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  The attackers broke into a dead run. Seconds later they caught up to Macha’s little band. Daggers flashed in the sunlight as the assassins yanked weapons from their tunics.

  Viriatus and the other nine retainers, dropped back to the rear of Macha’s litter and formed a defensive line. In unison they pulled from beneath their clothing short black truncheons. A violent struggle ensued as Viriatus and his retainers withstood the onslaught of slashing blades. Swinging their clubs, they parried and blocked the killers’ assaults with the skill of soldiers. The defenders smashed faces and fractured collar bones as they sent the assailants flying onto the grimy street. But a number of attackers broke through their ranks and raced after Macha and the unarmed litter bearers.

  Macha grabbed a knife from a hidden fold inside her stola. My litter bearers are defenseless, she exclaimed to herself. Surely, they’ll die! We'll all die!

  Shafer shouted something to the litter bearers in the Moorish dialect. Lurching to a halt, they lost control and dropped the sedan chair, throwing Macha under the seat. Her head banged against one corner of the palanquin and a stinging pain shot through her skull. Darkness clouded her vision. Groaning, she shook her head, attempting to clear it. Her elbows and knees ached.

  Macha pulled the red covering from the chair door off her body. Using only bare hands and fists to deflect the murderous blows, the litter bearers, yelling tribal war cries, battled the attackers. Despite Macha and Shafer’s screams, no passersby or anyone from the adjacent apartments came to their assistance.

  Pushing herself up on her hands and knees, Macha saw Shafer kick and gouge one villain, barely keeping out of reach of his slashing dagger. Macha spotted a bystander gazing at the death-struggle. He popped a date into his mouth and leaned against an apartment wall. Appalled, she thought, why doesn’t he help us?

  An assassin lunged at Shafer. Macha grabbed his ankle, throwing him off balance. He toppled to the street, shouting a stream of obscenities, sprang to his feet, knife in hand, and dived in Macha’s direction.

  She hurled her dagger and struck him in the chest.

  A shocked look crossed his pocked face. He spat blood, spraying her cheeks, eyes and stola, before tumbling to the ground, dead.

  Quickly, she wiped the hot sticky fluid from her face, smearing it on her hands. She reached out and pulled the weapon from his body and prepared to meet the next assassin—looking death in the eye.

  “Mistress!” Shafer shouted. “A chariot! Heading this way!”

  Chapter 30

  An Intercession by Mother Vesta

  The scar-faced bandit catapulted toward her. In the same instant someone shouted.

  “Over there! In the name of Vesta, help her!” Antonia’s voice.

  Two burly men leaped from behind Macha and jerked the assassin away. He wrestled free and glared at her, eyes full of venom. A prickling sensation shot up Macha's spine as he turned and fled down the street.

  More orders followed from Antonia. A group of passersbys and the Vestal’s retainers, ran to the aid of Shafer and the litter bearers.

  “Great Mother Vesta,” Antonia said. “Macha, you’re injured!” She stepped from her chariot and rushed to Macha’s side where Macha sank to the cobbled street.

  “I’m all right, Antonia. It’s his blood.” Macha motioned to the corpse lying at her feet, blood smeared across his chest.

  “Then why did you cry out?” the priestess asked.

  “I did? I had no idea. I suppose…because they almost killed me. Reason enough?”

  Antonia nodded and touched Macha’s shoulder with her fingers. “Who killed him?”

  “I did,” Macha answered, barely above a whisper. Her head was spinning. She pressed her quivering fingers to her temples. “That’s the second time I’ve killed someone.” She steadied her shaking hands, tightly clasping them together. Blood oozed between her fingers before she pulled them apart.

  “You poor dear, I’m so sorry.” Antonia hugged her. “You had no choice—he deserved his fate.”

  Macha held Antonia tightly, like a child not wanting to let go. She wanted to weep but couldn’t. She wasn’t sure. Gradually the dizziness subsided. She pushed herself from Antonia’s warm motherly hold, leaving the imprints of bloodstains on the Vestal’s white stola. Antonia didn’t seem to notice.

