Lindsey Davis - Nemesis

'Spot!' Quintus and I roared at him, as we scrambled to our feet.

We all mounted up; we had a mix of mules and donkeys. Checking our weapons, we piled in pursuit. If this was just some inept ox rustler, we would look stupid, but we knew where Nero had been stolen so none of us believed that.

The countryside was gently rolling; when he turned off down a dirt track, we were close enough behind to see him leave the highway. A bullock cart can put on a fast turn of speed, a fully grown ox less so -and Nero had always been a plodder. Nonetheless, it was two miles before we caught up. It was Petro's ox all right, but by then abandoned. No mistaking that dun-coloured hunk of beef, with his mournful low and his permanent stream of dribble. He was even hitched to our own cart, the one we had had to leave in the marshes after the ox was taken. There was no time to make jokes about salvage rights, but Petronius and his po-faced brother would be delighted.

Nobilis had left the cart and taken off on foot. I made Lentullus stay with the ox. His bad leg would have hampered him, and those two simple souls could look after one another while the rest of us, the hard men, tracked our killer. We stayed on mule-back as long as possible, but soon, like him, we had to leg it. He vanished down a deep ravine and there was no choice but to follow him in.

'I know this place,' said Silvius. 'It's where we first found bodies!'

Italy is a strange country geographically, so long and narrow, with its great spine, the ever-present Apennines. They were there in the distance, low-looking grey ridges far away but visible beyond the undulating foreground plain. Even in summer, towering clouds rise over those hills. You can see them as you approach Rome. After storms and in winter, rain pours off the Apennines. Trapped water causes the Pontine Marshes. Here close to Antium, groundwater lay very close to the surface but instead of forming marshes, rivers carved phenomenal channels through the alluvium, down which they sucked the surplus to the sea. For century after century it happened, creating strange caves, deep seasonal gullies, and incredible ravines. You would not know they were there. From above, the countryside seemed featureless. The presence of these gullies made farming harder, so only a short way past Antium was a near wilderness. In this dire place, Claudius Nobilis had struck down one of the deep ravines. There was nothing else to do: trusting our souls to the gods – - those of us who believed in gods – - we went in after him. A few who did not believe in a deity until then may have offered a swift apology for doubting and beseeched divine protection after all.

Why does it always happen to me? In the course of my work, I had been at the bottom of some ghastly holes. This was another appalling experience. Nobilis had scrambled into a fissure in the earth that became fifty feet deep in places, though never much more than six feet across. The sides rose perpendicularly. Soon we felt quite cut off from the world; we feared we would never manage to return. No place I had ever been in contained such a sense of menace. It felt like one of the approaches to Hades.

He kept going. Hours seemed to pass as we struggled slowly after him. The ravine's formation reminded me of straight-sided rock-cut corridors I had seen in Nabataea, places so narrow a claustrophobic man would have to turn back afraid. In high summer, it was dry. One of our men, who had local knowledge, told us that when the rains came, such a ravine would contain raging water to waist height. In summer its soggy bottom fed the sturdy roots of unyielding undergrowth. The going was almost impossible. Bright green frogs croaked everywhere; flies tormented us. Sweat poured off us as we strove forwards. As we trampled on, scratched and torn by ferocious scrub plants, we became rapidly exhausted.

The place nearly defeated us. We were not the first to come here. Generations of criminals must have used this hateful crevice. They used it to hide themselves, their loot, their weaponry. They left behind sordid litter. Bodies must have been dumped here too. They would never be found. The undergrowth would conceal them, the floods would carry them away.

Ahead of us, the killer also struggled. He knew the ravine of old, yet found no easier way through it than we did. If paths had ever existed, harsh foliage had reclaimed them. Its prickly growth was impenetrable. The atmosphere, the heat, the smell, drained us. Being in a group, we just about kept up our spirits, and were closing the gap between us and our quarry. Nobilis was alone. He was on his own forever now, and he knew it.

In the end he could go no further. With no way out, he turned on us. We never saw him coming but suddenly we heard him, as with a long, wild yell, he crashed out of hiding. With barely time to react, we bunched closer, bringing our swords up defensively. For an instant it did seem his intention was to break out past us. The ravine was too narrow, the tangled thicket too dense. His animal howl of defeat, despair and rage continued. We braced ourselves.

Nobilis flung himself straight at us. So this man, who had killed so many people with his own crude weapons, used us and our raised swords to kill himself.

Once we dragged out our blades and the corpse fell to the ground, we stood in shock. Silvius recovered first and rolled him over. We gathered round, to inspect the remains. We had to see, once, the man we knew to be the killer.

He looked younger than Probus and the twins. There were likenesses. We could see he belonged to the Claudii. He was bigger, more unkempt, over-heavy. Dead as he was, he lay staring at the sky in a way that made us shiver. Camillus Justinus, a man of refinement, stooped down quickly to pull the eyes shut with one thumb and forefinger.

Just before he did so, Quintus looked up at me. 'That barman's wife in the Transtiberina may have seen Nobilis. She said he had peculiar eyes.' He spoke with the same throwaway manner Helena would use in company, tossing me something to think about, for discussion later. I said nothing, but I looked – - then I drew the same conclusions.

We left the body there. We were exhausted. Dragging it back up the ravine would have finished us. If his siblings wanted to collect Nobilis for burial, let them.

'Myself, I like to go to law,' said Silvius, back in Antium. 'A quick show trial, and a bloody execution. Deterrent to others. Suicide-by-cohort never works the same.'

Since the Urban was in a vengeful mood, he then let on that Claudius Probus was to remain in custody.

'What happened to his get-out clause?'

'Ah, Falco, I just remembered! I am not empowered to offer it. Immunity from prosecution is reserved to the Emperor – - and he, I gather, never intervenes in criminal cases… So it's thanks for the help, Probus – - but tough luck!'

The surviving twin, Virtus, was also in trouble, potentially. Despite his insistence that he kept aloof from his brothers' activities, Justinus had remembered something: 'When we picked him up at their shack in the marshes, I noticed his wife, Byrta, was wearing a good quality scarf in a dark red material. Silvius, if you can ever find any of the runaway slaves who belonged to Modestus and Primilla, you must show them that scarf. Primilla was wearing something like it when she left home.'

Piece by piece, we were linking the Claudii to their victims. We also had the unusual chain that Nobilis must have given to Demetria; I was confident that belonged with the cameo taken from the Rome courier on the Via Triumphalis. Petro would send the cameo for comparison; Silvius would take it to the Dioscurides workshop for absolute confirmation.

We asked both Probus and Virtus about their connection with Anacrites. Both blanked us. In my view, now Nobilis was dead, they were afraid they would bear the full burden as public scapegoats, but they believed the spy would extricate them. I thought they were wrong. 'No; he will distance himself now. I know him. He will sacrifice the Claudii to save his own career.'