Rome the emperor s spy rome 1

Jerusalem in the Reign of the Emperor Tiberius Sebastos Abdes Pantera was twelve years old and nearly a man on the night he discovered that his father was a traitor.. ‘My lady, he was wh

About the Book

Rome is burning Only one man can save it.

The Emperor: Nero, Emperor of Rome and all her provinces, feared by his

subjects for his temper and cruelty, is in possession of an ancient documentpredicting that Rome will burn

The Spy: Sebastos Pantera, assassin and spy for the Roman Legions, is

ordered to stop the impending cataclysm He knows that if he does not, hislife – and those of thousands of others – are in terrible danger

The Chariot Boy: Math, a young charioteer, is a pawn drawn into the deadly

game between the Emperor and the Spy, where death stalks the drivers – onthe track and off it

I: Coriallum, Northern Gaul, Late Summer, AD 63

In the Reign of the Emperor Nero

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

II: Alexandria, Late Spring, AD 64

In the Reign of the Emperor Nero

Chapter Forty-ThreeChapter Forty-FourChapter Forty-FiveChapter Forty-SixChapter Forty-SevenChapter Forty-EightChapter Forty-NineChapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-OneChapter Fifty-TwoChapter Fifty-ThreeChapter Fifty-FourChapter Fifty-FiveChapter Fifty-SixChapter Fifty-SevenChapter Fifty-EightChapter Fifty-NineChapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-OneChapter Sixty-TwoChapter Sixty-ThreeChapter Sixty-FourChapter Sixty-FiveChapter Sixty-SixChapter Sixty-SevenChapter Sixty-EightEpilogue

Author’s Note

Sources

A Note From The AuthorThe Last Roman In Britain

About the AuthorAlso by M.C ScottCopyright

T HE E MPEROR ’ S S PY

M.C Scott

For Hannah, Bethany and Naomi, with love

Thanks, as ever, to the entire team at Transworld, particularly Bill Scott-Kerrfor inspired support and for saying in meetings those things an author mostwants to hear; to the editorial team, notably Deborah and Nancy; to Gavin forIT; to Patsy for stepping once more into the breach; and especially to myeditor Selina Walker, for the skill, sensitivity and unswerving dedication withwhich she takes the raw ore of a first draft and hones it to the book I wastrying to write

Thanks also to my agent, Jane Judd, for calm, considered unconditionalsupport, always; and to my partner, Faith, for being all that she is and forbeing there And last, thanks to Inca, who died as this novel was being put tobed: none of this would have happened without her

The fact is, that the close of this fourth millennium coincides with a PhoenixYear As you know, the residue of hours of the solar year that exceed threehundred and sixty-five days add up every 1460 years to an entire year, which

in Egypt is called the Phoenix Year for then the Celestial Bird isconsumed upon his palm-tree pure at On-Heliopolis and from his ashes risesthe new Phoenix

Robert Graves, King Jesus

When the matricide reigns in Rome,

Then ends the race of Aeneas

Sibylline prophecy current in the reign of Nero

Jerusalem in the Reign of the Emperor Tiberius

Sebastos Abdes Pantera was twelve years old and nearly a man on the night

he discovered that his father was a traitor

It was spring, the bright time of flowers, and Passover, the time ofcelebration, sacrifice and riots Every year, teams of priests worked withoutcease from sunrise to sunset, cutting the throats of countless thousands oflambs in the temple

Every year, the multitudes of the faithful gathered to eat those lambs inmemory of the angel of death who passed over their houses, striking downthe firstborn of Egypt

Every year, the Roman prefect cancelled all leave amongst his legionsand set guards about the hot, dry city, packed to capacity with the hot, drypride of a conquered people

Through the nights of unleavened bread, conquerors and conqueredwaited alike for a spark bright enough to light the ultimate, uncontainable riotthat would see the legions let loose and the streets run rivers of blood It hadnot happened yet

In a private garden beyond the city gates, the sounds of celebration werethe muffled roar of a storm not yet broken The air was heavy with the scent

of almond blossom, lilies, crushed camphire and blood A hot wind rent thetrees, raining petals to the earth It did not move the sullen clouds that marredthe sky

Crouching alone in the dark beneath the nut trees, Sebastos heard theapproach and retreat of a watch-guard’s feet He shut out all other noises, andmade himself listen only to the soft clash of leather and metal on the path.Before the second circuit, he knew that the nails of the guard’s rightsandal had worn thin on the inside heel, and knew thereby that it was hisfather, best of all men, who strode alone in the leaden dark

Julius Tiberius Abdes Pantera, decurion of the first wing of the first

company of archers stationed in Judaea under the direct command of theprefect, may have got his son as a bastard on a Gaulish slave-woman, butnone the less, Sebastos knew himself to be the child of a true soldier.

Since the day he could first walk, his father had taught him the secrets ofthe archer’s craft and had instilled with it, as the food and drink of his son’syoung life, the twin bedrocks by which a soldier measured his own worth.First of these was his absolute loyalty to his commander: a truelegionary obeyed every order immediately and without question Second,stemming from the first, was the unblemished virtue of his own honour whichrequired that he always bring respect and dignity to his position

Honour was everything Sebastos lived to seem honourable in hisfather’s eyes and by now he knew how to do that As he had been taught, hemade himself explore his surroundings with his fingertips, discovering bytouch the nature and size of any obstacles that might hinder or help hisprogress In doing so, he kept his mind well away from the terrifying cloudabove his head All night, it had smothered the moon and stars and seemedlikely at any moment to fall and smother him

He had mentioned the cloud to his father in the afternoon, before thesummons came to guard the tomb In day’s safe light, his father had ruffledhis hair and laughed and said that only a true Gaul feared the sky would fall

on his head

There had been a tremor in his voice and Sebastos had hoped that itgrew from pride that the only son of an Alexandrian archer should take sotruly after the barbarian tribes of his mother’s people, rather than from shamefor that same thing

Later, lying alone in the dark, yearning for the cloud to leave, Sebastoshad realized that it had nothing to do with pride, and everything to do withgrief – that his father still mourned his mother and Sebastos hadn’t thought tocomfort him

What kind of boy forgets the source of his father’s pain? Shame at hisown stupidity had goaded him from his bed and up the hill, skirting the walls

of the city to reach the gated garden on the slope with its many scentedflowers and the trail of blood leading up to the tomb Here, where his fathermarched alone, he had a chance to undo his mistake

A thistle grew sharp behind Sebastos’ left foot An ageing pomegranateguarded his right shoulder To his left, a bed of kitchen herbs spiced the hotair Beyond that, the path curved snake-like up the hill Clouds loomed over,

threateningly full.

