Blood of a Gladiator

by Ashley Gardner

  “Leave off,” Avitus cried. He struggled mightily, trying to kick me, but he was slow, and I anticipated and stopped every move. “Let me go.”

  “Not until you cease trying to kill me,” I growled.

  “I’m not trying to kill you.” Avitus’s breath smelled of garum, which did not improve my temper. “You’re trying to kill me.”

  “You paid Floriana to send me to the gods while I slept.” I pressed my hand around his throat when he started to protest. “Don’t deny you were there—Lucia saw you. Which is why you’re after her too.”

  Avitus’s bulging eyes shone in the moonlight. “Never. I’d never …”

  Cassia’s voice came from behind me. “Did you meet Floriana at the river, and murder her because she’d failed? And knew your plans?”

  “No!” The choked word was adamant. “I’d never hurt her.”

  “The mud near where her body was found was marked with the imprints of hobnails, like those on your caligae,” Cassia said.

  Avitus stopped struggling and glared at both of us. “Well, they weren’t mine.”

  I ground his head against the wall. “You knew Floriana, but you weren’t a customer. You never worked for her either. So why were you there the morning she was poisoned?”

  “Of course I’d go when she took sick.” Avitus grunted for breath. “She was my mum.”

  In my surprise, I loosened my hold. In the arena, that would have been fatal, but Avitus only hung in my slackened grip, terrified and angry.

  “Floriana was your mother?” Cassia asked in surprise. “Is there a record of this we can check?”

  “I dunno. Suppose.”

  I pictured Floriana, with her angular body and too sharp face. Did I see the same features on Avitus? I couldn’t be certain in the darkness.

  “If she was your mother, why did none of her ladies know?” Cassia asked. “Lucia would have told us if she’d known you were her son there to visit.”

  “It was a secret.” Avitus’s face was streaked with the sweat of fear. “You can’t tell anyone—please, by all the gods, tell no one. I can’t be a vigile if it got out I’m a slave.”

  “Floriana was a freedwoman,” Cassia pointed out.

  “Not when she had me. But she gave me to my father, who was a legionnaire, and he pretended I was his son by another woman, a free citizen. He invented her. I didn’t know until a few years ago that Floriana was my true mum. My father finally told me when I wanted to join the vigiles. It was never exactly clear whether or not I was a freedman.” He trailed off into a mumble.

  “A legionnaire took you in and raised you?” I asked, incredulous. “By himself?”

  “He wanted a son.” Avitus glowered in defiance. “He looked after me. He married when I was about ten summers, and she became my mother. She was wonderful. She’s gone to Elysium now.”

  His sadness tugged at me. I remembered the boy I’d been, when the only mother I’d known had slipped away in the night. They’d had to pry my hand from hers, and then I was alone.

  “So you went to find Floriana,” I prompted.

  “Yes, I did. She was happy, once she believed my story. But I never went near the night she was sick, and I never, ever killed her. I wouldn’t. She was my mum.”

  His adamance rang of truth. When Avitus had lost his beloved stepmother, he might have tried to find his real mother to help fill the hole the stepmother had left.

  Then again, Avitus might have gone to see Floriana to make certain she never told anyone he’d been slave born and possibly never freed by law. His father probably hadn’t filed official documents if he’d simply told everyone Avitus was his freeborn son.

  My idea that Avitus had murdered Floriana hadn’t quite fizzled away—he still had a motive. But if he wasn’t a killer, he might be a witness.

  I carefully lowered Avitus to his feet and released him, positioning myself to seize him if he tried to run. He drew a few ragged breaths but remained in place.

  “Lucia described a man visiting Floriana,” I said. “He wore a tunic with boots like yours. A vigile, she thought. If not you, then who? What other vigile would visit her?”

  Avitus wrinkled his brow in confusion. “None. The men in my house went to a different lupinarius. I’d never let them near Floriana’s.”

  “One of them must have gone.” Cassia’s tone had gentled. “Perhaps you could find out for us.”

  “Find out who killed her?” Avitus’s eyes took on a fanatic light. “I’d like to know that, yes. But I don’t know how.”

