Saturnalia by Lindsey Davis Page B

someone had recognised me from that fight I had had with the others from their group five years ago. Perhaps somebody had remembered how on that occasion, I had laid out several men who were selling themselves as hired muscle at the house of a certain Atius Pertinax; they fought viciously, but I had left them dying in the road... It was time to leave.
    I thanked them for their co-operation and made good my escape. I walked away from the area purposefully, though not so fast as to let anybody watching know I felt nervous. I thought I had managed it safely. I knew the bastards had loathed me but I thought they had let me go.
    Only as I slowed down and started to relax did I sense that I had been followed.

XIV

    Being tracked was always dangerous. I never underestimated the risk. Whether it was general muggers emerging from unlit alleys, hoping to follow some lump of off-guard after-dinner flab and snatch his purse along with his fine linen banquet napkin, or whether it was thugs trailing me specifically for reasons connected with a case, I treated them all as potential killers. Never ignore the half-seen shadow you try to convince yourself was nothing; you may very well end up with an assassin's knife sliding under your ribs. That cart being driven erratically in a road where carts don't normally deliver may have a driver who is planning to run you down. The faint noise overhead may be a heavy flowerpot falling down accidentally--or a pot someone has pushed over with a view to crushing your head. It may be three men dropping down on you from a balcony.
    'Hey, Falco!'
    Even before I pinpointed them, I knew I was being hunted by Germans. I had recognised the accent. Not the ex-bodyguards. The voice belonged to a younger man. At the breathy shout from my left, I spun around and checked my right. Long practice.
    No one rushed me. Two quick steps had me with my back against a house wall. As I scanned around, I pulled my knife from my boot.
    My mind raced. I was in the enclave between the Fourth and Sixth Districts. The High Lanes. Not as elegant and lofty as they sound. Somewhere close to the Porta Saluta, named for the Temple of Salus, or well-being. About to be very unhealthy for me.
    I knew nobody in these streets. Had no idea where the nearest vigiles station was. Could not rely on local stallholders. Was unsure of the configuration of local lanes and back doubles, if I had to make a run for it... I identified the Germans. Several, and they looked tough.
    People were about. A woman stood outside a shop with two young children; she was gazing at produce--knives? cushions? pastries?--while the little girl tugged her skirts, whining to go home.
    Businessmen were arguing lazily but long-windedly on a corner. A slave wheeled a handcart laden with cabbages, pretending not to notice when he dropped one and it rolled away. Two dogs stopped sniffing each other and stared at me. Only they had spotted my sudden movement and sensed something interesting was about to occur.
    In the brief pause, one of the dogs walked over to the lost cabbage, which was still slowly rolling, and put his nose down to it as the vegetable teetered on the edge of the kerb then toppled down into the gutter. The cabbage gave a lop-sided lurch, and covered itself with muddy water. The dog licked it, then looked up at me, his curiosity on the wane. The other dog barked once, just making a point about who owned the street.
    My heart was pounding. 'Hey, Falco!'
    Taller than me by several inches and heavier by many pounds, three fair-haired men in their thirties stood in a loose group a few strides away. They had seen my knife. They looked faintly sheepish. I refused to be fooled.
    'Hello. I am Ermanus,' offered the spokesman. He smiled at me. I did not smile back.
    They were well built with heavy bellies; they looked raffish and untidy, but much harder than the old slugs t had been talking to earlier. These large boys went to the gym. If you punched those paunches,