Blood of a Gladiator

by Ashley Gardner

  “What are the round things?” Small oval shapes and smaller, rounder ones dotted the drawing.

  “Impressions of boots and sandals. I drew what I saw there.”

  “There was so much mud and rain—everything was smeared.”

  “I know. They may mean nothing.” The stylus moved. “This is the path between the Porticus Octaviae and the bridge, which many people use, but it’s interesting all the same.”

  “Every man in Rome wears boots or sandals. Most made by the same leather workers.”

  “That is true.” Cassia tapped the paper. “These small round marks are from cleats on the bottoms of boots, the kind soldiers wear.”

  Cleats. I suddenly remembered the man who’d tried to attack me the night before we’d left Rome. I’d heard, as he’d run off, the click of iron hobnails on stone. My skin prickled, but I tried to make myself be practical.

  “Soldiers train on the Campus Martius, not far away,” I said, more to myself than to Cassia. “Probably cross the bridges in and out of town via this path all the time.”

  “Yes.” Cassia did not seem worried that every person in Rome could have tramped through the mud that day and left their boot prints. “I will consider everything.”

  My unease was making me hungry, as had my travels through the streets. “Let us visit the popina and eat. We can look at diagrams later.”

  “I agree.” Cassia rolled up the scrolls and closed the tablets. “I have not sat here all morning writing, however. I did discover more about Avitus.”

  I had started to rise, but I sat back down, intent. “What did you find?”

  “I went to the house where he lodges. He wasn’t there when I visited, but I spoke to the woman who draws the water and scrubs the floors. You had the idea that Avitus grew up at Floriana’s, was perhaps a boy for use, but no. He is from Rome… the Aventine. He spent a few years in the army, in Hispania. When he returned to Rome, he joined the vigiles.”

  “Then he must have been her customer,” I said. “He claimed to know much about Floriana, though I never saw him at her house.”

  “Puzzling. When you find him again, you must not let him go until he has a better explanation for himself.”

  I intended to squeeze every bit of truth out of Avitus, even if he had nothing to do with Floriana or the attacks on me.

  “Shall we have a repast?” Cassia reached for her cloak. “We can think better when we are not hungry.”

  She’d said “we” again. I decided, as I wrapped my cloak around me and ushered her out, that I did not mind this. I’d always been alone. Now I was part of “us.”

  For the next two days, I searched for Avitus with no luck. Even positioning myself outside the house where his squad lodged did not help. He seemed to have taken some leave.

  Likewise, I hunted for Lucia, or at least the woman we thought was Lucia. Why she’d returned to Rome when she could have been safe in Capua, I didn’t know. Then again, the woman might not be Lucia at all. Whoever she was, she kept her distance.

  I also saw no sign of Regulus. Aemil had a rigid training schedule that even the primus palus had to follow. From early morning to late afternoon most days, Regulus would be locked in practice or helping to train other fighters.

  In the meantime, a man came from Priscus’s house, delivering the gifts he’d generously bestowed on us. The messenger obviously thought his master mad, but he left us the box and departed quickly. I wondered why the things had taken days to reach us, but of course, we were not important people in Priscus’s life. Perhaps Celnus had delayed the delivery, maybe trying to dissuade Priscus into giving the things to us at all.

  Cassia expressed no such doubts. She delighted in the earrings, and we set the gold-studded bronze hand on the shelf alongside my rudis.

  Using the excuse of thanking Priscus for the gifts, Cassia decided to visit his domus and have her talk with Kephalos. She returned home that afternoon, a smile on her wind-chilled face.

  “Kephalos is a snake,” she said as she patted her already neat hair into place. “He and Celnus have been taking money from poor Priscus for years, even before his wife passed away.”

  “How do you know this? Did you see the ledgers?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Kephalos keeps them hidden, and I knew within moments that he would never show them to me. But I learned much by flattering his intelligence, and he revealed things without meaning to. Celnus is a harder nut, but even he let down his guard. Priscus’s wife trusted both of them too much, although they were more careful when she was alive and overseeing the accounts. Priscus does not bother, the foolish man.”

