Rome 4: The Art of War by M. C. Scott Page A

door, a slaves’ route, that takes you into the ghetto. You will go under my protection.’
    Pantera glanced a question. I said, ‘We slaves protect our own. Eventhose who are no longer strictly slaves. If you go straight for a hundred paces and then go left beneath the two houses that meet above the road, you can—’
    ‘I’ll take them.’
    In the short time my attention had been turned the other way, Domitian had donned his good, dark cloak. He was standing by the door, ready to go out.
    ‘I know the routes as well as anyone. I’ll do this. For my father. Trust me.’
    I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t trust him. Nor, I am certain, did my guests. They exchanged a brief, wordless conversation at the end of which Jocasta, mellow-voiced and lovely, said, ‘May I suggest that my lord takes me alone and permits the spy Pantera to go out of the front door to lead the Guards away? If they have seen him enter, they need to see him being sent away or your aunt’s life and liberty will be forever endangered.’
    Domitian gave a credible impression of a grown man whose opinion was frequently sought on matters of imminent danger. Gravely, he said, ‘That is wise. I will keep you safe and escort you home. Pantera should go out now, and when he is free once more he can come to the Street of the Lame Dog which runs behind the inn where the acrobats meet. Ask one of the boys for the Fly-catcher. He’ll let me know where you are.’
    The Fly-catcher? I had no idea they called him that. I wanted to ask more, but there was no time; Pantera had agreed and was making preparations. The lady Jocasta was standing tight-lipped and silent. She gave Pantera a glittering smile, full of meanings I could not discern, and then followed Domitian out of the small rear door used by the servants, which led out into the slum that sprawls across the lower reaches of the Quirinal and Palatine hills.
    Pantera watched them leave, then said, ‘How long have we got beforethe Guards are here? I assume the whistles give detail within the warning, or do we just know they are on their way?’
    I didn’t ask how he knew; for this, too, there was no time. ‘At first whistle, they were coming down the Quirinal hill from the barracks behind. Each new whistle brings them a street closer. They are, if I have heard correctly, five streets away, up the hill. If they run, they will be here in the time it takes to lace your sandals.’
    ‘They’re running. I can hear them.’ He was standing by my new front door with his ear pressed to the wood. With one hand, he was sliding back the bolts at top and bottom of the door. With the other, he was loosening a knife I had not seen he carried strapped to his forearm.
    Turning, he threw me a grin that reminded me so much of Vespasian that it hurt.
    ‘Throw me out,’ he said. ‘Be theatrical. I have talked my way in with news of the general and it is clear I have never been near him; and in any case, you agree with Sabinus that Vespasian is a fool. I was offending your honour, abusing your servants, threatening to steal your wine and your silver. Make it loud and make it real. Can you do that?’
    ‘Tonight,’ I said, ‘I can do anything.’
    ‘Good.’ He hurled back the door. ‘ Now! ’

C HAPTER T HIRTEEN
    Rome, 3 August AD 69
Geminus
    ‘ THERE! THE CENTURION … Pantera … whoever he is. The widow’s throwing him out! See? On the other side of the acrobats. Get him!’
    The gods were smiling, it seemed. Lucius had sent word that the spy, Pantera, had come to Rome disguised as a centurion and had just been seen to enter the house of the oak leaves on the widows’ row. Sadly, that was the limit of his information. He hadn’t been able to give any suggestion as to how long our target might remain inside or where he might go when he left.
    I nearly broke my fingers throwing on my sword belt, gathering my team, setting them to run down the road, but even so I feared we were going to arrive to an empty