‘Yes,’ said Flaminius curtly. He knew nothing about this gladiator, certainly not whether he could trust him. Maccabeus and Camilla had connections in Carthage, but for all he knew the retiarius was also linked with the rebels. He was growing certain that Syphax and Apuleius Victor were.
Camilla threw herself down on a couch and reached out to a table where another amphora of wine sat in its stand. ‘We were talking to the medic who treated Petrus.’
As she poured herself a drink, Maccabeus gave her an appraising look. ‘Why were you doing that?’ he asked.
Camilla took a swig, gulped it down, then opened her mouth to explain. Flaminius sat down heavily beside her, and put a possessive arm round her shoulders. ‘We wanted to thank him for doing his best to save our friend.’
Camilla scowled at him. He indicated Maccabeus with his eyes and gave a slight shake of the head. She glared meaningfully at his arm but he didn’t remove it from her shoulders.
‘Poor old Petrus.’ Maccabeus shook his head despondently. ‘I thought we’d give him a good send off, but nobody’s about.’ He was more than half drunk, and the pottery fragments of another amphora lay on the tiles beside his couch. ‘I know he didn’t die a gladiator’s death, but you’d have thought his comrades would mark his passing better than this.’ He gazed deep into the amphora. ‘Hope I get better treatment when it’s my time to pay the ferryman,’ he muttered.
‘Isn’t Syphax here to keep you company?’ Flaminius had hoped to find the murmillo when they got back, but there was no sign of him in the public rooms.
Maccabeus shook his head. ‘He went out a while back,’ he said, ‘during the first watch. You missed him, if he’s really who you were looking for.’ He studied Flaminius and Camilla, sitting together on one couch, Flaminius’ arm round Camilla’s shoulders. ‘I should be turning in,’ Maccabeus said, rising unsteadily to his feet. ‘Leave you two lovebirds alone.’
‘Sleep soundly,’ said Flaminius, and Camilla echoed his words. As the retiarius shuffled from the chamber, Camilla shrugged off Flaminius’ arm angrily.
‘Why did you do that?’ she demanded. ‘Pawing me so possessively…and us being seen together. It’ll be all over the city tomorrow that Camilla the Amazon Queen has a lover!’
‘That was the idea,’ said Flaminius tiredly. ‘Oh, not to fuel gossip,’ he added, thinking that Camilla had a high opinion of her importance in the eyes of rumourmongers. ‘But to give Maccabeus something to think about. So he wouldn’t suspect the truth.’
‘Oh, is that right?’ Camila snorted. ‘Next time you decide to give people the wrong impression about us, you can consult me first. I don’t want people to think I’ve taken a novice to my bed.’
‘Charming!’ Flaminius commented. He leaned forward. ‘Don’t you see? Someone murdered Petrus. They had a reason, didn’t they? You want to see them dragged in chains before the magistrate? Thrown to the wild beasts in the arena?’
She nodded seriously.
‘Then we need evidence against them,’ he went on. ‘And until we know who is and who isn’t in on the plot, we don’t want them to realise we’re investigating…’
‘It’s Syphax,’ she said. ‘He poisoned his blade, then used it to kill Petrus.’ She sipped at her wine complacently.
Flaminius supressed a desire to knock the cup from her hands. ‘We don’t know that for certain. And we don’t have enough evidence. Bearing false witness is a crime, remember…’
‘I remember!’ she assured him, ‘Punishable by barbaric death! If we want evidence against Syphax, what are we doing lounging around in here, drinking wine?’ Ostentatiously she banged the winecup down on a table and rose to her feet.
Flaminius did not point out that he hadn’t touched a drop. Heartened by her resolve, he got up. ‘Where do you intend to start?’ he asked. ‘I suggest we have a look round Syphax’s cell while he’s out.’
Camilla bit her lip. ‘I was thinking we could search the streets for him, follow him, see where he goes.’
Flaminius shook his head, and strode for the door. ‘You have no idea of where he’s gone,’ he said. ‘Or do you?’ He paused with his hand on the doorknob, eyes narrowed.
She shrugged. ‘There are wineshops that welcome gladiators, and our followers. We’ll try them if we get nowhere in his cell.’
