Blood of a Gladiator

by Ashley Gardner

  Marcia considered the questions without fear, though I sensed Marcianus hovering, ready to intercede if I upset her.

  “No one came, not that day,” Marcia said. “Floriana rose as usual. She felt better after recovering from the poison but she was in a foul temper. I think someone visited her the night before. I was with customers, so I didn’t see who, but I heard her arguing. She can be hard on the regulars, especially if they don’t pay, but this was different from her egging someone to give what they owed. She was yelling, and she sounded furious.”

  “Or afraid?” Marcianus suggested. “Sometimes when people are scared, they’re more aggressive.”

  Marcia pursed her lips. “Possibly. Floriana was going on about something she was supposed to do, but didn’t because she’d been sick. But like I say, I didn’t see who she was with. I did hear snatches of what she yelled though. I told you, it’s off.” Marcia imitated Floriana’s reedy screech well. “It’s too late. We missed him.”

  “Him?” Marcianus asked. “That’s interesting.”

  “Did you hear anything else?” Without a name or knowing who Floriana argued with, I did not see how the information helped much.

  “I’m afraid not. By the time I was finished, she was alone and moving the customers through.”

  Floriana’s often had a rapid turnover—men indulged in quick pleasure and were gone. I was unusual in that I stayed most of a night, and with the same woman. Aemil had paid extra for that. I wondered if Floriana’s heirs, whoever they might be, would try to collect what I owed for my last two nights with Lucia. I owed it fairly, and it would be unusual for them not to try to gather in all debts.

  “The morning of Floriana’s death,” I went on. “What did she do?”

  “She got up and went out, saying she had errands,” Marcia answered calmly. “Lucia went with her.”

  “Did she?” I hadn’t heard this from Lucia. “Then she must have seen …” No wonder she’d been terrified and wanted to flee.

  Marcia shook her head. “Lucia came back home alone. She’d gone her own way to do some shopping and separated from Floriana. Later, a vigile brought us the news that Floriana had been found when the fog lifted.”

  Her serenity faded. Floriana had been a hard woman, but she’d been the only family Marcia had known.

  Marcianus put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Never mind. You’re safe here.”

  “Everyone’s gone now,” Marcia said sadly. “Lucia started screaming when the vigile announced Floriana’s death. She said we were all in danger, and we had to run. The others scattered. I didn’t know where to go, so I fled here.”

  “You are very welcome,” Marcianus said. “You’re a smart young woman and a good deal of help.”

  Marcia relaxed a little, but a former slave, used as she had been, would never be completely free of fear.

  “I will keep Marcia on as my assistant,” Marcianus said, sounding proud. “I can’t pay much, but at least I can give the poor girl bread and a place to sleep.”

  “Enough for me,” Marcia said, sanguine.

  “You won’t take her to the ludus when you treat the gladiators, will you?” The men there would recognize her from Floriana’s and be happy to drag her aside whether she willed it or not.

  “Of course I won’t,” Marcianus said, offended. “She’ll stay here and mix medicines and look at patients who come in my absence. I’ve needed an assistant for some time.”

  Marcia said nothing, but I sensed the relief in her.

  “Do you know where Floriana was struck down?” I asked Marcia.

  “No, but I think she parted with Lucia because she wanted to meet someone. Not in her usual places. The vigiles who brought her body home didn’t tell us much.”

  I thought again about the young vigile who’d invaded our house, claiming he was checking for fires. He’d come to us deliberately, and he’d admitted he skulked about Floriana’s the morning she’d been poisoned. I would hunt him up and shake him a little, find out what he knew, if anything.

  “What about Lucia?” I watched Marcia, gauging her reaction. “She thought she was in danger by the same killer, that all of you were. That’s why you came here.”

  “I came here because I had nowhere to go,” Marcia answered without a pause. “I’d liked helping Marcianus, so I wanted to see if he’d teach me.”

  Marcianus’s face pinched in worry. “Marcia is in danger? From whom?”

