Blood of a Gladiator

by Ashley Gardner

  Eventually, Nero decided to dismiss us. I do not think he’d tired of the subject, which I heard he could discuss for hours, but the novelty of speaking to a gladiator and his slave had probably worn off. Nero shouted for a servant—the door opened instantly—and Cassia and I were escorted out of the palace.

  We said nothing to each other while we walked down the steep slope from the Palatine to the Forum Romanum and joined the throng of people there. Cassia broke off from me to pause at shops and fill her basket with a pot of oil, a box of spice, and other sundries. She led me to a bakery where she purchased hard rolls, at half price because they were left over from the morning rush.

  I helped her carry it all home, where she prepared a meal from lunch’s leftovers plus what she’d bought this afternoon.

  “We need to speak to Priscus,” she said once she was settled.

  “That is obvious.” I slumped to my stool and drank deeply of the wine she poured. “The man who recruited Floriana did not want me protecting Priscus—he must know that someone out there will have Nero killed if Priscus dies, no matter how it’s done.” I paused, letting the wine warm me. “Unless both killers are one and the same.”

  “I don’t think so.” Cassia took up her spoon. “I will read through my notes, but the attempt to have Floriana kill you so you could not protect Priscus seems clumsy. Any man who has the power to threaten Nero and not be caught is more careful. Clever. Ruthless.”

  “A clumsy attempt makes me think of Avitus. He never could get close to Nero, and would have to try to assassinate him in a roundabout method.”

  “What we have is two crimes.” Cassia used the handle of her spoon to draw imaginary vertical lines on the table. “First—a man who finds Priscus important to him hopes to keep him alive by placing Nero under a threat that if Priscus is killed, Nero will be as well.” She frowned as she pondered. “Priscus is very wealthy. A client might want him alive and unharmed for as long as possible, to keep that wealth trickling to him.”

  I recalled the clients I’d seen waiting for Priscus, particularly the sour-looking middle-class man. “Such a person would have to have his hands on many reins.”

  Cassia sent me a little smile. “You are still caught up in the chariot-racing talk. Though I agree.” She drew a horizontal line with her spoon. “Second—a man wishes to kill Nero but knows he never can get close to him or trust anyone close to him. He hears of this strange bargain that Nero keeps Priscus alive to preserve his own life, and decides to use that as his assassination attempt. All he has to do is kill Priscus—I suggest Priscus was supposed to have been murdered when he delivered the ransom—why else would a dozen pirates be sent to meet him and insist on Priscus coming alone? If you had not been there, both Priscus and Decimus would be dead.”

  I agreed. I remembered how I had to insist on coming along to the final ransom delivery, and the pirates had finally agreed to allow only me to accompany Priscus. They must have believed they could easily dispose of me as well.

  Cassia went on. “The pirates are instructed to attack, Priscus and his son will be killed, and the incident put down to a ransoming gone wrong. The pirates flee with the money, never to be seen again. Presumably to meet with whomever hired them, or perhaps they were to keep the full ransom as their payment. The assassin wants Nero dead—the money is immaterial.”

  A very wealthy man could let go two caskets of gold if it achieved his goal. Usually those who planned to assassinate Caesars were rich and powerful. They did not kill for money but out of ambition or fear of what that princeps would do to Rome. Of course, that description did not fit Avitus.

  “But Priscus lets Celnus talk him into hiring a bodyguard,” I said slowly. “He asks for me.”

  “And the assassin realizes that you can thwart his plans. You are the best fighter in Rome. Even a group of pirates would have trouble against you—which proved to be the case. So our assassin goes to Floriana, knowing you frequent her house, and gets her to agree to kill you in your sleep. Perhaps he offered her a fortune, as he did the pirates. Or he had some sort of hold over her. She might have been terrified into helping. Only Lucia’s loyalty to you kept you alive. She put rhubarb leaves in Floriana’s salad, which made Floriana sick enough to take to her bed and spare you. When you fetched Marcianus to save Floriana’s life, Floriana might have experienced remorse for trying to harm you. She meets with the killer behind the Porticus Octaviae, possibly to explain what went wrong, or to tell him that she wants no more part in this, and he kills her.”

