Rome: The Emperor's Spy: Rome 1 (56 page)

They had, indeed, been safe from the fire. Hannah had even managed to sleep, fitfully, until an hour or two before dawn, when the sound of falling masonry had woken her and, with Shimon and Hypatia, she had gone outside in the pre-dawn dark to watch the fire’s progress.

It came fast, and against the wind, but even when the saddler’s stall just down the hill burst into wild, greasy flame, it was clear that Hypatia had been right; it was never going to reach across Juno’s wide meadow to touch the geese or their keeper’s cottage.

Wide awake now, Hannah stood huddled with Hypatia and Shimon in the doorway watching flames scour the night sky, gauging the fire’s progress towards them by its colour and heat. Soon after the saddler’s, the silversmith’s took light. The workshop at the back was full of precious metals that burned in a rainbow cacophony of colours: acid greens lanced through deeper shades of blue and violet; red spheres rose to hover like bloody ghosts in the heat; a sheet of white washed through once, and was gone.

The fire moved on and the colours faded until only the spectrum of reds and paler golds remained, like a hearth fire, but so vast that it roused its own wind, growing ever fiercer until a fire-made gale seethed through the rafters loud enough to overwhelm the crash of tumbling masonry and falling beams in the street outside.

Which was how three people used to subterfuge, trained to hear the sounds beneath the murmur of the world, did not hear the guards who came to find them until six armoured men began to break down the oak gate with their fire axes.

Hypatia reacted first. ‘That’s not Pantera. Go!’ She shoved Hannah ungently in the small of the back. ‘We can hide in the goose-house on the island.’

Hannah ran across the meadow towards the bridge. Hypatia kept by her side all the way, urging her on, catching her elbow when she fell, hauling her up, pushing her ever faster, as if they were young again, running from some shrill Sibyl bent on revenge.

With her nose and throat full of gritty soot and her hair grey with smoke, Hannah stumbled across the bridge and under the weeping alders towards the mossy stone goose-house.

The stone hut was cloaked in darkness, hidden from the firelight by a fringe of hanging branches. Hypatia could see in the dark, it seemed. She reached forward and twisted and a door opened, dark on dark. The mellow smell of sleeping geese feathered out, thinning the smoke and soot.

‘Inside.’ Hypatia’s mouth was next to Hannah’s ear. ‘There’s a space to your right by the perches. Try not to tread on a gosling. They scream like wounded deer.’

Hannah squeezed in on her hands and knees, feeling ahead of herself for anything living. She touched hot goose faeces and an old, cold egg, and the scrawny leg of an adult goose that snibbed at her ribs, and then there was only the stone wall, old with cobwebs and dust.

She felt for the corner and turned round slowly, cramped by the stone on two sides and a wooden perch on the other. The door to the goose-hut swung shut, cutting off the fire and the smoke and the sounds of axes crashing on wood, and men committing violence.

Hannah’s eyes began slowly to find fragments of light and to build from them images of geese and wood, stone and flesh. Hypatia was very close. Her breath smelled pleasantly of wood smoke, as if the charnel house stench outside hadn’t touched her. Her elbows rested on Hannah’s knees. Nobody else was in the small space beyond her; there wasn’t room. Which meant …

‘Where’s Shimon?’ Hannah whispered.

‘Fulfilling his oath to your father.’

‘
Hypatia!
Where is he?’

Hypatia kept her eye pressed to a gap in the door, from which she could watch the garden. She said, ‘He’s doing what the gander would do if the geese were attacked; he’s sacrificing his life that we might—
No!
– Your death won’t stop his, or make it any swifter, or— Hannah, will you be still and
listen
?’ She grasped both of Hannah’s wrists, and physically prevented her from leaving the goose-house.

Cramped, scared, still whispering, Hannah was furious. ‘Why must he die for me? We despise Saulos for pretending that my father gave his life in sacrifice for people he could never know, why is this different? Hasn’t there been enough blood?’

‘He believes you are worth saving.’

‘But I don’t—’

‘Hush.’ Hannah felt Hypatia fumble to reach and lift her hand. Her cool, dry lips pressed briefly to the heel of her thumb. Her mother used to kiss her like that, a way to restrain, to hold, to keep Hannah quiet and safe at times when hot blood and youth might have caused her to speak or act out of turn. In all their time together, Hypatia had never kissed her thus. ‘This is his choice. Let him make it.’

