London - Edward Rutherfurd [44]
She paused only a few moments to look about. Satisfied she was not observed, she flung the bag into the ditch and heard it fall amongst the rubbish at the bottom.
Continuing on her way as if nothing had happened, a little further on she found the main northern gate wide open, and passed unnoticed into the city.
Julius gazed at the long line of city wall. His hands fell helplessly to his sides and he shook his head. The quest was futile. Over the wall, on the far side of the western hillock, he could see the curving top storey of the amphitheatre. The morning was clear: no breeze, not a cloud in the pale blue sky. It would be hot in the amphitheatre’s huge bowl that day.
Where was the money? He had been out at dawn and he still hadn’t the faintest idea what his mother had done with it.
Had the fat girl lied? He did not think so. When he had crept to her bedside in the middle of the night, put his hand over her mouth and held a knife against her throat, she had been frightened enough. She had said that his mother had dumped the bag somewhere outside the western wall, but three hours of searching had not yielded a clue. He had gone out through the western gate. He had visited every place he could think of before finally returning. And now the city was stirring. Soon people would be flocking towards the amphitheatre. And he was penniless.
What was he going to tell Sextus? Though he had planned to encounter him on the way to the games, he was not so sure that he wanted to see him just yet. Would Sextus believe him? Or would he suppose Julius had stolen the money and cheated him? Hard to say. Nor did he relish going home to encounter his mother. “I’d better lie low until this evening after the games,” he muttered. Perhaps everyone would be in a better temper by then.
Which left the girl. He sighed. He had promised her a present, and now he had no money. What could he do about that? Nothing. Anyway, he reminded himself, the whole business was too risky. “And she probably won’t come to the bridge now in any case,” he muttered. The whole thing made him sad, and having nothing else to do just then, he sat down on a stone near the road to ruminate.
Several minutes passed. Once or twice more he muttered, “I’m broke,” and “Forget the whole thing.” But somehow even these statements did not satisfy him. Gradually, another thought began to take shape and to grow.
What if she did come to the bridge after all? It was quite likely that she had hidden the letter. The mariner probably suspected nothing. What if she took the risk herself and came to the bridge, and he was not there to meet her? What if he let her down?
He shook his head. He knew very well. “If I don’t have her, someone else will,” he murmured. Sextus probably.
He thought of her body. He wanted her, certainly. He thought of her all alone by the bridge and suddenly the whole business seemed bathed in a warmer light. He felt his heart begin to beat more rapidly.
Just as every pugilist in the port knew, Julius would never stay down if you knocked him out. It might not be wise, it might not even make any sense at all, but his deep inner optimism soon rose to the surface again as naturally as the buds appear in spring.
After a short time, therefore, he seemed to pull himself together. A few minutes more and he nodded to himself with a faint smile. A little later he grinned and got up.
Then he made his way towards the gate.
Martina was up early that morning. She prepared the room, brushed her short hair, washed and scented herself carefully. Then, before dressing, she inspected her body. She felt her breasts, which were small and soft; she ran her hands down the firm lines of her legs. Satisfied, she began to dress. She slipped on a pair of new sandals, experience having taught her that the leather would give off a faint smell that, combined with the natural scents of her body, was attractive