Cassia approached the garum seller’s counter, producing a coin and asking for the fish sauce she hated. I imagined she’d throw it into the river the first chance she got.
The Gauls ceased their conversation and looked at me. We sized up one another, none of us speaking.
Cassia leaned to the shopkeeper, indicating the Gauls, who’d moved off, still eying me. “Is their master a regular customer?” she asked, as though curious about the odd foreigners.
The shopkeeper nodded, ready to gossip. “Sends them every day. He’s fond of taking Gauls for servants. Has a house full of them. Blond giants, every single one of them, even the women.” He chuckled.
“They were here the day Selenius was killed,” Cassia stated.
The shopkeeper’s amusement faded. “They were. I stay open later than most, as people often remember the garum at the last minute.” He jerked his thumb at me. “I saw him. Going in.”
“I saw them as well,” I said, breaking my silence. “And you.”
The shopkeeper finally understood that Cassia wasn’t simply passing the time of day. He turned a sharp eye on me. “I never left this stall to go murdering Selenius,” he snapped. “Anyway, why should I?”
I shrugged. “Why should I? I’d never met the man.”
“Well.” The shopkeeper waved a vague hand at me. “You’re a trained killer.”
“In a fair fight,” I said. “What happened to Selenius was slaughter.”
Returning my attention to the Gauls, I could imagine one holding down Selenius while the other cut his throat. They’d be strong enough to overpower him without much trouble, silencing him quickly.
But I’d not noticed any blood on them that day. They’d have been covered with it. However, they might have changed out of their blood-soaked clothes, bundling them into the large baskets they’d carried.
The two men regarded me without expression. I wondered if they were often blamed for whatever had gone wrong on any given day—when in doubt, accuse a slave. The shopkeeper, on the other hand, grew manifestly nervous. His worry might mean he was guilty, or only afraid he’d be accused and arrested, whether he’d committed the crime or not. Such things happened in our fair city.
He shoved the jar of garum at Cassia. “Take it and go. Don’t come back here again.”
Cassia calmly set the jar into her basket. “Cease pointing the blame for this murder on others,” she said. “And you won’t see us.”
She turned and stepped past the giant men who watched her without speaking. She walked by me too, as though she were a great lady and I her bodyguard.
I gave the Gauls and the shopkeeper one more stern look, and followed Cassia out.
The streets were quiet as we exited the marketplace, the sun reaching its zenith. We walked with a slower tread, the heat seeping into our bones. Even the beggars and stray dogs began to crawl off into the shade to sleep.
I wanted to start for home, but Cassia tugged my tunic. “Let’s visit the baker first,” she said. “You need to have another word with him.”
She strode purposefully in the direction of Quintus’s bakery, and I had to hurry to keep up with her.
Chapter 10
As he had been two days ago, Quintus was finishing his business for the day. He handed a round loaf of bread to a dark-skinned woman who loaded it into her basket and departed, giving me a startled glance as she walked away.
Quintus hadn’t seen us, and he turned back to his ovens. “A moment …” He shoveled several loaves out of one oven with his large bread peel and slid them into the tube-shaped holes in his wall to cool. “Now then, what do you—”
He froze when he saw me, his face becoming whiter than his flour-dusted tunic. “Leonidas.” He upended the handle of the long bread peel and leaned heavily on it. “I swear to you, I do not have your money. That is why I sent you to Selenius. Now he’s dead and can’t pay me.”
Cassia set her basket on the tiled counter, lifted out a tablet, and made a show of checking the marks within it. “You really ought not to employ the services of others if you cannot pay them, you know.” She turned the tablet around and tapped a row of scratches. “Quintus Publius, ten sestertii.”
Quintus paid no attention to Cassia or her tablet. He focused on me, his eyes filled with deep fear. “I have told you. Selenius owed me much. He cheated me. That’s why I sent you to him. I thought if anyone could shake it out of him, it would be Leonidas the Gladiator …”
“Or, he was dead already,” I cut in. “And you knew. You sent me to be caught for the murder.”