  “Ask,” Cassia said. “Ask everyone in your house, and in the other houses. Who was on watch the night she was poisoned?”

  “I already know that. I read the log. But I know all the patrollers well—none would try to convince Floriana to kill a gladiator—why should they? Especially a gladiator who’s won them a lot of money on wagers.”

  “Where were these men on the morning Floriana died?” I persisted. “Who went to meet her behind the Porticus Octaviae?”

  “I don’t know. No one.”

  “Or did you?” I pressed him to the wall again. “So she wouldn’t betray that you weren’t qualified to be a vigile?”

  “No.” Avitus’s eyes widened. “In any case, I don’t care anymore. They could have slung me out if they wanted—I’d rather have looked after Floriana even if it meant I had to quit the watch. I don’t care about being promoted through the ranks—I’ll never be an officer, anyway. They come from the legions. Some even rise to be Praetorian Guards, like Severus Tullius, but that has no interest for me. I’m happy with what I have.”

  I stilled, and Cassia went very quiet.

  Then I grabbed the front of Avitus’s tunic. “Severus Tullius was a vigile?”

  Avitus’s alarm warred with perplexity. “A vigile captain—my captain. Went up to the Palatine about a year back. Why?”

  Chapter 23

  At Avitus’s announcement, I abruptly dropped him, turned on my heel, and marched back to the road.

  “Where are you going?” Avitus bleated behind us.

  Cassia answered him. “To the Palatine. Come with us. We might need your help.”

  Avitus said nothing, and I imagined him staring, open-mouthed. Then I heard rapid footsteps as he scrambled away in the opposite direction.

  “Never mind him.” I strode rapidly, and Cassia had to run to catch up. “You go home. I’ll find Tullius.”

  “No, indeed.” Cassia trotted beside me. “You will need me to explain things.”

  That was true. If I could think clearly, I’d have decided we needed more authority, and perhaps run for Marcianus or even Priscus. But rage burned through my blood at the man who’d pretended to be a friend, who’d flattered and praised, offering to help, while he lied about everything. He’d showed us where Floriana died, yes, but he’d known there would be nothing to see there.

  Rome was vastly dark, and I’d lost the lantern Decimus had given us. We passed another party with a litter, this one surrounded by five guards with torches. The guards tensed as I approached, the slaves shuffling the litter aside, ready to lower it and fight if they had to—or perhaps run and abandon their master to his fate.

  I took Cassia by the hand and pressed past them. They muttered in relief once we’d gone.

  The Subura was one of the most dangerous places in the city at night. Even I had remained indoors at Floriana’s when I stayed there and left again in daylight. Aemil had always known where I was and that I’d return in the morning.

  Desperate men who would slay another for the fabric of his tunic roamed the gloom. I sensed them, heard the click of pebble on stone, the whisper of footsteps. Cassia’s clothing alone would bring a good price, not to mention her person.

  I kept tight hold of Cassia, pulling her against my side. We tripped on each other’s feet, but I refused to let go.

  “Let me fetch my notes,” she whispered to me.

  I agreed we’d need proof to sway our argument. Magistrates and
lawyers valued records, and I’d have to convince them I wasn’t wrong, or mad.

  We cut to the street that led to our apartment, where all was dark but marginally safer. The wine shop had shut hours ago, boards fitted into grooves to cover its opening.

  “Leonidas?” An amazed voice came out of the gloom. “Thank Vesta. I’m lost.”

  Gnaeus Gallus the architect materialized from the corner. Moonlight that had shimmered on Priscus’s garden sliced a white gleam on Gallus’s high forehead. His eyes were wide, full of fear.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

  He was another person connected to Floriana’s. I’d first found him walking through her house to study its walls, deciding whether it could be saved. I’d reflected that it was unusual for a lofty architectus to do an assistant’s job.

  Perhaps he’d been there for another reason—to destroy anything that could connect him with Floriana. I’d noted that all her belongings had been cleared out—I’d assumed the women had taken what they could before they fled, or perhaps Floriana’s husband had sent people to empty the place. But I hadn’t seen who’d done it, and Gallus had been there ...

