Nox Dormienda

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I didn’t wake up until I felt a soft hand brushing hair away from my cheek. I mumbled: “Not now, Coir.”

I woke up when a voice answered dryly: “I’m not Coir.”

I opened an eye. She was sitting on the bed, dressed in a plain white muslin stola. I turned pink, and sat upright. “How long have you been up?”

“Since dawn. It’s about an hour after. Mollius is here waiting for you.”

I scratched my chin. “I’m, uh-”

“I know.” There was a bemused smile on her lips. “I’d already guessed.”

I was up, and getting dressed. Gwyna watched with what I hoped was interest, though I was so dirty and sore I couldn’t blame her if it wasn’t. “We need to talk, about that, about Caelius, about everything.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, as far as ‘that’ is concerned, I think Draco’s taken care of it. Everything else can wait until you’ve seen Rhodri.”

I glanced over while I was cinching a belt over a tunic that was cleaner than I was. “Don’t worry about him so much.”

Her cheeks got a little red. “He risked himself for me, and he’s a friend. I have every right to worry about him, Arcturus, he’s sitting in a jail waiting to be subjected to God knows what kind of torture this very instant.”

She used my Roman name. Not a good sign. “Yeah. I know. But something happened last night that I think will help keep the quaesitores at bay for a bit. Someone tried to kill me.”

She grasped my arm while I was strapping on a sword. “What happened? Are you all right?”

A small part of me-well, a rather large part, actually-was gratified. I was tired of Rhodri, and I hadn’t even met the bastard yet. “I’m all right, but a man nearly died taking a sword that was meant for me. Someone at the fort was responsible, someone either in or who knows about the temple. Someone who can’t be Rhodri.”

She folded herself up in my arms and pulled my head to her mouth. The kiss felt like a long drink of cool water after a week in a sand pit. When she finished, she looked up at me, and asked: “Is that better than Coir?”

She already knew the answer, so I didn’t give it to her. At least in words. When she finally pushed me away, I was breathing hard.

“You have work to do, Ardur.”

I grunted like one of Circe’s pigs, unable to talk.

She smiled, that smile that is the personal prerogative of beautiful women. “Go on. And be careful.”

When I closed the door, she was vigorously shaking out my blankets. I thought about firing up the caldarium later.

Bilicho’s door was shut, but I heard voices in the dining room. Venutius was ready with breakfast, and Mollius was standing in front of the fire, looking surprisingly alert. Coir was helping Venutius. I assumed Brutius and Draco were still asleep from staying up all night. But where was Bilicho?

“Are you ready, Arcturus? I know you had a rough night. I heard about the temple.”

“Yeah. I’ve got the sword with me. It’s not an army issue.”

“Let’s see it.”

Mollius looked it over while I sucked down some of Venutius’ oats and honey. I felt like I hadn’t eaten for days. A door slammed, and a few minutes later Bilicho poked a sleepy head into the dining room.

“How did it go last night?”

“Fine. I wasn’t killed.”

He thought I was joking until he saw Mollius’ face and the sword in his hand. “What happened?”

“Part of the initiation involves getting stabbed with a trick sword. Only someone didn’t like the trick part, and switched it out for a real one, with a point. Arian, the signifer that gave me a hard time on the way back from the mithraeum the first night-you remember-he was showing me how to use it, and he took the blade instead. He’s at the hospital; his gut had a hole in it I had to sew up.”

“Will he live?”

“He should. You never know.”

Bilicho gave a low whistle. “At least they can’t blame Rhodri. Will they let him go?”

“Maybe. I doubt it. You know Meditor. Mollius and I are going there now. I’d like to talk to Stricta when I get back.”

His forehead creased with worry. “She wants to talk. But Arcturus-she’s not in good health. She won’t eat, she’s as thin as a papyrus leaf.” He turned a little pink. “She can’t sleep nights, either.”

“I’ll take a look at her. Probably just nerves. She’s been through a lot.”

“More than you know.” I couldn’t remember ever seeing Bilicho like this. I wondered how long he’d known her, and when it finally hit him, and how long the dazed look would stay on his face. I hoped I didn’t look that witless.

When Mollius and I walked outside, a light drizzle was falling on Londinium, not enough to clean the city, but enough to bring out the smells.

“That sword-it looks like an auxiliary man’s. Maybe someone from Dalmatia or Thrace.”

“Yeah, it looked like that to me, too. How’s the curfew going?”

“Makes ‘em mad as hell. I don’t blame them. Meditor is an asshole.”

