Nox Dormienda

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The nausea came over me suddenly. I turned my back to Lupo and the undertaker, and vomited in the mud as quietly as I could. I never got sick in the hospital, but then again I didn’t usually feel responsible for killing my patients.

There were a few other people standing around. A couple of whores, the blonde I’d seen the day before, looking bored. One who must’ve been kept on for men with mother fixations. Pigeon-Chest was lurking farther back on the side of the building. I didn’t think he’d recognize me without my toga, and with vomit on my breath. Lupo wasn’t paying attention: he was arguing with the undertaker.

“You don’t got enough for a fire. Y’r lucky I can bury her for this. Ya want a mourner, too? That’ll cost you thirty sestertii. Music’s the same price, as long as you like a pipe. Why you want to buy a procession, anyway? She’s just a whore!”

I could see the muscle under Lupo’s tunic quiver. He was facing the undertaker, and the lean man started to back up. “Don’t get hasty, I’m not saying nothin’, you do whatever you want, I’m just tryin’ to save you some trouble.”

The big man’s hulking frame suddenly shuddered and collapsed, like a blown-up pig’s bladder kids like to kick in the streets. He turned around, and there was a dark red rim around his one eye. They started to walk toward the cart, where I was standing. I hadn’t looked in again-I knew I’d have to, but not just yet.

“You. Undertaker.”

Surprised, the skinny man looked me over, wondering how I got there and why I cared. The blonde eyed me curiously, and the old lady just sobbed into a filthy handkerchief. Lupo hadn’t noticed me yet. He was staring at Galla’s body.

I took out a pouch, and that was enough to capture the full attention of the undertaker. I said: “Here’s seven denarii. I want a lyre, a pipe, a dance, and a full ceremony at the grave site. A pyre, if that’s what she wanted. And a marker-stone. Standard bereavement.” The undertaker licked his lips in excitement.

“And a full cena novendialis. I’ll be there for it, you cheap bastard, and I want the best your small-time service offers, so don’t start figuring out how to cheat the dead just yet.”

His hand stretched out for the money, and Lupo finally caught on. “Now, don’t be hasty, I got some good people in line, if you wanna waste your money on a slave, who am I to-”

He moved quickly for such a large man. The fingers around the undertaker’s throat weren’t quite as fat as sewer pipes. I said: “He’s not worth your time, Lupo. It won’t bring her back. Let him go.”

Pigeon-Chest had moved closer by now, and both women had stopped crying, staring at me puzzled. The undertaker staggered, and lurched against the wall, his breath coming back in hard gasps. I heard some footsteps behind me, and turned and saw a short, squat middle-aged man wearing a cobbler’s apron. He looked agitated and out-of-breath.

“Is it true? Is Galla…” We led him to the cart with our eyes-we couldn’t help it. He took some slow, delicate footsteps for such a paunchy build, and peered over the edge. The tired white cart horse stomped, and for a second all any of us could hear was the swish of its tail.

He didn’t make a sound. His body stiffened, and his paunch shook a little, and then he faced us. There was a fire in his eyes and flabby cheeks.

“Who? Customer?”

Lupo studied him soberly, his one eye still red and raw. He slowly shook his head. That meant it was Caelius. Of course. I’d been so worried, so hoping that she would come find me. And Caelius could do whatever he wanted-she was his slave, his property, and it was his-monetary-loss.

The fat man wheezed a little, and stood up straighter. He looked around, reality starting to hit him, and I suddenly remembered where I’d seen him. He was the drunk, the one who sang the song about Galla two nights ago when Maecenas was murdered. He’d been one of her “reg-u-lars.” His eyes were a little piggish, but not stupid, and they were starting to panic. The undertaker was rubbing his neck theatrically, but nobody paid attention.

The cobbler whispered: “She told me-she told me-”

Lupo and I looked at each other. I moved him off toward the other side of the alley, away from what was left of Galla in the cart, and away from what was left of the people standing around. Lupo lumbered toward the undertaker, who blanched.

“When did you see her last?”

He was still in shock. “Last night. She was drunk. She was always drunk, lately. But I still-I still-”

“I know. Listen. Galla knew something about a murder. That’s why she was killed. Did she tell you?”

He pulled away from me, the slits of his eyes popping open in alarm. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“I am-was-a friend of Galla’s. I’m investigating a murder for the governor. I’d like to find a way to punish the man responsible for this one. Use your head. If he killed Galla, it was because he was involved with another crime, a crime he could pay the price for.”

His eyes darted nervously across my face, behind my back and through the streets, now getting a full dose of sunlight splayed against the buildings, and back toward Lupo. “If I tell you-if I keep my mouth shut-”

“If you keep your mouth shut you can still be killed. Galla was a slave, he can do what he wants. But you really think he’ll stop here? He’s found out by now from the other whores who she’s been seeing-who might know something.”

He started breathing harder, and sucked in his gut. “What can I do?” The words came out in a whistle. “I got a wife, three kids, a shop that don’t make much.”

“You won’t need to make much if you’re dead. Who’s gonna take care of your family? Come on, tell me. It’s your best chance. It’s your only chance.”

