Blood of a Gladiator

by Ashley Gardner

  “He wasn’t a highborn man, as far as I know. He didn’t wear a toga. A tunic. And boots.”

  Cassia stilled, her focus sharp. “What sort of boots?”

  Lucia went blank. “Boots. The ordinary kind. With hobnails—he clicked when he walked.”

  “Caligae?” Cassia asked.

  “I suppose. I don’t think he was a soldier, though—the legionnaires don’t come to us.” Lucia drew shaky breaths. “He might have been an urban cohort, or—”

  “A vigile?” I asked abruptly.

  “Possibly. I’m sorry, Leonidas. This is why I am so afraid. He knows I knew Floriana’s plan, that I know he killed her, but I won’t recognize who to run from.”

  This stranger also knew about Priscus and had wanted to prevent me protecting him. Nero himself had admonished me to make certain Priscus was unharmed.

  “Why?” I directed the question at Cassia. “What great power does Priscus possess that makes the princeps himself want to keep him safe? And a vigile want him unprotected?”

  Lucia shook her head. Cassia switched her gaze to her. “Is there more? Priscus is not an important man, by all accounts, but he is very wealthy. Does someone want his fortune?”

  Lucia’s face became more ashen. “I don’t know this Priscus, but I dare say nothing more. Even the words could bring death to all of us.”

  My skin prickled, my blood still hot from my battle with Regulus. “What words? Did you tell Regulus any of this?”

  “No. I promise you. He tried to make me tell him, but I refused. He wants you to fall, Leonidas.”

  “I know. I will deal with Regulus. Tell us.”

  “You should flee,” Lucia said, eyes wide. “We’ll all go to Mount Albanus, to the sanctuary you sent me to. I slipped away, but I want to go back.”

  “You should return,” Cassia said. “They will keep you safe. Leonidas and I have no choice—our benefactor requires us to live in Rome.”

  “Then I will say nothing.” Lucia let out a breath. “And you will be safe.”

  “I am certain it is too late for that.” Cassia’s crisp tones made Lucia jump. “Leonidas will have been seen bringing you here. The man who killed Floriana knows of your connection to him, and probably already believes we know everything. So, please …” Cassia threw out her hands, inviting Lucia to trust her.

  Lucia swallowed and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think the man wants to kill the princeps.”

  Cassia shot a fearful glance out the open balcony. Below, customers were arguing with the wine shop owner in the waning afternoon, their voices loud. The rush of Rome went on beyond them.

  Lucia was not wrong—even uttering that sentence could send us all to execution. Death continued to chase me, no matter how I tried to elude it.

  Cassia squared her shoulders, as though forcing herself to be sensible. “Why on earth would this man tell Floriana something so dangerous? He must have been lying, to goad her into helping him. I think the target is Priscus, not the princeps.” She lowered her voice a long way before she pronounced Nero’s title.

  “I don’t know.” Lucia opened and closed her fingers, which were chapped from the wind and cold. “I heard Floriana and the man speaking of it. I have no idea what this patrician you guarded has to do with anything.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know anything at all.”

  Cassia had moved back to her table during Lucia’s speech, sorting her tablets, working backward through the stack. She paused at one, opening it to study the words inside.

  “When you were here before, asking for Leonidas’s help, you said they would want to kill you,” Cassia reminded her. “Now you speak of only one man.”

  Lucia blinked. “Did I? I wasn’t sure—he could have hired someone to help, or have a partner …”

  “Today you are certain it is one?”

  “I only saw one man at Floriana’s. But she was strong, and crafty. It would have taken more than one to strike her down.”

  “You mentioned a husband—in Etruria. Do you think he wanted her dead, or was he part of this conspiracy?”

  Lucia clearly did not know this either. “I’ve met her husband—he wasn’t the same as the man I saw that night with Floriana. Different build, different voice.”

  Cassia made a note. “It might help to locate this husband anyway. What is his name?”

  “Gaius Martinus,” Lucia choked out.