  I shifted in frustration. “That is what I am trying to find out. Marcia, do you know any reason why someone would want to kill Floriana?”

  Marcia shrugged. “I thought perhaps she owed someone money or she didn’t do what someone paid her to. She took side jobs to make more money—Floriana was a hard businesswoman. She made sure we had plenty to eat and rest times, but that was only so we’d be fresh and strong for her customers.”

  Marcia spoke without rancor, but Marcianus’s disgust was obvious. “Well, you have no more fear of that, my dear. That life is behind you now.”

  I could tell Marcia didn’t quite believe him. I’d been on my own on the streets as a lad, and I knew exactly what she had faced. I’d known the mistrust of every man I met, including the builder who’d finally employed me. It had been a long time before I’d been able to let down my guard around him.

  “Marcianus is a good man,” I told her. “You will do well here.”

  “Leonidas is flattering.” Marcianus folded his arms, his smile slanted. “And wiser than he knows.”

  I wasn’t certain how to answer, so I took my leave of them both and went on with my pursuits.

  It was the fourth hour, breakfast finished. Shops were doing flourishing business, Rome as vigorous as ever, despite the rain.

  Saturnalia was over, and the new year had begun. Janus, the two-faced god, looking both forward and backward, ushered in a new month. I remembered Marcianus telling me that the senate had once proposed naming December as the first month of the year, since it held Nero’s birthday, but Nero had refused the honor.

  I thought of the haughty young man who’d delighted in Cassia’s applause. Many believed Nero didn’t care about the running of Rome, only his own preoccupation with music and drama. Rumor went that he’d instructed for his mother, Agrippina, to be killed because she’d interfered with his pursuit of music. Others speculated that his new wife, Poppaea, had simply encouraged him to get rid of Agrippina so the two could marry.

  The quirks of the princeps didn’t concern me at the moment, beyond his admonishment to protect Priscus. I wasn’t foolish enough to involve myself in the affairs of those on the Palatine. Everyday life was challenging enough.

  I made my way past the Circus Maximus, where the thump of hoofbeats told me teams of horses were being trained. Nero favored chariot racing, which made him liked by most Romans. He defied the stuffy senators and gave the rest of Rome games and races.

  The house where the vigiles of the Subura slept during the day and brought in miscreants at night was near the Clivus Pullius as it went up the Oppian Hill.

  I did not know the name of the man I sought, but I had no fear of plunging into the house and searching through beds until I found him. The vigile had plunged into mine.

  I didn’t need to look for him, as it turned out. The young vigile walked out of the house as I approached it, saw me, and tore off in the opposite direction.

  Chapter 13

  I chased my quarry through the rain, splashing over stones, bumping through crowds and around shouting vendors. The vigile fled past the fountain of Orpheus, tearing around clumps of people, and toward the Porta Esquilina. I pounded after him.

  Plenty of people streamed in and out of the triple-arched Esquiline gate, moving to and from Rome’s main markets. A litter born by thick-bodied men shoved its way along—the vigile deftly slid around it and ducked into a grove that lined the road up the Esquiline Hill.

  Priscus lived not far from here, and my heart jumped. Did this vigile have something to do wit
h whoever hunted Priscus?

  The grove of trees I dashed into surrounded a shrine to Venus-Libitina, sacred to undertakers, whose businesses filled the area. I shivered inwardly, having no wish to encounter merchants who dealt with death.

  I emerged into a small clearing, in the midst of which stood a square temple, very old, with columns rising into the rain. My vigile was nowhere in sight.

  I slowed my steps, my breath fogging in the cold mists. The temple appeared to be empty this morning, no rituals performed on the front steps, no priests sweeping the entrance. Venus-Libitina was being ignored today.

  I heard nothing, nor did I see a flash of tunic among the bare-branched trees. The grove held sudden peace after the teeming roads, a place to catch the breath and contemplate.

  The only place the vigile could be hiding was inside the temple—however no one but priests of the goddess were allowed in there. To defile a temple held penalties that ranged from a mere thrashing to horrific death, depending on the rules of the place. No one would risk such a thing.

