Three Hands In The Fountain

I lost my man, but managed to squeeze his neck so hard I damn near killed him. As he crouched coughing at my feet I sent him down the steps with a flying kick. Someone behind me cheered raucously. Out came Glaucus, followed by a herd of his clients. Some had been weight-lifting; they were in loincloths with wristbands. Some had been at swordplay with Glaucus himself and were armed with-wooden practice swords -blunt, but good for vicious whacks. A couple' of generous souls had even left their baths. Naked and glistening with oil, they rushed out to help useless for grappling opponents, but themselves impossible to catch hold of. It added wildly to the confusion as we launched ourselves into a fierce streetfight

`I waste my time, Falco!' Glaucus snarled as we both worked over a couple of nut-headed thugs.

`Right! You haven't taught me anything useful-'

The clients at Glaucus' gym usually honed their bodies discreetly, hardly speaking to each other. We went there for exercise, cleanliness, and the fierce hands of the Cilician masseur, not chat. Now I saw a man who I happened to know was a rising barrister digging his fingers into someone's eyes as viciously as if he had been born in the Suburra slums., An engineer tried to break another thug's neck, clearly enjoying the experience. The prized masseur was keeping his hands out of trouble, but that did not prevent him from using his feet for wholly unacceptable purposes.

`How could you get- trapped right on the damned doorstep?' Glaucus grunted, fielding a punch then slamming in a rapid set, of four.

`They were holed up in your sweetmeat shop -'His man was out of it, so I threw him mine to hold while I battered him. `Must have had a complaint. I keep telling you the cinnamon mice are stale -'

`Behind!' I spun, in time to knee the next bastard as he leapt at me. `Talk less and watch your guard,' Glaucus advised.

I trapped a wrestler about to put a fatal lock on his neck. `Take your own orders,' I grinned. Glaucus screwed the grappler's nose around until it snapped. `Nice trick. Requires a calm temperament,' I smiled at the blood-stained victim. `And very strong hands.'

All down the street there was action. It was a friendly commercial alley. Pausing only to remove their goods from the danger zone, the shopkeepers had come out to help Glaucus, who was a popular neighbour. Passers-by who felt left out started throwing punches; if they were hopeless at that they lobbed apples instead. Dogs barked. Women hung out of upstairs windows, yelling a mixture, of encouragement and abuse, then emptied buckets of who knows-what on fighters heads for the fun of it. Washing was caught on the practice swords and came down, tangling around frantically tussling figures. Weightlifters were showing off their pectorals carrying horizontal human weights. A startled donkey skidded on the road, tipping wineskins off his back so that they burst and doused his furious driver, making a slippery patch on the paving which claimed several victims who crashed to the ground and were painfully trampled.

Then some idiot fetched the vigiles.

A whistle alerted us.

As the red tunics rushed into the alley, order reimposed itself in seconds. All they saw was a normal street scene. The Florius gang, with the skill of long practice, had melted away. Two feet stuck out from behind a barrel, of salt fish – evidently somebody sleeping it off. Something that looked like red tunic dye was being sluiced along with a bucket of water and swept down a drain by a girl who was loudly singing a rude song. Groups of men sized up fruit on stalls, making studied comparisons. Women leant out of windows adjusting pulleys on the drying lines above the alley. Dogs lay grinning on their backs and waggling their bodies madly as passers-by tickled their turns: I was pointing out to Glaucus how the gable on his bathhouse was capped by an excellent acroterion of truly classic design, while he thanked me for my generous praise of his fine Gorgon-featured antefix.

The sky was blue. The sun was hot. Two fellows walking up the steps of the gymnasium discussing the Senate had no clothes on for some reason, but otherwise there was nobody

the guardians of the law could arrest

FORTY THREE

When I reached Fountain Court, returning by a roundabout route for safety, Petronius was being carried out feet first. Lenia and some of her staff must have found him. They had seen Florius' heavies rushing off in suspicious haste. Not for the first time I wished Lenia could be as good at spotting trouble when it arrived as she was at noticing it leave.