Lindsey Davis - The Silver Pigs

"Then take the silver. Let it be my gift for my poor beleaguered father. Take it. Go away and never trouble him or any of us again."

It was a brave gamble and I understood now what my clear principled lady had earlier been trying to achieve. Like her father, she was trying to salvage her uncle's reputation, even on his terms. She was swamped in a tangle of family loyalties beside which the petty wrangling of my own relations seemed positively jolly.

"Your conscience-racked father has nothing left for me " Publius began.

It was a decoy. At the same moment, both he and I swung forwards towards the spot where Helena Justina helplessly stood. She knew she was in danger. He saw me anticipate and sprang instead for his sword. I saw him change course and zig zagged after him.

Almost as soon as I launched at him I realized he could fight. In some shady part of the Empire he had learned tricks a middle class gentleman ought not to know. Fortunately for me I was not middle class.

The fight was vicious, worsened because Meto was the type who believed it distracted his opponent to snarl a great deal and to clash weapons whenever he could, whether the blow he was landing served any purpose or not. I didn't mind that. I was soon making noises myself as we gasped through the aisles of pepper and spice, hitting barrels and bales until we were both straining for breath. I was glad Helena Justina had the sense to keep out of the way.

I fought the senator's wayward younger brother up and down in that gloomy scented place for half an hour. As we crushed the rich contents of Helena's heirloom under our scrabbling feet our eyes streamed. Publius must have been approaching fifty, but he possessed the family height. His expressionless demeanour made him unnerving; there was nothing to work on, nothing to play off, no automatic responses I could tickle along, then delude.

He had the better weapon with a longer reach, though that was the least of my worries; I had practised this combination for years with Glaucus at the gym. Meto had practised too, however. Wherever he had trained, they believed in shearing hamstrings and prodding thumbs in eyes. At least I had prepared myself to keep him at a distance by lashing out with my unfurled belt, then, when he battered in too close, winding it round my forearm like a gladiator to ward off his lunging blade.

He was fit. I was tired. We had pounded up past Helena for the third time, with me avoiding the danger of meeting her anxious eyes. I knew I must appear to be struggling quite a normal sight in her view then her uncle relaxed, my concentration flickered and suddenly he knocked up the dagger from my hand. I sprawled frantically after it, throwing myself headlong, then spidering sideways with grit spiking my palms and knees as I fell at full stretch onto my knife.

I was still on the floor, flat out, ready to roll over with my arm up, but knowing it was probably too late. Helena Justina had been standing so still we were both forgetting her. Her uncle came running with his sword high, letting out a terrifying screech. As he rushed, even though she was bound, Helena flung all her weight against a barrel I had at one point pushed her behind. The keg toppled. Its contents gushed out, bouncing and skid addling for yards across the hard-baked warehouse floor.

No time to thank her. I got one knee under me and pushed myself to my feet. Splaylegged, I swarmed across the stricken keg. Meto exclaimed. He faltered as the tiny iron-hard balls beneath the tender arches of his well-kept feet rocked him over on his insteps. My own horny pads wore boots with triple soles a good inch thick. I kicked out to scatter the nutmegs as I scrambled forwards, then before he could recover I ducked under his guard and smashed the pommel of my knife against his wrist. He dropped the sword. To make sure, I barged him with my shoulder away from it.

Helena Justina immediately captured the sword.

"Stay!" The bastard moved. "Over!" I choked. "Don't move. It's all over"

"Not bad," he gasped, "for a… tousled tyke from the Subura slums!"

"Nothing to lose don't move!" I knew the type. This one was going to give me trouble right to the slamming of the door to the cells. "Don't push me, Camillus!"

Helena demanded quickly, "Falco, what now?"

The Palace. Vespasian can decide."

"Falco, you're a fool!" Publius exclaimed. "Share the silver with me; the spices too, and the girl, Falco -"

I was angry then. Once he had disposed of her to suit his own low purposes, when he had married her to Pertinax. Never again.

"Your nice niece has terrible taste but not as terrible as that! The play's over. The Aventine watch are blocking the Ostia Road searching everything that moves there from a grandmother's shopping basket to a camel's hump. Petronius Longus won't miss an illegal waggon train. That silver's your death warrant"

"You're lying, Falco!"

"Don't judge me by your standards. It's time to go."

Sosia's father and he was Sosia's father; I think he knew I could never forget that made me a wry gesture, open palmed, like a gladiator who has lost his arms acknowledging defeat.

"Let me choose my own way."

"What," I scoffed, "death with that high moral tone you so despised in life? A middle class traitor too honourable to hang?"

"Oh Marcus Helena murmured. And at that moment I first heard the great door creak. "Allow a man his civic rights," she begged. "Give him the chance; see what he makes of it. Let me give him the sword She had done it before I could stop her, that fine clear-eyed face open as day. Of course he had it at her precious throat at once.

Camillus Meto had no more honour than a stinging nettle and the lass had brushed too close. He scrunched one hand deep into the soft body of her hair, flinging Helena to her knees. She took on a grey look. One move from either of us and he would slice her like a smoked Spanish ham.

I ordered him steadily, "Let her go as I tried to keep his eye.

"Oh Falco! Your real weak point!"

"No, sir my strength."

Helena did not struggle or speak; her eyes were scorching me. I took a step.

"No closer!"

He was standing between me and the door. It gave him the best light, but I had the best view.

"Behind you, Camillus!"

"Oh gods!" he sneered. "Not that world-worn trick!"

I raised my voice: "Partner! You took your time!"

Helena cried out as her uncle hurt her, twisting her hair in a merciless grip that was aimed to distress me. That was his mistake. I was keeping my eyes on him, because of Helena, but at the end he heard the furious footfalls rush.

He began to turn. I shouted: "Yours!"

Then Publius moved; I leapt, and spun Helena away.

I buried her face, turning her, forcing her head down against my chest.

Before it was over she stopped struggling; she understood. I released her very gently, then held her close while I cut the ropes binding her, before I let her look.

Her uncle was dead. Beside him, in a pool of blood a sword: not his own. Beside that, his executioner.

The senator Decimus Camillus knelt on the ground. For a moment his eyes were closed tight. Without glancing up he asked me dazedly, in the voice he used when we were cronies at Glaucus' gym, "What does your trainer tell us, Marcus? To kill a man with a sword takes strength, speed and a real desire to see him dead!" That was indeed what honest Glaucus generally said. It had been a good strong blow with his whole heart behind it, but I would never tell him that. "Oh my brother, Hail and Farewell!"

Still holding his daughter with one arm, I approached and offered the other to bring him to his feet. Still clinging to me, Helena fell on his neck. I embraced them both together. For that moment we three were equal, sharing our deep relief and pain.