Cratidas drank at a tavern called the Aquarius. I had a feeling he probably lived there. It was by the Gate of Fortune, which was close to the bank of the Tiber and fairly near to my apartment, so after I rode back, I diverted and found it. I was expecting a verminous hovel where day would be as black as night, and night unspeakable. However, the house with the name of the zodiac water-carrier was a large establishment with a pleasant exterior and several shady interior courtyards. It lacked a river view, but being set back from the bustle of the waterfront made it seem more gracious. Casual trade used the snackbar, standing up at streetside counters on two sides of a corner. The servery there was larger than most, well equipped with shelves of flagons and bowls. The odours from the sunken pots of food inset in the marble counters were less repellent than the low fast feeders in Rome; the bar-girl was neat and clean, and she said I was welcome to pass down a short corridor to the ground floor courtyard area. Here, tourists sat about on benches under pergolas, congratulating themselves on finding such a good hotel, right near the Portus ferries. A businessman who clearly knew the place of old passed through on his way to a room upstairs, led by a burly slave carrying luggage. He was something big in corn; we were in an area of grain measurers and associated government officers. In this slightly unlikely setting, I found Cratidas. He was talking to another man, probably subordinate to him in the Cilician hierarchy. They had seats at a table under a fig tree, where they had established themselves in a way that suggested this courtyard was their private office so the tourists had all better use the other spaces. The tourists had taken the point. Maybe they thought Cratidas owned the Aquarius. In fact, for all I knew, he did. Maybe, though, people avoided him because there was just some thing about Cratidas that told them he was dangerous. I had met worse bullies, certainly more obvious ones, but he carried himself with an air. He was coiled for action. Clearly, he was just looking for an excuse to take offence and he expected to win his fights. That would probably be because he fought dirty, but complaining about his methods would not be much help after he had sliced offyour hand or blinded you. He had scars, including a long knife wound, which had healed years ago in a silvered crease, running from his eyebrow to his jaw. The end of one finger was missing. His companion looked fairly presentable until he laughed; then I saw he had very few teeth. Cratidas was still wearing the long crimson robe he had flaunted when he attacked Gaius and me at the villa; this one was in a dull greenish ensemble. It looked filthy, but the braid on the neck and the edges of the long sleeves included genuine gold thread. I recognised his balding crown and the long multicoloured scarves flung around his thick hairy neck. Nobody would mistake this pair for philosophy teachers. They were rough. Very rough. As I approached, I had heard harsh voices and abrupt, coarse laughter. That was before they noticed me. After that, their hostility hung between us as tangily as woodsmoke.
Nice base you have here! Remember me? I'm Falco." Cratidas turned to his companion and said something in a foreign language. Evidently he did remember, and the recollection caused them both to grin nastily. Sorry to interrupt," I said. Is this a Greek symposium?"
Oh yes, we were discussing literature!" Cratidas replied. The pair laughed at some huge private joke. I raised an eyebrow coolly. The other man stood up. He was Eastern-looking, and when he swayed past me, looking sideways with a sneer, I definitely recognised him. I had last seen him riding away from the Damagoras villa at a cracking pace. Now he left us too, once more grinning at Cratidas as he went. I had been standing with my thumbs in my belt, but I now joined Cratidas. Spreading myself, as I took a bench opposite him at the table, I moved one end of it away from the table to make myself more room. I began discussing the disability he had inflicted on Gaius Baebius. I knew it would be a waste of time. Cratidas spat fiercely at the fig tree. After that, he slammed a dagger into the table. The point just missed my hand. I kept my hand motionless, not even flinching at the noise. He could decide for himself whether this was because I was stupid, or so stunned I couldn't move.
That's an old trick." I made it dry and languorous. Did you mean to miss, or are you just incompetent?" Then, under the table, I jerked up one thigh to trap his knees against the boards so he had no leverage; I used my other foot to kick away the bench he was sitting on. He crashed down to the floor; it must have jarred his back. Of course he was up again instantly. I threw myself right over the table and grabbed him by his long hair. [Never have hair long enough to be grabbed by an assailant, as my trainer says. When Cratidas lunged at me, I went with the motion, but swung him around and got him face down on the table with an arm up his back. I was pinning his head down with my body weight. His nose was so bent he must be finding it difficult to breathe.
Now listen!" He seemed helpless, but I was not intending to stay that close in case he wrenched free and took off some part of me. I think that you and your sidekick in the dirty Parthian dressing-gown are part of a racket to kidnap merchants" wives. Probably Damagoras runs the racket. Other people are looking into it, so you can take your chance with them. I want to know, and I want to know now, Cratidas, what happened to the scribe, Diocles?"
I don't know!"
Oh I bet you do! Was he investigating your ransom scam?" He made another negative gurgle. I lifted him up partially and banged his face against the table. As a favour to Gaius Baebius, I bashed him down really hard. If Cratidas was impressed that I could match him in brutality, he didn't show it. Where is he, Cratidas? What have you done with him?" I felt him tense for action. I was vulnerable, lying half on top of him, so I flew off him as he burst free. He spun around, teeth bared. We had fallen apart a couple of yards distant. He saw I had snatched his knife from the table. He was one blade down [though I reckoned he had others, and he had yet to discover what weaponry I carried. He hauled up the bench he had previously fallen off. People were taking notice of us now, though. Cratidas probably wanted to continue his stay here so he needed to calm the situation, or the nice people who were sitting under the pergolas would huffily ask the affable tavern landlord to evict him. He swung the bench around, about the height of my head, but then placed it back down. The fight was apparently over, not that I trusted him.
I don't know," he said, in that coarse voice with the rasping tone, what went on with the scribe. Damagoras toyed with him, but even he lost interest. You can find out where the man went or what he wanted for yourself, Falco!"
I will," I said. And then I'll be back, Cratidas." We omitted goodbyes. As I left the Aquarius I gave the bar-girl a sample of imperial coinage and my best smile. She knew I had not ordered any food or drink. So she accepted the money and returned the smile delightfully – then when I asked if she knew the name of the visitor in the dirty green robe who had come to see Cratidas, she told me. He was called Lygon. I had heard that name before. When I hit the street outside he was long gone, but that did not bother me. There was no need for me to tail him home. I already knew where Lygon lived – or at least, where he had lived until recently.