  “What about Shafer and my people?” Macha asked. “Are they safe?”

  “We shall see to them now,” Antonia replied. The Vestal helped Macha to her feet.

  “Thank you, Antonia,” Macha said. “I can walk on my own.”

  Antonia nodded.

  Twisting her head, Macha surveyed the carnage. Odors of salty blood mixed with discharged feces and urine of the dead assaulted her nostrils. She gagged. Crumpled on the roadway near the sedan chair lay the bloodied corpses of two slaves. A bandit’s crushed body protruded from beneath the heavy frame of the litter which had toppled onto him during the attack. A few paces away a blood-smeared Shafer stooped and examined four wounded bearers lying against the curb.

  Viriatus at a short distance, knelt next to the eight lifeless retainers. Sitting next to him was the other surviving defender, a hand to his bleeding head as he stared unseeing at the gutter. Nearby, lay twelve assassins bludgeoned to death. Blood ran down the side of the Viriatus cheek and forehead, dripping onto his tunic. As he examined the slashing wounds that killed his men, a guttural curse sprang from his lips. For a moment he cupped his face in his hands.

  Shafer turned her head as Macha and Antonia approached.

  “They were good men,” Shafer said, motioning to the dead bearers. “They didn’t deserve to die like this, Lady Carataca. They were warriors in their own tribes. They would have been honored as heroes.”

  “I understand, Shafer—they saved my life,” Macha said. She placed her hand on Shafer’s ebony shoulder. “And so did you, my friend, I won’t forget this.”

  “But you saved mine, too.”

  “Both of you were very brave,” Antonia said.

  Macha thanked her, and Shafer bowed.

  Antonia moved away and summoned her retainers to attend to the wounded and prepare the dead slaves for transport back to Senator Bassus’ home.

  Macha glanced at the bodies and back to Shafer. “I shall ask Senator Bassus to give their ashes a place of honor in his family tomb and reward the survivors, including you. Will you tell Viriatus to come over here?”

  The Spaniard approached Macha, wiping away the blood from his face. “Yes, my lady?” he said with a bow.

  Macha asked him about his wounds. He waved away the question as if to say they were minor.

  “You are a brave man, Viriatus,” Macha said. “From now on, you are to be my bodyguard until I return to Mediolanum.”

  “An honor, my lady.”

  “I know about your past, and I will do everything in my power to obtain your freedom when the time comes.”

  Shafer raised her dark eyebrows, but then a quick smile crossed her full lips. Macha wondered, despite Shafer’s reputed dislike for men, whether she might have an interest in the Spaniard. Was he the only man she didn't hate?

  Viriatus stepped away from Macha only to halt and turn back. “Lady, may I ask a favor?”

  “If I can grant it, I will.”

  “I want revenge for the men who fought next to me. They were good soldiers.”

  “You shall have it—I promise.”

  Two squads totaling twenty watchmen arrived a few minutes later. Because of Antonia’s position as Vestal Virgin and representative of the Emperor, the sergeant in charge obeyed her command to send part of the men to escort Macha’s wounded litter bearers and surviving retainer to Bassus’ home. Shafer and Viriatus went along to be treated by the Senator’s household physician. The dead slaves were carried in a cart commandeered by the Watch from a nearby shop.

  Before they were hauled away in another wagon to one of the garbage pits outside of Rome used for dumping the bodies of criminals, the poor, and slaves,
the Watch sergeant identified the dead bandits as known street thugs.

  Macha accompanied Antonia in her chariot. The remaining troops went on ahead of her to Watch headquarters to notify Tribune Pomponius Appius of the attack and say Macha and the priestess would meet him there shortly.

  Noisily, the chariot bounced along the tufa-stone lane, jarring Macha. Her head ached and she touched the back of her skull, feeling a knot forming beneath her hair.

  “I thank Mother Vesta the Emperor asked me to call upon a senator for him,” Antonia said as they approached Watch headquarters near the Porta Rudusculana Gate.

  “Is that where you came from when you saw us in trouble?” Macha asked, attempting to divert her mind from the dull throbbing pain.

