London - Edward Rutherfurd [50]
They were unattended. There was no sign of the soldiers. He stayed by the corner and waited. No one came. Could the soldiers have abandoned the cart? Surely not. He looked about, trying to guess where they had gone. All along the alley were small yards, workshops and little storehouses. They might have gone into any one of a dozen. The cover was still over the cart. Had they already unloaded the gold, or was this only a temporary halt? Still no one came.
If they’ve unloaded, then I should scout around to see if I can find where they went, Julius considered. It seemed pointless to wait there all day. Cautiously he moved forward and approached the cart.
He reached it and glanced around. There was no sign of anyone. He lifted the cover and looked in.
The cart was almost empty. Only three amphorae of wine remained, and some sacking. He reached in and felt around under the sacking, until his hand encountered something hard. He pulled. It was heavy. Grinning to himself, he reached in with his other hand. And lifted out a single sack of coins.
It was not large. He could hold it in his two cupped hands. But even this was a fortune. No need to bother about the rest. One sack like this was enough. It was time to run.
A shout behind him. He half turned. The soldier was almost upon him. Instinctively, he dropped the sack, ducked his head, dodged round the cart, and ran. As he did so he heard another voice. And, he thought, a third. The centurion.
“Get him.”
Straight up the alley. Left. Then right. A moment later he was in the great thoroughfare. He ran across it, looked for another alleyway, found one and fled up it.
They knew he had seen the gold. He was a witness. They had to kill him. As he ran, he thought fast. Where could he go? Where could he hide from them? Their voices were still there; they seemed to be to his right and left at the same time. Then he had an idea. It was his only hope. He pushed himself forwards, gasping for breath, as their footfalls echoed close behind him.
Martina waited by the bridge. There was not a soul to be seen. Just below, the wide, clear waters of the river flowed silently by, glinting in the sunlight. From the bridge, she could see the fish, silver and brown, moving about beneath the surface.
The fish had company. She was alone.
Martina was furious, as only a young woman can be who, having prepared herself to be kissed, finds herself ignored instead. She had been waiting for an hour. Now and then she had heard huge roars from the distant crowd as the gladiators fought. She disliked the killing, but that was not the point. He had sent her a letter and promised a present. She had taken a great risk and now, humiliated and frustrated, was going to be left standing there like an idiot until she decided to crawl away. She waited a little longer, then shrugged. Perhaps something bad had happened to young Julius. Perhaps.
“I’ll forgive him if he’s broken his leg,” she murmured to herself, “but not if it’s anything less.” If he thought he could ignore her, just let him see how she would repay him.
She was in a receptive frame of mind, therefore, when to her surprise she saw a familiar figure come out from the shadows of a side street and approach her.
Seeing her alone, it was second nature to Sextus to approach Martina. As for her, seeing the man she had avoided for the faithless Julius, it was only natural that she should welcome him now with a kiss. If Julius were anywhere near, she hoped he would see it. To make certain, she kissed Sextus again.
Sextus was a little surprised that this girl he had been pursuing should suddenly seem so warm towards him. His conceit told him it was to be expected; his experience told him not to ask