  “I worked late on a job,” Gallus said quickly. “Tried to get back home. Took a wrong turn. I don’t know this part of the city. Would you walk me there? For pay, of course. I wouldn’t presume—”

  “No.” I cut him off, and he flinched. “No time.”

  Cassia had already started up the stairs and banged open the door above.

  “Why?” Gallus asked in perplexity. “Where can you be going this late?”

  I hesitated. If Gallus told the truth, and he was simply lost, he could wait safely in our rooms until we returned—if we did. If we did not make it back, he could navigate his way home in daylight.

  But if he was involved in this conspiracy …

  “The Palatine. Come with us.”

  Gallus blinked. “The Palatine? Now? Why …?”

  I regarded him stubbornly. “Come with us, and I will see you safely home. Otherwise …” I made a gesture that said I’d leave him to the Fates.

  Cassia clattered down the stairs, a leather bag over her shoulder and a small lantern in her hand. “Let us be quick.”

  Gallus’s brows rose as I took the lantern and immediately fell into step with her. He waited a few heartbeats, then pattered after us. “I admit, you have me curious. And us keeping together will be safer than me blundering about in the dark.”

  I scarcely listened as I led the way down the hill, again holding Cassia close. A pair of vigiles nervously patrolling headed for us, but I growled at them, and they faded into the shadows.

  Our lantern made only a feeble light in the darkness as we moved around the quiet Forum Romanum and began the climb to the Palatine. Gallus puffed behind us up the hill, tripping on loose rocks.

  Guards met us before we reached the top, demanding our business. One who’d been on duty when I’d visited previously recognized me and escorted us to the gate. Nero must have given the word that we were to be admitted at any time, because the gate guard led us in without hesitation. He raised his brows at Gallus, but I indicated the man was with me, and we were at last ushered into the courtyard.

  The man with the shaved head and toga—I never learned his name—forestalled us there. Before I could tell him I sought Severus Tullius, not Nero, the man barked, “He is dining. You will wait.”

  He bent a hard-eyed stare on Gallus, who’d opened his mouth as though to explain who he was. Gallus snapped his mouth shut and remained silent.

  The shaved-headed man led us across the courtyard with its huge fountain into an anteroom with walls of Egyptian marble and a floor mosaic depicting galloping horses. A small table graced the room, which was otherwise empty.

  Our guide deserted us without a word. Two lamps lit our surroundings, allowing Gallus to study the walls with professional interest.

  Cassia went to the table, which was a slab of marble supported by a gilded pillar in the form of a buxom nymph. She removed scrolls and tablets from her bag and began sorting them into piles.

  A slave brought a tray bearing three cups of wine and left it wordlessly on the table. Cassia gave him a nod of thanks. He studied us curiously as he went out, no doubt wondering what sort of odd people Nero was welcoming to his presence this late.

  I ignored the wine, and Gallus didn’t notice, too absorbed in running his hands over the walls. Cassia took a polite sip or two as she continued to sift through her notes.

  At one point I stood behind her, wishing I could make sense of her writing. “What did you learn at Priscus’s house?” I asked. “You were about to tell me.”

  “Hmm?” Cassia jerked around, as though having forgotten my presence. “Oh, nothing about this. At least, not directly.” She cast a surreptitious glance at Gallus. “It will keep.”

  She returned to her scrolls. Her expression became one of rapt concentration, and I left her alone.

  We waited for nearly an hour by my calculation. I’d grown bored enough to lift a wine cup when the shaved-headed man returned. I set the untasted wine down, both relieved and annoyed as the man beckoned for us to follow.

  Nero met us in a wide, vaulted room with windows set high under the arched roof. The cavernous darkness was broken by a line of oil lamps hanging from one wall, illuminating a beautiful chamber full of multi-colored marble.

  The princeps stood in full splendor in a tunic trimmed with gold, a purple toga, and a crown of beaten gold leaves on his curled hair. His sandals were filmed with gold, and he wore golden rings and armlets as well as a gold pectoral studded with rubies.

