London - Edward Rutherfurd [48]
“Find the money by sundown,” he said calmly, “or I’ll kill you.” Then he turned on his heel and walked away.
A little before noon, they brought on a gladiator and a bear. The gladiator was skilled with the net. The betting was two to one that he would kill the bear. He was due to fight another gladiator that afternoon, however, a popular champion, and for this second contest the betting was five to one that he would die. For a bet that he would win both you could, at this moment, get twenty to one. The bear was paraded around the arena first. The crowd was in a good-humoured mood. Tension and excitement would mount only when blood was seen.
Martina rose quickly. Across the arena, in the governor’s box and the tiers nearby, she could see the important men of the city in their togas and the women in their long dresses of fine silk, their hair piled high in elaborate coiffures. As she made her way back to the stairway, she felt a little tremor run through her.
They may be in the fine seats, she thought, but none of them will be getting what I am going to get this afternoon.
A few moments later she emerged from the shadowy tunnel of the stairway into the bright glare of the street. She made her way towards the forum. She did not notice that, two hundred yards behind her, the mariner moved quietly out of a doorway and started to follow.
Julius waited. He was standing by one of the pair of big wooden pillars that marked the northern end of the bridge. It was almost noon.
The interview with Sextus had left him worried. He thought the older man probably meant what he said, but how could he recover the bag? Perhaps if he told his mother about the threat she would relent, though he was not sure about that. In any case, he decided, it was useless to worry about it now. He had other business on hand.
There was a roar from the amphitheatre on the hill away to the left; a faintly contemptuous note in the sound told him that an animal must be getting the better of a human.
Julius gazed up the broad street towards the forum. If the girl was coming, she would turn into it before long. At present the street was empty; so was the quay. He could feel his heart beating. “If she comes now,” he murmured, but did not complete the sentence. If she appeared now, he was certain she would be his that afternoon. He trembled with excitement. And yet – this was a strange thing – for all his anticipation, part of him was still nervous, almost hoping that she would stay away.
Several minutes passed; still there was no sign of Martina, and Julius was beginning to think that perhaps, after all, she might not come, and maybe it was just as well, when his attention was distracted by a small movement from along the quay to his right.
It was nothing much, just some soldiers with a donkey pulling a small cart. He watched them idly as they came slowly along the waterfront towards him. It occurred to him that the little cart must be heavy, because he saw the donkey slip once and stop. But perhaps the animal was just being obstinate. He glanced up the street again: still no sign of Martina.
The soldiers and the donkey were two hundred yards away now. There were only three men: one leading the donkey, two behind the cart. Because he was standing behind the wooden pillar, they did not see him, but as they drew closer, he could make out their faces under their helmets. One of them, it seemed to him, looked familiar.
And then, with a start, he realized why. The man bringing up the rear was none other than his acquaintance from the day before. The centurion. He looked at the big man curiously. Why, he wondered, should the centurion be escorting a donkey cart through the streets in the middle of the games?
The cart was covered with a canvas sheet. One corner had worked loose, however, and Julius could see the top of an amphora of wine sticking out. Obviously, for some reason, the soldiers were taking provisions from the official warehouse to the fort that day. No doubt they were having a feast in the barracks that night. The cart started