Viper's Nest

by Rachel Ford

  Cass, though, had broken down crying as soon as Celsus left, and Trygve forgot his suspicions to devote himself to comforting her.

  Aelius came by to check on her shortly after the prefect left, and was alarmed to see her red eyes and puffy cheeks. “Minerva, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”

  They brought the physician up to speed as quickly as possible, Trygve doing most of the talking and Cassia sobbing quietly now and then. “My gods,” he said. “Murdered. A senator, murdered.”

  “It must be connected to the investigation,” Trygve declared. “To the poisoning.”

  Aelius nodded slowly. “I think you must be right, Trygve.”

  “Then Felix died trying to find out what happened to me?” Cas’s voice wavered as she spoke.

  The physician shook his head. “No, Empress. We know what happened to you. Felix – well, Felix was trying to draw your assassin out.”

  “Who is it?” she asked, and her voice no longer trembled. “Who is it, Aelius?”

  “Aemilia.”

  “Aemilia?” Trygve was astonished. “The priestess?” He couldn’t fathom why a woman of god would want to murder anyone. But the nurse had been vehement in her opposition to harming Cas’ fetus, whatever the reason. Would she really have poisoned the empress while she was pregnant? He struggled to understand the reasoning. Unless it was never about the fetus at all.

  The realization swept him. It was about Cassia all along. That, at least, made sense – terrible, brutal sense. It explained her opposition to administering the medicine that saved Cas’ life. It even explained why she had gone to Faustus, and turned him against his wife: if her goal was to hurt the empress, she’d succeeded. She’d almost succeeded better than she knew.

  Aelius, meanwhile, nodded. “We have evidence enough to prove it. We spoke to the sellers who procured her herbs. They remembered her. She had very specific requests. And they’ll swear to it. We know she specifically requested the assignment at the palace from the High Priestess. We know how she administered the poison too – in those teas she’d give you. And we all know how opposed she was to saving your life.

  “But we don’t believe she was working alone. We think she was hired to poison you.” He shook his head. “That’s what Felix was trying to prove.”

  Chapter Forty

  Prefect Celsus was summoned back to the palace, and Aemilia’s arrest was arranged within a quarter of an hour. Cassia looked thin and drawn again, and Aelius said, “You should lie down, Empress. Let me give you something to help you sleep.”

  But she would not hear of it. “No. I will not – cannot – sleep now, doctor.”

  Trygve didn’t blame her, but he couldn’t help but wish she’d take it anyway. If their situations were reversed, he knew, of course, that he would not. But the shock of losing so close a friend and confidante, much less in so brutal a fashion, would be hard on anyone.

  But on someone who had already gone through what Cass had endured these last weeks? He feared what this news would do to her system. He feared how it might impact her recovery.

  “To think,” Cass was saying, “she would talk about my baby – what a strong, healthy son I’d have – while she was handing me poison.”

  “How long did you know?” Trygve asked Aelius. “How long did you know it was her?”

  “We figured it out a day or two after you left.”

  “Why not just arrest her then?”

  The physician sighed. “We wanted to find out who she was working with; who she was working for. And we thought…well, since the pregnancy ended, she had no reason to remain here. The danger had passed. We had time. Or so we thought, anyway.”

  “She would still come to the chapel,” Cassia protested. “Twice a week.”

  “Yes. But she had no access to you, Empress. Our people were on alert; and she could not reach your chambers without raising suspicion.”

  Cassia shivered visibly. “You let the woman who would have killed me back under my roof, in my house?”

  Aelius considered the words and then nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry, Empress. At the time – well, at the time, it seemed a good idea. We thought we could safely make her desperate enough to do something stupid; something to lead us to her paymasters.”

  It was a long wait after that. At least, it seemed a long wait. Cass was mostly quiet, now and again asking a question or wondering at some point. Her color began, slowly, to creep back, but Trygve noticed the tears, too, that would spring up in her eyes when she thought no one was looking.

  He ached to hold her tight, to wrap her in his arms and whisper that everything would be alright. Of course, he could do no such thing. So he sat by her, saying now and again, “Are you alright, Cas?” or “Is there anything I can get you?” or “You’re sure you don’t want to rest? I can wake you when we have any news.”

  The answers were always the same: “I’m fine, Tryg,” and, “I’ll wait for him.”

  When the prefect returned, his expression was grimmer than it had been. “Empress,” he said, “the priestess is dead.”

  “Dead?”

  Again, Trygve found himself stunned. “How dead?” he asked.

  “She cut her wrists.” The prefect grimaced. “It was an ugly business.”

  “She cut her wrists?” Aelius asked, an eyebrow arched. “Are you sure she cut her own wrists, Prefect?”

  Celsus frowned. “It looked as if she did, Physician. But certain? No, of course not. But…” He sighed. “We found the poisons, my lady. The poisons you mentioned, Doctor Aelius. And a ledger, with names.” He produced a scroll from the pouch that hung around his belt and handed it to Cassia. “It is a list of women. We haven’t checked all the names, but I know some of them. They’re women who died, my lady; died in childbirth, or before.”

  Cassia felt her stomach lurch at the news. “Then she was…a serial poisoner?”