Outside in the meadow, men shouted, one of them in pain. Hypatia dropped Hannah’s hand and pressed her eye to the gap in the door. Presently, easing back, she whispered, ‘He’s lied to them, told them we’ve gone. It may be enough to stop them searching any further. Sit very still.’

They sat crushed together in the dark with the fidgeting geese, holding cramped hand to cramped hand, barely breathing, with their hearts loud enough for each to hear the other and their tears dried with terror.

It wasn’t enough.

Whatever Shimon had said, he was not believed. Orders were shouted and on that command six men searched Juno’s garden, a place they defiled by their mere presence.

Hannah, who couldn’t see, heard their voices sweep ever closer. She found Hypatia’s sleeve in the dark and gripped it.

‘What do we do if they find us?’

‘You sit still and let the geese keep you safe.’

‘What will you do?’ Suddenly, horrifyingly, Hannah knew the answer. ‘No. No. No, you mustn’t—’

‘My love …’ Hypatia turned to face her. The kiss she gave then was a lover’s kiss, full of memories and hope and promises for the future. ‘I have to go now. They’re hunting for a man and a woman and they must find them. I asked for this time with you and it was given. For that we should be grateful.’

There was a scuff of nails on wood, not unlike the scratch of a mouse, and a brief, billowed draught as the door opened and shut.

‘
Hypatia!
’

Her first instinct was to hammer, screaming, on the door until someone – anyone at all – came to open it and let her out. But the geese had shifted in the dark and got in her way, so that she couldn’t reach the door in time to stop the bar settling down to keep it shut.

Stuck, she had no choice but to crawl forward on her hands and knees, reaching blindly ahead until she felt the change in texture that was stone giving way to wood.

‘Hypatia?’

Childlike, Hannah whimpered aloud to the dark. Fast, hot tears washed her face clean and made her head pound with the same unstable rhythm as her heart so that her pulse surfed in her ears, washing out the muttering geese, and the fire, and the distant shouts of the guards rising over a woman’s single scream.

‘T
hat’s Hannah!
Go!
’

Seneca heard Pantera’s voice clearly over the demolition of the fire and, as if it spoke to him, launched himself forward.

‘Don’t be a fool!’ Ajax jerked him to a halt, his fingers iron-hard on Seneca’s forearm. They were hiding under a broken cistern at the foot of the hill. The river mumbled sullenly behind, outdone by the majesty of the fire ahead. ‘Saulos is between us and Pantera. What we heard, he has heard. He loves Hannah. What will he do?’

Seneca blew out a breath. ‘If he truly loves her, then I think he won’t kill her or let her be killed, but he will certainly kill Pantera if he has the chance. His only regret will be that it can’t be done slowly, over days.’

‘And he will want to gloat before he kills. He hasn’t the strength of mind not to.’ Quiet as a ghost, Ajax had risen to his feet. Near naked, with the firelight sharp on the first new growth of his hair, with his scars like living silver across all parts of his torso, he looked barely human. Seneca was terrified of him. He had denied this half the night. Now, he allowed himself the honesty.

He drew a sharp breath. ‘You’re right; Saulos won’t throw his knives from a distance. We can follow him and Pantera as they both ascend the hill.’

‘Then we shall do so.’ Ajax smiled, grimly. ‘This time, you don’t have to run, but you do have to follow exactly where I go, and make no sound.’

If the whole of the night had been a preparation for this, it was inadequate, but still Seneca succeeded in the tasks that were set him, and exulted in them. He was burned across his forearms and face, his scalp was singed, he trod on glowing embers so that his sandals burned through to his feet. His nose was clogged with noxious many-coloured smoke and his eyes streamed red raw. He wormed under dangerously unstable walls, stepped past pools of liquid pitch and clambered over dead men and hounds, and was as happy as he could ever remember being.

Always, Ajax was ahead, finding the best path. And always Saulos was ahead of him, and Pantera ahead again and his wiry companion ahead of both, all three of them visible now that Seneca had the art of seeing them.

And because he had the art of seeing, he saw the detachment of the Watch emerge from the gate in the whitewashed hall. And he saw their two prisoners.