  “He might have had a hand in it. I will try to discover if he was in Rome at the time. He’d want to come for Floriana’s things or any money she’d left. For now …” Cassia wrote the name then closed the tablet and laid it and her stylus on the table. “You should return to the Domus Ceres. And do not get caught.”

  Lucia glanced at me, worried. “Alone?”

  “I can’t escort you,” I said. “Cassia is right that I bring much attention. You’d not be safe with me. Do you know of anyone else you can trust?”

  Lucia studied her toes in her shabby sandals. “No,” she had to conclude.

  “When it is safe to return to Rome, we will send word.” Cassia rummaged in her box and brought out another handful of copper coins. “This should help.”

  Lucia stared at Cassia in surprise, but she was quick to take the money. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  I walked her downstairs, Lucia wrapping herself in her threadbare cloak. We moved past the wine shop, where the customers seemed to be reconciled and now spoke with the wine merchant in more congenial tones.

  At the corner, I halted and put kind hands on Lucia’s shoulders. “Why did you come back to Rome, if you were safe elsewhere?”

  “To warn you.” Fresh tears formed in the corners of Lucia’s eyes. “The more I thought things through, the more frightened I became. I tried to speak to you alone, but she is always there.” Lucia jerked her chin in the direction of our lodgings.

  “Cassia works for me. Of course she’s there.”

  “When I waited for you to come out alone, Regulus found me. He dragged me to the ludus and told me I was his now. I think he meant to hurt you by that, but I don’t think you were hurt.” Her voice went quiet and she touched my chest with regret.

  “You are my friend,” I said. “Regulus doesn’t understand that.”

  “He understands that you are a better man than he, and he does not like that. He called you some terrible names.” Lucia looked briefly amused, as though some of those names had been quite funny. She stepped closer to me, her touch sensual, practiced. “That woman will dig her claws into you and not let go. When you have wrested yourself free of her, come and find me. We will revel in old times.”

  I didn’t believe Lucia was correct about Cassia, but I cupped her cheek. “The gods go with you.”

  “And you, Leonidas.”

  She studied me a moment longer then turned and faded into the shadows. The crowd in the Vicus Longinus swallowed her up, and she was gone.

  When I returned to our apartment, Cassia was already bundling herself in her palla.

  “You should stay here,” I told her. “I will find Avitus and take him to a magistrate myself. He’ll fight me, and he could hurt you.”

  Cassia blinked at me. “I was not rushing to hunt Avitus. We should get word to the Palatine that the princeps is in danger.”

  “He is always in danger,” I said irritably. “And Avitus might have nothing to do with this—Lucia might have seen another vigile. We won’t know until we question him.” I did not trust Avitus, but I wanted to be certain. I full well knew what it was like to be accused of a crime I did not commit.

  “If we tell someone all we know—perhaps that Praetorian Guard who likes you—then he can search for Avitus. We can never seem to put our hands on the wretched lad.”

  “And Avitus would be executed, even if he’s innocent.”

  Cassia paused. “Do you believe he’s innocent?”

  “No,” I had to say. “He was outside Floriana’s the morning after her poisoning, very interested in the proceedings. He clai
ms he knew her, but he’d never been a customer or worked there. He broke in here trying to find out what we knew.” I still needed to have the door bolts replaced with better ones. “You believe the round markings you found where Floriana died are from the cleats on Avitus’s boots, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  I growled. “It is probably true we should report this—but what if Avitus is innocent? He being at Floriana’s by chance?”

  Cassia contemplated this, touching her lip. “What if you speak to the Praetorian, and ask his opinion? We do not have to name Avitus. Only that you think Floriana might have been involved in a plot, and she has been killed. The plot might still be on, or it might not. But if we do not warn anyone, and Nero is killed, and conversations are traced back to us …”

  “We are dead.” I let out an angry sigh. “It is dangerous knowledge either way.”

  “If we pass it on, perhaps it will become less dangerous for us.”

  “Until we are brought in and interrogated,” I grumbled.

  “The word of a slave is worthless,” Cassia said. “They might interrogate you, but now they have to do it following the law.”

