Three Hands In The Fountain

Against a stone in the water something bright just showed in the early light. I bent down and stared. It was an earring. Not a pair to the one Bolanus had shown me; that would be too great a coincidence. This was a simple hoop, probably not even gold. There was a socket for a pendant bead, but that was missing. I dipped my fist into the cold river for it, then turned back to, land, pausing to shake off the water and shove the jewellery into my purse. Standing there in the Anio I suddenly felt exposed. The killer must be very close. If he knew I was here, he could even be watching me.

I clambered up the bank, making more noise than I intended. Then I noticed something. Under some low growing trees stood a small shack. In last night's darkness. I had missed it. There was nothing much to it, just sagging walls and a hump-shouldered roof. Rank, flowerless vegetation snuggled up, to its lichen-covered boards, but in the briars round about there were glistening blackberries among huge, rampaging spiders' webs.

All around me was silence, apart from the gentle lapping of the river at my back. I felt like a mythical hero who had finally reached the Oracle, though what was likely to greet me would be neither a hag-born hermit nor a golden sphinx. There was a well-trodden path along the riverbank, but I approached through the undergrowth directly from where I stood. One great web blocked my way. I pushed it aside with a stick, courteously allowing the fat spider time to scuttle off into the weeds. All the time my eyes were on the closed door of the shack.

When I reached: it the door seemed to be jammed. It opened inwards. There was no lock, but, although the top edge gaped a few inches when I leant on it, the bottom stuck. I was trying to be quiet but in the end I forced it open a crack with a mighty, shove. Inside something must be lying right up against the door; it was still too dark to, make out much, though as I leaned close I was struck by old and disturbing smells. This place must be a fishing hut. It smelt as if pigs had been kept in; it but on the Rosius Gratus estate there were no pigs. Just as well, or disposing of bodies would have been easy, and there would have been no long trail of evidence to bring me here from Rome.

Whatever was impeding my progress would have to be moved bodily before I could enter. It felt like the dead weight of a filled wheatsack – or a body. But it was heavier than the body of a young girl. I looked around to see if I could break into the hut some other-way… Then I heard a twig snap.

I spun round. A man was standing fifty strides away.

I had only a glimpse before he plunged back into the thicket from which he must have emerged seconds earlier, clearly not knowing I was there. If it, was anyone but Thurius he had no need to flee. I yelled and, forced my tired limbs to race after him.

He must be better rested than me, but he might not be as fit. I hoped the slaves from the house would help to cut off his escape, but I was disappointed they must all have sneaked home for their breakfast, ignoring my orders to sit tight. No one answered my cry, and as we crashed through the wood no one rose in our path to intercept.

Everything went quiet. I had lost him somewhere.

`Thurius! The game's up. Show yourself and make-an end to this!'

No answer. I could hardly blame him. I was a stranger and he knew every inch of ground. He must be sure he could get away.

He had set off ahead of me working his way towards the track that led off the estate. I thought- I heard hoofbeats. I was stricken with visions of Thurius fleeing on horseback all the way to Sublaqueum.

There was no hope of shelter at the house. He, would realise his fellow slaves would want to establish their own innocence and pay him back for fooling them. Those who had let themselves ignore his strange behaviour over the years would be quick to denounce him now and if they, turned to violence, it wouldn't be the first time a newly discovered killer was bludgeoned to death by the people he had lived among

I crept through the bushes, aiming for the track. I was watching a pile of long logs, which could hide a prone man behind them. As I edged nearer, Thurius exploded from the undergrowth almost on top of me.

I jumped up, giving him' a mighty shock. He had just made a break for freedom, not realising I had worked so near. Before I could throw myself at him, I saw it would be too dangerous: he was now carrying a long axe.

He looked as surprised as me for a moment, but then he recovered angrily., Pulling up short, he growled and swung his weapon.

`Give up, Thurius -'

The blade sliced low, threatening my knees. I moved towards a tree, hoping to trap him into embedding the axeblade in its trunk. He snorted and made another wide, controlled sweep, this time at head level. The little knife I kept in my boot would be no match for this. I didn't even reach for it.