I cast a rapid glance around the place: one room, with a narrow bed. Most of the clutter was on the table, and it was predominantly female stuff. Occasional eating implements were jumbled in among the hairpin pots, cream jars, combs and perfume vials.
'Don't be shy; I've seen nudity before. Besides, we're old friends.'
'You're no friend of mine!'
'Oh come,' I remonstrated sadly. 'Don't you remember me?'
She did pause, with one palm held flat to the oil flask. 'No.'
'You should do. I'm the man who went home from the Society of Olive Oil Producers of Baetica safely in one piece - because I had acquired a large amphora of fish-pickle, with two slaves to carry it.'
She put her foot down on the floor. Her hand still moved slowly upon her gleaming skin, and as she massaged in the oil it was extremely difficult not to stare. She appeared not to notice that she was transfixing me. But the care with which she oiled her breasts told me she knew all right.
I waited calmly. When she jumped for the meat-knife that lay among the cosmetics pots I grabbed at her wrist. It would have been perfectly effective, had she not been so slippery.
XLIX
Luckily for me the wrist I had seized was much smaller than my own; somehow I had encircled it. I felt her bones twisting in my grip and the knife flashed wickedly, but her weapon hand stayed held fast. It wouldn't last. Her all-over lubrication made her impossible to restrain for long.
I kept her at arm's length as she kicked out. Dancers have legs to reckon with. She was strong, but I had the advantage. Barging her shin with mine, I forced her to move back against the wall, making sure the corner of the table bruised her thigh. I banged her arm on the wall to shake the knife free. Spitting, she kept her grip on it. I thought of heaving her off, to spin her round and thrash her back into the wall, but she was so well oiled I would lose my hold. I smashed her elbow on the wall again. She gasped, and struggled to break free.
Her free hand cast behind me, grabbing at a soapstone pot to brain me with. There was no choice. I try hard to avoid naked women who are not my own property, but I had to protect myself. I went in close, throwing my body hard against hers then turning in my shoulder so I could break her hold on the knife two-handedly. This time I did it. The blade clanged to the floor Instantly she went limp, then flexed herself violently. Her arm escaped from my grip.
I still had her pinned against the wall, but her writhing body was so slippery it was like trying to clutch a live fish. I brought up one knee and stopped her reaching the knife again. She squirmed away from me, dropped to the floor, scuttled under the table, then stood up and tilted it. Vases and boxes crashed to the ground, in a hail of broken glass, coloured powders, and thick scents. It didn't stop me, and dropping the heavy table lost her the second it took me to leap forwards and grab her by the only part I could circle with both hands: her throat.
'Keep still or I'll throttle you until your eyes pop out!' She thought about fighting. 'Believe me!' I warned again, kicking out with one foot to free it from a tangle of cheap jewellery. To reinforce the message I was squeezing hard. She was choking. I was out of breath. She saw her situation was desperate. She stood still. I felt her jaw clench as she gritted her teeth, no doubt vowing to say nothing and bite me if she could.
'Well, this is intimate!' Her eyes told me what I could do with myself. I was aware of her hands twitching, ready to go for me. I tightened my grip. She saw sense. Now why is it that when I end up in the arms of beautiful girls with no clothes on they are always trying to kill me?' Her response was a look full of hatred; well, the question had been rhetorical. While she glared, I suddenly wrenched her around so her back was against me and I felt less vulnerable to frontal attack. I kept one arm tight across her throat; with the other hand I was reaching for the knife that I kept down my boot. That improved the situation. I let her see what it was. Then I tucked the tip under one of her ribs so she could feel how sharp the blade was.
'Now we're going to talk.'
She made some sort of angry gurgle. I increased my pressure on her windpipe and she fell quiet again. I edged her over to the table that she had conveniently cleared, then I pushed her face down. I was lying on top of her. This possessed some attractions, though I was too preoccupied to enjoy it. Holding down women is nearly impossible; they're too supple. The gods know how rapists manage it - well, they use terror, which on Selia had no effect. I tweaked my knife against her well-oiled side. 'I can scar you for life, or just kill you. Remember that.'
'Damn you.'
'Is Selia your real name?'
'Get lost.'
'Tell me who you work for.'
'Anyone who pays.'
'You're an agent.'
'I'm a dancer.'
'No, Spanish dancers come from Gades. Who sent you to Rome?'
'I can't remember.'
'This knife advises you to try.'
'All right; kill me with it then.'
'Very professional! Believe me, real dancers give in much more easily. Who asked you to perform at the dinner that night?'
'I was the official entertainment.'
'That was Perella. Stop lying. Who paid you for what you and your two cronies did afterwards?'
'The same person.'
'Oh, you admit you committed murder then?'
'I admit nothing.'
'I want his name.'
'You want your balls hacked off with a disembowelling knife!'
I sighed. 'I'm sorry you're taking this uncooperative attitude.'
'You'll be more than sorry, Falco.' She was probably right there.
'Now listen! You may have killed Valentinus, but you underestimated what a thick skull Anacrites had. Simply cracking the Chief Spy's head will have worse consequences than killing him outright.'
