‘The other way!’ Milo yelled. ‘Out the front!’
Marcus turned away from The Pit and sprinted up the alley. It was pitch black — few of those living here could afford to keep lights burning. He kept to the middle of the alley, trusting it would be free of rubbish. Behind him he heard shouts, and Milo’s voice bellowing across The Pit as he raised the alarm.
‘There he is!’
Marcus looked back and saw Bibulus in the entrance to the alley, pointing at him. He ran on, then saw another alley to his left and turned into that, continuing until he passed two openings to his right and then chose the second. Marcus was desperate for his pursuers to lose his trail, even if it meant risking the loss of his own bearings. As far as he could tell, he was heading roughly towards the centre of Rome, and the safety of Caesar’s house. Already the sounds of pursuit were muffled, but there were more voices now, men shouting to each other, orders being given.
He ran until the shouts of his pursuers had almost faded before stopping to rest briefly. He leaned his back against a wall and gasped for breath as he thought. It was vital he escaped to warn Caesar. If they caught him, then both Marcus and Caesar were as good as dead.
23
Marcus knew he had to keep running. He followed the alley, hoping it led to the Forum. But no alleys led off on either side and soon it ended abruptly against a towering wall of brick and stone. With a shock Marcus realized it was the city wall. He’d been heading in the wrong direction. With a muttered curse he turned and ran back, towards the junction where he’d chosen the dead end. As he reached it he caught the flicker of a torch in the alley to his right. Just fifty paces away, the flaring glow illuminated a party of eight or ten men.
Marcus turned in the opposite direction. Hugging the side of the alley, he prayed he wouldn’t crash into anything. His pursuers stopped at each junction to peer down the alleys. It gave Marcus a small lead while they considered which route to take.
But in looking back he hadn’t see the body lying at the side. He tripped and pitched forward, gashing his left knee on a broken brick. The body wriggled away and an old man’s shrill voice cut through the air. ‘Oi! Watch where you’re bleedin’ going!’
Now the men were looking at him. Their leader beckoned and they ran towards Marcus and the old man. Overcome with panic, Marcus scrambled to his feet, but a claw-like hand fastened round his ankle.
‘Not so fast! Let’s see if you’ve anything worth taking.’
Another hand on his calf groped up towards his belt. Marcus kicked out with his other leg, glancing off the man. He adjusted his aim and kicked again. The man shrieked and he loosened his grip just long enough for Marcus to tear free and run on.
One of the pursuers called out, ‘That’s him!’
There was a burning pain in his knee, and Marcus felt the warm flow of blood down his shin. From his training he knew that a fast-bleeding wound could weaken a fighter quickly. He needed cover so he could put a dressing over the cut to stem the flow. Once again he darted left into the first alley he came across, followed by another right. But the men were close behind and saw the change in direction. He tried the tactic a few more times without success and then he was running along a wider street, the pounding of boots behind him as the men called out to their companions to join the chase. Every nerve in his body screamed with terror and desperation. He saw a corner ahead, a sharp left round the wall of a shrine. Diving round it, he saw a small square on the far side, where several alleys branched off. There was also a low wall beside the shrine and darkness beyond. It was an instant decision — Marcus rolled himself over the wall and dropped down on the far side. He dropped for another ten feet before landing on a steeply sloped pile of rubbish that flowed down a natural gully in the hillside. The stench filled his nostrils as he half slithered and half rolled down. The men entered the square and he heard shouting before the torch flickered above the wall.
A voice called, ‘Over the wall!’
‘Not on your life,’ a man replied. ‘There’s an alley over here this way!’
Marcus reached the bottom with a thud, winded by the impact. He squatted on his heels, one hand braced on the ground as he breathed hard and looked around. The gully had ended in a rubbish dump on a small patch of open ground. He searched for something he could use as a bandage and grabbed a nearby piece of worn sacking. Ripping off a strip, he wound it tightly round his knee. Then he was on his feet again. He headed for the nearest alley but the men were descending the hill. He took the first opening that led away from them but there were shouts from other directions now, and the only safe route seemed to be straight ahead. Marcus took it and ran as hard as he could. Then he slithered to a halt as the way opened up and he saw the wharf running along the Tiber. A hundred paces to his right stood a group of men beneath a torch. The way to the left seemed open, so Marcus turned and ran, once again forced away from the heat of the city. To his right were barges and smaller craft, and to his left the warehouses, all securely locked. A short distance ahead a trestle bridge spanned the river and Marcus ran towards it.
A figure stepped out from the shadows. Filled with panic, Marcus prepared to take the man on. This was his only escape route. He had to keep going.
But as he drew closer, the figure called out quietly, ‘Marcus, stop.’
‘Kasos. .?’ Marcus said as the boy emerged from the gloom.
‘That’s right. I was with the men who saw you come down the hill. I knew they’d block the way to the Boarium. This was the only way left open to you.’ Kasos smiled faintly. And now you are caught in a trap.’
Marcus braced himself, ready to spring at the boy. Kasos stood his ground but made no move to attack. He smiled coldly. ‘Not much fun staring certain death in the face, is it?’
‘I won’t go down without a fight,’ Marcus growled through gritted teeth. ‘You can count on it.’
For a moment the two boys were still and then Kasos chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, I’m here to help you.’
‘What?’ Marcus was stunned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You could have finished me off easily, and no one would have stopped you,’ Kasos said bitterly. ‘You spared my life, now I’m returning the favour. Then we’re even and I owe you nothing. Now if you want to live, you’d better come with me, over the bridge.’
Marcus shot a look to both sides. More men had emerged on to the wharf in either direction.
‘Fair enough,’ he said, nodding. ‘So let me by.’
‘Not so fast,’ Kasos replied. ‘They know I’m here. I was sent to keep watch. If you escape they’ll know I let you. I need a story to tell Milo.’ He reached to his waist and the pale slither of a blade gleamed dully. Marcus held out his hands, ready to grapple, but Kasos quickly drew the blade across his own arm.
‘What are you doing?’ Marcus whispered.
‘I’ll say I tried to stop you. There was a fight, then you fell into the river and drowned.’
Marcus saw another party had emerged on to the wharf. He recognized Milo and his two guests, both with their heads covered, advancing beneath the light of a torch. He had no choice. He must trust Kasos.
‘All right. Lead the way.’
Kasos nodded and turned on to the bridge. The heavy wooden planks sounded hollowly under their boots. They passed far enough over the Tiber to clear the boats rafted up below and then they were over the main flow, a dull, glistening surface that reflected the torches and braziers that flickered across the city.
‘Here,’ said Kasos as he stopped. ‘Climb over the side of the bridge and swing yourself down to hide underneath, in the trestle. Once you’re out of sight I’ll call the others. I’ll use this to convince them you fell in. Got it from one of the barges.’ He tapped a small sack of gravel with his boot. ‘No one will see you under the bridge. Wait till the morning when it’s safe to come out and join the crowd on the wharf.