David Wishart - Parthian Shot

I was just passing the mouth of an alleyway not all that far from Renatius’s when a big guy in a labourer’s tunic who’d been walking on my outside suddenly swerved sideways, catching me hard in a shoulder-charge with the full weight of his body behind it and bouncing me through the gap like a feather ball.

‘Hey, pal, what do you think — ?’ I stopped. Yeah, right; that answered that question. There were three of them now, the other two just as big as the first, blocking the Tuscan-side exit to the alley, and apologetic was something they didn’t look. Before I could react, the guy in the centre gave me another shove in the chest that sent me staggering back further in. They kept on coming, closing the distance to nothing, and the guy shoved me again. We were deep in the alleyway now, behind a pile of assorted garbage.

Muggers, obviously; although what the hell they were thinking of going for someone on Tuscan in broad daylight I didn’t know. This time I moved back with the shove, lifted my foot and drove at the middle guy’s groin. Without so much as a check, he caught it in both hands and twisted. I went down hard, sprawling sideways onto my face and getting a fair-sized mouthful of the alley floor. Whatever had been living down there, it hadn’t been house-trained. I spat the stuff out …

Just as a seriously-hobnailed boot crashed into my ribs and made oral hygiene the last thing on my mind. Then a second boot came from the other side, closely followed by a third to the head. My knees came up into the hollow of my chest in an involuntary spasm as the fourth kick connected with my spine…

‘That’s enough, lads. I don’t want him crippled. Let him up now.’

A huge hand gripped the neck-seam of my tunic and lifted me like I was a baby. The whole left side of my head was on fire, my ear felt like it was five times its size, and I’d got what sounded like a whole swarm of very angry bees inside my skull. Breathing wasn’t too easy, either.

‘Nothing to be alarmed about, Corvinus. Just settling a small debt.’

I focused with difficulty. One of the gorillas was holding me up while the other two stood by watching. Behind them was Mithradates.

I fought for breath. It was like someone had filled my lungs with razors and the bees were still there in earnest. ‘You bastard!’ I whispered. ‘I’m a fucking Roman citizen! I could have you crucified!’

‘No, you couldn’t.’ Mithradates grinned. ‘Believe me. And I wouldn’t advise you to try, not unless you’ve got a great deal more clout than I think you have. Besides, the punishment’s over. Like I say, consider it just the settlement of a debt. You owed me that for two nights ago, and I always collect.’ He turned his attention to the gorilla holding me. ‘Let him loose.’ The grip on my tunic relaxed. ‘Now. That aside, I want you to listen to me very carefully. This business with the delegation. It’s none of your concern. I’m asking you, very politely, to drop it. Isidorus will fully understand. All right?’

‘Go and screw yourself!’

He gave a shrug. ‘Well, you have been warned and you can’t say otherwise. It was a pleasure meeting you again. Come on, gentlemen. Fun’s over.’

He turned and walked back down the alleyway. I would’ve followed, but one of the gorillas stayed behind to see that I didn’t, and in my current state I couldn’t’ve taken him if he’d been an eight-year-old midget. A female one, at that. Then he left too.

I hobbled back onto Tuscan, getting leery stares as I emerged from two passing large-bellied plain-mantles and a guy with a poleful of chickens. The whole business had taken no more than two or three minutes. max.

Shit.

Luckily, Renatius’s wineshop wasn’t all that far. I could have a quick wash and brush up there and repair such of the damage as I could before going back to face Perilla. That I wasn’t looking forward to.

‘Marcus, what on earth happened to you?’

‘Runaway bull from a butcher’s shop near Cattlemarket Square.’ I took the jug and cup from the goggling Bathyllus, poured myself a belt and swallowed it. ‘I was standing between it and where it wanted to go.’

‘Don’t be silly. You know there aren’t any slaughterhouses near Cattlemarket Square nowadays. Juno, your face is a mess! Bathyllus, send someone for Sarpedon!’

Sarpedon was our family doctor and — long in the past — one of my father’s slaves. He was currently worth about five times what I was, and the chances of getting him to make a house call at this short notice were zilch. ‘Perilla, I’m fine, okay?’ I said. ‘Just a bit bruised.’ I lowered myself gingerly onto the couch. I was pretty sure my ribs weren’t cracked, but I wasn’t going to be dancing on any tables for the next few days. Bathyllus scuttled out. The little guy could scent trouble brewing, and I didn’t blame him.

Perilla had sat down too. She was white as a sheet, and her mouth was a hard line. ‘Just tell me exactly what happened,’ she said. ‘And this time don’t lie.’

‘I was mugged. In an alleyway off Tuscan.’

‘Rubbish. In the middle of the day? And you’ve still got your purse. I can see it on your belt from here.’

‘I fought them off.’

‘Marcus Valerius Corvinus!’

Oh, bugger. I held up my hands, palm out. ‘Okay. Okay. It was Mithradates and three hired gorillas. But this is as far as it goes, right? He was peeved about — ’ I stopped; I hadn’t told Perilla about Mithradates. Or about the girl in the juggling troupe.

‘About what? And who’s Mithradates?’

‘An Iberian prince. We had a bit of a disagreement at the Parthians’ dinner.’

She stood up. ‘You’ll lodge a charge of assault with the praetor’s office.’

‘No I won’t.’

‘Marcus!’

‘Perilla, it’s over. Don’t make waves.’

We glared at each other. Then, she came over and laid her face on my shoulder.

‘I want you to give it up,’ she said quietly.

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Marcus.’ Her voice was muffled, and it wasn’t just from the wool of my tunic. ‘I told you in the beginning. I have a very, very bad feeling about this. The next time you could be killed.’

‘That’s — ’

‘No. It isn’t nonsense. All you have to do is go to Isidorus and tell him to find someone else. He’ll understand.’

He’ll understand. That was what Mithradates had said…

‘No.’

Her face lifted. ‘Then you’re a fool!’

She meant it, too. ‘Maybe I am, at that.’

There wasn’t much more to be said.

She pulled away and turned her back. ‘There was a message for you. When you were out.’

‘Yeah?’

‘From Isidorus. You were right. He’s checked with the guard, and the man admitted that he was sheltering during the worst of the storm under a tree out of sight of the front door.’

‘Good. Good.’

‘I’m glad you think so.’

Hell.

I broke my habit and took the carriage to the Pincian. I hate litters, sure — if Perilla didn’t use the thing I’d get rid of ours and pension off the lardballs we used as bearers — but carriages are okay. You can think in a carriage. Besides, it was cushioned, even after a long, hot bath and a rub I still hurt like hell, and the Happy Bachelors was well out in the sticks, beyond Lucullus Gardens. It’d have to’ve been, in the old days; in any sort of moral climate short of the torrid and tropical the Bachelors would’ve been raided and closed down long before the authorities actually blew the whistle, if it hadn’t been too far from the centre for the element of surprise to work; plus the fact that a raid on any night you cared to mention would’ve netted a fair percentage of Rome’s great and good, who would no doubt have taken serious umbrage. Any local Watch Commander silly enough to try it on without very specific orders from above would’ve found himself so far up shit creek that even a paddle wouldn’t’ve helped.