Lindsey Davis - The Jupiter Myth

I took a breath. This was the big question, the embarrassment I had avoided when I first met him. Owning up to service in the Second Augusta, during the Rebellion, could lead to bitter accusations. 'Yes,' I said levelly.

But Silvanus gave me a rueful grin, full of shared grief. Wearily he put out an arm to grasp wrists in the soldiers' salute first with me, then with Petronius. This was something I had not allowed for: Silvanus was in the Second Augusta too.

It was one of those moments when all you want to do is collapse with relief. Petronius and I could not even consider it. We still had to find and rescue Maia.

Petronius marched up to the prostrate Crixus. 'Do yourself a favour. Tell me what you were told to do. I am supposed to be a hostage exchange for Falco's sister. The whole point was for Florius to capture me and make me suffer – so why did he send you to do the job?'

'He knows I'm more competent!' sneered the centurion

I elbowed Petro aside. He was too angry; he was losing control. 'You're so competent you're now in chains, Crixus,' I pointed out. 'So what was the intention here tonight?'

'I don't know.' I stared him out. He lowered his voice. 'I don't know,' he repeated.

I believed him.

We paused to reconsider. 'So where now?'

'Caesar's Bar, after all?' Petro suggested.

'They are not at Caesar's,' Silvanus broke in. 'I just got dispatched from there by the governor after Falco's wife rushed up.'

Petronius grinned. 'Falco knows how to pick a woman with character.'

Silvanus pulled a face that told me the high style of speech my girl had addressed to Frontinus. 'What's she like if you fart in the bedroom or leave muddy boots on the table, Falco?'

'I've no idea. I don't try it. So where to?' I reiterated to Petronius.

The choice was decided for us. A soldier rushed up to tell Silvanus of urgent developments at the wharf. The customs men had spotted activity by the warehouse they were watching, the one where the baker was beaten to death. It had looked as if loot had been hastily assembled, ready to be shipped out, and they reckoned the gang were planning to flit. When they investigated, the gang had panicked and rushed them, seriously wounding Firmus. Then the gang had invaded the customs house, which was now under siege.

We went the way I knew, so we never did find out if that alley by the Shower of Gold really was a dead end. I wasn't going back there. Places where I have so nearly been killed repel me.

It was a short step. I wished we had come here first.

Down on the river, soldiers quickly took over from the embattled customs force. A long stretch of dockside was made off-limits to the public. They started moving ships out from their berths. Stores were searched. The ferries were beached. The bridge was cleared. Little boats in daily use for nipping about were taken upstream and moored. In streets all around the wharves, more troops arrived and waited patiently for orders.

Petronius and I stood on the heavily piled and banked wooden quay. We had our backs to the dark rippling water of the great river, facing the long row of packed stores. Soon there was no shipping moored; it had all been moved off, both from the deep water docking points where cargoes were unloaded, and even from out in the channel. We were staring at the customs house, a handsome stone building. Nothing there moved.

Silvanus was deploying men, some along the warehouse frontages, some on the forum road, some shinning up and clambering all over the roofs. They were silent and quick. Once on position they froze. The Second had always deserved better than their recent reputation. They were the Emperor's old legion, and it showed.

Now we had the place surrounded, every exit covered. 'Something bothering you?' I nudged Petro as he stood in a reverie.

'We were set up at the Shower of Gold,' he answered warily. 'I'm still wondering why.'

'You think there was more to it than Florius paying the Adiutrix to do for us?'

'Not their style, Falco. Florius knows I'm after him, and he wants me. But it's personal. He needs to see me suffer. Then he wants to finish me himself. He had Maia; he could have taken me. This doesn't make sense.'

Petro was too good an officer to brush aside his qualms. I trusted his instincts.

'Another thing,' I warned him. 'If he did lean on Crixus to finish us off, Florius won't now be expecting to go through with the handover. He thinks we're dead…' I tailed off. If he thought Petronius was dead, holding Maia served no purpose.

Unable to face the thought of what they might do to her, Petro found himself some action. Firmus was lying on the walkway being tended by a doctor. He had a deep gash in the side, from which he had lost too much blood. We did not ask whether he would make it; he was conscious, so we tried to seem optimistic.

Petro knelt beside him. 'Don't talk much. Just tell me who went into the building, if you can.'

'About fifteen or twenty,' Firmus croaked. Someone passed Petro a water flask, which he held to the injured man's lips. 'Thanks… Heavy weapons…'

'Were there women with them, did you see?'

Firmus was passing out. From the look of him, that might be the last he knew of anything. 'Firmus!'

'Couple of camp followers,' croaked Firmus, fading fast.

Petronius stood up.

Silvanus came to report. 'We've staked out the whole locale. We can pin them down for weeks. There's a bivvy set up, two blocks along, if you need a hot drink.' He glanced down at the customs officer, then swore under his breath.

Petronius seemed remote. Silvanus – wide, slow, and now oddly respectful – was watching him. Petro started walking up towards the customs house. I quickly informed Silvanus that the hostage situation had to be resolved. He knew about it from the governor. All the men must be aware that Petronius Longus had volunteered to hand himself over to Florius. They had worked this patch. They knew what the Jupiter gang was like. They knew what fate Florius must be planning for Petronius.

Darkness had set in. The troops assembled torches, flooding the wharf with mellow light for a long stretch in either direction. It flickered out across the nearside of the river. A crane sent a long distended shadow straight across the boards. We were aware sometimes of faces in the pools of darkness beyond our ground. A crowd must have gathered.

Petronius was now standing in shadow on the opposite side of the road from the customs house, across from the entrance. No point in delay. Silvanus signalled his men to the alert, then himself marched openly to the heavy panelled door. He beat on it with his dagger pommel.

'You inside! This is the centurion Silvanus. We have the building surrounded. If Florius is in there, he can parley with Petronius.'

After a silence, someone inside spoke.

Silvanus turned to us. 'They are telling me to get back.'

'Do it!' Slight impatience coloured Petro's order. Silvanus moved back out of range.

'All right!'

For what seemed an age, nothing happened. Then people inside opened the great door a crack. A head, attached to the man who was holding the door, checked the exterior. Various muscular types ran out into the road, covering the space outside. They had an armoury none of us expected: two full-sized ballistae which they pushed quickly over the threshold and set up to guard the entrance, plus several rare, hand-held crossbows. I heard soldiers gasp. This was staggering firepower. Most legionary footsloggers had seldom been so close to artillery, and never when it was in opposition hands.

'Nobody move!' Their centurion's warning was hardly needed.

A quick-thinking soldier passed Petronius a shield. I doubted that even triple laminate would protect him from ballista bolts at short range. But it reassured the rest of us. In theory.