  “We can’t say for certain, Empress. Not yet. But it looks that way. It looks like she might have targeted women before you the same way she targeted you. New mothers, or expectant mothers.”

  “Minerva.” She remembered the anger the priestess had shown to Trygve, for saving her life. She remembered her sullen hostility afterwards. She remembered how glad she’d been to send the priestess away. “Why kill mothers?”

  “A dark mind has its own reasons. It could be jealousy, or resentment, or just plain vengeance. We may never know, my lady.”

  “But what does that have to do with Felix?” Trygve wondered.

  “We don’t know for certain that the two deaths are related,” Celsus reminded him. “The timing is suspicious, I grant. But if she was a poisoner, she wouldn’t have needed a paymaster. The empress – forgive me for saying it, my lady – would have been the crown jewel of her career. The other names on the list, they’re common women, a few patricians. When you were with child, Empress, she might have seen an opportunity to fulfill whatever dark ambition she harbored.”

  “It doesn’t make sense, though,” Cassia protested. “We’re back to where we started: who would want to kill Felix?”

  “He was robbed, remember,” the prefect offered. “The fact is, my lady, it might be nothing more complicated than it seems: the poisoner realized Felix was onto her, and so took her own life. And the senator’s investigations took him out during dangerous hours, and he was murdered for a bit of jewelry and gold.”

  As the hours passed, Celsus’ investigation seemed only to confirm his theory. The names in Aemilia’s list were all women who had died after contact with her; women who had all died during or immediately after pregnancy. There was more poison than the initial search had shown, too. In the cellar of her domus, the priestess had her own laboratory, and enough poison to kill half the city.

  As for poor Felix, there was nothing to link his death to Aemilia’s doing. In the first place, it was not her usual mode of killing, and practiced killers rarely varied their tried and true methods, Celsus told them. But more to the point, the physicians d
etermined that she had died some hours before the senator, probably in the evening hours the night before.

  Aemilia, then, was a killer – a prolific killer – but she was not Felix’s killer. As to who wielded the fatal knife, there seemed no clue. It had been in the dark of the night, in silence, in shadow. There had been nothing left behind to indicate the murderer’s identity.

  It was with what had been taken that their hope now rested. “We’ve posted word throughout the city. If any of Felix’s goods show up at any of the stalls, or the pawn shops, we’ll hear about it.” He nodded with more confidence than she could feel. “It may take some time before they get comfortable showing their face; but they always do, my lady. And we’ll catch ‘em.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Dusk had settled, and Cassia felt dead to the world. She was readying to turn in when a second messenger arrived. She recognized the messenger as one of Felix’s men, a scribe she’d seen now and again as they drew up their plans. Felix had seemed to trust him, and she, therefore, was inclined to think well of him. “Marius! Oh Marius, what a business.”

  The young man bowed. “Empress,” he said. “Thank you for receiving me. I am come on behalf of my master.”

  Her brow creased. “Felix?”

  He nodded. “He entrusted me with these, my lady, for you and the Northman. I was to deliver them if something happened to him.” He produced a handful of scrolls from the leather pouch that hung across his shoulder.

  “If something happened to him?” She reached out with trembling hands for the papers. “You mean, he knew he was in danger?”

  “I don’t know, Empress. I only know that he regarded these, whatever they are, as the work of his life. He told me so. He told me that you would understand when you saw them.”

  “Oh Felix.” Her voice shook as she said it. “What did you get yourself into, poor, poor Felix?”

  The scrolls were addressed to Cassia and Trygve respectively. With anxious eyes, she glanced at the Northman, who stood at her shoulder. He seemed as perplexed as she. “Here,” she said, handing over the scroll addressed to him. There were two addressed to her, and she broke the seal of the larger first.

  It read,

  To Empress Cassia and my Esteemed Colleagues in the Senate,

  I write this on the eve of what will, I believe, be my last day alive.

  Cassia read only this far before a half-strangled cry escaped her lips. Oh Minerva, she thought. What had he done? What had he gotten himself into? She felt her legs grow weak under her, and thought she would have fallen. Trygve’s arm, though, caught her before she did.

  “Cass,” he said, and his tone was low, “let me get Aelius.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sick, Tryg. It’s – he knew he was going to die.”

  Trygve glanced at the letter, reading a few lines. She though could not bring her eyes back to the page; not immediately. “Here,” he said, “sit at least.”

  She nodded. She was leaning heavily on him to remain on her feet. “Read it to me, Trygve.”

  He led her to a seat, and then read.

  “To Empress Cassia and my Esteemed Colleagues in the Senate,

  “I write this on the eve of what will, I believe, be my last day alive. I write this to bear witness to my own murder, and what has brought it about. I write this to serve as my testimony beyond the grave.

  “I write this to serve as evidence against Governor Caius, and his conspiracy to murder Empress Cassia.”

  Here, her distress was great, and Trygve paused to allow her to regain her composure. She felt the weight of Felix’s death heavily on her shoulders at this lead in. Whatever he had done, whatever danger he’d gotten himself into, poor Felix had died to protect her. And she wasn’t sure she could ever forgive herself for that.

