have no unlawfulness in my presence.”
“Ah’ll tend to this,” said Palaemon, starting to make his way around the pool.
“The person of a tribune of the plebs is sacrosanct,” Gaius Cato said haughtily, with no hint that he and his arrogance might be in danger. “Have you prayed at the temple of Ceres? No? Lay a hand on me and you may visit all your possessions there before they are sold at auction. But you shan’t be troubled by your loss for long, for presently your head will be forfeit to Jupiter.”
“You first,” said Palaemon, jauntily swinging a rusting scrap of curved iron.
“Wait,” Velus said in a tired voice. He thought for a moment. “The problem for a tribune in a situation like this,” he said, “the problem with your sacrosanctity, if I may call it that, is that you don’t have any lictors for protection. I mean, why would you need any, if just bumping up against you in a crowd could get you thrown off the Tarpeian Rock? But the only crowd that matters here is us.
“You’ve seen us,” he said, working it out, “so that’s no good for us, and not very good for you. I could kill you, but much as I like these fellows, I don’t trust ‘em worth spit, and I can’t very well kill them all to keep them quiet, so here’s what I’m thinking. You take you and yours and go about your business, and we’ll go about ours, without the killing you part. Everybody’s happy. Oh, and we’ll take that fancy box before you go. Go get it, Palaemon.”
“This box is on my person, therefore part of my person.”
“But we’re not taking it from you, tribune. You’re giving it to us as a, hmm, parting gift, if I may call it that, to thank us for letting you go. Isn’t that right?”
Palaemon reached Gaius Cato and held out a scarlet and crooked hand. “Outrageous,” the tribune sputtered, reluctantly surrendering the box. “There’s nothing in here of any value to you,” he said in a voice that declared quite clearly that there was indeed something of value within, if not in the thing itself, than in the knowledge of its existence. Not that bribery wasn’t as common as cleaning your teeth with crushed oyster shells, bones and olive oil, it was just that it was one of the few transactions Romans preferred to conduct in the shadows.
Palaemon trotted back to Velus and gave him the box. Then he sauntered over to the two men holding Livia. “Ah’m the only one doing any work here. Ah’ll take the redhead.” Velus nodded, and his reprobate accomplice took hold of Livia’s wrist. The crooked smile that contorted his lips made me want to wretch. I strained in vain against the hands that held me.
“I shall commit your faces to memory,” said Gaius Cato.
“Fine by me,” Velus said to the tribune. “I’m going to treat myself to a shave after today’s labors. Best of luck remembering this face.”
“Thass not right,” Palaemon said, “Ah haff no beard.”
“Then grow one,” Malchus said.
Malchus!
“Or develop a limp,” added Betto.
A hobnailed military boot came thrusting out from behind Velus and crashed into the back of Palaemon’s leg. He fell screaming, releasing his hold on both Livia and his iron rod. It landed at her bare feet; she bent to scoop it up. Even scoundrels possess the reflex to help a downed comrade; in the instant when their grip loosened I wrenched free of the two that held me and rushed to Livia’s side.
“No one move!” Velus called out in alarm. Something very sharp was prodding painfully into his lower back. Lady Cornelia pulled away from him and ran to join Buccio and the two of us. Livia held the iron rod against Palaemon’s neck, not particularly careful of the pressure she applied.
From behind him, Malchus said in an amiable tone, “Velus Herclides, how long has it been?”
“Malchus? Drusus Malchus?”
“If you are speaking of the same Drusus Malchus who yanked your inattentive innards away from more than one mortal thrust, then yes, that’s me. What brings a fine legionary like you to this gutter work?”
“I thought I left two men to guard the front entrance.”
“You did.”
Velus shrugged and sighed. “Pompeius Magnus disbanded our unit three years ago. You know me: I’m shit at anything but soldiering. Anywise, the pay’s decent.”
“Not decent enough,” Malchus said.
“There are other benefits,” the villain countered, smiling at the women. Can you imagine the acidic stew of furor and