  None of this surprised me much, though I admired how Cassia had pried the information out of the two disdainful servants. “Priscus likes to remind people he is a soldier with no head for finance,” I said. “An easy man to take advantage of.”

  “He is kind as well.” Cassia settled herself at the table and opened her tablets. Their number had grown, and I suspected she spent plenty of our earnings on them. “Kephalos told me that long ago, Priscus set a boy in the household free and placed him with a family to raise. Said he saw great potential in him.”

  “What happened to this boy?” I asked with interest. Sometimes a kind deed could go wrong, the recipient nursing resentment for years. Or those jealous of the recipient might harbor ill will, maybe enough to pay pirates to kidnap a man’s son or make attempts on that man’s life.

  “Kephalos doesn’t know. Apparently Priscus doesn’t know what happened to the boy either. Whether he lived or died is a mystery. Priscus doesn’t even know the name of the family who took him, according to Kephalos. He did everything through an intermediary.”

  I thought it might be worth finding out why Priscus had done such a great act of kindness, though it wasn’t unusual for a patrician. They would free a slave or adopt a son of another family simply to show their benevolence. The slave or son would become a client or heir, obligated to the patrician for life. The most unusual thing about this boy was that Priscus hadn’t boasted about it.

  “Did you tell Priscus that Kephalos was stealing from him?”

  “Not today. I spoke only to Kephalos and Celnus. You said Priscus suspected it, and he does nothing. As I say, he’s kind.”

  “To the point of madness.”

  “Perhaps.”

  I leaned on my hand against the cool stone wall. “Why did Kephalos tell you so much? Was he not suspicious of your questions?”

  Cassia sent me a quick smile. “I pretended to commiserate with him—a scribe and accountant of his talent forced to work for a rather feckless gentleman. Priscus is highborn yes, but will never amount to much.” Cassia lost her smile and flushed. “I’m afraid I told him I knew what it felt like, to have to work for a man of no scholarship.”

  She peered at me anxiously, but I felt a well of mirth stirring inside me. Whoever had paired us had a strange sense of humor.

  “That was wise of you,” I said. “Kephalos looks at me like a turd stuck to his sandal.”

  “I rather played on his pity,” Cassia said in a small voice.

  I barked a laugh, loud in the small room. “You were clever.”

  Cassia relaxed as though she’d feared my anger. “My father taught me how to assess a person and discover what will appeal to them. They will tell you much more than when they are hostile to you, he said.”

  “Kephalos was hostile to you, I thought.”

  “He was annoyed he couldn’t cheat us of our fee. I explained that my adamance to collect the entire amount was so you would not be brutal to me. He believed me.”

  She said the words lightly, but I heard the slight tremor in them. Cassia had lost much of her worry about me, but still, she could not be certain.

  I sat down, as I’d grown accustomed to doing, and regarded her across the table.

  “I learned as a boy that I was very strong. Aemil’s training made me stronger still. I understand how easy it is to hurt and kill. I would only be bru
tal to you if you were a gladiator attacking me in an amphitheatre. Then I’d fight for my life.”

  The rambling explanation appeared to puzzle Cassia more than reassure her. I drew a breath and went on.

  “I know I can kill anyone I have a mind to, or at least hurt them badly. I decided long ago that I wanted to have more friends than enemies, so I fight only in the arena—or when I’m attacked on the street. But not with people I take care of.”

  Cassia ran her fingers along a tablet, tracing its square wooden cover. “I was sent to take care of you.”

  I shrugged. “We must take care of each other. Neither of us knows how to cook.”

  That won a tiny smile. “That is so.” Cassia stilled her fingers. “We must hurry and make certain you are not accused of this crime. Priscus’s fee will last only so long.”

  “I should take another job, you mean.”

  “Indeed. I will search for another generous man in need of protection. Perhaps heading to a finer destination than Ostia.”