The door to Syphax’s room was firmly locked. Flaminius cobbled together a lock pick from the wire that bound the hilt of Camilla’s sword, then tried to pick the lock, but the wire kept bending.
He glanced up at her. She was giving him a sour look. ‘Useless,’ she said. ‘And I thought you might be working for the prefect! Give that here.’ She snatched it from his hand and took his place at the lock. Flaminius watched admiringly for some time, but she was no more successful. He patted her on her brawny shoulder.
‘Let’s try the wineshop,’ he said. ‘We’re getting nowhere here.’ They might be found by the slave, or Apuleius Victor, and then explanations would be difficult.
Rubbing her cramped muscles, Camilla rose. ‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ she told him. She led him to the door to the street. It was cold now, and they wrapped themselves in cloaks before venturing outside.
The streets of Nicopolis were thronged with Alexandrian citizens celebrating their liberation by Hadrian, but Camilla led Flaminius through them at a quick march. ‘No gladiator drinks in this part of town,’ she informed him. ‘Surely you know that? You really are a novice.’
‘Where do gladiators drink, then?’ he asked.
She gave him a wondering look. ‘The Egyptian Quarter, of course. I doubt you’ve even been down there. It’s the bad end of town.’
Flaminius shrugged. ‘I have friends who used to live in those parts,’ he told her.
Entering the walled city through the Gate of the Sun they hurried down the Canopic Street, Alexandria’s main east-west boulevard, a wide, torchlit thoroughfare lined with palm trees, temples and palaces. Halfway along, they turned south into the Egyptian Quarter. At this time of night, and during a public holiday, the streets were bustling, and it was sometime before they reached the wineshop where gladiators drank of an evening.
‘Free gladiators, of course,’ Camilla grunted. ‘Slave gladiators don’t leave their cells. I was like that once.’
She scanned the faces of the people at the bar, men mostly, although two other gladiatrices were amongst them. Even as she looked around, a dark-skinned man rose and turned. It was Syphax, who had been sitting with his back to them, talking to another man.
Furiously Camilla gestured for Flaminius to duck behind a palm tree. From its cover they watched the Nubian leave the wineshop and vanish down an alleyway.
‘I wonder where he’s going,’ said Camilla.
‘Come on,’ said Flaminius. ‘We’d better find out. This could be just the chance we’re looking for.’
They crossed the bustling street and halted at the alleyway beside the wineshop. It was unlit, and stank vilely, while rubbish was scattered along its surface. There was no sign of Syphax.
‘We’ll never find him in this gloom,’ said Camilla nervously.
‘Quickly,’ Flaminius said, ‘before we draw attention to ourselves.’ He took her arm and steered her up the dark alley.
Things crunched or squelched or burst beneath their feet as they made their way up the unsteady surface. At the back of the wineshop was a yard stacked with amphorae; beyond it the alleyway crossed another at right angles. At the junction Camilla and Flaminius looked up and down the crossway, but they still saw no sign of Syphax.
Camilla cursed as she walked into something that barked her shin. ‘Where could he have got to? I tell you, we’ll never find him. Let’s get back. These alleyways are dangerous.’
The gladiatrix had lost her customary poise. She sounded as if she was afraid. It was a new idea for Flaminius; a frightened gladiatrix.
‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I’m here to protect you.’
; She gave an unwilling laugh. ‘That’s a good one,’ she told him. ‘A novice like you, protect Camilla the Amazon Queen? Ha!’
‘Is Camilla the Amazon Queen afraid, then?’ he teased her. ‘I’ll go on alone in that case.’
‘I’m not afraid, Tiro,’ she said patiently. ‘I just don’t think this is going to get us anywhere. I’m going back to the gladiators’ school, and I suggest you come with me. We could have another try at opening that door, if you like. Or have a look round Apuleius Victor’s office.’
There was a sound of movement from down the left-hand alleyway. They exchanged glances. Flaminius picked his way through the clutter and Camilla hurried to keep up.
‘Do you think it’s him?’ she hissed, grabbing his arm.
‘We won’t find that out unless we look,’ he told her.