  Cassia made an abrupt line below the last then turned her spoon around and went back to eating her stew.

  “The man Lucia and Marcia saw must have been Avitus,” I said. “The description fits him. Would he have the connections to arrange a kidnapping in Antioch? And an exchange in Ostia? And money to pay Floriana to help him? Or perhaps he was only a go-between.”

  “Either is possible.” Cassia chewed thoughtfully. “The vigiles are made up of freedmen who devote themselves to keeping the peace and watching for fires. Freedmen can become quite rich if they are clever. Perhaps Avitus took the job as vigile in order to further his plan to assassinate the princeps. Vigiles roam the streets at will, day and night, and enter any house they like, as Avitus did with us.”

  I broke my roll into pieces and dropped them in the stew. “Maybe we should wait for Avitus to try to kill me again, and grab him. I’ll turn him upside down until he confesses.”

  “Set a trap, you mean?” This idea did not seem to alarm Cassia in the slightest. “Hmm. We could do that, without simply waiting for him to turn up.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “Leave that to me. Now, let’s finish our meal and visit Priscus, before it grows too dark.”

  “Celnus won’t allow us see him in the evening,” I warned. “Visits are only in the morning, unless Priscus invites us to dine.”

  “Leave that to me as well. I would like to question the team of Celnus and Kephalos again. They know much, those two.”

  I’d learned enough about Cassia to pity them. She’d pry information from them whether they liked it or not.

  We both turned our attention to finishing our meal, then made ready to trudge to the Esquiline.

  As expected, Celnus did not want to admit us. The master was dining, Celnus said with his usual contempt. Priscus was with guests and would not be disturbed. Cassia told Celnus cheerfully that we’d wait.

  Celnus began to argue, but Priscus’s son, Decimus, who’d emerged from the inner recesses of the house, spied us and bade Celnus to let us into the atrium.

  “Father will want to see you.” Decimus spoke to me, not Cassia, who did her best to fade against the wall. I left her to interrogate Celnus and Kephalos, and followed Decimus toward the triclinium.

  Priscus was hosting a supper for five. Reclining couches surrounded a table laden with dishes. Priscus was draped in a toga, which he wrestled with as he reached for grapes, cheese, and his cup of wine.

  Three guests, all men, surrounded him—the fifth place was for Decimus.

  “I’ve brought you a gift, Father,” Decimus said as we entered.

  Priscus brightened, shoved aside the folds of his toga, and climbed to his feet. “My friend and guardian, Leonidas. Please, join us. We’ll make room.”

  I assessed the faces of the three guests, one of which was the middle-class client who’d once saved Priscus’s life. The expressions on each ranged from surprise, to distaste, to downright disgust from the middle-class man.

  I knew that if Priscus let a gladiator, even a former one, perch on a dining couch with his distinguished visitors, the gossip would be all over Rome tomorrow, and Priscus ridiculed. He saw no shame in speaking to those he wished, but he would not be praised for it.

  “I am humbled by your kindness.” I spoke awkwardly, but no one expected a gladiator to be smooth-tongued. “I will not sully your table with my presence. The fact that you admitted me to your house is enough.”

 
“Come, come, you must be hungry.” Priscus waved at the table. “There is plenty.”

  “I dined already, at home,” I said, seizing on the excuse.

  Priscus looked puzzled at my refusal, but he did not pursue it, to the relief of his guests.

  Decimus seated himself, sharing the couch with the middle-class man. His friendly greeting and deference to the man softened that gentleman a touch. Decimus had a youthful charm about him, and a quick-wittedness that his father lacked. I assumed he took after his mother.

  “Is he here to perform?” one of the other men asked. The bright whiteness of his toga with a purple stripe told me he held high office and had the money to keep his garments pristine. “Here to show us some of his winning moves? I have seen you fight, Leonidas the Spartan. You are quite skilled. My son admires you greatly.”

  “He’s no Spartan,” the middle-class man said in disparagement.