  Speaking above the noise of the chariot wheels grinding on the pavement, Antonia explained she was returning from Caelian Hill, on behalf of Emperor Vespasian. She had gone to thank a senator who anonymously donated a million sesterces to the treasury. She spoke more loudly, “Fortunately, I was returning home when I saw your perilous situation.”

  “How can I ever repay you, Antonia?”

  “Just keep doing what you can for your husband and child.”

  Macha forced a smile and touched Antonia’s forearm. “I thank Mother Vesta for our friendship.”

  At the precinct station, Macha and Antonia were met by Pomponius Appius. Upon his first look at Macha, he winced. “Jupiter Thunderer, what happened to you?”

  “Assassins,” Macha replied. “They attempted to murder me and my people.”

  “Come along,” the Tribune said. “You can explain the details in my office.” He barked to a passing slave to bring a towel for Macha.

  He led them to a small cubicle, where the women took seats. They faced the Tribune who sat across from them at a cheap wooden table. He explained he had received the news of the attack from the returning bucketmen. The Watch Commander was unavailable, and just as well because Appius was taking charge of the investigation.

  “I’m positive the tallest assassin was the same brute I saw earlier when we traveled by the Spade and Pickaxe,” Macha said, adjusting herself in the hardback chair facing the Tribune. “His clothing couldn’t mask his height and build. He would have murdered me if Priestess Antonia hadn’t arrived when she did.”

  Before Macha continued, she wiped her face and hands of the coagulating blood with the damp towel brought by a slave. After she finished and returned the soiled cloth to him, the servant handed her a cape to wrap around her shoulders. Her stola, bloodstained was ruined beyond all cleaning. She took it off, gave it to the slave, and told him to throw it away.

  Antonia glanced to Appius and shook her head. He shrugged.

  Macha wanted to go home, take a hot bath, and something for her headache. She didn’t believe she was suffering from any further injuries, but would ask Bassus’ Alexandrian physician to examine her to make sure.

  “I thank you for your assistance, Priestess Antonia,” Appius said. He wiped sweat running down the side of his balding head with a linen cloth.

  Antonia nodded. “It was my duty as a Priestess of Mother Vesta and Rome.”

  “Is there anything else about him that you can recall, Lady Macha Carataca?” Appius inquired.

  Macha paused as she attempted to organize her thoughts. “Perhaps. Even when I first saw him, he looked familiar. Maybe I’m mad, but he closely matches the description of the one who kidnapped my son.”

  Appius raised his hand as if it were obvious. “There are lots of tall men with scarred faces and broken noses in Rome.”

  “I know it sounds foolish, but my instinct tells me he’s the same.”

  For a few minutes Macha sat quietly. Appius opened his mouth to speak, but Antonia raised her eyebrows. He stopped. Macha massaged both sides of her head, hoping to ease the pain.

  “I’m all right now,” she said, and turned to Appius. “Since I hadn’t heard anything about your search for my son, I take it you haven’t found any trace of him.”

  “Not so far, but the Watch will keep searching.”

  Macha shook her head. What have I done to anger the gods? she thought. Can you not help me and the Watch find him, Mother Goddess? “I had hoped, but I’m not surprised,” Macha finally said. “There are thousands of places in Rome where he could be hidden. But I have more information to add. Maybe it will help.” She revealed the details about receiving the note and thumb, the visit to Pollia, and the futile library search.

  The Tribune snorted and leaned forward. “You took a foolish risk going to Pollia’s, especially, if your son is still alive.”

  Her heart lurched. If. Macha turned away, staring at the mural on the wall. “I thought Pollia and her husband could use their influence with the Emperor to help me. Since I was in her home, I saw no harm in having Shafer search the library for any document with handwriting matching that of the note found with the thumb.”

  "But she did not," Appius said.

  "No."

  "It was a foolish act. You had no right allowing your slave to snoop about."

  Macha lowered her head. "I know, but still the attack came so soon after we left her place." She raised her head and looked into the Tribune's eyes. "It seems that was hardly coincidental and still needs to be investigated."

