Lindsey Davis - The Jupiter Myth

'Falco!' Petronius could see the odds.

I took the head half off the nearest brute while he stood with his mouth open. I still don't know how I did that. It felt good though. In my next onslaught I went for two at once. Now the thugs scattered away. I was on my own for half a minute, then I was aware of Petronius alongside.

Other things were happening.

Rattling chains signalled the opening of the huge hatch for animals at the eastern gate. It shot up; new figures raced out, amid the frantic noise of baying dogs.

'Watch out!' Petronius called to me. If these were arena-trained, they were killers. We made a run for the outskirts. Some of the heavies were less lucky. The pack of hounds were on them, hot for blood. To my astonishment, in among the dogs I saw the slight, pale form of our rescued girl, Albia, wild-eyed and cheering them on. Running in behind in a flash of blue came my own Helena. After her lumbered the dogman, waving his arms, puffing with effort, protesting in a way that said he had not parted with his dogs willingly. Helena turned to remonstrate, defending the hijack.

Petronius and I had lost Chloris and Florius in the melee. Petro spotted them first. Almost at the gate, Florius kept going, unaware how closely he was being chased by Chloris. He thought he was safe. Then Chloris leapt on him from behind. We heard him gasp. He went flat, swallowing sand.

Chloris was up again. Merciless, she hauled Florius to his feet, her sword at his throat. She was angry. 'Get up, you bastard!'

A grumble of thunder disturbed the summer afternoon. It seemed to be darker than ever.

'We'll take him -' commanded Petronius as we two ran up, breathless. He thought himself the gallant type, which meant never subservient to women.

'Stuff you!' growled Chloris. I bent double, getting my breath. We had run almost the length of the arena, after fighting hard.

'This rat is mine -' Petro would never learn. Sweating hard in the sultry temperature, he drew a forearm across his brow.

'No, I want him,' Chloris insisted.

'I've been after him for years!'

'And now I've got him!' Chloris backed away, dragging the gangster like a barley sack. White-faced in her grip, he now looked like the old bundle of gibbering nonentity. Leather trousers don't turn a wimp into a demi-god. He may have shaved his head but he still had all the personality of a dirty rag. He was so scared he was dribbling.

'How's the wife, Florius?' Petronius taunted.

'I'll have you for this, vigilis!'

Out in the arena the female gladiators were now sporting with the Florius bullies. Blades flashed and women laughed harshly. Maddened horses ran free. The dogs were chasing around, showing themselves to have no pedigree as mastiffs, but to be simple-hearted British curs with mange and fleas and a love of fun. They fastened their teeth in the gangsters' garments and swung in the air, like Nux tugging a rope end as a game.

Helena was coming towards us, pulling Albia away from the area of danger. Even in this weird light I could see the little scavenger, bright-eyed with excitement, clearly relishing life in the adventurous Falco household. Then she spotted and recognised Florius. He must have been at the brothel while she was a prisoner. He must have done something to her. Albia stood stock still and began to scream.

Her piercing shrieks caught us all out. I covered my ears briefly. Florius ignored the girl. Seizing his moment, he bucked and broke free. Chloris reacted instantly, but he slashed her with a brutal fist across the face, and snatched her sword. Her wrist was sliced as she tried instinctively to grab it back. Before anyone could stop him, he had stabbed her in the belly with a wild, circular stroke. Florius, who normally let others do his killing, staggered and looked startled.

With a murmur of surprise, Chloris collapsed to the ground. There was blood everywhere. I fell on my knees beside her and fumbled to staunch it, but he had ripped her open fatally and no one could push back the unravelling gut. The task was hopeless I still knelt there, disbelieving and sick.

'She's dying,' said Petronius Longus harshly. He was wrong for once, and I knew it. She was dead.

A huge crack of thunder scared all Hades out of everyone. Ferocious lightning split the skies. Torrential rain ruined visibility and left us gasping – just as Florius seized his chance and made a bolt for it.

'Leave her!' Helena commanded. She pulled off her stole, its fabric already soaked in patches, and laid the blue material over Chloris as I wiped my hands and forearms on the sand. Out in the arena there were plenty of bodies, most of them male. The women were starting to look over here; one or two began to run. At the far gate I could see a few red tunics: soldiers had arrived, at least in small numbers. Some were talking with the heavies; most were casually examining the dark corpse of the dead bear.

'Marcus!' urged Petro.

'Leave her to us,' Helena repeated, giving me a shove. 'Go! Go after Florius!'

Petronius was already going, so as if in a dream I followed him.

Now we knew we were in Britain. Dear gods, any softness I was feeling for this province was wiped out by that first tremendous onslaught of rain. Storms in the Mediterranean have the grace to come at night. Why, when the weather broke in northern climes, did always it happen in the afternoon?

No building in town was likely to be so well drained as the amphitheatre, but the sheer quantity of water pelting down earthwards had us splashing through torrents even in the shelter of the gateway. The drainage gullies were already thundering with water. Above, sheets of rain careered off every tier of seats. The passageway between the public barrier on the first row and the safety palisade had flooded almost instantly.

Outside the amphitheatre we could not have been more exposed, anywhere in Londinium, except on the river. Petronius and I staggered from the gateway, with our clothes plastered to our bodies and our hair stuck down, while rivulets cascaded from all parts of us. I felt I could drown in what was streaming off my nose. My eyes were filled with water. My feet stuck to my dead-weight boots, which I could hardly lift from the sodden ground.

We peered about but Florius had vanished. Dim figures, hunched, covering their heads as best they could, scurried away in different directions through the rain and mist. Petro tried asking them, but they shook him off. If Florius had found or grabbed a cloak from someone, we would never pick him out.

Lightning still careered across the pitch-dark skies, illuminating our stark faces. Petronius flung an arm in one direction, then he hared off. I turned right. I would be heading towards open country, a fool's errand. Another appalling roll of thunder cracked all around. If there had been a doorway, I would have rushed for shelter and abandoned everything.

The track that led from the arena hit a road. I jarred my knee when I first pounded on the metalled surface, but I limped on, as the rain increased. I hated this place. I hated the weather. I hated the damned badly run, vulnerable society that had let Florius in, and the administration that did nothing to control his antics. I hated the planners who positioned arenas in remote locations. I hated life.

Didius Falco, ever the cheery one in a gathering.

I turned south, making for a built-up area. The first place I reached seemed to be industrial premises, with what sounded like machinery working. I half opened a door. There must be a treadmill. It was pitch dark but I could hear the rackety clatter of its paddles, with the dribbling kiss of the water being raised then sloshed into a collection chamber. It sounded rather tentative.

I could have sheltered, but it might be hours before the rain let up. I still entertained faint hopes of catching up with Florius. I called out, but nobody answered, so I plunged back outside into the storm again.