  “We can’t expect to always be paid highly,” I pointed out. “I’ve done plenty of guarding, and some don’t pay much at all.”

  “True.” Cassia’s trepidation fled, and the businesslike gleam returned to her eye. She’d called Kephalos a snake, but Cassia resembled a hawk regarding prey when she turned her attention to our funds. “What we will do is make you a very special guard—men will pay handsomely to say they had Leonidas watch over their steps. Yes—let me think on this …”

  I left her to it. I had already learned never to stand between Cassia and her interest in accounts.

  The next morning, Cassia asked me to take her to see Marcianus. She wanted to speak to him about the poison that had been given to Floriana, she said—how strong it was, how long it took to work, what it was comparable to, and so forth.

  I ceased understanding her after about the fifth word and agreed to walk with her to the Aventine.

  When we reached Marcianus’s shop, he was not there. At the ludus, Marcia told us. She wore a palla even more plain than the one I’d seen her in on my last visit, and had bundled her hair into a simple style. She looked young and uncomplicated.

  “Can you tell me about the salad Floriana ate that night?” Cassia asked after we’d exchanged greetings and spoke of Marcianus. “Who prepared it for her?”

  Marcia’s eyes widened into frightened ovals then she flung herself past me and tried to flee into the street.

  Chapter 18

  I caught Marcia around the waist and pulled her back into the shop. She struggled, but I held her fast, her feet off the ground.

  “What about Floriana’s meal makes you want to run?” I demanded.

  Marcia pushed at the iron bar of my arm and glared at me. “Nothing. I don’t know anything about it.”

  Cassia regarded her with cool interest. “When Marcianus questioned you the morning he treated Floriana, you said there had been only lentils and bread taken in the house. You knew of no salad.”

  “That’s what I’m saying now.” Marcia lifted her chin, but her belligerence couldn’t quite hide her fear.

  “Before, you were only puzzled,” Cassia went on relentlessly. “Now you are afraid. What happened to change your mind?”

  “I don’t care what she says.” Marcia’s voice rose. “I didn’t know anything, and I won’t be taken to a magistrate for it.”

  “What who says?” I asked.

  Marcia pedaled her feet, kicking me, but it was like being kicked by a fly.

  For a moment, I thought Marcia might answer me, but a male voice cut through the crowd who’d gathered outside the door to watch the show. “Leonidas, what are you doing? Put her down at once.”

  Only Nonus Marcianus could chivvy a gladiator into obeying his every command. I gently set Marcia on her feet, and she wrenched herself from me and hurried to Marcianus.

  “Do you mean Lucia?” Cassia asked her.

  “No,” Marcia said loudly. “I don’t mean her at all.”

  I knew she did, as did Cassia, and by his expression, Marcianus.

  “Lucia came to speak to you, didn’t she?” Cassia asked. “Did she tell you what to say if you were questioned?”

  Marcia closed her lips tightly and folded her arms. Marcianus put himself between her and me.

  “Leave her be, Leonidas. She has suffered enough.”

  I thumped the doorframe in frustration, sending a flake of red paint from the lintel drifting down to rest on my tunic.

  “Whatever Lucia told you, tell Marcianus,” I said to Marcia. “He can decide whether I need to know.”

  Marcianus scowled at me. “She is an innocent girl, and helped me save Floriana’s life. She’d not have done that if she’d put Floriana into that state in the first place.”

  “We don’t believe she did,” Cassia said. “She is being loyal to Lucia.” She switched her gaze to Marcia. “It is important we speak to her. Do you know where she is?”

  “No.” The answer held a ring of triumph. “I have no idea where Lucia ran off to.”

  Cassia pinned Marcia with her scrutinizing stare, then nodded and adjusted her cloak. “Thank you. We will leave you alone now.”

  She strode past me out the door, as though expecting that I’d follow. If Marcianus hadn’t been so angry with me for frightening Marcia, I suspect he might have laughed.

