of breath, he slumped and held out a hand. Cavarinos took the scraps of wool from it.
‘From their cloaks,’ Aurelius muttered.
‘A tree beneath a haloed sun,’ Cavarinos noted, examining the designs marked into the wool. ‘That’s probably Abellio. And the other sun alone will be Belenos.’ He frowned as though hunting something among his memories. Slowly something surfaced as he tapped his lip. ‘Trying to remember who you’ve removed so far.’
Fronto crossed the room to his still mostly-packed kit bag and dug around in it until he removed a fabric pouch, which he tossed to the Arvernian. Cavarinos fished out the collected and saved scraps of material, laying them out on the couch. His brow furrowed as he worked, changing the order they were in again and again until he was satisfied. ‘Toutatis, Belenos, Maponos, Dis, Sucellos, Rudianos and Abellio. I thought it looked familiar. There was a nemeton at Gergovia where the first pact was made between my king and the druids. I remember it well. It was one of the most sacred sites outside Carnute lands, until after the war. The Romans in charge of resettlement pulled it down and used the stones in rebuilds. There were twelve menhir dedicated to the gods who had been heard to speak there. I’m trying to remember which five are missing.’