  "We will, but you were very naïve to visit Pollia,” Appius chided.

  Macha bit her lip. Every muscle in her body tightened. She had acted stupidly. “I had to start some place, especially, after being turned away by four other families. Pollia has never forgiven Titus for marrying me.”

  "That's no proof she would conspire to have Titus accused of treason."

  "No, it isn't." She took several deep breaths. It must be nerves, she thought, the aftermath of the attack. I must get myself under control.

  Antonia and the Tribune watched in silence, patiently waiting for her to continue.

  “If Shafter had found a tablet that matched hers or someone else’s writing in the household,” Macha continued, “it would prove her involvement in my son’s kidnapping.”

  “You know better than that,” Appius said. "It could have easily been someone else's."

  Macha wringed her hands. “Perhaps if Shafer had seized a bill of lading or a bank draft in Pedius’ handwriting from one of his businesses, a comparison could have been made to confirm or deny involvement in the kidnapping and plot.”

  “Most of the agreements and orders are written by his clerks,” Appius advised. He rubbed his forehead.

  “Right now, I can't prove anything,” Macha said.

  “You are to stay away from her house. If there is an outside chance she is involved, then you are putting your son's life at risk. In the meantime, I will order an immediate search for the assassins and a twenty-four-hour patrol placed around Senator Bassus’ home.”

  Macha went on to inform Appius about seeing Falco leaving Pollia’s residence.

  “We’ll deal with him when Senator Bassus returns,” Appius said.

  Macha and Antonia agreed.

  “When I investigated Horse Arse’s murder,” Pomponius Appius continued, “no one at the tavern admitted knowing anything. But attempting to kill the wife of a Roman officer is another matter.”

  “I would certainly hope so,” Macha said.

  “You’ve given me the excuse I needed to round up every piece of vermin frequenting that rat’s nest, that much I can do for you. I’ll put the squeeze on the owner, and threaten to permanently close his pest hole unless he gives me names.”

  “If they tried to kill me,” Macha said, “they must be the same ones who killed Crixus.”

  “Aye, we’ll make them tell us who paid them to murder the thieving horse trader and kidnap your son.”

  Chapter 31

  Uncertainty and Waiting

  Pomponius Appius arrived at Bassus’ home midmorning the following day and Macha led him into the atrium. They sat on cushioned benches next to the tiled basin used to catch rain water, the im
pluvium.

  The Tribune informed her that his interrogations gained little information from the prisoners arrested at the Spade and Pickaxe. “So far, the assassins have eluded arrest,” Appius said.

  “Then you’ve learned nothing?” Macha frowned.

  “Oh, I did,” the tribune answered. He passed his helmet from hand to hand. “My threat to close the tavern assured the owner’s full cooperation. One character you described, the one with the broken nose, appeared familiar to the barkeep, but he couldn’t place him. The villain reminded the owner of a gladiator he once saw fighting in the arena but couldn’t be positive. The proprietor guessed from the assassin’s accents and clothing they were from Northern Italy.”

  “Could they be Gauls?” Macha asked.

  “That’s what he suspected,” Appius replied. “They wore striped breeches and tunics, and ordered beer instead of wine, like most Gauls, and were taller and paler than his usual customers.”

  “Why didn’t he ask them directly where they came from?”

  Appius grinned. “In his trade it isn’t wise to ask too many questions. He’d get his throat cut. So long as they paid for their drinks and food that’s all he cares about. In places like that, you get more answers by watching than asking, and it’s safer.”

  “Has he seen them since they tried murdering me and the slaves?”

  He shook his head. “They haven’t returned.”

  She glanced about to see if any servants lurked in the area. None. “Where else are you going to search?”

  “The Trans-Tiber District across the river,” Appius replied.

  “Where the foreigners live?”

  “Aye, it’s another cesspit of scum and assassins—just the place to hide your son.”

  Her heart thumped. “When are you going there?”

  “I’m sending out spies first, loaned to me by Senator Bassus.”

  “Why are you doing that?”

  “Word is out about our raids in the Subura and Cloaca Maxima. Secrecy might prove more profitable in this case.”