His father reached the first row of almonds The sound of his treadpaused a moment, before beginning the march back up the slope The watch-fire’s red glow caught him as he turned, casting his outline in proudsilhouette

Sebastos grinned A fierce joy lifted the threat of the falling sky Swift

as the great spotted cat for which he was named, he slid out from under thealmonds and ran through the dark towards his father

‘Pantera?’

Sebastos cannoned to a halt, balanced on one foot The call came fromhis left, down the path, less than a bow’s shot away The voice was awoman’s, like his mother’s, but lacking her Gaulish accent

Sebastos’ left hand found a wall of cool rock to lean on He stood in thedarkest of the dark and held his breath His father, too, had stopped, but –unaccountably – did not challenge the incomer Instead, he raised his fingers

to his lips and gave a short, low whistle

No answering call came back Instead, from lower down the path, awhispering flame danced closer, and stronger, until it lit the woman and twomen who brought it

‘Julius Thank you.’

The woman who stepped forward was his mother’s age, but under thekind blaze of the torch her face was smooth, her cheeks were clear, and hereyes were bright Sebastos thought she had been weeping, and was close to itagain

His father was not weeping His face had softened in a way the boy hadnot seen in six months

His father knew, that much was clear He had stepped back, making a

sign that she should precede him up the path.

She hesitated, as if afraid to move on ‘Is he still alive?’ Her voice wasrich and light as a temple chime The torch set the almond blossom dancing.Moths cast giant, floating shadows into the night

His father bowed, as he might have done to his commander in thebarracks ‘My lady, he was when we brought him here.’

‘You have water and linen?’

‘Everything you asked for is here.’

‘Lead us, then,’ said the woman, and Sebastos pressed himself deeperinto the dark and watched as his father abandoned twenty years of obedience

to his commander and to Rome, and led a woman of the Hebrews and her twocompanions up the garden to the tomb he was supposed to be guarding

Men were crucified for less A dozen had been, through the long day.The body of one of them lay in a tomb cut into the rock at the garden’s end

In a line, the incomers passed Sebastos, so that he saw them, one afterthe other The two men walking behind the woman were as different onefrom the other as lily from desert thorn The elder was a grey-haired rabbi,marked by the quality and style of his linen robes He bore himself with anauthority that was undercut by fear He, at least, knew exactly what he risked.The younger was hewn from rougher rock The eagle’s crag nose andthe long, uncut hair said that he hailed from Galilee, where the rule of Romedid not reach, where men thought themselves more righteous than theirneighbours in Judaea, who lived in thrall to an emperor who called himselfgod

If his hair showed where this man was born, the style of his tunic andthe knotted leather labelled him beyond doubt as a zealot of the Sicarioi, theHebrew assassins named for the curved razor-knives with which they slewthe unbelievers and traitors, serving with a fierce fanaticism the word of theirmaster

True to his calling, the Sicari had killed once already that night; hiscurved knife was wet with new blood He padded past, more silent than anyleopard, and of the group, he alone knew no fear His eyes searched the dark,and the light of their look fell on Sebastos so that they stared at one anotherface to face, or it seemed so

Sebastos thought he might die then, pierced by that look, or the knifethat must surely follow He screwed up his courage to meet both with honour,but the restless gaze passed on without pause, as if it were normal to see a

boy hiding in the dark on this night in this garden.

The small group was almost out of sight when Sebastos dared to breatheagain, and slowly to inch his way up the slope behind them

His night was changed beyond recognition He had come because hefeared the sky might fall on his head and it had done, so that his soul wascrushed and the light snuffed out of his heart His hope now lay in seeing hisfather set things to rights, as he had done so often in the past

‘He’s alive We will take him now We owe you more than thanks.’

The woman stepped from the tomb’s dark to the light of the comingdawn She gave her news to the Sicari zealot, to Sebastos’ father, to thegarden, to the waking birds, to the world Exhaustion and relief cracked theliquid bronze of her voice

For a moment, nobody answered They stood in the part-time betweennight and day The cloud had lifted at last, leaving the final stars to blaze atthe rising sun The watch-fire was a crimson haze in the greys of almost-morning By its light, the Sicari brought from the depths of his tunic a purse

of poor hide, with the stitching frayed away at the seams Silver spilled from

it, easy as rain

From his cramped, cold place of watching, Sebastos saw his father’shead snap round in shock His hand dropped to his knife

‘Do you think money bought him? Truly?’

His voice promised violence, for the cleansing of an insult The Sicarilooked as if he would happily oblige, but before either man could move thewoman stepped forward, saying, ‘Shimon, that was not called for,’ and theman so named shrugged and stooped to gather his insult and when he roseagain with the silver clenched in his fist, the moment for fighting had passed.The woman ducked back into the tomb and returned moments later withthe grey-haired rabbi Between them, they carried a burden that was passedwith infinite care through the low opening in the rock face

The stench of blood was overpowering Out of respect for his mother,Sebastos turned his face away Other men took their sons to see theexecutions, believing fear was the best teacher and that only thus could theykeep the hot blood of young men from frothing into open rebellion againstthe grinding-heel of Rome When Sebastos’ father had prepared to do thesame, his mother had stood in the doorway and forbidden it – the only time in

his life Sebastos had seen her truly angry.

She was red-haired and taller than his father and while she might oncehave been his slave, she was free by then, and could speak her mind At theheight of the vicious row that followed, she spat a single word in a languageSebastos did not understand – a name, perhaps It crashed through their hutlike a living bull, leaving shock and silence in its wake

White-faced, his father had turned on his heel and gone back to thebarracks and not returned for nearly a month

He had not taken his son to the place of execution then or later, but hehad made sure Sebastos knew precisely the death inflicted on men who werecaught in insurrection against the rule of Rome, the indignity of it, and theappalling duration that could span as much as three days of increasing,unremitting agony

‘If they like you, they’ll break your legs,’ he had said ‘Death comesmore swiftly, but the pain before is greater.’ Worst, obviously, was the loss ofhonour, so much worse than a death in battle

At the end, in case his son might not believe such a thing could happen

to him, Sebastos’ father had filled the rest of that evening by reciting aloudthe names of the five hundred young Hebrew men who had each been nailed

to a cross on a single day after the fall of Sepphoris to the rebel leader known

as the Galilean, and his army of zealots

Whatever his intention, the father had succeeded in terrifying his son.Every night for the two years since that blood-stained evening, Sebastos hadwoken in the grey early morning sweating for terror of a threat that was asgreat as his fear of the falling sky