  Priscus moved to my side. “Gladiators take grandiose names, or are given them. I will speak to him, as I know he’d not have come if it weren’t important.”

  He ushered me out of the triclinium and to the peristyle garden. I saw, through the opening to the atrium, that Cassia was deep in conversation with Kephalos—he regarded her with a frustrated frown.

  Light from the rising moon filtered through the open roof of the peristyle, turning the trees’ leaves silver. The trickling fountain lent a peaceful note.

  Priscus settled a fold of his toga on his shoulder and wiped his brow. “Truth to tell, my friend, I am happy you came along. Tedious fellows. But one must play host every so often, or be lambasted. What can I do for you?”

  “Who is the Equestrian?” I gestured behind us, as though he could see the middle-class man in the dining room. “You said he saved your life by drinking poison meant for you.”

  Priscus glanced heavenward. “Calls himself Gaius Drusus Aquilinus. ‘The eagle-eyed one,’ he says. More like the eagle-nosed one.” Priscus chuckled. “He was a client of my father-in-law’s, and I, the dutiful son-in-law, continue to see him. He’s a plebeian who bought his way into the Equestrian class, with the help of my wife’s father.” Priscus dropped his voice. “He wanted to marry my wife, at one time—thought her father should have her divorce me and take him. My father-in-law disabused him of that notion quickly enough. I might not be all my father-in-law had dreamed of, but I am patrician born, and he was a snob. My wife wouldn’t hear of it either, because she detested dear Aquilinus.” He smiled in fond memory.

  “I wonder if he’d have the wish to kill you,” I said.

  Priscus raised his brows. “You believe he wants me dead? I’m not certain why he would. He’d lose my patronage—he likes that, even if he dislikes me.”

  “He could become your son’s client if you were gone, couldn’t he?”

  “Possibly. But Decimus is his own man. No, I can’t believe it of Aquilinus. He’s rather a coward.”

  “We have discovered that someone indeed is trying to kill you,” I said. “A threat you should take seriously. They hope your death will cause that of the princeps.”

  In brief sentences, I explained what we’d discovered from Nero. Priscus listened in disbelief, his skepticism growing as I finished.

  “That is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard,” Priscus said, scoffing. “You must learn that our princeps enjoys drama, the more the better. Depend upon it, Leonidas, his entire tale is a parcel of lies.”

  Chapter 22

  Priscus stated the words loudly, determinedly. He began to fold his arms, but the toga prevented him, and he tugged at the fabric in annoyance.

  “You once told me the gods looked out for you,” I said. “Could it be a person instead?”

  Priscus ceased pulling at the toga and folded his hands. “I have friends, Leonidas, but I doubt very much that any love me enough to threaten the princeps to keep me alive. What man would?”

  I glanced at the dining room, to see Decimus emerging. “A son, perhaps?”

  Whatever comment Priscus had opened his mouth to make died on his lips. “Decimus?” Amazement then worry flared and dimmed. “He honors his father, yes, but that is taking it a bit far. But …”

  Decimus entered the garden, the wind that swept it ruffling his dark curls. “They’re becoming restless, Father. They want the paterfamilias, not the heir.”

  “They’d do well to cultivate your friendship,” Priscus growled, then he sighed. “I do despair of all this bootlicking. Decimus, Leonidas has proposed that you keep a running threat to Nero that he will die if anything happens to me.”

  Decimus began to laugh, thinking it a jest, then his laughter faded.

  “I?” He pressed his fingers to his chest. Decimus also wore a toga, but it draped his frame elegantly and remained in place. “I doubt Nero—or any man—would be afraid of me. I have little power. I’m good with figures, and those in Halicarnassus have learned to fear my accounting skills. That is all.” He came forward until the three of us made a small group in the middle of the peristyle. “But this is amazing. Are you certain someone could hold the princeps hostage for my father’s life?”

  “I only know what Nero told us,” I said.

  “Us?” Decimus’s brows climbed.

  “Cassia and me.”