  I pretended to turn and walk away, as though I’d given up. I strode under the trees back to the road, but at the last moment slipped into shadows and waited for my prey.

  The rain came down harder. Water dripped from branches and darkened the arches of the aqueduct that soared on the side of the hill. Romans drank perpetually fresh spring water, untainted by waste.

  I waited in vain. The vigile never appeared, though I stood there until the fifth hour was called by a crier in the street beyond. Either the vigile had sought sanctuary in the temple, or he’d known another way out I hadn’t seen.

  In disgust I quit the place. I’d find him later. He’d have to return to his watch house eventually.

  I decided to continue up the Esquiline and visit Priscus, and after a short walk, reached his home. The benches outside his front door held three visitors, sheltered by a roof over the vestibule. They were his clients—men who’d come to petition Priscus to help them do whatever they needed done. In return, they’d support him with services or votes, or would simply be loyal to him when he needed it. It was midmorning, and a paterfamilias usually saw clients first thing, so they must have been waiting for some time. Priscus, I’d noticed however, followed his own rules.

  I seated myself after giving my name to the doorman, pretending I too was a new client.

  Two of the waiting men were freedmen, and the third wore a toga of the middle, or Equestrian, class. The Equestrian spoke to no one, and looked on disdainfully as the other two began to tell me about matches they’d seen me fight, remembering each blow better than I did.

  The middle-class man’s face grew more sour when the doorman emerged and asked for me first. The two freedmen thought it my due and cheerfully waved me on.

  Priscus had retreated to his garden, in spite of the rain. He wandered the paths among the shrubs, snipping branches here and there. The gardener lounged under shelter of the arched walkway, dozing.

  “Decimus has made a full recovery,” Priscus told me before I could greet him. “He is resilient, that boy.”

  “Does he know who kidnapped him?” The servants had told Cassia no, but I wanted to hear information unfiltered through servants’ stories.

  “Hired ruffians, so he says.” Priscus snipped another branch and tossed it into the wide basket on the bench. He’d put on a hat against the rain, and water dripped from its brim. “Decimus told me he was walking from his rented house in Antioch to our new warehouse there, and was snatched. He fought, but was dragged off, a bag over his head so he couldn’t see. The next thing he knew, he was in a ship. He saw the sailors who brought him food but no one else through the voyage. Twenty-five days he was at sea on a bulk cargo ship. A courier on a faster ship brought me their demand—he knew nothing, did the courier. Only paid to deliver a message.”

  “Do you think the kidnappers came from an enemy you made?” I asked. “Someone you owed money to—or your wife’s business owed?”

  “No, no.” Priscus was quick with the denial. “My wife had an excellent head for business. She owed no one. Her accounts were impeccable, and all expenses settled when she died. As for enemies …” He spread his hands. “One always has them, of course. Patricians, especially those from very old families, can be prickly. However, I have fewer enemies than most.” He gave me a thin smile. “I do so very little, which is to my taste. When I was a general, I was considered fair if not brilliant. I brought my men home and got them paid.”

  I understood Cassia’s frustration with the man. He was determined that no one hated him enough to threaten his son, even though Nero had hinted he was in great danger. It must be about money, I reasoned. People would risk much for that.

  “The sailors were all killed,” I reminded him. “Executed on the dock. Who would do that?”

  Priscus studied the twig of a brightly flowering bush and made a deliberate snip. Dead leaves fluttered to the ground. “I hesitate to tell you this, Leonidas, because I am a practical man without much use for magic or mystical things.” His cheeks went pink. “But I believe the gods watch out for me. I have more than once escaped certain death, either by side-stepping at the right moment, or a guard stopping an assassin, or a guest drinking poison meant for me.” His expression turned sad. “The poor fellow.”

  “Did this man die of the poison?” I asked.

  “Hm? Oh, no, indeed. Was quite ill for a time, but recovered. Thank the gods … again. You might have seen him outside. Square face, looks as though he’s sucked a lemon. I feel obligated to take care of him now. He did save my life.”