But his father had failed in so far as Sebastos had not at any time, then

or later, ceased to regard the Galilean as his hero, however many young men

he might have led to their deaths

The Galilean was everyone’s hero, even if he was the enemy Hisgrowing band of followers drew young men from all quarters of the dividedJudaea, uniting them in hatred of Rome and its rule Sebastos might haveconsidered himself loyal to the emperor, might have held in his heart thedream of Roman citizenship as the ultimate prize, but that did not stop himfrom idolizing a man who, by force of character, courage and arms, hadstayed one step ahead of the legions for nearly four decades

At a time when the Sadducee high priests kept themselves fat on theprefect’s leavings and counselled the proper paying of taxes, the Galilean and

his hand-picked groups of Sicari zealots stole the taxes from the Herodiancollectors and sent them back whence they came Like every boy he knew,Sebastos burned to be a hero one day, and the Galilean showed how it could

be done, even if he had set his sword against the might of Rome, and wasthus destined to failure

Over the years when mothers used the name to frighten their childreninto good behaviour, the Galilean had grown in Sebastos’ estimation to be aHercules: courageous, astute and honourable, an indefatigable defender of thepoor Until that morning, when the hero had suffered exactly the deathSebastos’ father had so vividly described

Sebastos was one of the few not to have seen it As far as he wasconcerned, he remained under oath to his mother not to view a death bycrucifixion unless it were his own, and he did not break his promise to hernow, for the Galilean was not dead when the woman and the Phariseebrought him out of the tomb

That might have been surprising, except that he had not hung for threedays as he should have done, but had been cut down on the prefect’s orders atthe eleventh hour, just before dusk, that his corpse might not profane thePassover Sabbath that began at sunset In a city so prone to riots, it was anecessary precaution

Sebastos’ father had said aloud at the time that he must have been verysick to have died so quickly, but it was a mercy, and he did not begrudge anyman a swift death That had been a lie to add to betrayal; Sebastos’ father hadtold the woman that he knew the Galilean was alive when they moved him tothe tomb

What kind of man tells lies to his own son?

Cold rage opened Sebastos’ eyes as the small cavalcade brought the dead man past his hiding place He saw clearly the bandaged flesh, the ruinedskin, the gaunt, unshaven face and the sunken eyes set deep within it, stillclinging to their spark of life

not-The Sicari assassin came last of the line, guarding the rear He did notturn his head, or pause, or give any other sign that he knew they were notalone

Even so, as he passed Sebastos’ hiding place, he stooped to pick up apebble Without turning his head, he tossed it high in the air It bouncedprecisely on the crown of Sebastos’ head

It took all morning to leave the garden, so slowly did Sebastos move No mansaw him, not even his father, who had trained him to see all things that live,however careful they might be He was better than his father; he was notsullied by the taint of falsehood and treachery.

Slowness gave him the peace to settle his unsettled heart, and to think

By the time he reached the hut, he had come to a decision He was twelveyears old, and had already made his first kill He was not as tall as his motherhad been; he did not take directly after the great Gaulish warriors who slewRomans in battle with their bare hands, but he was taller than most of hiscontemporaries, and could pass for a boy at least three years older He wasrich after a fashion; he owned the clothes he stood up in and a new belt hehad not yet used, and a worn calfskin pouch that his mother had left him,containing three silver denarii that carried the head of the Emperor Tiberius

He debated taking his bow There was no doubt that he could steal more foodthan he could ever shoot, but it mattered that when he presented himself toask for employment, he should be armed, and so he lifted his bow from itshook, and his hunting knife and his six arrows, three of them fully fletched.Taking these things – his youth, his height, his training as an almost-archer, and his riches of silver and weapons – he left the house of histreacherous father and set his face to Alexandria where he had once lived

He had been happy there, but that was not the reason to return.Alexandria was where he had met the pallid Roman philosopher withconnections to the emperor

For two years, the man had come to watch Sebastos often as he practisedwith his bow, or spun his knife at distant targets He had seen him fight – andsometimes beat – the other bastard get of soldiers who foraged in the scrap-camp that followed the legions He had observed Sebastos’ solitary nature,his unwillingness to curry favour with those who scorned him, or feared him,

or even the few who admired him Most, the philosopher had seen that hisown watching was noticed, and then that he himself was watched in his turn

It had become an unspoken game between them; the philosopher would

go about his business, always watchful, and Sebastos would try covertly tofollow him

Later, when the boy could go a whole day and know all of thephilosopher’s business and never be spotted once, the man made the gameofficial, and paid him in bronze, or bread, or fletchings, if he could follow a

distant man, pointed out in a crowded place, and report on his activities.

Over three more years, the tests had become ever harder, ever moredangerous Sebastos had excelled at all of them, and grown in hisunderstanding of himself; shadows were his allies, secrecy his life’s blood,and the philosopher was a teacher in the truest sense of the word When hisfather had been posted to Judaea and the child had been forced to follow,Sebastos found he had lost his first friend without ever having known he hadone

It had been a tearful farewell for both of them At the last moment ofparting, the philosopher had caught Sebastos’ chin and tilted his head andpromised that if ever a tall, comely boy with skill in knife and bow wantedtruly to be a warrior for Rome, he could promise him a wage and a place tolive, and perhaps, if he made himself useful, citizenship

Citizenship: the ultimate prize Sebastos held the name of his potentialsponsor in his heart all the long, dusty journey to Alexandria: Lucius AnaeusSeneca, teacher to a lost mongrel child

CHAPTER ONE

The spy made landfall the evening before the chariot races began

His ship sailed in on a narrow slide of sunlight, splitting the green-greywater from the blue-grey sky The sails were already unstrung, alive in thesnapping breeze The berthing oars were out Three pairs swept down either

side of the wide beam, making of the Blue Mackerel a beetle, stalking into

dock A string of seagulls swayed over her wake

She could have been any one of the sleek merchant sloops that flittedback and forth across the narrow stretch of sea from Britain to the small,crowded harbour at Coriallum on the northern coast of Gaul, but for thediscreet purple pennant flying from the foremast that said she sailed on theemperor’s business

At any other time, that might have been a lie contrived to increase thefares charged for passage, but not when Nero had honoured Coriallum withhis presence for the chariot races, and was in temporary residence in themagistrate’s villa at the top of the hill

As ever, the harbour was heaving with men, women, children, dogs and

gulls, all watching the Mackerel come in The furled dockside stench of old

fish, fresh dog shit, rotting vegetables and seaweed was buried beneath thesweat of a hundred busy bodies

Stevedores and fishermen leaned in pairs on bollards, picking their teeth,discussing the swell of the sea and the sharp iron taste of the air Womenbalanced on either hip baskets of bread and dried figs and dried seaweed thatblended their scents with the richer, rounder scent of the fresh wrack thathung from pillars beneath the pier Old men coiled ropes and mended nets,bare-headed in the blustering wind Half-naked children played games of tag,dodging round the legs of their elders