They advanced through the darkness as best they could, making slow progress. The alley opened out into a small, starlit court. A dark shape was making its way across it, in the direction of a narrow doorway. Flaminius motioned for Camilla to get into cover and they watched as the figure halted at the door, then rapped on it with a staccato series of knocks. Two long … two short … one short…two long.
Camilla hissed in Flaminius’ ear; ‘A code?’
He put a finger to his lips. The door creaked open and yellow lamplight flooded out. It was Syphax they had been following, Flaminius could see that clearly now, but he didn’t recognise the tall Egyptian who ushered the gladiator inside.
Syphax passed into the lamplight, pausing only once to scan the court. Camilla ducked down. Flaminius froze. He felt sure that the Nubian was staring right at him, but what could he see in this darkness? Syphax turned and vanished through the doorway, which closed with a slam behind him, and darkness returned.
Camilla raised her face. ‘It was Syphax. Who was that Egyptian?’
‘Nobody of my acquaintance,’ Flaminius replied. ‘Syphax has friends in low places.’
Camilla sniffed. The place stank, of human and animal waste as well as rotting fish. ‘He chooses strange places for a night out.’
Flaminius crossed the court. The doorway was very narrow, the door itself old and battered. He put his ear to it but heard nothing. Camilla joined him, standing so close he could smell her sweat.
‘Listening at keyholes again, Tiro?’ she taunted him. ‘Why not try picking the lock?’
He gave her a black look. Of course, she didn’t see it in the darkness. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
He stepped back and examined the house. It was a low, one-storey building of adobe, with a flat roof and no windows and no other doors on this side.
‘We know the secret knock,’ Camilla whispered, joining him. ‘Why don’t we try that?’
Flaminius was regretting lumbering himself with the gladiatrix. ‘They’d know we weren’t part of their gang the moment they saw us.’ He gauged the height of the building. ‘Help me up onto the roof.’
‘Aren’t we both a bit too old for all this?’ she grumbled, but she made a stirrup of her hands and when he placed his sandaled foot in it, she helped boost him up to a level with the edge of the flat roof. He grabbed a hold of the crumbling mudbrick. Abruptly she let go and he dangled there. Fastidiously she wiped her hand on her cloak. Looking down, he hissed, ‘Are you going to just leave me hanging around?’
The pale oval of her face turned upwards. ‘I really don’t want to know what it was you stepped in.’ She wiped more of it off on the wall, then went to lend a hand, or rather a pair of muscular shoulders, which Flaminius used to spring up onto the flat roof.
A gritty wind met him as he reached roof height, blowing from the south west, bringing with it half the sands of the Libyan Desert if he was any judge. He peered down at Camilla, then extended a hand. She jumped, grabbed his wrist with all her considerable weight, scrambled up the side and flung herself down beside him.
‘Are you trying to get us killed?’ he hissed. ‘They must be stone deaf if they haven’t heard the noise!’
Even as he spoke, he heard the door opening below. A light appeared, illuminating the court again. Flaminius peered over the edge to see the shadow of a man silhouetted in the pool of light. As it didn’t move, Flaminius very gradually shifted to a position where he could look straight downwards. The tall Egyptian stood there, scanning the court suspiciously.
A voice from within called something in Egyptian; the tall man replied over his shoulder in the same tongue, then retreated inside, closing the door behind him. The light vanished. Flaminius looked back at Camilla, who knelt in silence on the windswept roof. She caught his gaze, then rubbed at her bare arms.
‘Now what?’ she whispered. ‘How do we get inside now we’re up here?’
A sea of roofs and torchlit streets stretched southwards before breaking off abruptly. The wind now brought with it the stench of the Delta swamps, swollen with water from the mysterious sources of the Nile; a savage land, it was said, haunted by warrior pigmies and terrible saurians.
Above them, the stars leapt across a black sky. Flaminius saw Ursa Major to the north, Sirius low in the east. But he couldn’t see any way of entering the flat roofed mudbrick house.
—13—
The door opened again, and Flaminius heard several voices arguing in Egyptian. He wished Ozymandias was here; the assistant librarian have understood what they were saying. Flaminius had had little need to pick up more than a few words in Egyptian since coming to the province.