  I remembered the stink of the Tullianum prison, the rats, the groaning of men, the fear. My sentence, though it was supposed to have broken and killed me, had been far less horrific than what others had faced.

  “Or I could find Avitus and carry him to the guards,” I growled.

  “Which will take much time. He knows the city and is slippery.”

  I had to agree. I did not like Cassia’s solution, but she was right. Any delay in reporting the knowledge would look as though we were part of the conspiracy. I took up my cloak and ushered her out into the bright Roman afternoon.

  We had to traverse several groups of guards when we reached the top of the Palatine, who were more interested in asking me about previous matches than what my business was. When I finally conveyed what I wanted, I found that Severus Tullius was not in.

  “He’s at the camp,” the guard who took my request said. “What do you want him for?”

  I hesitated, trying to think of a plausible excuse. Cassia had become a mute bundle of cloth behind me, not venturing to help.

  Before I decided what to say, a man in a toga with a shaved head strode from the courtyard, ignoring the guards. “You.” He pointed at me. “Follow. Now.”

  The guard, with an annoyed grimace behind the other man’s back, let us in.

  We crossed the courtyard, which contained a film of dust from the masonry work being done on the other side of it. A long arcade was under construction, and I would have liked to linger to watch the work.

  Our guide had not indicated Cassia was to stay behind. He strode ahead of us in a bad temper, his toga dragging from his arm through the dust.

  We went not to the peristyle garden as before, but into a smaller chamber with walls decorated with scenes from chariot races. A man in a racing tunic and gloves—a charioteer—stood before the paintings, absorbed in them. I saw no guards in the room with us, but I sensed them lurking out of sight.

  The man in the toga cleared his throat, then abruptly pivoted and left us.

  The charioteer turned around, Nero himself.

  “My friends.” He gave us a nod, as though he’d invited us for the sole purpose of admiring the paintings—and maybe he had. They were very well done, the horses lifelike as they leapt, nostrils flaring, chariots pounding down the long stretch of the Circus Maximus.

  I bowed low—Cassia had already abased herself on the floor. Nero waited a moment, then bade us rise.

  “I have so few friends that I wish to call you thus. The young lady is a true musician.” He sounded admiring.

  I had heard it was not unusual for a princeps to have slaves and freedmen in his most intimate circle. Claudius had been surrounded by them, and a favorite concubine of Nero’s, Acte, had been a slave. I supposed it was easier for the princeps to trust those who had no actual political power.

  “I saw you approach, and assumed the guard would fuss about letting you in,” Nero continued. “I sent my majordomo to fetch you, because I knew it would annoy him.”

  Cassia glanced at me, worried. I went over phrases in my head, trying to find ones that would warn Nero without having the two of us arrested and tortured until we coughed out the entire story, including the names of Lucia and Avitus.

  Nero forestalled me by launching into a speech. “I want to tell you everything, Leonidas. You deserve to know. I will tell you why I chided you to protect Decimus Laelius Priscus from all harm, though you must not share this secret on pain of death.” He held us with a stern gaze, the same that had ordered soldiers to go after his mother shipwrecked on an island, and murder her.

  He threw out his hand in a dramatic gesture. “If Priscus dies,” he announced. “Then I am doomed to die with him.”

  Chapter 21

  Cassia stared in amazement. I must have had the same expression, because Nero suddenly burst out laughing.

  “You look like fishes, your mouths agape.” Nero barked a laugh. “But alas, it is true. If Priscus is harmed, I will be assassinated. I know this every day when I rise, and every night that I retire.”

  Cassia stirred next to me. She wanted to ask questions, but talking without leave invited punishment. I had to speak and hope I satisfied her curiosity.

  “Who would do this? Why do you not arrest that person?”

  Nero’s smile was patient. “Because I have no idea who is making the threats. I’ve received letters, outlining exactly what will happen to me if Priscus is harmed. They are not nice letters. They are left in the domus in secret, and no one knows who delivers them or writes them.”