A grubby urchin fishing from the pier’s end watched the adults covertlyfrom the shelter of a wide-brimmed straw hat As he did every day, heassessed the size and weight of their belt-pouches by sound alone, and then

checked to see whether those of interest were armed, and what kinds of looksthey threw him there at the pier’s end, if they chose to notice him at all Theboy-whores of Coriallum were notorious, but not everyone wished to be seen

to be looking

The boy’s name was Math, common enough amongst the Gauls He paid

the Mackerel no attention at all until the wake from her arrival slewed the

mess of flotsam and jetsam floating up against the pier, upsetting the lie ofhis line Then, he cursed, loudly enough to be heard, drew up his cord, setfresh collops of mussel on the half-dozen hooks and dropped it back into thewater with a splash

Tying it off, he leaned sideways against a mooring stone Tilting his hatagainst the low afternoon sun, he allowed himself a lazy look at the men whohad bought, or been given, passage on the emperor’s ship

The first six ashore were Romans, green-faced and swaying on their sealegs, more bookish than bred to the sea Ink stains on their fingers and thelevel cut of their hair gave them away as clerks in the governor’s retinue, sentwith the endless quartermaster’s lists, of weapons, corn, hides, horses, men,hounds and slaves, and most particularly of the taxes with which Romanofficialdom was obsessed

Math felt the quality of their glances as they passed On any other day,

he might have considered making a play, but the clerks smelled of vomit andwere clearly too ill to think of anything beyond an unswaying bed None ofthem threw him a coin to pay for an ‘evening meal’

To make sure they wouldn’t think of it, he squirmed his buttocks on theboards of the pier as if his arse itched, and then scratched urgently at hisgroin

Ajax the charioteer had taught him that when they had first talked There are men who will take you and not pay, however fast you might be with a knife But if they think you’re infected, they’ll not come within an arm’s reach.

Ajax wanted him to be a race-driver, or at least to earn an honest living.The advice on simulating the pox had been given reluctantly, but that didn’tmean it wasn’t good When Math turned back to look, the green-faced clerkshad gone

A dozen merchants followed them off the ship They had better sea legsbut carried about them the nervous aura of risk-takers, vivid as a whore’sscent Lining up along the dock, they shouted instructions to the gathering

stevedores concerning the immense worth of their goods and the disastersthat would befall if anything were damaged in the lifting from boat to dock.There was a long gap then, filled busily by block-and-tackle work withropes so that the boy thought no one else was coming ashore and that he hadlost his fee.

‘Fuck.’ He said it quietly, but one of the stevedores heard him andreached to snatch the hat from his head Beneath it, Math’s hair hung to hisshoulders in a skein of dirty gold, gone to straw in the damp sea air Set over

a slim neck and a thin, interesting face, it shone brightly enough to lift himfrom the run of the gutter-thieves who worked the docks

The stevedore whistled an obscenity and mimed the spin of a cointhrough the air, then sent the hat to follow Math spat an insult back andretrieved his hat A ripple of laughter made the unloading work flow fasterfor a moment Cursing colourfully, Math began to coil in his line

His attention had only been gone from the ship for a moment, but it wasenough – almost too much

The man he had been sent to watch stepped lightly ashore between abale of stinking, uncombed sheep’s fleece and a crate of tin ingots so massivethat it took four of the laughing men to lift and haul it, and even then itrebounded off the dock and fractured, spreading shards of almost-silveracross the stained oak boards Two ingots slid noiseless into the sea, tooheavy to splash The merchant whose crate it was screamed as if thestevedores had stabbed him

The slight, slouch-shouldered figure that was the boy’s mark sprangsideways as the crate bounced off the side of the dock for a second time Inhis bare feet and rough, undyed tunic, he might have been anything fromanother clerk to a deckhand released early from the boat

Math knew he was neither Leaning back on the bollard, he let his hatdroop and droop until he was looking through a gap in the brim A strangermight have thought him asleep, which would have been foolish, but thengrown men commonly made foolish assumptions about Math of the Osismi,most common of which was that he was charming, shy, and naturally honestand had never whored himself before

The scrawny old Roman who had paid him to watch the harbour had notmade any such assumptions, which was the first point in his favour Thesecond was that he’d offered a whole sestertius to Math as payment if hecould watch for and then follow a particular passenger stepping ashore from

the Blue Mackerel The fee was more than Math earned in a month in his paid

work for Ajax, and far more than he would have dared steal

So that his quarry might not be missed, the scrawny Roman had givendetailed physical characteristics of the man he was expecting to sail into

Coriallum on the emperor’s ship He has dark hair, not so striking as the copper of your mad Gaulish countrymen who race their chariots so recklessly for the amusement of the emperor, nor yet the obsidian black of the Greeks, but somewhere between: a deep oak-brown that does not quite catch the eye.

fire-The man’s hair was not catching anyone’s eye; a straggling wood-darknest that had been combed some time not long ago and then uncombed by thesea wind straight after It lifted again now, jerkily, as he stepped over thefallen ingots to walk down the dock

He was not a whole man The old Roman had said so and it was true.Had he been paraded at the autumn horse fair, Ajax would have passed himover, leaving lesser men to bid good silver for a beast that was not overtlylame, yet not perfectly sound

Ajax had an eye for such things and Math was learning it So he saw thatthe man’s right shoulder was lower than it should have been and he favouredhis left leg as if the hamstring were overly tight He saw that his features weresharp, as if he had gone hungry through the winter, and summer had not filledthe loss, leaving his cheeks too proud to be beautiful and his pressed lips tootight for love

But nothing changed the core of what this man was – and that wasfascinating There had been just one stride that was not controlled, one stride

as he slapped a flat palm to a bollard and sprang up from the gangplank to thedock that had left Math with sweat prickling his armpits in a way nothing hadyet done in all his young life

His name is Pantera, Sebastos Abdes Pantera It means leopard You know what that is? One of the great cats that hunt silently through the forests

of the hot southern lands Your mark is a leopard, and he hunts as one such You will know him first and last by the way he moves Even now, when he is wounded, and prone to bouts of untrammelled anger, you will know him thus.

And Math did know him thus; however hard he might try to look and actlike a deckhand, Sebastos Abdes Pantera, he of the bland hair and the not-bland face, had made one unconscious spring on to the dock with the fluidmotion of an athlete, of a man who knows the fine tuning of his body, andcares for it, and can use it as a weapon in any way he pleases

Watching him take his leave of the merchant, Math felt the nervous itch

in his armpits grow hotter Flustered, he rose and slipped his fishing line overhis shoulder, and took one last look at the direction Pantera was taking.Which was a mistake

His eyes, should you ever see them, are green-brown, like the shimmer

of sun on river water At first glance, he looks through you – unless he wishes

to kill you Then he looks straight at you.

