Tales of Ancient Rome by S. J. A. Turney Page A

toward the bath house.
    Shit. Quite literally. There was only one solution now.
    He risked a glance over his shoulder and wished fervently that he hadn’t. What had, a moment ago, looked like an ugly old priestess screaming in terror now bore more resemblance to Cerberus or some fiendish and malignant lemur of the underworld, howling its hatred and evil as it bore down on him with what he considered an unprecedented turn of speed. What was this woman? If all the vestals were like this, he’d hate to meet one in a dark alley and he’d certainly not be coming back in thirty years to look for Vibia.
    Muscles pumping, heart pounding and sweat pouring from his hairline, Fronto examined the building ahead. No door visible, so it must be around the other side. Good. He could hear another voice somewhere behind him now. The only thing her could truly hope for was that, if he made it out of this, the chances of the priestesses recognising him once he’d cleaned up from this horrendous state was extremely unlikely.
    His heart in his mouth, Fronto hurtled round the corner. There was the door. Hoping he was as clever as he thought, he wrenched the door open with a clatter and then ran on along the outside toward the next corner. As he ran, he kept an eye on the ground. He had only one hope here: a drain cover down to the sewers. It was possible there was one, though far from guaranteed, given the security and sanctity of the precinct. Even if there was, it could be buried beneath the grass. Dodging round the far corner, he came to a halt and looked around desperately.
    Fortuna was Fronto’s patron Goddess.
    There, like a beautiful square, white, marble dream, was the cover of the drain. Just wide enough to admit him and kept free of grass, gravel and weeds by the helpful priestesses, who presumably gardened a great deal to keep their mind off the pastimes they were forbidden. It may be a gateway to half the poo of central Rome but, right now, Fronto could kiss every brick down that tunnel.
    Dropping to his knees, he yanked at the marble block and succeeded in levering it upright, balanced on its thick edge. With a quick, desperate look around, he leaned forward to look down the hole.
    The blast of acrid air that rose from the passage brought tears instantly to his eyes and threatened to burn off his nose hair. Blinking, he leaned back. He was just considering looking for an alternate route when he overheard the edge of a shouted warning inside the baths. Now there were two voices. Crap. He was getting outnumbered.
    Taking as deep a breath as he dared attempt, Fronto narrowed his eyes to slits and pulled himself forward across the hole. Holding himself up with his arms, he dropped his feet into the dank darkness and scrabbled around until he found purchase on either side with his feet. Achieving a foothold among the slippery bricks, he concertinaed his body down into the hole so that he could pull the cover over the top.
    Trying very hard not to breathe at all, he began to carefully descend the eight feet down to the tunnel below. He had almost worked his way down to the point at which the brickwork opened out into a wide tunnel when the worst thing imaginable happened and his boot slipped on the fungus that grew on the bricks. He was pretty sure he shrieked, regardless of the possibility of being heard from above. What he was sure about was that he had the presence of mind to close his mouth and grip his nose tightly before he plunged with a wet slap into the two feet of oozing nastiness beneath him.
    In the brief moment before he recovered his wits, Fronto found himself seriously wondering whether it might have been preferable to be caught and executed than to have escaped by this route.
    He stood, gripped his sides and leaned over to be copiously sick into the ooze and almost laughed when he considered the possibility that such an act may just make the place marginally nicer. Reaching up to wipe his mouth, he remembered just in