At last he was above me, clinging on, astride the top rail. I bent down to collect my cloak. "I'm feeling faint," I heard him say. Then he must have slipped off, because I heard him crash-land luckily on the other side.

I had troubles of my own. Had I stayed upright, I would be dead. For just as I stooped, a heavy spear thudded into the fence, right where I had been standing. Retrieving my cloak had saved my life. In two ways: hidden under it, I had brought something useful. So when the villain who had thrown the spear now rushed me as a follow through I was ready. He came straight into my knife which he clearly expected. As he parried the knife, I jerked out his innards with my sword.

LIII

don't blame me. Blame the army. Once the legions train you to kill, any attacker gets what-for. He meant me dead. I slew him first. That's how it works.

I stepped away. My heart pounded so loudly I could hardly listen out for others coming. One down, seventeen to go! Stinking odds, even by my standards.

It was a cluttered compound. If they were here, they were well hidden. Some were outside: when I turned back to shin up after Gaius, gingery heads appeared above the fence. I grabbed a long piece of timber and thrashed at them. One fell back. Another seized the plank and yanked it from my grasp. I jumped aside in time, as he threw it down at me. Otherwise, if they were armed, they were keeping their weapons for later. Sensing that there were more men inside the depot with me, I broke away, ran down an aisle and dodged through some racks of marble. Yells from the fence were reporting my whereabouts. I dropped, and wormed my way very fast at ground level into a long tunnel of cut timber.

Suicide! My way was blocked. Trapped, I had to squirm backwards. Every second I expected to be attacked hideously from behind but the watchers had not realised I was backing out again. Men were searching the far end of the timber row where they thought I would emerge. Flattened and sweating with terror, I inched under a trestle. One man came to investigate the place where I went into the timber. He was too close to leave alone. Crouched in my hiding place, I managed a backhand sword-swipe through his legs. It was an awkward piece of scything, but I hit an artery. Anyone who hates blood can now go into hysterics. I had no time for that luxury.

His screams brought others, but I was out of there. I leapt up on the marble sheets and went flying over the top this time. Slabs groaned and lurched beneath my weight. A spear whistled past my head. Another thudded harmlessly nearby. The third skimmed my arm. Then the marble slabs began keeling over. I had hit the ground again, but the row of tilted materials behind me slipped and crashed, each expensive slab grazing the surface of its neighbour, and some smashing into my assailants.

While they jumped and cursed and nursed crushed feet, I doubled back unseen. I had some fun trying to climb around a stack of water pipes. Then I banged into a small pile of lead ingots; that brought back bad British memories for me.

The custodian's shack was locked. The only open hidey hole was the dog kennel.

Bad move, Falco. The stench was dreadful. The hounds were out, but their mess remained. These were not lapdogs. They must be fed raw offal, without the use of fancy feeding bowls. Nobody had even tried to house-train them.

Through a crack in the kennel door I could see swarming figures. The searchers thought I had scuttled among the timber again. They decided to smoke me out. Great. I preferred to survive than to save this valuable stock. It may have been imported from all over the Empire to create skirtings, folding doors and luxury veneers, but my life mattered more. Fire damage would be a new excuse in my financial reports. Who wants to be predictable?

It took some time for them to make a light, then the hardwood refused to kindle. I could do nothing except lie low, while desperate thoughts coursed through my mind. If I tried to make a break for it, I stood no chance. The men were enjoying themselves. They thought they had me there, caught in a trap; at least one was prodding the stacked timbers with a long pole, hoping to puncture or spit me. Eventually they let out a cheer; soon I could hear crackling and smell woodsmoke.

The noise and smoke were localised, but the passing of time had brought help. Some of it was unwelcome; in the distance I could now hear the dogs. Still, they were locked out, weren't they?

Not for long. Suddenly someone was trying to break down the gates- with a huge wheeled ram, apparently. It was a sound I last heard on an army training ground. Deep crashing noises came at regular intervals, accompanied by cheers. Even from within my hide I could tell that the gates were weakened and about to give. I waited as long as I dared. As the gates of the compound crashed inwards, dragged open by a two-wheeled cart, I scampered out from the kennel before the guard dogs came home.

"Falco!"

Dear gods: Quintus, Aulus and Larius. Three incongruously well270dressed and coifed ram-raiders. My first hope was they were armed. No. They must have raced straight here without stopping to equip themselves. If they hoped to snatch me, they were thwarted by the assembled men who wanted to do for me first. These renegades rushed at us, whooping.

We all set to, biffing at anyone with wiry ginger hair. Smoke was choking us. There were too few of us. If we tried to make a break for it, we would be massacred. So as we fought, the lads using timbers, we stamped at smouldering wood or tried smothering flames. A great oak log finally caught fire; Larius and I tried to haul it free. A thick haze of smoke had filled the compound. It helped give the impression there were more of us than actually existed. We concentrated on putting in the boot in traditional Roman style.

Three of us had military training. I was an ex-foot slogger Both the Camilli had served as army officers. Even Larius, who spurned the army in favour of art, had grown up in the toughest neighbourhood in the Empire; he knew nasty tricks with feet and fists. Teamwork and grit soon showed our calibre. Somehow we cleared our opponents out of the depot. Then we blocked the gateway with the cart on which the lads had brought a large tree trunk as their improvised battering ram. They must have unhitched the beast of burden and combined as human mules to run the cart at the gates. Straight from the training manual. But with nothing in the shafts, they could not now use the cart to drive away. We were stuck here.

Larius was heaving up pieces of broken marble to make chocks under the cart wheels so no one could drag off our blockade.

"A ram!" I marvelled.

"We're well organised," boasted Aelianus cockily.

"No swords, though… I didn't think you knew I'd gone-' I "We heard you say '

"You didn't answer! Giving houseroom to you lot is like having three extra wives…"

With four of us, we could now take a side of the compound each.

Justinus was flailing at heads as they popped up on the fence. "If I were on the outside," he shouted, 'my priority would be to rush the gates."

I swiped a man who peered over at us. "I'm glad you're in here with us, then. I don't want attackers who use strategy."

The green timber had dried out enough to burn now, so we had to spare more time to beating out sparks or we would be roasted. Heat from the blazing tree trunk we had dragged free was making life really difficult. Rather than waiting to pick us off at leisure once the smoke increased, our attackers had the bright idea of setting tire to one of the fence panels. It took at once. A column of smoke poured skywards; it must have been visible for miles. We heard new voices, then the dogs baying once again. Aelianus sucked his teeth involuntarily. Shouts outside heralded some new phase of fighting. I waved at the lads, then we all scrambled over the cart and leapt outside the depot.