'You're never working for Anacrites?' She sounded surprised.
'You did leave him with a slight headache; he was allowed sick leave for a day or two. So you're right. Anacrites is not commissioning. I'm working for a man called Laeta -' I thought I felt her start. 'Keep still, I said.'
'Why?' jeered Sella. 'What are you worried about?'
'Not a lot. I'm a professional too. Crushing a beautiful naked female on a table has its lighter side - but on the whole I like my women right side up, and I certainly like them affectionate.'
'Oh, you're all heart!'
'A complete softie. That's why you're face down against a plank of wood covered in bruises, and my knife's in your ribs.'
'You're an idiot,' she told me. 'You don't know anything about the mess you're in. Hasn't it struck you that I'm working for Claudius Laeta - just like you!'
That sounded all too plausible. I preferred not to consider it. There was no immediate need to do so: we both abandoned comparing notes on our devious employer. Two things happened. I was unaware of lessening my grip on the dancer, yet somehow she wriggled suddenly and slithered sideways away from me. Then somebody else seized hold of my hair from behind and pulled me backwards in excruciating pain.
L
'I thought you would never get here!' the girl snarled angrily.
Whoever had hauled me upright had me bowed over backwards with a torsion as fight as the throwing sling on a rock-hurling artillery mule. Once I realised, I began to react. Hair grows again. I wrenched my head free. I must have left behind a good handful of my bouncing curls, but now I could move. My eyes streamed, but I was bucking and thrashing. Of course he snatched at my wrist in the same way that I had previously grabbed Selia to make her drop her own knife; he was behind me so I dosed my elbow against my side, resisting him.
Blows rained on my spine and kidneys, then I heard somebody else entering the room. The girl meanwhile was rubbing her bruises and finding a tunic as carelessly as if the rest of us were just flies buzzing around the window- frame. Her bodyguards could do the work now.
I had managed to twist free. I jerked around so I could see my assailants: the two dark-skinned musicians from the din
ner on the Palatine. It was the elder who had attacked me; he was wiry enough, and full of malice and energy. The other, more youthful, was burly, well-muscled and mean- eyed. I was in deep trouble. These were the men who had smashed in the head of Valentinus and left Anacrites for dead. I was fighting for my life.
'Sort him out!' Selia ordered. She had pulled some clothing over her head, but left it around her neck. She had paid these toughs sufficient to be sure they would kill for her. They looked as if they would enjoy it too. So much for the refining effect of music. Apollo was a thug, according to these two.
It was too small a room to contain four of us. We were close enough to smell each other's breath. Impetuously Selia herself went for my knife arm, grabbing hold and biting me. The others plunged at me too and with three to contend with in such a confined space, I was soon overpowered. Selia took possession of my knife. Her assistants each had me brutally by an arm; they were turning to rush me forwards against the farther wall when the girl complained, 'Oh not in here!' A person of taste: she shrank from having my brains spread over her living space.
As they manhandled me towards the door I grunted in annoyance, 'Just tell me this, Selia - if we're both working for Laeta why in Hades does he want you to remove me?' I ignored the two brutes, who for a moment stopped bundling me out.
'You're in my way,' Selia responded offhandedly.
'Only because I don't know what's going on!' I was stalling. This group had killed. In no circumstances were they on the same side as me. 'Anyway, you take too many risks!'
'If you say so.'
'The Parilia!' I reminded her. 'You should have been lying low, not showing your face.'
'Oh yes?'
'And I went to a daft lads' party afterwards where everyone knew you had gone home to Hispalis. You leave too many tracks. I found you - and so can anyone.'
The heavies again started dragging me out, but Selia halted them with a raised hand. 'Who's looking?' she demanded.
At least I was collecting my strength. The longer I could hold off any final battering, the more hope of escape. I ignored Selia's question. 'If you really are a home-doving Hispalis girl, however did Laeta discover you?'
'I went to Rome, for someone else. I'm a dancer. I went to Rome to dance.'
'So it wasn't Laeta who sent you to that dinner in your little Diana costume, then?'
'Find out, Falco!'
Did Laeta order you to attack Anacrites and his man?' Laeta gives me a free hand.' I noticed it wasn't an answer.
'You're in trouble,' I warned her. 'Don't trust Laeta to support you if the water heats up too much in his own pot.'
'I trust no one, Falco.' She had pulled down her dress and was calmly applying new paint to her face. She stroked it on with a spatula, swiftly and thickly. Before my eyes she was turning back into the archetypal Spanish castanet girl (the one who only exists in men's dreams); the blue-black hair she wore for dancing for Romans had been combed out on a stand. When she bent forwards and pulled it on the effect was as dramatic as when I saw her on the Palatine.
'I hope Laeta paid you. You won't see a sestertius if you're living out here.'
'I've been paid,' she said, perhaps glancing at the heavies to reassure them she would look after them too.
'So what in the name of Olympus is Laeta trying to do?' 'You tell me.'