He looked around again, his eyes rolling a little, some spittle on his lips. He’d tell me now, or never. His voice dropped to a whispered rattle.

“She said-she said-she said she heard a squeal that night. Like a pig. Somewhere outside in the alley. And she poked her head outside and saw two men on horseback. One was a soldier. One of the horses was pulling a little cart.” He turned involuntarily toward the undertaker’s, and swallowed. “Not as big as that one. She couldn’t tell who they were, because it was dark outside, and they were up the street some, not right in front of the door.”

He didn’t know he’d grasped my arm. “She didn’t think nothin’ of it. Until later. Then she figures maybe they had something to do with the murder-the one that everybody’s talking about, the one with the sign in the forum. Said she was gonna start charging more, ‘cause she was so valuable.” His voice started to crack. “And then she-she-”

“When did she tell you this?”

“Last night. I thought she was just talkin’, like she always did. Galla liked to brag, but she was always good for a laugh.” His eyes were round, and he suddenly sucked in a sob. “Not anymore.”

“Would she have recognized the men?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. She said it was dark, she couldn’t see the faces. But she could tell one was a soldier from the clothes he was wearin’.” I was silent for a moment, and the fat man squeezed my arm.

“What happens to me now? What do I do? Can you help me?”

I didn’t much like my chances for helping anybody anymore.

“You need to get out of town. Fast. Close the shop for a few days, take the family, and go. You got a place?”

He nodded, numbly. “West. Over in Durnovaria. My wife’s from one of the tribes there. We could stay with her folks, for awhile, if I explain it right.”

“Go. Now. Don’t wait for tonight. Shop near here?”

He gestured with his head down the street I’d just walked. His hand dropped from my arm. He’d have to think of a good story to tell his wife.

I reached into my pouch and took out another couple of denarii. “Here.”

He took the money, not really seeing it. I grabbed his shoulders. “Get out of town. You’re a freedman, aren’t you? Then go. That fat used to be muscle. Use it, and move!”

His eyes darted up into mine, alarmed, scared, but finally fully seeing me. Without a word, he brushed my hands off, and scurried down the bright street.

The others watched us from the other side. The undertaker was bored-he had other bodies to deliver. “Can I go now?” he whined to Lupo.

Lupo walked to the cart and I met him there. The horse was stomping again, and I stroked its scarred flank. I could look at her now.

Her neck had been broken, but before that she’d been beaten. Sometime before dawn, probably about when I woke up. Caelius had used a stick. Didn’t want to get his hands dirty. If only she’d come to me, when she pretended to be Stricta … Stricta! If Caelius had done this to Galla for what she knew-

“Lupo-where’s Stricta?”

The giant looked at me steadily with the one, large eye. The undertaker whined a little more. “I got other calls t’make, y’know?”

Lupo took my arm and nearly lifted me off the ground as we moved away from the others. He tried to whisper. “She gone. This morning. Heard-heard-”

“I know. That means he’ll be looking for her. And he’ll do worse.”

Lupo nodded dumbly. “Wanted to stop him. He said he’d send me to mines. Don’t care. Then he said blame me. For this.”

Understanding struck me like one of Caelius’ whips. The welt would be there for a long time.

“You’re a slave, aren’t you?”

He nodded again in misery. “Sometimes I forget. Try to help. Try to protect. Do what he say.”

So Caelius used Lupo as a front, but the big man was his slave. Power of life and death. And power was how Caelius got his kicks.

“Lupo-where did she go?”

“Don’t know. She wore green cloak. Only one she has.”

My mouth twisted into what passed for a smile.

“You watched her leave, didn’t you?”

His eye met mine, and he nodded, his features hardening into crags. “Try to help.”

“How did she get away?”

“Drug. Drug a man. When Galla-when Galla-”

“She drugged a customer and escaped when Caelius was beating Galla.”

His bowed head confirmed it. If Caelius tried to pin the murder on Lupo, all of the slaves could be executed. But then he’d have to admit Lupo was a slave. Maybe that was enough to protect him and the others. For now. And Caelius would figure no one would give a damn about what happened to a whore-especially one he had the legal right to kill.

“You don’t know where she went?”

“No. She said safe place. Like home.”

I looked up quickly. “She said ‘like home?’ Are you sure?”

He nodded again. “Thanks, Lupo.” I turned to leave, and he grabbed my arm.

“You no stay? No stay for Galla?”

I shook my head. “Make sure he builds a hot enough pyre.”

He dropped his hands into huge fists by his side, and walked back to the undertaker. Pigeon-Chest was there now, staring at me, his face tight with the strain of memory. They formed a procession, the two whores, Pigeon-Chest, and the giant man, to follow the undertaker to his business, where he’d dress the body and line up the musicians and dancer. Then they’d head out to the western edge of town, and light a fire, and say good-bye to Galla, and toast her with her favorite wine, and share some food, and send her off to the land of the shades with one final drink. When I looked back, Lupo was lumbering behind the cart, and I could swear I saw a tear ooze out from the patch on his missing eye.