“One of the biggest. And he’s shitting on us.”

“Not just us. On every Brit who’s not a citizen-and that’s most-and the whole idea of why Agricola supposedly put in the vigiles to begin with.”

“I know, Mollius. Your pietas, again.”

He looked at me, and said: “I found some things out about Caelius Prato.”

“Tell me.”

“Do you think he was involved last night?”

“I don’t know. I’m fairly sure he didn’t try to break into my house-the others told you about that yesterday. He’s a physical coward, hides behind rank and power and poor giant Lupo. He didn’t actually go to Meditor and complain about Draco, did he?”

Mollius shook his head.

“I didn’t think so. He’s in too deep and about to get buried. There’s no business between him and the fort?”

Mollius shook his head again. “Only the regular traffic between soldiers and whores. He wouldn’t know a barracks from a bathhouse. Somebody inside got to that sword.”

“Somebody who knew where it was kept and knew what it was for and knew who was supposed to use it. Me.”

“That leaves him out of it but good. Your Caelius Prato has conspicuously avoided the military path. He’s an equestrian, the third son of some ne’er-do-well who lost senatorial rank under Titus. He’s spent time in the East-Judea, and generally is careful to keep his nose clean. Stays out of court, for example. He’s been running Lupo’s for a year.”

“Where did he get the money? A dead aunt?”

Mollius frowned. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to find out. It would take considerable capital-buying Lupo, and all the women.”

“Try to find out for me, would you?”

“Do you think it’s important?”

“Mollius, I always think money is important.”

We were at the jail, a plain, grim looking building in the back end of the forum next to the basilica. Roman jails weren’t built very well, because no one ever stayed in them very long. They were just a waiting room on the way to the cemetery.

“I’m leaving now, Arcturus. I don’t want Meditor to see me with you.”

“Good idea. You should be out finding natives to harass, anyway.”

He gave me his crooked smile, and turned back toward the west end of town. I was glad to see him like this. I walked in, and a bored vigil greeted me.

“Salve. What do you want?”

“Your superior’s head on a spit, but that’s not likely to happen. Where is he?”

He was easily confused. “Who?”

“Meditor. Med-i-tor. Chief vigil and all-around asshole.”

“You shouldn’t talk that way.”

“Yeah, but I can’t seem to stop. So where is he?”

“Upstairs. In the office. With a beneficarius.”

Must be Avitus. “Thanks. Has the torture started yet?”

“Of the prisoner?”

“Yes. Mine started when I walked in here.”

He looked confused again. “The native hasn’t been questioned yet.”

“Thanks again.” I left and entered the Basilica Claudia, named after the glorious Emperor with the too-small head. Meditor was on the second floor. There were some soldiers and what looked like merchants waiting on the steps, probably for some legal wrangle. They’d scratched a game board into the rock and were playing a game of terni lapilli. I watched two red pieces get caught by three blues, and walked up to see Meditor.

I didn’t knock. When I opened the door, Avitus was trying to explain something to him, and Meditor was turning red and shaking his head. “Salvete, gentlemen. Or gentleman. I’m here to talk to your prisoner, Meditor.”

He allowed himself a full minute to gloat in my face. “The prisoner that you traveled over a hundred miles to find? The prisoner that you said isn’t guilty, and yet we’ve found weapons in his house? The prisoner that-”

“-is an innocent man, and whom you’re holding without any reason at all, except for the fact that you’re a bully and an idiot. Yes, that prisoner.”

We stared at each other, and Avitus smoothly intervened. “I’ve just been telling Meditor what happened to you last night, Favonianus. Agricola is holding off the quaesitor until you can talk to him.”

“Just one? Make sure it’s a good one, Meditor-maybe the one that tortured those German mutineers last year.”

“You mind your own business.”

“This is my business. Avitus just told you what happened. Your boy was locked up in that hole last night-he didn’t try to kill me.”

“That would hardly be a crime.”

I pushed my nose into his face. “Look at me, Meditor. I’ve been beat up, nearly killed twice, gone without sleep for days, and had to save a good man’s life by stitching up a quarter inch slash in his gut. You give me one more word, one more reason, and I’ll rip your goddamn head off and shove it up your ass and no one-no one!-will give a damn.”

Avitus plucked at my elbow. “C’mon, Arcturus. Talk to the prisoner.”

I stared at the pinched slits that passed for eyes in Meditor’s bald head.

“He’s still guilty, your native pretty boy. Sure, maybe he’s in league with someone-we’ve always known there’re two involved. It’s a set-up to make him look innocent.”