I hadn’t thought Quintus’s face could lose more color, but his countenance became nearly as gray as the dead Selenius’s. “I promise you I did not know. I did not know until the boy told me.”
I stopped, my heart going cold. “What boy?”
Quintus waved his hands at the air over his counter. “Boy who hangs about the street. Don’t know his name. Was following you that day. When I sent you off, he told me Selenius was dead and then ran away.”
I carefully did not look at Cassia, who intently studied her basket. “You didn’t call after me,” I said to Quintus. “When the boy told you, you didn’t try to stop me.”
Quintus shrugged. “You were gone too fast. And I thought …” More lip wetting. “I thought that, if Selenius was truly dead—and I only had the boy’s word for it, mind you—you’d at least search his shop and bring back the money.”
“Then I would be in the Tullianum awaiting execution for stealing,” I said. “I’m not a thief.”
Quintus peered up at me as though realizing he had badly miscalculated my character. He didn’t offend me—I’d given up that particular emotion a long time ago.
Cassia pushed her basket toward Quintus. “Will you put one of those loaves that are cooling in here, please?”
Quintus forced his attention to her, but shook his head. “They’re promised to another. I have more inside—”
“No, one of those.” Cassia pointed at the round openings that held the loaves he’d just taken from the oven. “You can make more for whatever wealthy man is buying them.” She leaned across the counter to the Quintus, who was a head shorter than she was. “You owe Leonidas ten sestertii. He could take you to court for not paying him, and then you’d owe him more. Or he could bring suit against you for trying to make it look as though he’d killed Selenius.” She straightened. “Or, you could simply give me a fresh loaf of bread.”
Color at last returned to Quintus’s cheeks, red blotches of it. He snarled, yanked one of the new loaves from its cooling place, and dropped it into Cassia’s basket.
“Excellent,” Cassia said. “I’ll be back tomorrow for another.”
“Another?” Quintus asked, startled.
“The price of a loaf is half a sestertius,” Cassia answered serenely. “I will come to your stall for the next nineteen days, and you will give me a fresh loaf of bread made from your finest flour. Then you will have paid the debt.” She lifted the basket and covered the bread with the cloth within. “Good day.”
An emotion at last broke its way through my numbness as we turned away and left Quintus spluttering. It was mirth.
That afternoon, we dined on fresh bread, oil, fruit, and boiled lentils. We sat on stools at our table, the door to the balcony propped open to allow in whatever breeze might amble down the lane.
We were somber as we ate, however.
“You don’t think that little boy killed Selenius, do you?” Cassia asked me after a long silence.
Though I did not want to consider the question, I knew I had to. “It is possible,” I said, turning over my thoughts. “When Sergius heard Quintus tell me to go to Selenius, the lad knew Selenius was dead. That means he’d seen Selenius’s body.”
Sergius had stared at me in shock when I’d arrived in the doorway—I’d thought because of Selenius’s dead body. But perhaps he’d been running there ahead of me to cut me off, to try to keep me away, gaping in dismay when I’
d found Selenius anyway.
Cassia gave me a morose nod. “Seen Selenius dead only because he plays in the tunnels? Or because he killed the man himself?”
“Why would he?” I tore off a piece of the bread, dunked it in my lentil broth, and stuffed it into my mouth. I chewed, spat the grit that lingered in every loaf into my hand, and swallowed.
“Perhaps Selenius tried to beat him,” Cassia said quietly. “Suppose Selenius caught the boy sneaking around the tunnels, dragged him out, and beat him. The other men we spoke to said Selenius could be a brute. His nephew said so as well. Or—Sergius was a brothel boy, and Selenius might have grabbed him for another reason. Sergius could have fought back, grabbed a weapon—knife, even a sharp tile—and struck out.” She touched her throat.
I shook my head, searching for any explanation to show Sergius could not possibly have done it. “The blow held strength. And landed in the exact place that would kill Selenius.”