'Discredit Anacrites? Take over the spy's work?' 'Looks like it.'
'Why does he need two of us?'
'One wasn't good enough.'
'Or wasn't ever meant to be! You mean Laeta's used me as a noodle - and he's using you to hamper me!'
'An easy game, Falco!'
'Easier than playing around with palace politics. But you're lying anyway. Laeta knows Anacrites is a cheap buffoon who could be put out of action with a bit of simple intrigue. Cracking heads wasn't necessary. Laeta's not vicious. He's not crude. He's quite clever enough to outwit Anacrites, and depraved enough as a bureaucrat to enjoy finessing him. Laeta wants a classic power struggle. He wants Anacrites alive, so he knows he has lost the game. Where's the art, otherwise?'
'You're just delaying,' Selia said. 'Get him out of here!' I shrugged and made no attempt to cause trouble. The two musicians walked me on to the balcony. Just outside I glanced behind and said calmly to the older one on my left, 'She's calling you.'
He turned back. I threw myself forwards and spun my shoulder hard. The man on my right was pitched straight over the balcony.
The other yelled. I kneed him impolitely. He folded up; I chopped down on his neck with a double fist. He crumpled to the ground and I kicked him in the ribs until he lay still.
Below in the courtyard I had heard the crash and a cry as the first man landed. It was only one floor down, so he might still be mobile. There were confused sounds which I could not interpret, but by then Selia had rushed out.
First she flung a tambourine, edge on. I parried with my arm, but it cut my wrist. I hauled up the man at my feet and held him as a human shield while she then threw a knife - mine. He flung himself aside, dragging me. The blade clattered on the boarding, then with me cursing it tumbled over the edge.
The girl came at us; I barged the man into her. She dropped another weapon, then suddenly muttered something and ran towards the stairs. Her groaning bodyguard came back to life enough to grab the new weapon. It was the kind of cleaver girls who live alone keep in their rooms to shorten flower stems, hack up pig carcasses and discourage lovers from leaving early. I'd be afraid to have one in the house.
He set about me again, keeping himself between me and the girl. It was her I wanted; we all knew that.
I managed to dodge the swooping blade. Then I let off a high kick, flummoxed him, and shoved him backwards. I set off around the balcony, sprinting lightly on my toes. I was going the long way, the way I had first come to Selia's room.
The elderly fellow was tougher than he looked. I could hear him chasing after me. At the passageway bridge I slowed my steps. He was gaining, which made him pound harder to catch me. Once across, I turned back just in time to see the bridge give way. With a crack of splitting timber, the musician fell through. The wood was not rotten, just too flimsy for its intended purpose. He was left daugling, trapped between the broken planking. Blood dripped from his wounds where he was impaled on huge splinters of wood. When he tried to move he screamed.
To save time, I flipped over the balcony, clung to the nil, lowered myself as far as possible then dropped. I had just missed the well. (I had forgotten about that.) Neat work, Falco.
In the courtyard to my astonishment I found Placidus, fighting the other bodyguard, who was limping and nursing a broken arm from his fall. Placidus was keeping him under control, though only just. The procurator himself had a long gash in his side. My dagger, which had fallen from the balcony, lay near them, still bloody.
'The girl -' Placidus gasped, as I took over and stopped his opponent with a well-aimed kick. I got one arm around Placidus and leaned him on the well. 'I could have handled this one -' If he was a freedman now, he had been a slave once. Even in the imperial palace that meant a sordid early life. He knew how to take care of himself. 'I just didn't expect her. The girl slashed me before I could square up to her -'
'She got away?' I asked, retrieving my knife. He nodded disconsolately. I was peeling back his tunic gently to reveal the wound. 'Save your strength. Don't talk. We've caught these two gruesome characters anyway.' I was annoyed about losing Selia, but I did not let it show.
Placidus had put himself out for me. He looked pleased with his success, but he had paid a dangerous penalty. His wound was deep and nasty. 'What's the damage, Falco?'
'You'll live - though once the pain sets in you're going to know all about this.'
'Ah well, the scar should be interesting.'
'I can think of easier ways to excite rumours!' 'I'll be all right. You go after the girl.'
If we had been anywhere respectable I would have done.
I could not aban
don Placidus in this seedy area where the dancer might have friends. A crowd was gathering. They were silent and still; I would not trust them. No one offered assistance but at least nobody tried to interfere.
I made the man with the limp stand up and walk ahead of me with my knife against his back. Supporting the procurator with my free arm, I slowly set off on a difficult trip to find the nearest guardpost of the local watch.
Fortunately it was not too far. Rather than have placidus faint at their feet, folk did give us directions. The glare I gave them persuaded them to tell us right.
We limped there safely. My prisoner was locked in the cell. Officers went off to bring in his companion. Placidus was carefully stretched out, bathed and bandaged; at first he protested volubly, then he suddenly passed out and made no more fuss. I led a search that lasted the rest of the day, but Selia had slipped away somewhere. I am a realist. She could have gone in any direction, and would be miles from Hispalis by now.
A Dying Light in Corduba Page 29