Camilla turned on her heel, sword half drawn. He laid his hand on her muscular forearm and pointed at something he’d seen on the far side of the roof.
‘Follow me,’ he told her, and took her to where the top of a rickety wooden ladder was visible. He peered down into an enclosed, cluttered yard, lit by a glow filtering from a small window in the side of the mudbrick wall. Another doorway led into the building on this side. He felt Camilla’s cool hand on his side.
‘What is it?’ he murmured, not turning to look at her. From the front came the sound of more people talking in Egyptian.
‘Do you think they’re looking for us?’ she asked.
‘Very likely,’ he said absently. ‘We’re not going to win any Olympic prizes for stealth. Look,’ he added, drawing her attention to the small window. ‘That might just be what we’re searching for. Get down that ladder before anyone comes up here.’
The sound of talking was moving away. Flaminius surmised that the people they had disturbed thought that the interlopers were elsewhere in the maze of alleyways. It hadn’t yet occurred to them that they might be above, on the roof.
He followed Camilla down into the small yard and she peeked in through the window.
‘What’s in there?’ he whispered.
She turned. ‘See for yourself. An empty, lamplit room.’
Flaminius pushed past her and looked in through the shutters of the window. Inside was indeed a bare chamber, void of furnishings except a basket against one wall and reed mats on the packed earth floor. On the far wall a door hung slightly open, revealing a starlit sky. He realised it was the same door he had seen from the far side of the building—and now it was opening wider!
An Egyptian entered the room, followed by several others, Flaminius ducked back. Just as he did, he thought he saw someone he recognised. And it wasn’t Syphax.
Camilla caught his eyes. ‘What…?’ she began.
He shook his head, motioning for silence, then gestured her to hide behind a stack of boxes. Just as they were both ducking down, the door into the court opened, and he heard voices and footsteps.
Someone clattered angrily up the ladder, then back down again. Someone—perhaps the same person—spoke in Latin. ‘You’re all imagining things. Get back in the house.’ It was Apuleius Victor.
‘He’s right.’ These were Syphax’s deep tones. ‘Back inside.’
The door slammed after them. Flaminius and Camilla exhaled in relief. The gladiatrix began to rise. Flaminius grabbed her
shoulder. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘We’ve made enough of a hash of things tonight.’
‘That was Apuleius Victor,’ she said urgently. ‘And I’m sure I heard Syphax.’
‘We followed Syphax here, remember?’ said Flaminius. ‘Apuleius Victor is here too. Interesting, though it’s hardly surprising. I told you that I heard them both talking in his office, before Petrus was poisoned. They’re both implicated.’
‘But implicated in what?’ Camilla breathed. ‘We’ll need more evidence before we can… approach the magistrate. More proof. I say we eavesdrop on their conversation.’
‘Do you speak Egyptian?’ Flaminius asked.
She shook her head. ‘Apuleius Victor wasn’t speaking Egyptian,’ she said. ‘Nor was Syphax.’
‘But the others were,’ Flaminius pointed. ‘I don’t know much more Egyptian than how to order a drink. An oversight on my part. But Alexandrian citizens all speak Greek, if not Latin.’ He shrugged, and rose. ‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘If anything goes wrong, get up that ladder, cross the roof, and then down again. Get back to the main streets as soon as you can.’
‘I’d rather fight,’ she said, eyes flashing.
Flaminius shook his head. ‘You’re strong,’ he admitted, ‘and a good fighter. But one gladiatrix against a gang of Egyptian thugs… Do you want to die that much?’
‘Gladiatrices face death every day,’ she hissed defiantly. Flaminius went to the shuttered window.
He peered in through a crack. The room was crowded. Syphax stood in the middle, and at his side was a figure swathed in a cloak, much like Flaminius and Camilla. The Egyptians wore loincloths and little else. Seemed they didn’t feel the night cold, or else they were too poor to afford more clothes… The next thing Flaminius saw inspired him to fling that particular theory where it belonged.
One Egyptian opened the basket by the wall, and began lifting out handfuls of coins. ‘This is the money we made,’ he was saying in Latin. ‘We brought it here and kept it under guard.’
The Gladiator Gambit Page 9