I stared, but found no sign of anything but hatred. That must be what kept Meditor upright. It sure wasn’t intelligence. I shrugged off Avitus’ hand, and followed him out the door and down the steps.

“You shouldn’t let him get to you like that.”

I didn’t say anything.

The same dumb guard looked surprised when I walked in with the beneficarius. “This man is here to interview the prisoner.” The guard nodded. Avitus leaned over to me and whispered: “We haven’t been able to get anything out of him.”

I grunted, and followed the soldier to the back of the prison. The door was barred with a block of wood that weighed more than I did. He was holding a lamp and a torch, and gave the torch to me. There weren’t any windows in the jail. He set the lamp on the floor, drew his sword, and banged the hilt on the door.

“Stand back-there’s someone here for you.”

There was no answer from within, so he shrugged and pried up the block, grunting with the effort, still holding on to his gladius. He opened the door wide enough for me to fit through it, and I could barely glimpse a shadowy figure in the corner of a room so black it looked like a grave. The stench of piss and shit assaulted my nostrils. They hadn’t even given the poor bastard a slop bucket.

I walked in, letting my eyes and his adjust to the yellow-orange glare of the torch. The blackness swallowed it up, and I was glad for a stronger light than a lamp.

I heard a shuffle, and a man stumbled toward me. He was young, beneath the grime and the pain on his face. Young and handsome. I suppressed a momentary twinge of jealousy. He must wonder what the hell she saw in me, what with my unshaven chin and black eye and still-swollen cheek.

The guard was still in the doorway, trying to listen. I didn’t speak Latin.

“I’m Arcturus.”

“I know who you are. Go away.”

“I’ve gone through a lot for you. And not just for you.”

He glared at me through the light, and knew what I meant.

“Your friend nearly killed me.”

“I’m sorry he failed.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not a murderer. You’re an arrogant, spoiled young bastard, but you’re no killer.”

“How do you know?”

“You didn’t kill my freedman when you had a chance. And I know more than you think. Like it or not, I’m your only chance-and not a very good one-of saving your skin. They’ve got a quaesitor on hold, waiting to put you through it.”

“Let ‘em. I won’t talk.”

“You will when they fry your skin with a hot iron, or hold a knife up to your eye. They can keep you alive for a long time, Rhodri. This isn’t a game.”

“I never said it was.”

We were silent for a moment. “Look, the only way I can help you is if you tell me what you know. Someone is behind this. A Roman. All the Britons are suffering right now, because the chief of the vigiles is a bully and a moron, and Agricola’s afraid of a civil war. You’re an easy target-and you’re making it easier for them.”

He clenched his jaw, and still said nothing. I was getting exasperated.

“Maybe you like sitting in the dark in your own shit and piss, but I don’t.” I groped in the pouch of my tunic with one hand. The guard leaned forward, expecting me to pull out a ballista. Instead, my fingers clutched the anguinum, the little token Lugh had given me. I held it in my palm in front of Rhodri.

“Your friend the blacksmith gave this to me. He said you’d talk to me if you saw it.”

He was surprised. “Lugh gave you this?”

“Yes. After he tried to kill me.”

His mouth actually turned up a little at the corner. “He’s a hard man in a fight.”

“Yeah. But he won’t be in any more until his ribs heal.”

He studied me, more respect in his eyes than before.

“I want to hate you.”

“Feel free. Many do.”

“Then why are you trying to help me?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

He screwed his face up tight. “Not because of-her?”

“I’d try to help you whether she was involved or not.”

He paused again, as if we were sitting on a bar stool or under a tree, not in a black cesspit. Finally, he spoke.

“I believe you. I don’t have to like you to accept help in a just cause.”

“No-as I said, I’m not particularly fond of you, either. So as long as we’ve got that clear, tell me what you know.”

He took a deep breath. Some air blew in from the crack in the door.

“How much do you know already?”

“I know why you did what you did, and I know you and Madoc must’ve followed the killers to the mithraeum and waited until Maecenas was reburied. Then you dug him up, and left him on top the temple.”

He nodded. “We were trying to find the money. I knew he had it-I saw it that night. And we left the body on the temple as an insult to the Romans.”

“Didn’t you think that the murderers would also be interested?”

“Madoc said so. He said it might draw them out. I didn’t care, I just wanted to sully that filthy temple.”

Rash, brash and over-confident. I was beginning to like him despite myself.