  “I believe she told the truth.” Cassia spoke with conviction as we made our way along the crowded street toward the Circus Maximus. “About not knowing where Lucia is, I mean.”

  “Marcia saw her, though,” I growled.

  “If she confesses to Nonus Marcianus, he might tell us.”

  “Possibly not. He’s protective of her.” I admired him for that, but at the moment, his loyalty exasperated me.

  “Yes, but Marcianus likes you. If he wants to keep you from being arrested, he will tell us. In the meantime, it would be best if you found Lucia yourself.”

  I studied the streams of people walking down the hill to the valley of the Circus Maximus. We passed a bathhouse with a continuous flow of men and women entering, ready to spend their afternoon washing and relaxing.

  “How do I search for one woman in all this?” I swept my arm across the view. “Especially a woman who does not want to be found.”

  “You have known her for some years, haven’t you?” Cassia asked in a reasonable tone. “Where would she hide?”

  I had no idea. I tramped along, my large body breaking a path in the crowd, Cassia following in the wake I created.

  Or, perhaps I did know. Lucia had rarely left Floriana’s, but she’d spoken of walking in the gardens of the Baths of Agrippa. There, she’d wrap herself in her palla and stroll anonymously among the pruned trees and shrubbery.

  “There is one place,” I admitted. “She spoke about it to me.”

  “It is a start. Shall we go there now?”

  I doubted Lucia would be in the gardens simply because I wanted her to be. She’d need to eat and find a place to sleep every night—attendants herded people out of the bath complex at the end of the day, so she would not be camping there.

  But, as Cassia indicated, it would be a place to begin instead of walking up and down the streets of the city, checking every cloaked woman until I found her.

  I took a street that skirted the long side of the Circus and emerged near the river in the shadow of the Palatine Hill. From there we took the path that followed the Tiber past the place Floriana had been struck down, and northward through the Campus Flaminius.

  It was a lengthy walk, and Cassia flagged by the time we reached the baths. A wind had sprung up, cold with winter, smoke and steam from the huge bath complex thick in the air.

  Agrippa, the close friend of Augustus, had set up these massive public baths, which I’d used many times in my life. The ludus lay a short distance across the river and Aemil had paid the small fee, so I often retreated here after a tiring day of training.

  We strolled in past a tall marble stat
ue of a man set high on a pedestal. Cassia gazed at the statue in amazement and then, when she could tear her attention from it, peered eagerly through the rotunda to the library full of scrolls.

  “I’ve heard of this place.” Her whisper echoed in the cavernous hall. “I’ve always wanted to come. The statue at the entrance is by Lysippus. A true Lysippus, not a copy.”

  I didn’t know who Lysippus was, but Cassia’s awe told me he was a famed artist.

  The vaulted halls were filled with people talking, arguing, debating, laughing. Men and women diverged into the changing rooms, but they would merge again in the baths. Floors of marble and terra cotta led to bathing rooms and the gymnasium. We took the route to the gardens.

  “I understand why Lucia made this her retreat,” Cassia said in admiration as we emerged into the green space. The garden held colonnaded walks, with benches in niches, trees and greenery, and statues peeking out here and there. “Marcus Agrippa had great vision, was very keen on civic works.”

  I didn’t know much about the man beyond the buildings he’d left. Gallus, the architectus, would have loved to work on a project like these baths or this garden—he’d said wistfully that he wanted to build something all admired. Perhaps one day he would.

  Cassia and I walked the garden’s paths, which were quiet. With the winter cold, most people had retreated indoors to the warm baths.

  Nowhere did I see Lucia skulking, or even the cloaked figure of a woman. If Lucia had sought sanctuary in these gardens, she wasn’t here now.

  “She might have taken rooms in the area,” Cassia suggested. “To be near a place she liked.”

  Finding out would take a massive search, though admittedly less so than looking for her in the heart of the city. The Campus Martius, where the baths lay, was on the outskirts of Rome. It held training grounds for the legions and was not as heavily populated.