  That spoke of someone who knew the buildings well, or had help from inside them.

  I shifted my weight uneasily. “Why Priscus? He seems a harmless man.”

  Nero spread his fingers. Behind him on the wall, a charioteer snarled across at another driver, ruthless determination in his eyes.

  “Priscus was liked by my uncle, trusted. One of the few senators to be. I suppose it was feared that I’d destroy Priscus simply because my uncle favored him. I have explained that I don’t care about him one way or another—he is rather dull, isn’t he? Stays at home tending his garden. His son runs his mother’s business from Halicarnassus, and the lad cares about numbers. Not drama or music, not even politics.” The disgust Nero exuded was acute.

  “You have no idea who threatens you about him?” I asked. “It is not his son?”

  “I have just said the son has no interest in politics,” Nero snapped. “He is weak. I have him watched. See how easily he was captured?” He shuddered. “I want that never to happen again. Priscus came too close to being killed in that adventure, and he’d have been grieved to lose his son. Perhaps to the point of taking his own life, which would not help me. Thanks to you, both father and son are well.”

  I thought of how the pirates who’d ransomed Priscus’s son had been found slain to the man. “Did you have his captors put to death?”

  Nero looked uncomfortable. “Did you expect them to be allowed to live? I had them put to the question first, of course, but none knew the name of the person who hired them. They communicated by letter, and would receive a cut of the ransom. So you see, there is someone in the shadows, a powerful man—or a woman, perhaps. Never trust a woman, Leonidas. They can appear weak, while at the same time they are cunning, knowing how to goad men into doing terrible deeds for them.”

  Nero’s mother, Agrippina, had been a woman of great ambition. She was now dead. Nero’s first wife was likewise dead, and a new one had slid into her place.

  He swept his eagle gaze to Cassia. “What do you think? Who should I hunt for? Man or woman?”

  I did not understand how Nero expected Cassia to have an answer for him, but she replied with confidence.

  “It is not a woman.”

  “Oh?” Nero’s haughty anger faded into curiosity. “Why not?”
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  “A woman can command men, yes, but often the men in her power fall out over rivalry for the woman’s attention. If it were a woman, you’d likely have found out who by now—one of those jealous rivals would have told you. A careful man, however, if he keeps to himself, might not be discovered.”

  Nero studied her thoughtfully. “I had not considered it that way, but I believe you are right. Men can conjure jealousy as well, of course.” He flicked his attention to me. “I am certain Leonidas has had men coming to blows over him.”

  “But Leonidas is a fighter, a simple man,” Cassia said. “Not a commander.”

  “Our servants always see so clearly,” Nero said to me. “She is right, of course. Very well, then it is a man I need to find.” He let out a breath. “Which is unfortunately proving most difficult. This fellow must have loyalty and wealth. The only reason I don’t haul in every man of that description and have them beaten until they confess is that this person seems fixated on Priscus. They care not what I do, not how much money I spend on sandals or wall paintings, as long as that bloody Priscus is well.” Nero’s derision returned. “That is why you must protect him with your life, Leonidas. If he is hurt, I will make sure you die before I do.”

  I believed him. I thought over what Lucia had told us, that Floriana had wanted to kill me so I would not guard Priscus on his way to Ostia.

  That information, coupled with Nero’s story, made me decide to keep silent on Lucia’s assertion that there was a plot to kill Nero. Whoever had killed Floriana did want Nero dead, but in a roundabout way that Nero was already aware of. If I saved Priscus, Nero lived.

  I bowed low. “I will see that Priscus is well, and serve you.” I didn’t have much choice.

  For the rest of the visit, Nero changed the subject entirely and asked my opinion of the painting of the charioteers, and which team I supported. “Greens,” I said. I knew that Nero favored them.

  My answer pleased him. Even gladiators, especially seasoned ones, were allowed to watch the chariot races, and so Nero took pleasure in recounting meets we’d seen, including the all-day races he sponsored. Cassia stood in silent patience—I wondered if she’d ever attended a race in her life.