“He might have simply swung his weapon, and Fortuna did the rest. Even a small person can harm another when they are desperate enough.” Cassia spoke from experience, one she did not like to talk about.
I drank a sip of wine. The vessel I held was copper, dented on one side of the lip, the bottom greenish from corrosion. “I don’t want it to have been Sergius,” I said in a firm tone.
Cassia gave me an understanding look. “What will you do if…?”
“Nothing.” I set down my cup. “The hairy slave who was seen leaving the shops has vanished. Selenius’s sister and nephew will have no one to prosecute. They’ll hunt through the countryside for the slave for a while, but then give up.”
Cassia nodded. “And the matter will die.” She let out a long breath. “You know that even if Sergius or Balbus did not kill Selenius, either of them could have seen who did.”
“I know.”
“Will you ask them?”
I tapped one foot under the table while Cassia watched me, her dark eyes troubled. Her lashes were as black as her hair.
“No,” I concluded.
Cassia lifted her spoon, delicately scooping up more of her broth. “Good,” she said.
We finished our meal in silent understanding.
In the tenth hour, when Rome was bathing, slumbering, or simply waiting for night, I took Cassia to the narrow street near the potters’ area of the city, and to the door Sergius had shown me.
I’d wanted to explore alone, but as before, Cassia insisted on joining me.
She’d wrapped herself well against the sun and prying eyes and carried a canvas bag that made an occasional clinking noise. We looked like any freedman and his slave out on an errand, except that everyone knew of me, and everyone we passed watched us then turned to the nearest passerby and pointed me out.
I’d chosen the hour well though, and not many were in the hot streets to remark upon us. The lane in the Figlinae was completely deserted, shutters closed against the sun. Any person on the rare balcony high above us looked across the hills and dreamed of fresh air, paying no attention to the street below.
I found the narrow door that did not look much different from doors that led into shops and apartments. It was locked, but I nudged stones with my foot until I found a sliver of metal similar to what Sergius had used to open the other door. I inserted it into the keyhole and wriggled it about, and soon the lock clicked.
After returning the metal piece to its hiding place, I opened the door. The tunnel beyond was dark and damp, but at least it was cool.
I went in first in case another desperate man lurked, waiting to attack, but the tunnel was quiet and empty. Even the rats had decided to find someplace to sleep.
Cassia closed the door, fitting it carefully into the frame. Only then did she remove from her canvas bag the lamp and bottles of oil she’d brought. By the light from the cracks in the door, she filled the lamp and resealed the bottle, setting the lamp on the floor. My task was to light the wick.
I struck stone against stone until a spark flashed and finally caught on the twist of linen. A tiny flame began, sputtered, and then rose, bathing us in a small, golden light.
Cassia held her bag close when I reached for it, and waved for me to lead the way. What else she carried, I didn’t know—Cassia had only said she’d brought things to help us in the dark.
The first part of the journey was easy, ten steps leading upward and then a straight tunnel diving back into the hill. I heard Cassia whispering behind me, counting, it sounded like.
The light showed me what the darkness had hidden during my last journey here, that the tunnel was lined with brick, with a long, vaulted arch of cement and brick overhead to support the weight of the earth above us. Stones covered the floor, fitted into place with barely a space between them. The floor slanted inward slightly from the walls to carry any water that might accumulate down through grated drains to the sewers.
“Stop!” At Cassia’s abrupt tone, I halted and swung back, ready to defend her.
Cassia was rummaging in her bag, and as I reached her, she drew out a small wooden peg and a spool of string. She tied the string to the peg and took out a wooden mallet.
“Drive this into the wall—just there.” Cassia held a peg to a crack in the wall and handed me the mallet.
I secured the peg in a few short blows. Cassia unwound the string a bit, nodding at me to move on. She counted out the next twelve paces and stopped me again, holding up another peg for me to tap into the wall.
I grunted as I finished. “At this pace, we will reach Selenius’s shop in maybe two days.”