For the barest fraction of a heartbeat, those river-water eyes lookedstraight at Math, who looked away, and was left shaking as if he had ague.When he dared to look again, Pantera had gone, threading his way throughthe heaving crowd, stepping lightly over the dog dirt and the coiled ropes,and evading the running children with an unconscious ease If he had a purse,

it did not show He brushed shoulders with no one

Math did not run in pursuit, or even watch his quarry closely Theharbour was wide open, from the pier’s end to the first row of merchantbooths, taverns and brothels a hundred paces in from the sea There were notmany places to go and Math knew the quickest routes to all of them First, itmattered that no one on the pier should know whom he followed, or why.Hefting his fishing line, Math turned and looked thoughtfully out at thesliver of sun that was left, at the long, narrow stretch of it on the sea Hewrapped his arms around his thin tunic against the rising wind that wasalready creaming the wavetops He shivered and made a show of staring atthe incoming clouds and then shrugged to himself and spat into the stinkingseaweed below the harbour and picked at the hooks on his fishing line,casting the last few mussels to the gulls

The birds made a commotion behind him, so that he could walk fast andhis steps not be heard Keeping a careful distance behind, he followed hismark up to the row of merchants’ booths When he reached the end of thepier, Math dropped the borrowed fishing line beside a box full of fish andstooped to rub his bare feet with a hank of dried seaweed, to clear them offish-slime and filth from the docks

A short while later, rising, he watched Pantera turning right, up the hill.Rubbing his hands dry on his tunic, Math set off to follow

CHAPTER TWO

Dusk fell quickly; it always did at this time of year

In the disappearing light, Math followed his mark swiftly throughCoriallum’s winding streets by instinct as much as sight It was his talent, and

he used it mercilessly If the scrawny Roman had not paid him, he wouldhave been at the harbour anyway, and would have followed whichever of theincomers had seemed to have the biggest purse

He might not have followed Pantera In the two years since his motherdied, he had kept a promise to her memory that he would not put the lure ofsilver over his own safety It seemed to Math that Pantera was by far the mostdangerous man he had ever tried to follow and he did, after all, have hisfather to think of: he couldn’t afford for them both to be crippled

He thought of his father as he hugged the wall of a tavern, letting thenoise from inside cover the sound of his movement, and then the lack of it as

he stopped Up ahead, Pantera had paused and was asking directions ofCleona, the baker’s wife

The Roan Bull tavern was a large, sprawling affair set at the top edge ofthe town, with a main room surrounded by sleeping bays and stables and asecond storey upstairs, left wide open for feasts and meetings of the town’scouncil Inside, three men were singing a battle song, sending the notes lowand deep in their throbbing, incomprehensible dialect

The language was foreign Its words and rhythms caught at Math’s gutsand tugged him back to long nights of his childhood when his parents,believing him asleep, had talked in this lilting foreign language around thenight’s fire Those were the nights when they invited in men and womenMath never saw clearly, who spoke softly in their sing-song voices

The visitors had always left before daylight, bearing with them food andgold and knives and swords that Math was not supposed to know had beenhidden in the thatch Even in winter they took food, leaving none behind, andalways they left his parents talking in the heart of the night, speaking riddles

in a foreign language.

Then one night a man had come who did not stay long, and in themorning Math’s mother had fallen sick with grief and she had stayed sickuntil the burning fever took her away from him, robbing him of love and hisfamily of its only whole adult

Math knew that his father had been a warrior once, of the kind whosepraises were sung in the taverns; the kind who went to war as a hero andcame back as a cripple, unable to earn enough to keep a man and a child fedthrough the hard days of winter when the woman who had kept them bothwas gone

In the Roan Bull, the war-lament ended, dying away to quiet words andthe occasional tight sob of a man who had drunk too much The hanging hidethat served as a door was flung back and two men staggered out, arm in arm,still humming

Less than an arm’s reach away from them, Math spat with venom intothe gutter and named it for all the heroes of all wars in all countries Theydidn’t see him He closed his eyes as they walked past, that they might not bedrawn to the contempt in his gaze

Turning his head back after they had gone, he saw the baker’s wife walkpast Of his mark, there was no sign

‘Shit!’ He said that aloud, pushing himself to his feet The woman let out

a small squeal, then saw it was only Math and flapped her hands at him,hissing annoyance like a goose He was already away, soft as a shadow,hugging the dark lees of the houses, casting left and right for a sense of wherePantera had gone

Or a scent He caught a snatched whiff of the sea and turned left into adark, stinking, blind-ending alley that was barely wide enough to take ahound, still less a boy or a man He was running now, ducking low, trying tododge the puddles of urine and dog turds He never saw the hand that caughthis throat and brought him to a choking halt

He couldn’t breathe There was no light at all In perfect darkness, Mathfelt a knife shave a sliver of skin from under his ear and hot, wet blood oozeafter it

Snoring like a pig, he struck out with both heels, hoping to catch the softparts of the man’s groin He failed To prove it, the hand slammed downward,crashing his feet painfully hard into the packed earth

‘Three mistakes,’ said a quiet voice in his ear ‘And calling out now

would be a fourth Without doing that, can you list for me what the previousthree were?’

He is prone to bouts of untrammelled anger … Math felt his bladder

squeeze on and off, like a horse taking a piss He was afraid of Pantera, butmore, was terrified that he might soil himself and earn the man’s contempt

He squeaked and hated himself for it The hand at his throat shifted afraction Drinking great gulps of air, Math said, ‘Watched … men leave …tavern Lost you Mistake.’

‘That was what killed you,’ the voice agreed ‘But I had seen youalready by then Three things drew me to you What were they?’

In absolute darkness, Math could see the river-brown eyes perfectly, andtheir promise of death He said, ‘I looked at you I let your eyes meet mine.’

‘Good.’ The hand at his throat loosed its grip ‘But I already knew youbefore then, or our eyes would never have met So two other mistakes beforethat.’

Math could breathe normally now, and think more clearly Screwingshut his eyes, he searched back through his memory to the boat’s arrival, toeverything that had happened from when it was a speck on the far horizon tothe point when Pantera’s gaze had met his

‘Something to do with the clerks?’ he asked, eventually ‘I shouldn’thave looked at them?’

‘No, that was neatly done You looked, you saw nothing you liked, youput them off I was already watching you, so the mistake was earlier.’

