Lalage crashed forwards onto me. My knees bent as I braced myself. She suppressed a cry, then I stood there aghast, clutching her under the armpits and trying not to yell. Deep in her back was a knife blade. Once I looked over her shoulder I was seeing blood everywhere – soaking her gown, pooling the floor, staining the curtain now draped around her feet.

She was still alive. The gods know how. 'Ah, Falco. Sorry about this. Balbinus of course in case you're too shy to ask. How will you put me down?'

Well, not on your back for certain. You're the expert in fancy positions. What do you suggest?'

`Have to be on top…'

`You're enjoying the situation.'

`Always a game girl…'

`Well I realise some of your finer clients would pay a lot for this.'

I had sunk on one knee. Bringing her with me, I managed to lower her carefully. Then there was only one thing for it. I had to stretch out on the floor myself, balancing on one elbow and holding Lalage above me in my arms. That way, I could keep her weight off the knife. She laid her head against my collarbone with the small contented smile of a sleepy child. `Oh this is nice.'

`I'll get help.'

`No, stay with me, Falco.'

`I'm doing you no good. It's ridiculous.'

`Just be patient. It'll be over soon. How like a man!' `I must be tired today. Not at my best…'

She was smiling. For some hideous reason I was smiling myself.

`Ask me questions, Falco. Take the chance.' She was right. I ought to be demanding last-minute information. Not indulging in crass witticisms while she lay dying in my arms. `It doesn't matter any more.'

`Why should I die for nothing? I told you about Balbinus. Listen, who was that young officer you asked me about?' `Linus,' I forced out obediently.

`Linus. I can tell you how Balbinus found out about him being on the ship – Tibullinus and Arica.'

`They're damned for it then. Did he tell you who told them?'

`Someone in another cohort. A youngster they got friendly with.' She was fading. People always say the eyes glaze over, but Lalage's were so bright it broke my heart. `I wanted to ask you -,

She began but never finished. I thought I knew what she might have been wondering. When I pulled out the knife and turned her over gently, I touched the scar that still strikingly marred her ear. I straightened her limbs and her clothing, then partly covered her in the rich material of the curtain. Although she lay upon the floor, she looked as stately and comely as any queen in a mausoleum.

Stumbling to my feet, I crossed to her couch and sat. For a moment I stayed there remembering. Rillia Gratiana: the astonishingly pretty daughter of the snooty stationer, whose first day at school had been on the Ides of October, twenty-five years ago. A day that had been turned into a local scandal when a small boy who was frightened she was going to steal his school fees had reacted just a little too quickly and found his snarling teeth had met female flesh long before he was ready to cope with girls.

I wanted to tell her. I had been wanting to tell her ever since that day when we were seven: biting her ear had been an accident.

Well it was too late now.

LXIII

THE COMMOTION BURST out as I made my way downstairs. Things had been quiet, so much so that I even entertained the wild hope that Balbinus might still be in the brothel, convinced that by murdering Lalage he had secured his hiding place.

It had been too quiet. At some point during my long captivity with Petro, all the lads who came in with me had been rounded up and locked away. No one could believe so few of us had invaded the place, so a protracted search must have ensued. Goodness knows how many outraged males had their evening of delights interrupted by Tibullinus, Arica, or the bunch of thugs who had been secretly living there. The annoyance of these mere customers was ignored – a highly misplaced piece of arrogance.

Enraged at losing money, Plato's customers became a defiant lot. Lalage would never have denied their push-and-shove in this outrageous way. Promising them refunds only produced a sullen crowd at the door, half of them still in their undertunics as they went on hoping for entertainment. After an hour of haggling with Macra, the inevitable happened: by some process of natural democracy a leader emerged. He roused the rest, then led them back into the brothel for a tiff.

Their first action was to find Sergius and the lads, and set them free. Sergius explained the position, and naturally made it plain (with a wink) that his duty to the public compelled him to advise the disappointed customers to run for home. As I may have remarked, Sergius was a big, handsome fellow whose main talent was thrashing folk. He only had to be thinking about this to give others the idea. A wink from Sergius was enough to turn Plato's normally furtive customers into marauding Gauls.

When I came down a fierce battle had broken out spontaneously all over two floors of the brothel. If I wanted to get through to the outer door there was nothing for it but to join in.

I wound my belt round one hand with the buckle end free, and grabbed a torch in the other fist. Flailing viciously, I drove a path down the remaining stairs through people grappling untidily. It was unclear who was what. I ran the gauntlet of a corridor full of half-clothed screaming women, then met a faceful of what I hoped was washing water from a crazy man who was giggling repeatedly in a high-pitched monotone.

The main action surged within the large, refectory-like room. It was a sea of madly working limbs and tousled heads. One fellow singled me out. He had a tapered waist and shoulders so wide he looked as if he had been hung up like a tunic with a pole through its sleeves: a gymnasium freak. It did him no good. Without waiting for his carefully rehearsed approach, I kicked him below the belt, banged the stub of my torch down hard on his neck as he doubled up, and flung him back into the scrum. Across the room, Sergius grinned. I had no time to grin back, for someone else ran at me with a stool, legs first. I snatched one of the legs and yanked it aside, going in with my elbow and knee.

The girls who worked here were clustering together, some hanging in the doorways of the refectory. A small group rushed in with bigger ideas, spitting, chucking trays and cups about, pinching, scratching, and pulling hair. I could not tell which side they supported – perhaps any that enabled them to get even with men for once. One mighty dark-skinned amazon chose to come at me, huge breasts thudding as she ran. The charge petered out, to my relief, and she sank her teeth into my hand. I grabbed her nose and twisted it hard until she let go.

Two of the lads were working well together, knocking criminals out in a well co-ordinated routine. But elsewhere others were suffering. We were greatly outnumbered. We soon ran out of both energy and flair. There was a thunder along the main corridor. Prostitutes raced past screeching. Martinus came into the room backwards, using crossed broom-handles to fend off three or four attacking heavies. Behind him, laughing as they chose victims to slaughter, were the Miller and Little Icarus.

The small snarling form of Icarus hurtled straight at me. I grabbed an unconscious street villain by the shoulders of his tunic

and used his body to block the impetus. Icarus had a knife. Well, it might be illegal, but I'm the kind of law-abiding citizen who fully expects to meet the other sort, so I had one as well. Sparks flew as we clashed hasp to hasp. I gripped his spare wrist with my free hand and banged against his knife arm to break the deadlock of our weapons. Then Martinus sent one of his own attackers flailing into Icarus. I disarmed him and knocked him over. He was still kicking, but after living in a Smaractus tenancy, I knew how to stamp on beetles.