  Trygve watched her with eyes full of solicitude; and, had she not prompted him, she thought he might have left off reading altogether. But he did resume the thread.

  For the next several paragraphs, Felix laid out his evidence against Aemilia. It was what Aelius had already said, with the addition of specific vendors, with the locations and names of vendors, with the dates of purchase and names of herbs.

  It was when Felix got to the mention of his hired eyes that she learned something that not even the physician had known. The eyes were the private spies employed by the City’s wealthy. The political classes used them against opponents, but they were as frequently employed to find compromising information about rival family, to catch out a spouse in their infidelity, and so on. Felix’s use of them had been particularly effective in keeping key allies – and key enemies – in the senate in line.

  “From the early days of my suspicion, I have had Aemilia under watch. My hired eyes have documented the comings and goings of her visitors. I have enclosed a list of those guests, and the dates and times of their visits. You will, gentlemen, find it curious, I think, to remark the number of Caius’ agents with whom our humble poisoner was acquainted.”

  Cassia could hear the sarcasm and satisfaction in the lines, and her eyes watered. But she smiled, too. Trygve continued to read.

  “But, I can hear my learned colleagues protest that coincidence and circumstance is not evidence. Senator Gallus, I can hear your voice already from beyond the grave (and I’m not even dead yet): ‘We cannot destroy such a hero of Stella like Caius on such evidence.’

  “Rest assured, gentlemen, I have anticipated your objections, and have done my best to answer them. I have moved to draw out Caius and his allies; and if you are reading this, I have done it.

  “I confronted Aemilia yesterday. At first, she denied everything; but as I laid out my evidence, she grew hysterical, and finally silent. When I told her that I knew Caius was behind it, she did not even bother to dispute the charges.

  “And here, friends, is where I have made my great gamble: I told her my silence could be bought. I told her to convey that to her employer; and if I hadn’t heard anything by week’s end, I would go to the senate with what I knew.

  “My hired eyes tell me that she dispatched a message, and one of Caius’ agents visited her shortly thereafter. And so I conclude that I will not live to week’s end.

  “I have, as I say, included all the relevant facts. When you read this, gentlemen, I will have died for our empire, and for our empress. I go to my grave confident that you will find the courage necessary to do what must be done.

  “Arrest Caius’ agents. You have their names. Question them. Question Aemilia. You will be left in no doubt of Caius’ guilt.

  “Long live the Empire. Long live the Empress.

  Respectfully yours,

  Felix”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  When Trygve finished reading, he saw that Cassia had gone pale as her stola. “Cas?” he asked. “Are you alright?”

  “Oh Ed,” she said, and her eyes welled with tears. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe – it’s all my fault.”

  She began to sob, and now he acted where decorum had prevented him earlier. He held her close, and as her tears seeped into the fabric of his tunic, he told her, “It’s not your fault, Cass. He made his own choice, and it was a damned honorable one. But it isn’t your fault.”

  In time, her sobs lessened. “What does the second letter say?” she asked.

  He broke the seal, but stopped when he saw PRIVATE written across the top in block letters. “I think it’s meant for your eyes, Cass. Not mine.”

  She seemed surprised. “It’s not another letter to the senate?”

  “No. It’s addressed to you.”

  She took it, and confirmed his suspicion. “You’re right. What about yours?”

  Trygve turned his attention now to the final scroll he held, the one addressed to him. Breaking the seal, he saw the same manner of address: the word “private” before his name. He frowned.

  “It’s marked private too.”

  She nodded. “Then I will not ask what it says. But you should r
ead it, Tryg, in case there is more that we should know. And I will read mine.”

  “Alright,” he agreed. In truth, he was surprised that Felix had written to him at all, much less a personal note that, apparently, was not intended for Cassia’s eyes. He read:

  To Trygve Ingensen,

  I apologize, Trygve, for my secrecy of late, and for lying to you the other day when I said I kept no secrets from Cassia. As you know, now, that was not true, but it was necessary. And perhaps my end will illustrate the ends of deception.

  But I do not mean to be irreverent. I know Cass will mourn my death. I know you will be there to comfort her.

  I am glad of that, Northman. I could not rest easy knowing that she had no one to trust, no one to turn to. You said you would do anything to protect her. I trust that you will remember that promise, even when it would be easier to forget.

  She needs you, Trygve, even if she does not perhaps entirely realize it yet. I know that you care for her a great deal, and I know that that complicates matters. Believe me – I do speak from authority here. But trust in her good sense. Trust that she will see in time how much she cares for you, and how misplaced some other affections might have been.

  And above all else, keep her safe, Trygve.

  Felix

  The Northman read and then re-read the words. His face flushed, and he scrutinized the lines for meaning. Had Felix guessed his feelings for Cas? But how could he? And yet, his talk of caring for her, and her misplaced affections was clear enough, wasn’t it? As clear, anyway, as a politician could be expected to be.

  Cassia, meanwhile, was reading her own letter, oblivious to the turmoil of Trygve’s thoughts. It had started with a cordial greeting, a series of apologies for keeping her in the dark, and a lengthy set of plans for the future. “Take what you will from them if they are of use, Cass, and trust your own good sense for the rest.”