The hand that held him moved from his throat to his shoulder Hardfingers dug into his collar bone The knife still rested at his other cheek With

a lesser man, Math might have tried to wriggle free

He shook his head as far as he dared ‘I don’t know.’

‘Fish are shade-lovers; they shun direct sunlight,’ said the voice ‘Youwere fishing in the sun’s full glare when all you had to do was make half aturn to your right and you could have dropped your line in shadow among theshoals that live there A genuine fisher-boy would have done that, but itwould have meant turning your back on the boat which you didn’t want to do

So you weren’t a fisher-boy, and then, when the clerks came, you spurnedthem, so you were also not a whore That only left two things: a cutpurse, or aspy You cut no purses on your way through the crowd and so, today at least,you are a spy Am I right?’

There was no point in denying it Math said, ‘That’s only two mistakes

What was the third?’

‘This.’ Pantera bent his head and sniffed ‘Your hair stinks of horse piss.The wind was coming off-shore to the ship; that’s why the master rowed us

in I was already watching you before the boat made dock Why would afisher-boy reek of horse piss?’

‘Because I sleep in the horse barns!’ Too angry to care for the risk, Maththrew his arm up and wrenched himself free and did not care about the knife

at his cheek ‘Because my father was a warrior’ – he spat the word with all

the pent-up fury of his own failures – ‘and now he is old and crippled andcan’t make harness fast enough or well enough to earn good money andsomeone has to feed us both and I’m not a good enough cutpurse or whore to

do it yet!’

His voice echoed shrill from the walls There followed a stretchingpause, during which the knife disappeared and the hand fell away from hisshoulder The first sharp edge of the moon rose over the wall at the end of thealley By its light, Math was able to look for the first time into the face of theman who had caught him

Pantera’s nose had been broken and set a fraction off centre, destroyingany symmetry his face might have had He had broad, strong cheekbones, andfine brows that were a shade darker than his hair A scar notched one of them,giving him a look of wry surprise, barely contained Lines of wind and sunetched the corners of his eyes The latter held amusement, Math thought, butunder it a storm of passions too powerful and too complex to be let loosewithout bloodshed

Math realized he was staring and looked away Pantera leaned back onthe nearest wall and folded his arms ‘You don’t like warriors?’ he askedmildly

Math shrugged ‘My mother was a warrior,’ he said ‘And my father.’

‘I see.’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose, where the break was ‘Did yourmother die in battle?’

‘No But she would have liked to have done Like my father He waswounded in battle and survived when he would rather have died.’

He didn’t know what shadows the moon put on his face, or what Panteramight have heard in his voice, but the silence was longer this time, andthicker, and ghosts whispered within it

‘Why do you sleep in the horse barns?’ Pantera asked ‘Your father isn’tthere, surely?’

There were too many answers to that There was the past, which was hismother, and Math didn’t want to speak of her yet, perhaps ever There wasthe future, which was Ajax the charioteer and so might never happen; Ajaxwas a dreamer of wild dreams and had not been around long enough for Math

to know if he was the kind of man to make them happen So he gave theanswer that grew from the present, which had the benefit of truth, and didn’thurt

‘I work for Ajax, the charioteer who drives Coriallum’s horses I help tolook after the lead colts in the reserve team My mother bred them, so theyknow me, which makes them easier to handle They like it best if their groomsleeps nearby And it’s warm in winter,’ he said, which was truest of all

‘Of course Your father must be proud of you.’ A bright thread of painran through Pantera’s voice, then

Math looked up, searching for its reason, but Pantera glanced awaydown the alley, avoiding his eyes

He said, ‘You could try washing your hair in citrus juice It gets rid ofthe smell and makes the gold shine better The clerks will see you all thesooner at the docks, and they’ll like you better without the smell.’

‘They like me well enough as I am.’

‘I’m sure they do.’ Abruptly, the warmth left Pantera’s voice His wholeattention was directed at the shadows at the end of the alley ‘You should gonow,’ he said, and took a step back

Math felt himself released as suddenly as if a key had been turned in alock He stole a glance over his shoulder, to where the light of the tavern’storches lit the alley’s mouth to amber The way out was clear The night hadbarely started A world of drunken purses waited to be cut for a boy whoknew how to run back down the hill to the richer taverns at the dockside.Math did not want to run down the hill

He wanted very badly to do whatever he could to heal the raw hurt hehad just heard in Pantera’s voice and he knew how he might do it, if onlytemporarily He reached forward, confident in his own skill

‘No!’

Math’s wrist was snatched away and held Danger surrounded him againand he did not understand why He struggled briefly, then fell still With avisible effort, Pantera loosed his grip

‘Who told you to do that?’

Math felt himself flush ‘No one I just …’

‘Whoever paid you should have known better than to send—’

‘A whore?’ Math spat the word He had never been ashamed of itbefore

He heard Pantera hiss in a breath The man crouched His dangerous,fascinating gaze came level with Math’s

‘I was going to say a boy as naturally good at following as you Anyoneelse would have lost me, and so been safe You have a gift that grown menwould give their last coin in the world to buy And somebody bought you,obviously.’

It was not a question, but Math nodded anyway

‘Who was it?’ Pantera said ‘Who paid you to follow me?’

‘I don’t know his name,’ Math said truthfully ‘I would tell you if I did.’

‘You would, wouldn’t you?’ He saw Pantera soften, saw the planes ofhis face change, saw him close his eyes, and close off the volcano of his rageuntil he could smile, and lay his hand on Math’s arm, and say, more steadily,

‘If you stay a moment, you’ll learn something After that I want you to leave.Will you do that?’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do.’

Standing, Pantera turned his face to the alley’s firelit mouth Distinctly,

he said, ‘Are you happy now? Will you come out where you can be seen, ormust we come to you, like dogs to a whistle?’

‘If you know I’m here, what need is there to stand in the light?’ Thescrawny Roman, who had offered Math more than he had ever earned for atask that had seemed as if it would be easy, stepped away from the shadow ofthe alley’s wall and stood in the open, cast in hazy silhouette by the torchlightfrom the tavern behind

He looked much as he had in daylight, but that his thistledown hair –what was left of it – was cast in gold rather than silver by the flame’s kinderlight His head was too big for his body His neck made the ungainlymismatch between head and body and was ill fitted for both, so that the skinhung in wattles and his larynx stuck out sharp as a stone

One might laugh at such a man, but for the fact that he had tracked Mathfor a good part of the afternoon unseen, which was, at the very least,disconcerting

His attention was all on Pantera now, although he spoke of Math Hesaid, ‘The boy will be as good as you when he’s older, if not better I haven’t

paid him yet He earns his coin only if we speak, you and I.’