  I thought of the irritated middle-class man, and I understood his annoyance that I’d been called in before him. Taking poison meant for another would make a person feel he had certain privileges.

  “You believe he was saved by the gods as well,” I said.

  “I truly do, Leonidas. I am not the most pious of men—I saw too much in the battlefield to believe that supplication to the gods is helpful. While we believe Mars or Jupiter to be on our side, those we fight think the same gods are helping them. Both can’t be true. But what besides the gods can explain my good fortune?”

  “Your son was kidnapped,” I pointed out. “Hardly good fortune.”

  “But he was not murdered, or even much hurt. Whoever was after my money obtained none of it. The second casket was delivered to this house yesterday.”

  I blinked. “Someone returned it?”

  “Yes. Which reinforces my belief in intervention by the divine. Why else would the casket have been found by an honest person willing to send it back to me anonymously, asking no reward? I must conclude that Fortuna favors me.”

  It seemed she did. I was no stranger to luck—a misstep or a change in wind could mean the difference between me winning a fight or falling—but I also knew that months and years of training beat luck every time.

  “I was there to make sure you weren’t hurt and your son was returned,” I said. “Another stroke of luck?”

  “It seems so. I thought of you as soon as Celnus and Kephalos insisted I be guarded. How fortunate, was it not, that you’d been freed the day before? Kephalos went to the Forum and found Cassia right away.”

  Cassia had told me she’d heard via servants’ gossip that Priscus wanted to hire me, and had gone searching for Kephalos. Good fortune again?

  Or was there another hand? Someone had decided to free me and sponsor me while keeping their identity secret. Was that person also watching out for Priscus? And why?

  My head was beginning to ache.

  “At this moment, I can only be grateful. Decimus is home and safe.” Priscus’s smile lit the gray day.

  “Should you stay in Rome?” I thought of Cassia wondering why Priscus did not retreat to the countryside. “Those wishing to harm you or your son might try again.”

  Priscus returned to his plants, scissors poised. “We seem to be protected no matter where we live, so it makes no difference. Of course, I am keeping my
son close to home.” He shot me a wry glance. “Which is difficult, as he is robust. Decimus already speaks of returning to Antioch and continuing expanding our business there. I might accompany him when he does. This is a big house, and lonely.” He trailed off, the last word quiet.

  He missed his wife acutely, I could see. Before I could offer sympathy, he brightened, and handed his basket and shears to the now-awake gardener.

  “Come. I want to reward you for your help, yours and Cassia’s.”

  He headed across the garden, and I followed. “You’ve already paid us,” I said.

  “I know, but I want to give you something special.” Priscus led me to the tablinium, his office, which we reached by stepping up from the garden and inside.

  A cabinet filled with small items, some of which flashed gold in the dim light, held seniority on the longest wall. I saw ivory vessels, figures carved in bright blue stone, thin gold bracelets, Greek pots with red and black paintings, a bronze sculpture of a young man plucking a thorn from his foot, and strange pair of flat hands made of bronze, studded with tiny gold ingots.

  “Etruscan,” Priscus said when I bent to gaze at them. “Quite ancient, I’ve been told. As ancient as the Egyptians, though I am not certain I believe it.”

  He reached in and brought out a pair of gold loops, thin and exquisitely made. “These are Egyptian. Give them to Cassia. They will look pretty on her.”

  I stared at him in bafflement. Cassia was a slave, and most men didn’t reward slaves with earrings of beaten gold.

  “And for you.” He brought out one of the bronze hands. “Why don’t you take this? You are as intrigued by it as I am. I’ll always have the second one.”

  His generosity was astonishing. For a moment, I couldn’t speak, the skeptical side of me wondering what he’d want from me in return.

  Priscus simply waited, no guile in his eyes. I realized he’d be offended if I refused, so I accepted and thanked him. Priscus sent for Celnus and told him to wrap the gifts carefully and arrange their delivery to our apartment. Safer than me walking home with them.