The Emperor's Silver: Agent of Rome 5 (26 page)

‘I’ll go anywhere as long as it’s not the quarries,’ said Greyboy, blade sparkling.

‘We just want to talk to you.’

‘Heard that before.’ Greyboy continued his retreat.

As he followed, Indavara made the mistake of looking over the side. They were directly above the gorge now; a few more steps would take him over the water. Shallow or deep, river or sea, the very thought of it sent icy tremors across his back.

He watched the second labourer clamber up the rope ladder and on to the wall. The man started questioning his friend then spied the knife in the stranger’s hand. He put his pail and paintbrush down and the two of them jogged away along the channel.

Indavara didn’t like the way Greyboy was glancing at the rope ladder. He gripped the hilt of his sword and drew it with a flourish; he had to convince this sly bastard to give up before he even thought about going over the side.

‘No farther. Stay where you are.’

‘You’re not going to cut me. You want what we know. Or what you think we know.’

‘Not another step.’

Greyboy glanced down at his bleeding knee. ‘And I’m definitely not going to outrun you.’

The Syrian kept himself facing Indavara as he climbed on to the side of the channel. He put the knife between his teeth, lowered himself on to the rope ladder and climbed down.

‘Ah, shit.’ Indavara turned round; Corbulo would be there soon.

Having already let himself down once that week, he wasn’t about to do so again. He sheathed his sword and leaped up on to the wall. The ladder was trembling but it must have been tethered lower down because Greyboy had already disappeared under the overhang. Indavara pushed his sword belt over his hip and followed him.

By the time Cassius arrived and looked over the edge, all he could see was the bodyguard’s arms and the top of his head.

‘Indavara, we’ve got the other one. It’s not worth it.’

‘Calm down, your voice is getting squeaky.’

‘There’s a thin line between brave and reckless.’

This was not the first time Indavara had crossed it.

Cassius waved at the labourers. ‘Where does it lead?’

‘Down,’ said one.

‘Where exactly?’

‘Past the top level down the side of a pier,’ said the other man. ‘The bottom is at the base of the second level.’

‘Is there another way down?’

One of the men gestured at the side of the gorge. ‘Think there’s a track there somewhere.’

Cassius ran back along the channel.

Hands and feet, hands and feet.

Indavara was making good progress down the pier – a ten-yard column of brick. Every time he looked down to check his boots were secure on the thin wooden slats, he glimpsed Greyboy, who was now close to the base of the pier, twenty feet below. There was only a yard of space between it and the edge.

Hands and feet, hands and feet. Don’t look at the—

But it was impossible not to with the sun glinting off the river. Indavara had to stop and close his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he saw his white knuckles shaking on the thin, rough rope. In fact, now the whole ladder seemed to be shaking.

He looked down and saw Greyboy’s face set in a sneer as he swung the ladder from side to side.

‘You’re going for a swim, friend! That’s if you survive the fall.’

Indavara wrapped his right arm over one of the slats and clamped his fingers on another. Reaching down with his left hand, he flipped up the stud of his dagger sheath and pulled out the blade. Holding it by the hilt he aimed it at Greyboy.

‘I’ve got a better chance of surviving that than you have a knife through your skull.’

With a final wrench that failed to dislodge his enemy, Greyboy ran nimbly along the edge of the aqueduct and around the corner of the pier.

Indavara sheathed the knife and continued downward.

Cassius had found the top of what looked like an animal trail. It cut steeply down through outcrops of lichen-covered limestone and small, spindly trees.

Cosmas arrived, limping. He looked at the aqueduct. ‘Is that Indavara?’

‘It is.’

‘So where’s … ah.’

Greyboy had reached the far side of the second level’s widest arch. He glanced back briefly, then edged along the pier and disappeared behind it.

‘He’s gone,’ said Cosmas.

They watched as Indavara reached the bottom of the ladder, then gave chase.

‘Gods, he’s like a man possessed,’ said Cassius. ‘What’s the point? We’ve got the other one.’

Cosmas cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘Indavara, leave him! Let it go!’

If he heard him, the bodyguard didn’t show it.

Cassius sighed. ‘Letting things go is not his speciality.’

Indavara checked his knife and sword were secure then ran along to the next pier. Slowing as he reached the gap between it and the edge, he leaned to his right and put a hand against the stone. Determined not to be distracted by the water again, he shuffled forward, eyes fixed on the corner.

Once there, he stopped and listened. He couldn’t hear the bastard running; either he was too far ahead or he was waiting nearby. Indavara drew his sword and held it in his left hand. He flew around the corner, ready to swing at anything that moved.

Apart from two stacks of pails, the broad stone platform beneath the next arch was empty. Hanging from both sides of the aqueduct were several more rope ladders. Indavara decided to keep his blade out. The next pier was forty feet ahead. He had taken only a few steps when he heard boots scrape on stone.

Greyboy had materialised between the pails, arm back, ready to throw.

Indavara had time only to bow his head and raise the sword.

The knife clanged against the middle of the blade and dropped to the floor.

By the time he looked up, Greyboy was on him.

The Syrian came in low under the sword, his shoulder catching Indavara in the ribs. Though by far the bigger man, the impact sent him tottering backwards. Too late he realised how close he was to the edge. His wet left boot slipped off the stone and he fell awkwardly on to his right knee.

Seeing another chance, Greyboy lined up a kick at his head.

Indavara had nowhere to go but down. He dropped his sword and let himself fall. As Greyboy’s boot whistled past his ear, his hands came down hard on the edge, fingers already gripping tight. As he hung there, legs dangling, he was surprised to hear the sound of his sword splashing into the water. It had been a long time in the air.

Greyboy stood over him and gestured at his cut knee.

‘Like I said, I wouldn’t have stood a chance in a foot race.’ He leaned forward and looked down at the river. ‘I could just leave you hanging, I suppose, but something tells me you’re not the type to give up easily. Sorry.’

The Syrian stamped on his left hand. If Indavara hadn’t just gained a slight toehold on a knob of stone, he would have fallen. Doing his best to ignore the pain pulsing through the three fingers the boot had squashed, he forced the hand back on to the edge. That hurt too.

Cosmas yelled at one of the sergeants, who had just arrived on his horse. ‘Get that bow from the cart. Hurry!’

Cassius started down the slope.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Cosmas.

‘The river. He can’t swim.’

‘I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Look.’

Cassius dug his boots in and stopped. Two elderly fishermen were wading across the river, staring up at the scene unfolding above. The water was only slightly higher than their knees.

‘Just get that bloody bow.’ Cassius leaped down the slope.

‘Ha,’ said Greyboy with an approving grin.

The Syrian seemed to appreciate the strength and agility needed for what Indavara was doing: hauling himself along the edge by his hands, gaining two feet of distance from his foe with every swing. He had found no more footholds and was dependent on his ten digits, three of which felt like they were on fire.

‘Where do you think you’re going anyway? Ah.’

Teeth jammed together, arms aching, Indavara moved a few more inches towards the closest rope ladder.

Greyboy was following him. ‘Again, sorry, but I don’t have time to mess around.’ He stomped down on the left hand.

But it – and the rest of Indavara – was already in mid-air. He had done his best to fling himself sideways but most of the movement was down.