Richard Blake - The Curse of Babylon

The big window was a foot behind me. I could have chosen better rooms for a getaway when Shahin called for his parley. I didn’t fancy a second tiled roof in one day — not in a toga, not in the dark. But the library had been safely distant from the tunnel where I could hope Antonia had made her own escape.

Of course, I’d wasted my time. Even as I weighed the benefits of pulling the window open, or jumping straight through it, you can guess who sidled into the room. I say sidled — with that overdone creeping across the floor, Antonia would have been booed off any stage where she was playing in a chorus of conspirators. Luckily, everyone else was now making too much noise to notice her. The first Shahin knew of her was when she got behind him.

‘Move an inch,’ she cried in a poor approximation of the manly, ‘and I’ll saw your head off.’ She pulled him backwards and tightened her grip. I saw the dull sheen of steel in the moonlight.

Shahin opened his mouth and laughed. ‘What splendid taste you have in women, Alaric,’ he cried in Persian. ‘So many the chances I passed up at our last meeting.’ Letting out a squeak that was probably meant to be a growl, Antonia pressed the blade harder still against his throat. ‘Shall I order my men to put down their swords?’ he jeered. ‘Or shall I just shit myself with terror?’ As he finished, he produced what may have been his best ever artificial fart. A moment later, he went limp. Surprised, or trying for a better angle, Antonia relaxed her pressure. That was the end of her hostage-taking. I couldn’t see what Shahin did with his left arm. But I did hear the thud of her knife against one of the bookracks. He twisted round and knocked her to the floor. With a cry of triumph, he was waving his men forward again. ‘Change of plan, Alaric!’ he sniggered. ‘Go for that window, and you’ll never see her again.’

But I’d already given up on the window. Sword in hand, I punched his closest heavy aside, and dodged past another, and was level with Shahin before he could draw breath again. I gave up the chance of killing him. Instead, I snatched Antonia into my free hand and threw her towards the door. ‘Get out!’ I said urgently. I turned back to deal with Shahin. But he’d got himself behind one of the tables and was calling out a stream of orders in Syriac. I reached for the lamp and threw it at the men. It went out at once and crashed uselessly against a wall, but gave me time to dart past them after Antonia.

Out on the big landing, I paused to get my bearings. The best way out was down the stairs. The soft patter of feet on marble, though, ruled that out. If we turned sharp left, there was another room with an open balcony. We could barricade ourselves in there till Shahin ran out of time. I reached out for Antonia. She wasn’t where I’d expected her to be, but cried out from behind me. I turned in time to get one of the dim shadows with the flat of my sword. I heard his head strike loud on one of the marble balustrades. Before I could reach out again, someone else grabbed hold of my cloak. It was now all a blur about me of darting shadows. I stepped backwards and raised my sword. Antonia cried out again and I think she wriggled free. Because I lunged in her direction, most of the blow from behind landed on my shoulder. Even so, I staggered and lost my footing on the topmost step. I grabbed at nothingness, but thought I’d catch my balance. I didn’t quite. The best I could manage as I fell backwards was to twist so that I rolled down the first flight of steps. Dazed and winded, I pushed myself to a kneeling position against one of the balustrades and patted round for my sword.

‘Someone, get a light!’ Shahin roared. ‘Find him. I want him alive.’

Antonia was suddenly beside me. ‘Get up,’ she moaned, pulling at my clothes. ‘I don’t think they can see us.’ I rubbed my head and looked about. Far above in the library, someone had struck a light. Someone else was feeling his way down the stairs. The moment we ran for it, we’d be seen. But it was that or be found anyway. Still feeling for my sword, my hand touched on the face of the man who’d broken my fall. I didn’t recall the impact, but hoped he was alive — that, or that I hadn’t made him bleed. Just as much as Shahin, I needed no signs of violence left behind in the baths.

Antonia pulled harder. ‘We must go,’ she moaned, her voice hovering between desperation and tears. I gave up on my sword. Holding hands with Antonia, I stumbled down into the main hall and let her take me towards the door that led down to the furnace rooms. I pulled it open and looked back into the hall. Leaning over the balcony, pointing and calling out, Shahin was surrounded by men carrying makeshift torches of papyrus. A few yards behind me, two dark figures had stopped chasing and, swords in hand, were now creeping forward.

I slammed the door in their faces and didn’t wait to feel if there was a bolt I could draw. We fell down more steps into the complete darkness of the drainage tunnel. Expecting at any moment to hear the creak of wood on rusty hinges and a shouting of many voices, I kept hold of Antonia and rushed along the tunnel. We crashed once into a wall where it curved. I think I stumbled twice on the uneven floor. But there was no sound of a chase behind us. In a silence broken only by the crunch and echo of our own footsteps, we ran the length of the tunnel and came out into the comparative brightness of the moonshine that lit up the rubbish-filled depression hiding the tunnel’s entrance.

In silence, we walked together in the shadow of the immense warehouses that lined every street in this part of the City. It would need supreme bad luck to bump into Shahin or any of his people out here. I had no sword and Antonia’s knife was somewhere on the library floor. Even so close to the dawn, there was some risk of thieves or of drunken youths of quality out for one last thrill.

In safety, though, we came once more to the Central Milestone. The sky behind the Great Church was already bright. Before long, the public slaves would be out to clean the streets. With them would come the working lower orders about their business. I turned in the direction of the Triumphal Way.

‘We did it!’ Antonia said flatly. ‘We got away.’

‘We got away again,’ I corrected her. I thought of a brief lecture on the folly of getting involved in men’s work. But, in the growing light of day, I stared down at the sorry thing my toga had become. You could now soak it in urine for a month and the stains wouldn’t come out. As for the long rip from the waist down. .

Antonia caught the look on my face and went into quiet though helpless laughter. It was impossible not to join in. Hand in hand, shaking with a mirth no observer could have explained, we made our way round the big fountain Constantine had set in a square laid out to commemorate the religious concord he thought had followed the outcome of the Council of Nicaea.

What a fathead he’d been! Still, he’d given his name to the City. That could make anyone’s name immortal.

I stretched out lazily for my wine cup. Making sure not to spill any on the silken sheets, I sipped with exaggerated delicacy. ‘You will marry me?’ I asked, trying not to sound as eager as I felt.

Antonia wriggled free of me and sat up. Since dawn, we’d coupled and slept, and coupled again and again, and slept. It was hours since I’d told Samo to go away and tell anyone who asked that I was still indisposed. Long before then, I’d barely noticed how the sun had reached its blazing zenith and the rumble of traffic far below my sleeping quarters had died away. But the long ecstasy was over. Bruised and bitten, sore from the unobserved drying up of every fluid supplied by nature for the normal satisfaction of lust, I kicked the bedclothes away and wiggled my toes.