  “Oh, your slave, who so kindly saved the ransom money. Do you know she refused to take one as more than the fee she’d agreed upon? Kephalos tried to short her, but she wouldn’t have that either.”

  “Cassia is very precise,” I said.

  Decimus chuckled. “She is indeed. I promise you, Father, I am committing no conspiracy to keep you alive. If someone is, though, I’d like to meet him. And thank him.”

  Priscus flushed. “You are kind, my son.”

  “A son can love his father,” Decimus said cheerily. “Even an adopted father.”

  I broke in. “The trouble is, a person out there is trying to finish off Nero by finishing off you. He succeeded in having Decimus captured, and nearly killing you when you went to pay the ransom.”

  Decimus tucked in his lips and nodded. “That is true, Father. I was abducted as I walked home late at night and taken on board a ship. Rather unusual pirates, I thought—though some do raid the shorelines. But how would they know my family had the money to pay? I dress rather plainly and draw little attention to myself. I concluded they’d followed me for some time and discovered who I was, but still it is strange. But if it was part of a plan to attack my father and through him, Nero …” He rubbed his chin, lost in thought.

  Priscus snorted. “Farfetched.”

  “Not necessarily.” Decimus turned to me. “I thank you for telling us, Leonidas. I will certainly put more guards on my father, and on myself, if they are using me to reach him.” He gestured toward the house. “I will walk out with you, Leonidas. You, Father, need to go back in before Aquilinus infuriates the senator and ends up in prison. He’ll expect you to pay his way out.”

  Priscus made an exasperated noise, bade me a polite good night, and made for the dining room at the other end of the peristyle. I watched him square his shoulders before he shoved open the door and marched inside.

  “I adore my father, but he can be hard-headed,” Decimus said.

  “He’s a soldier. He keeps telling me that.”

  Decimus looked amused. “He uses it as an excuse to avoid the social graces. Not that I blame him. I find the social graces tedious as well, and prefer to spend my time among books. I inherited that from my mother, may the gods cradle her.”

  He made a reverent gesture to the shrine of his ancestors as we entered the atrium. Cassia emerged from the shadows, hugging her cloak around her. Kephalos and Celnus were nowhere in sight.

  Decimus softened his voice. “I will take care of my father. Thank you. May I call on your services if I need more might to protect him?”

  “Yes,” I said simply. Even if Nero hadn’t ordered me to look after Priscus, I’d agree. I found that I liked the unworldly Priscus.

&nb
sp; “Godspeed on your way home. Wait—take a lantern.” Decimus moved to a table where lit lanterns had been set, presumably to light the guests’ ways home.

  Decimus handed me a glowing grill dangling from an iron stick. I accepted it with thanks, though I thought smacking a thief with it would be more effective than scaring him off with the light.

  Cassia said nothing at all as I bade Decimus a final farewell and we stepped into the street. A litter surrounded by nervous slaves swept by, moving swiftly through the darkness, and then the road was quiet.

  I hefted the lantern, which threw a feeble spangle onto the cobbles. By this I saw Cassia’s face, and her smug expression.

  “What did you discover?” I asked. More than I had, I wagered.

  “Something very important.” She adjusted a fold of her palla over her mouth, but not before I saw the smile. “It will explain much, I think.”

  I wanted to demand she tell me everything, but I knew that wasn’t wise in the middle of the road winding down the Esquiline.

  We hadn’t gone far before running footsteps sounded behind us. I and Cassia stepped aside to let whoever it was pass, but a sudden rush of movement had me pushing Cassia into the doorway of a closed shop. I whirled with my lantern, ready to strike.

  The pursuer charged straight at me. I slammed the lantern into him, with a quick, hard smack, pushing him into an alley. He stumbled but was quickly up again, lithe and agile. The light of the lantern, before it fell and flickered out, showed me the face of Avitus.

  He tried to get around me, but I blocked the way. Avitus knew the city well, and the way he danced from foot to foot, trying to move past me, told me that this tiny lane had only one outlet.

  I caught Avitus and threw him into the wall. I crowded him, grabbing his hands before he could go for a knife.