In a voice that made Math’s guts ache, Pantera said, ‘Then he hassucceeded You have spoken I have replied Pay him.’

Pantera ignored him He opened a purse that Math had neither heard norseen at any point on the way up from the docks

‘How much did you promise the boy?’ he asked

The scrawny Roman did not answer fast enough Math said, ‘Onesestertius.’

He had thought it a fortune Pantera clearly did not He swore in alanguage that was neither Latin nor Gaulish but ripe with the force of hisscorn

‘You were Rome’s richest man and still you pay pennies to those whowould risk their lives for you?’

The old man shrugged ‘I am no longer rich by any measure Nero has

my fortune and I must live on my wits And Math did not risk his life Youare not yet so damaged that you would kill a boy for following you in thestreet.’

‘Really?’ Pantera bent down to Math ‘Have you eaten?’

That was a foolish question Math stared at him ‘Yes.’

‘I mean tonight Have you eaten since sundown?’

Math shook his head

‘Then take this.’ From his purse, Pantera produced a roll of white goat’scheese, thick as his thumb and as long ‘My father taught me this and so now

I teach you Always carry cheese in your purse – it stops the coins fromchiming so the cutpurses can’t hear it, and it means you have food when youneed it; you never know when you might have to stay awake until dawn Ahungry stomach craves sleep in the way a fed one may not.’

Math’s experience was otherwise, but he had learned long since that theman holding the food was always right With the spit already flooding his

mouth, he watched wide-eyed as Pantera led him to the mouth of the alley,and in the full glare of the tavern’s torches took the roll of cheese and cut itinto four pieces.

He gave the first one to Math ‘Eat it now Then keep the rest in yourpurse Divide the night into four by the arc of the moon See – it’s just upabove the houses, so this is the first quarter When it’s high, at midnight, eatthe next piece At half-set eat the third and at dawn, when the moon is down,eat the fourth That way the night seems less long Do you understand?’

Not understanding at all, Math said, ‘Yes.’ He had no purse He slippedthe precious cheese down the front of his tunic until it lay at his waist, abovehis belt, feeling the warmth of another’s body through it The fragment in hismouth was rich and ripe and exploded on his tongue

Pantera was already walking away ‘Good We’ll come with you some

of the way home Will you show us which way we go to the horse barns?’Math hadn’t planned to go home yet, but there wasn’t the slightestchance he was going to leave Pantera before he had to He nodded, andwalked between the two men away from the light of the tavern and into thedark thread of streets that made the upper part of Coriallum

They were in full dark, with only the moon to light them, when he heard thefootsteps behind them and knew they were no longer alone

His own steps faltered Pantera caught him a brief shove in the small ofhis back and dipped down to breathe in his ear ‘Only one He’s in the shelter

of the tannery to our left and behind Don’t stop.’

They walked on, talking together softly, like son to father, with thescrawny Roman trailing behind The chunks of cheese in Math’s tunic began

to sweat

They came to the end of the town, at the top of the shallow hill half amile or so along from the magistrate’s residence Here, the villas andworkshops stopped and the great flat grassy plain began, in the middle ofwhich was the wooden hippodrome and the complex of paddocks and horsebarns around it

The moon was high now, flooding the plain with silver ghost-light.Making sure they were in profile to the watcher, Pantera knelt before Mathand ruffled his hair, taking his leave as any other man might of the boy hehad hired and might wish to see again

‘Seneca was right,’ he said ‘You were not risking your life when youfollowed me this evening, but then you were not paid enough to do that If Ioffered you a denarius, would you risk your life for me – really risk it –now?’

Seneca A denarius

The two facts collided in Math’s mind A denarius: a silver coin fourtimes the worth of a brass sestertius, sixteen times the worth of the copperthat Ajax paid his grooms for a month’s work

And Seneca The scrawny old Roman was Seneca: the man who had

ruled Rome in all but name for most of Math’s short life Seneca, who hadbeen deposed, and permitted to retire when all around him had died in abloodbath of Nero’s making Seneca, who had paid him in brass, whenPantera was offering silver

A denarius Math would have risked his soul for Pantera for nothing atall

Swallowing, he said, ‘You want me to follow the man who is followingus?’

He said it more loudly than Pantera had done Hearing him, Seneca’shead snapped round

‘Yes,’ Pantera said ‘Watch him, find out who he reports to and why,and then come back to Seneca’s lodgings with the news – you know wherethey are? Good But if you are caught by this man or his master, you’ll have

to tell them everything you know – my name, Seneca’s name, where we metand how, and all that happened this evening Don’t hold anything back Theemperor’s men don’t ask nicely if they think they’re being lied to, but if youtell the truth, they might leave you alone and come after us Math …?’ Hecaught Math’s cheek and turned his head ‘Are you listening? You arefollowing one of Nero’s servants and it will serve nobody if you are stubbornand die You will not be protecting us Is that clear?’

Math nodded ‘They won’t catch me.’

‘Good The man who’s following us is currently hiding behind the housewith the gold on the roof tiles and the marble lions outside In a moment,we’ll turn away You will seem to run home When we have gone out ofsight, find him and follow him and hear all that he says and to whom And eatyour cheese sparingly It might be a long night.’

He gripped Math’s shoulder, as men did when they came off the fishingboats after a storm ‘Good luck.’

Pantera turned away and signalled for the scrawny Roman to follow.Math stood under the bright moon a moment and waved at their backs, thenshrugged for the sake of the man watching, much as he had done at the docks,and loped off in the direction of the horse barns.

CHAPTER THREE

The night was uncomfortably quiet Seneca the Younger, stoic philosopher,spymaster and one-time mentor to the Emperor Nero, waited in silence by atable in the dining room of a borrowed villa, and watched Pantera moveabout in the shadows beyond the candlelight

Knowing his subject, the philosopher did not ask any of the questionsthat pressed so urgently for answers After the disaster of their meeting in thealley, he had no wish to sully the evening further, and he had long ago foundthat with this man, of all those he had ever taught, patience was his best andmost certain weapon

Patiently, therefore, and in silence, he watched Pantera make amethodical examination of the room exactly as Seneca had taught him longago, noting the exits and entrances, the points of weakness and of strength,the places where a man might stand hidden, listening to the discourse within.There were few enough of these The house was a soldier’s, neat andplain, with little by way of luxury

Two dining couches stood by a table laid with cheese and olives, figsand grapes and small rolls of pickled fish In one corner, a lit brazier glowedsoftly red, warding the night’s chill from the air A nine-fold candelabrastuffed with fat candles was set at a careful angle so that it spilled brighterlight across the seating, but left in shadow a niche in one wall wherein wasset a simple altar A row of four cages standing against the wall nearby heldsleeping doves that might have been for sacrifice, if the god of the altarrequired such things

On the floor, subdued mosaics picked scenes from the lives of Achillesand Patroklos, from first meeting through shared war to the final blazingfuneral pyre and the frantic chariot race sponsored by the grieving hero inhonour of his dead lover The winning chariot ran ahead of the rest, pointingthe way out of the room and through an open archway that, in turn, led on to

an unroofed courtyard Somewhere near the centre of that, a fountain spilled

water into a raised pool alive with schools of small fish, while above,scattered stars made a dense and distant ceiling.