Ajax was a half-seen glimmer of pale skin lying prone beneath a fallen roof beam. Gathering his courage, Seneca crawled forward to join him.

‘That’s—’

‘Shimon and Hypatia, I know. But not Hannah.’ Ajax watched a moment, then said, ‘The centurion’s stoking up the fire at the next-door shop.’

‘He can’t burn the goose-keeper’s house – Juno keeps it immune to fire.’

‘Does she? If I were a Roman, I’d worship her ahead of Mars. The centurion’s doing his best to make it burn, though. Either he thinks nobody’s left inside …’

‘Or he’s trying to make sure that whoever’s in there doesn’t come out. Pantera thinks that. Look.’

Pantera had caught up with the wiry, dark-haired officer who was his companion. Both were watching the centurion as he stoked the new fire. They were animated in their conversation, pointing, gesticulating, shaking their heads.

The centurion leapt back smartly. A smouldering beam fell, as if at his command, and blocked the gate in the whitewashed wall. He stayed a heartbeat longer, to be sure the fire had caught, and then left at a run, following the route his men had taken.

In his hiding place, Pantera made a point, with emphasis. The small, wiry man saluted and followed the centurion at a discreet distance. Pantera waited, fidgeting, until they were out of sight, then ran to the gate.

Seneca said, ‘We have to unblock the gate. He’s going to try to—’

‘He’s going to try to climb the wall and he won’t succeed.’

‘You could go in his stead. You’re fitter than he is.’ Even in the half-dark, with the fire making the shadows jump, it was obvious that Pantera was at the limit of his resources.

Ajax was looking somewhere else. ‘Where do you think Saulos has gone?’

‘He’s over there.’ Seneca pointed to his left.

‘Not any more.’

Blinking his eyes clear of the smoke, Seneca looked up the hill to the place where Saulos had been tucked discreetly behind a broken wall, and found it empty.

In his ear, Ajax whispered, ‘There.’

Up ahead fresh fires blazed, men shouted and smoke billowed thickly. Through it, Seneca saw Pantera trying to find a way past the smoking beam to the blocked door in the whitewashed wall.

And there, too, less than ten yards further on, Saulos was crouched in a doorway, a knife in either hand.

T
he only route in to find Hannah was over the wall. To that end, Seneca gave him a leg up. Feeling for handholds, he discovered that the top was not covered in spikes, as he had feared it might be.

On the far side, he dangled for a moment, hanging by his hands. He had no idea how far he was from the ground. On a prayer, he let go. The fall was just far enough to jar his ankles, but not so far as to break them. He landed hard on the paved path below, rolled a little and pushed himself up to standing.

The gardens were not as fire-bright as the street outside; the same walls of the neighbouring houses that kept the meadow safe also shaded it from the flames. Neither were the moon and stars any use for light; the entire sky was blurred to bloody mess by the smoke.

He stood still, breathing the cleaner air. Had he been asked earlier in the day – by Seneca, say, or Math – he would have said he knew exactly, to the nearest heartbeat, the limits of his own exhaustion; that he had plumbed his own depths so often that he knew when it was impossible to push himself further.

The night had proved him clearly wrong; several times he had thought he must stop and rest, and had found the necessary reserves to continue. In the cold light of sanity, he permitted himself the honest appraisal that climbing the wall had been a push too far.

He thought he had enough left to walk to the cottage, and perhaps lie down. Except that he had to find Hannah first. If she was alive. If the Watch hadn’t slaughtered her out of hand.

He thought he should know if she were dead. He wasn’t certain of it.

He walked slowly towards the cottage, feeling the warm grass underfoot, then cool paving stones and more grass and—

He spun towards the dark, drew the knife that he had carried through the night, jerked his arm back to throw …

And let it down again.

I am too tired for this
.

He blinked the sweat from his eyes and still he couldn’t tell if the shape coming at him across the meadow was a ghost from his past, or the first of the night’s dead come to find him.

The ghost stopped in the centre of the meadow.

‘Ajax? Ajax of Athens?’

Hannah’s voice. Her living voice. He sank to his knees on the hot, cindered grass.

‘Ajax?’ She flowed across the grass, jerkily.

Something more painful than loss blocked his throat. He tried to speak her name and it came out as a wordless croak of the kind he had heard too often through the night from inside burning buildings.