  “You are fortunate that my dining companions are tedious this night.” Nero’s eyes narrowed in displeasure. “Senators and their toadies currying favor. Stale old men. Who is this?” He pointed at Gallus, who’d bowed low.

  “An architectus,” I answered quickly.

  Gallus straightened his body but kept his head bowed. “I am honored to be allowed into this astonishing abode.” He risked raising his eyes to the glittering porphyry that wound through the columns that lined the room.

  Nero made a dismissive gesture. “It was cobbled together by my forbears. I am building a far grander house than this.”

  “Ah, yes, the Domus Transitoria.” Gallus beamed with admiration. “An architectural marvel.”

  Nero softened a little. “You brought in an architectus to study my work?”

  “We came to find Severus Tullius,” I said.

  Nero’s brows went up. “And who is he?”

  “One of your Praetorian Guards. I wish to speak to him.”

  Nero continued staring at me like a basilisk. Cassia’s whisper came around me.

  “It is very important, sir.”

  Nero flicked his gaze to her, then he snapped his fingers.

  Three servants materialized out of the darkness behind him. “Fetch a Praetorian Guard called Severus Tullius. Tell him to come alone. Be quick.”

  The servants faded. Nero spoked to Cassia directly. “What is this about?”

  Cassia lifted her bag and withdrew a handful of scrolls. “I have evidence here of crimes committed against a murdered freedwoman called Floriana.”

  Interest flickered in Nero’s dark eyes. “Why not take this evidence to the captain of the urban cohorts?”

  “Because it involves an assassination plot against you,” Cassia said, her voice unwavering. “One that involves an attempt against the life of Decimus Laelius Priscus and his household, including arranging his son to be kidnapped for a large ransom. The freedwoman was killed for knowing the plot and for a failed attempt to murder Leonidas.”

  Nero listened, a twitch pulling at his lower lip. “What has this to do with one of my guards?”

  Before Cassia could answer, the servants returned with Severus Tullius himself, who looked astonished to see us.

  “Sir.” Tullius, in a tunic and toga, bowed then gazed in wonder at me. He glanced at Gallus and beca
me more baffled.

  Gallus, on the other hand, regarded Tullius with startled recognition. “I know you, don’t I?”

  Tullius studied him more closely. “No—who are you?”

  “Yes, yes—I did see you. At the house I was hired to evaluate. On the Subura. You were there when I first arrived, going through the rooms and taking things out. Very thorough, you were.”

  Tullius’s jaw went slack. He clearly did not remember Gallus, had likely dismissed the man as no threat and forgot about him.

  “I suggest you were there taking away things that would incriminate you,” Cassia said. “Perhaps a note sent to Floriana, or money paid to her.”

  Tullius focused on Cassia, while Nero looked on, his ennui changing to fascination.

  Then Tullius turned a deep shade of red. He produced a sword from the folds of his toga, and ran at Cassia, a killing rage in his eyes.

  As soon as the blade flashed, guards appeared from the corners. Nero held up a hand. “No.”

  I leapt after Tullius and grabbed him by his toga, using the smothering folds to throw him off balance. Cassia scrambled aside, gathering her scrolls to her, wasting a precious moment to snatch up one that had fallen to the floor.

  Tullius fought free of me and again went after Cassia.

  I tackled him from behind. As we struggled, Cassia skittered aside, and Gallus, finally coming out of his stupefied stance, pulled her to safety.

  Tullius twisted out of my grip and spun to face me, the toga falling. Tullius stepped quickly free of it, and whipped the cloth around my feet.

  As a secutor, I often fought the retiarius, who went at his opponent with a trident and weighted net. I easily kicked aside the tangling folds, Tullius’s eyes widening as I came at him.

  My intention was to knock Tullius down, take his sword from him, and deliver a blow that would stun him senseless. His fellow guardsmen would take him away and lock him up, and Cassia could hand over her evidence. Tullius would be Nero’s problem, and I could go home and sleep.

  Tullius evaded me, and I heard Nero laugh as I chased him across the floor. Guards filled the entrances to the room, blocking Tullius’s way out.