On this night of reunion, the moon was not yet full Its reflection dancedlopsidedly on the perfect circle of the fountain’s pool When Pantera walkedout under the black sky and stood beside it a while, observing his ownreflection, Seneca’s patience cracked at last

‘Nero will send for you,’ he said

‘He already has.’ Pantera hitched one hip on to the fountain’s lip andtrailed his fingers in the effervescent water ‘I am to meet my lord andemperor in private conversation at the magistrate’s residence early tomorrowmorning before the chariots line up for the first race He wishes to thank mefor my services in Britain.’

‘He wishes to hire you,’ Seneca said ‘To bring you into his fold, to useyou as he uses all the best that I made for him.’ It was his first fear and hisdeepest He took pains to keep that fact from his face

‘Perhaps.’ Pantera shifted slightly, so that the marble took all of hisweight He balanced, swaying, a breath away from falling into the water.Folding his arms, he turned back towards the light

‘You’re thinner than you used to be,’ he observed ‘Word has it that youlive now on spring water and fresh dates, picked only by your own hand as ameans to avoid the emperor’s poisoners.’

His voice made it almost a question

‘Partly.’ Seneca nodded towards the food arrayed for them both ‘I eatmore than dates, as you can see, but no red meat, no wine, nothing cooked Ifeel better for it And yes, I consider it safer Nero could have me slain at anymoment if he chose, but he’d see a particular irony in using poison after allI’ve done for him I will avoid that if I can.’

‘And so Seneca no longer believes that a man eats to vomit and vomits

to eat? The world is changing faster than I knew.’

That was an old barb, slung for a cheap point Sighing, Seneca pulled afootstool from beneath the table and sat on it The lower rank of candles inthe candelabra guttered above his head He looked down at his laced fingers,

at the clipped and then bitten nails

‘I’m sorry for what happened in Britain,’ he said presently ‘I didn’tintend it when I sent you.’

‘I never believed you did.’ As a child might, Pantera ran his fingersthrough the water, grasping at the stars

‘I’m told you are damaged in mind more than body, and in spirit morethan both Is it true?’

Forgetting one of his own first rules, Seneca spoke to the reflectionrather than the man, and did not look up even when that reflection left him, soall that remained on the black water was the moon’s truncated circle

When he did finally raise his eyes, the candles had begun to fail in thedining room, making the shadows darker In the harlequin light, Seneca couldsee no sign of Pantera, but heard a snap of leather and a slither of wool onskin Against all his clamouring instincts, he made himself sit on and on until,unable to hold himself longer, he rose and followed the trail of small sounds.Forgetting himself, he gasped aloud

A naked figure stood in the soft spill of the candlelight It took amoment for Seneca to recognize Pantera, but only because the man he knewhad displayed the Hebrew distaste for nudity almost to the point ofprudishness In their three decades of life together he had never willinglyshed his clothes in Seneca’s company

They left his face untouched for fear of killing him too quickly, but to the rest … they wrote their anger on his body It’s what men do when they have lost their comrades to the enemy and believe they have one alive in their custody Make yourself ready if you see him.

A legate of the British legions had told Seneca that; Fabius Africanus, infact, who owned this house

Now, in the unkind light, Seneca was perfectly placed to observe thetruth of what he had said; that the pilus prior of the third century, the secondcohort of the Second Augustan legion, and his three junior officers had quiteliterally written their rage on the body of the man they believed to be aBritish warrior, as a result of which Sebastos Abdes Pantera, who had oncebeen a boy of wide-eyed, feline beauty, bore for ever branded into his chestand abdomen the mark of the second legion: LEG II AVG

The stretched leg of the L reached up to meet a knot of hideouslyscarred tissue at his right shoulder that looked as if a spear had been forcedthrough just above his collar bone and he had been left to hang on it, tearingthe tissue The rest merged with a lacework of less organized burns and scars,where men with knives and hot irons had traced spider’s webs and carvedtheir initials and made maps of their home villages, or the hills, or simplycounted time on his body

Hidden behind all that, so that he wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t

looked, was an older, flat, scarred oval in the centre of the man’s chest thatlooked as if a fire had been lit there and left to burn.

‘Are you weeping?’ Pantera asked, with cold astonishment

‘I believe I am.’ Seneca moved to the brazier and stood over it, warminghis hands ‘It would seem you have the power to hurt me still Or the menwho hurt you have that power Would you let me arrange for a physician?Nero won’t listen to me, but Polyclitus holds the strings to the treasury, andcan be prevailed upon Largus is still the best of the emperor’s doctors; hecould—’

‘Spare me false apothecaries, please!’

Pantera’s voice was a whiplash Seneca flinched He had not comeprepared for this

Pantera, too, was silent a moment When he spoke again, it was with thedry humour with which he had always masked his soul

‘Forgive me, but I am a little tired of bonesetters and herbalists I wasunder the ministration of the governor’s physicians for well over a year I’m

as healed as I’m ever going to be and happy with it If you think my injuriesleave me too compromised to kill a man, or follow one without being seen,then you should have stopped me sending Math out after whoever wasfollowing us tonight and sent me instead I’m sure we’d all have learnedsomething useful.’

‘It was never my intent to set you against anyone else, be it in the open

or in the dark of an alley I haven’t come to ask you to work again It has costyou too much.’ Seneca sensed a moment’s surprise, and allowed himself tobelieve that the conversation might be moving in the right direction at last

‘What then?’ Pantera asked

‘Retirement,’ Seneca said smoothly ‘A peaceful step aside My gold isgone to Nero, but I still own lands at Mentana that grow the best wine in theempire There’s a farm of mine there with your name on it if you wish Orelsewhere in the empire if you prefer? Dacia is cold in winter but said to begood Or Britain, obviously There are whole villages lacking masters now inthe lands of the Dumnonii where corn grows thick as moss and they breedcattle, horses and hunting dogs that would shame any other land in theempire But then you know that; you spent five years among them, so if youwant to pick—’

‘No.’

The vehemence of that one word, and the pain behind it, were as