“If our lamp fails us and we’re in the pitch dark, you’ll be happy of the path I’m marking.” Cassia hefted the bag over her shoulder and unwound more string. “I do not want to spend my last days lost in the sewers.”
I could not argue with her logic. I’d only found my way through the tunnels with the help of Sergius and Balbus.
We went slowly along, Cassia halting me every twelve paces to secure another peg. I had to find handy cracks in the brick wall, so the string zigzagged up and down, but she was right—if we were here in the dark, we could follow the string back out, like Theseus and Ariadne in the minotaur’s labyrinth.
We weren’t likely to meet ancient beasts back here, only humans, rats, mildew, and filth. Bards would never sing of our walk through the sewers of Rome.
When we came to a junction I had to close my eyes and think very hard about how I’d come the other way. I’d been trying not to lose Sergius in the dark, not making notes of my progress.
I remembered hurrying down a slope, hoping I wouldn’t have to wade through excrement from the nearest latrine. Ahead of us, one tunnel rose, and the other continued level.
“This one,” I said, pointing to the rising tunnel.
Cassia studied both directions as I held up the lamp. “Are you certain?”
“No.” I started into the upward sloping tunnel.
Cassia pattered behind me, halting me at the twelfth step. I tapped another peg into the wall. “Did you bring enough of these?” I asked, shouldering the mallet. “And how would you know?”
“I calculated what we need based on the distance between the two points.” She gave me a nod. “I brought more than enough. Plenty of string too. We won’t get lost. Don’t worry.”
I turned away and continued, ignoring her whispered counting behind me. She began softly singing the numbers after a time. Cassia liked to turn everything into a song.
We came upon a door, a very ordinary one—vertical panels of wood held in place by horizontal cross pieces. I paused, holding the light to it, and Cassia stopped beside me.
“This can’t be Selenius’s,” she said. “We haven’t come far enough.”
I gently pushed on the door, finding it locked. I hoped I wasn’t waking a family on the other side, one with a stern paterfamilias who kept an ax and a huge guard dog.
“Selenius’s door will be locked.” I kept my voice quiet. “If his nephew hasn’t had it bri
cked up yet.”
“He would not have had time since we left him this morning,” Cassia said, ever reasonable. “Even if his slave is taking care of it, they’d have to bring in the supplies and labor. I imagine his mother has young Gaius at home this afternoon. She was so very distressed at her brother’s passing. She hasn’t been well since … well, she was …” I knew Cassia could not bring herself to say the word.
Selenius’s sister had been the only one who’d loved the man, it seemed. His colleagues had thought him a cheat and brute, his nephew a harsh taskmaster. But some men showed those they were fond of a different side.
“The door will still be locked,” I finished. I should have brought Sergius’s lock pick with me instead of returning it to its place under the stone. But I had no wish to travel back through the tunnels to fetch the piece of metal.
“No matter.” Cassia reached into her bag and pulled out an iron bar, which tapered to a flat edge at the end. That explained the clanking. “You’ll be able to pry it open.”
I pretended to peer into the bag. “Did you bring dinner and a change of clothes as well? Perhaps a sedan chair to carry us home?”
Cassia only gave me a look and returned the pry bar to the bag. “Let us get on, shall we?”
I tramped ahead, stopping when Cassia’s singing reached numbers eleven and twelve again.
In this way, we traversed the tunnels under the Esquiline Hill, circling down toward the Clivus Suburanus—I hoped.
The lamp began to sputter before we reached our destiny, and Cassia replenished its oil from the jar. More efficiency. The string was a precaution, but I doubted Cassia had not brought enough oil. She’d have calculated the exact amount needed.
Selenius’s door lay at the end of a side passage—I remembered that as we rounded a corner and found a door blocking us.
There was no handle and the thing was, of course, locked, probably bolted or chained on the other side.
Cassia silently handed me the pry bar and took the lamp. I placed the tapered end of the bar in the crack between door and doorframe and pulled.
Blood Debts Page 9
