Lindsey Davis - The Ides of April

Morellus was being carted off. I saw Tiberius exchange words discreetly with some of the vigiles, then he returned to me. "I am going to take you safely home." By then I was shaky, so disturbed by events that I did not argue.

We walked to Fountain Court, with a couple of vigiles following close. I could not help glancing around nervously; although I spotted no one lurking, I guessed Andronicus would not be far away. We walked in silence.

Outside the old laundry, the alley was the same as usual. The short row of run-down shops opposite had their shutters pushed open but were doing no trade. The ones farther down on the same side looked as sleepy. Disreputable blankets hung out over balconies. The Mythembal children were jumping in puddles, puddles that were probably animal urine, but they scampered away when we approached. There was slight sunshine, which in a park would have been pleasant but here just warmed up the midden, stewing its horrible contents and stirring maggots to life. Smells of industrial processes, fishbones and fresh dung shimmered above the irregular pavings.

A stranger would find this place ominous. To me, it was dirty, dank, yet depressingly normal.

Tiberius left me outside the potter's. He told me quietly that I should spend the day in my own apartment, locking the doors and admitting no visitors for my safety. He said this sternly and made a point of waiting until I agreed the instruction, nodding at him fretfully.

"Do what I tell you, Albia. Stay in!"

"Dear gods, you are tyrannical."

I picked my way alone across the roadway filth. There was no sign of anyone detailed to guard me. I could see Rodan out on a stool in the old courtyard for some reason; he would have been able to see any visitors, had his gummy eyes been open; he looked dead asleep.

As I reached the fire porch I glanced back. Tiberius held up an arm in farewell, then shouted unexpectedly, "Better get working, girl! It's about time you did something useful for your clients in your precious office!"

A moment before he had been telling me to rest up. He really knew how to annoy me. And the whole street must have heard him. It amounted to slander. Muttering, I strode indoors.

Tiberius was becoming as contradictory as the archivist. Imprinted with his first stern instructions, the idea of collapsing wearily in my apartment straight away held great attractions. Still, rebellious as ever, I chose to nip upstairs first. If there were any messages in the office, I could bring them down and work on them, / would decide how my work was done.

I went up, feeling the weariness in my legs as I climbed storey after storey. Amazingly, the rubbish boy must have cleared all the old amphorae off the top landing. I had been nagging him for years. To my annoyance, somebody-him? — had been in the office. The outer door stood open. Not only that, across the room, the balcony door was open too. I wondered if my father was at last having a contractor look at its stability; the ropes were no longer securing its old door. It was a feature that from inside the room you could only see part of the balcony, the part by the door. Strange material was blowing in a breeze that constantly raked it because of the height of the tenement. As this eye-catching stuff fluttered, I thought a woman was sitting out there until I recognised my own stole, one I always left in the office for when I felt chilly.

I walked over there. The stole had been tied onto a handle of one of the old amphorae. What in Hades was that about? The amphorae, about five of the dusty, heavy things, were all standing out there. So much for the boy tidying. He had just lugged them outside. I would have to drag them back in because the extra weight was dangerous. I bet he meant to heave them over and let them drop in the alley, but could not manage it. I knew better than to try.

We all loved that balcony. I cannot say how many warm evenings it had seen, with members of my family out there in ones, twos or threes for general pleasure or for solace in hard times. I had always adored it. Tempted, I stepped out.

It felt solid enough. True, where it was cantilevered off the side of the building, there were large cracks, enough to have perturbed Father and Uncle Lucius. Oh, but what a glorious amenity, if it was ever safely renovated. I had really missed having it.

This Was, as it had always been, the best feature of the Eagle Building. The two dismal rooms tucked up under the roof were almost made desirable by its presence. You could see for miles. The view was fabulous. I gazed once again over the red pantiled rooftops. By some quirk of planning, you could look through a wide gap in the teeming buildings and see right across the River Tiber to the countryside beyond. You could hear the distant hum of life in Rome, catch its exotic miscellany of scents, feel that you were part of a great city and yet isolated in your private place. The sun on my face was marvellous.

I ventured across to the balustrade and looked down. The alley was full of men. One, seeing me appear high above him, began wildly gesticulating, throwing both his arms wide in an urgent movement. Others began looking up, pointing and shouting. Their words were inaudible.

Suddenly I understood. I was unwittingly embroiled in a stupid male plan.

I had to remove myself. Everything was unsafe. I was jeopardising the outcome. Those fools, Morellus and Tiberius, should have told me. Even if they had, though, I would probably have come up to look; I knew myself and my independence. It was too late now. We were all stuck.

As soon as I set foot back on the threshold of the folding door, a glance at the ropes told me. Each had been severed with a single blow, presumably from a fire-axe.

I ought not be here. When Tiberius brought me back to Fountain Court, his motive was deliberate and I should have followed his first instructions, ignoring that exaggerated afterthought about the office. I was supposed to have stayed well out of the way.

Andronicus had been set up. I had been used to do it.

I heard approaching footsteps. I was trapped. I had put myself in jeopardy; it had gone wrong.

Judging the sounds, the man was only one or two floors below now, heading up fast. The apartments on the intervening floors were unoccupied, all locked up. I had nowhere else to go.

I had no weapons. I am not a fighter.

I took the only evasive action. Quickly I slipped into the second room, my archive with the leaky roof, and hid behind its curtain. I was thinking fast. If he came in and didn't see me here, I had one chance. If I could get out past him, escape behind him, I might manage to be first downstairs. But he had nothing to lose and was light on his feet. The risk that he would catch me and stab me on the steps was too great.

I stood quite still. I heard him arrive outside. He stopped in the open doorway. He must be staring in from the landing.

He moved. His steps passed through the office, taking him to the folding door.

Now he would know I was not on the balcony. I had an instant to act. I slipped out through the curtain and straight across the room. I saw him; pushed him with both hands on the middle of his back; shoved him forwards hard. Surprise gave me time. Desperation gave me strength. I dragged the door closed, me indoors, him outside.

This could only end in disaster. He was trying to force the door leaf open, I was frantically holding on to keep it fastened. He was slim built, but it was a man against a woman and he was now openly violent. The door was a rackety bifold with battered panels, scene of much past mistreatment and even occasional violence. For years, people in drink had habitually crashed into it. Only the awkwardness of that dilapidated woodwork, which had always jammed and refused to operate properly, helped me.