“What happened when you ran upstairs, after you started the quarrel?”

“That was all planned. Gwyna-” He paused, and looked at me, and swallowed his jealousy. “Gywna was supposed to drug the Syrian, and I was going to come a couple of hours later, stage a fight and run up and steal the money. Not hurt him, you understand. Madoc thought most of it up, along with her. But when I got to the landing, Maecenas was lying face down on the floor in his own doorway. Dead.”

“How did you know?”

“I walked over and felt his neck. There was a blood stain on his back, and a rip in his robe. I figured he’d been stabbed, and then I panicked because I could be caught there and blamed.”

“Was he holding anything in his hand? Any papers?”

Rhodri shook his head. “Nothing that I can remember.”

“So then you ran?”

“I started to. But then I remembered the money. So I tried to be quiet and stepped over him and walked into his room. But there was a man already in there, hiding.”

I leaned forward eagerly. “What did he look like?”

“A Roman soldier. He had a green scarf with a gold pin on. Dark, thin, and nervous.”

“Not smooth-faced, pleasant-looking?”

“No. But when I saw him, I got scared and tried to run out, and that’s when the other one showed up, the smooth-faced one.”

“Where was he?”

“He must’ve come up a different way, or from another room, and was standing looking at Maecenas. He tried to block me, but I just ran like hell out the back and down the stairway into the alley. The other one, the dark one, couldn’t catch me.”

“Then what happened?”

“There was a wagon in the back, standing close to the rear door, with a man on horseback, holding another horse. He was muffled up, so I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell he was on the small side, and his horse’s gear was decked out with silver bosses. Rich man’s stuff.”

“Did he see you?”

“I think so. I ran again, around the corner to where Madoc was waiting for me. He’d seen the whole thing, and told me that the skinny one had gone upstairs, and then we watched while the smooth-faced one and the skinny one both hauled Maecenas down and into the wagon. The small man on the horse spoke a few words to the dark one, and the smooth one grabbed at his reins and made him angry, it looked like. Then we heard a pig squeal. Madoc said it was from the cart-he’d heard it earlier.”

“How long had they been there?”

“They were there when Madoc got to the waiting place, so before we started the fight or right at the same time.”

I grunted. “What did you do then?”

“We followed, at a safe distance. We knew about the temple. It’s built near an old shrine of ours, a well. The dark one opened the earth floor and put the body on a blanket and dragged it down. Maecenas lost a slipper, and the small man picked it up and put it in his cloak. Then the other one took the piglet-it was trussed up in the back-and slit its throat over a jar, and let it drip for a bit. Then he went down the hole with the jar, and came back up with it empty, and took the wagon and went in the direction of the fort. The other man went back towards town.”

“They forgot about the money.”

“Yes, but Madoc and I didn’t. We stayed out there in the dark, and saw the Romans and your freedman and you and waited until it was safe again.”

“Would you be able to recognize the dark man again if you saw him?”

“Probably. I can’t really forget that night. I’ve tried.”

I rubbed my eyes. “I don’t blame you. But your memory may save your life.”

“I don’t know if its worth saving.”

“Quit feeling sorry for yourself.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve got her.”

“No one really has Gwyna. She’s her own woman. I didn’t ask for her, but yes, I’m glad she loves me. But don’t talk like a fool. There’ll be other women.”

“Not like her.”

So I lied and said: “Yes, there will be.”

He just looked at me. I turned to leave. “One more question: you said you saw the money that night. Where was it?”

“I thought it was in the room. But when I saw the man hiding, I backed out, and that’s when I ran into the other one. He was standing over the body, and staring at a large pouch hanging at its side that I’d missed at first. I figured that was the money, but all I wanted to do was run.”

He hung his head. “I didn’t want Gwyna to know I’d been a coward.”

“Rhodri, you’re one of the bravest men I’ve ever met. And she knows it. Why do you think I hate your guts?”

He smiled at me then, his face twisting up beneath the grime.

I left him in the hole, feeling as bad as it smelled. The guard looked at me suspiciously.

“What were you holding in your hand?”

“A shovel.”

He just shook his head, and led me back to the front.

Avitus was waiting, and Meditor had come in to gloat.

“He’s practically an eyewitness, Avitus.”

“That’s because he’s the murderer,” Meditor leered.

I ignored him. I had better things to do. I drew Avitus aside. “Look, there are three men involved. One of them is Marcus Caelius Prato, the one I told you about. The other one is a soldier, probably a legionary officer. He’s dark and thin, was wearing a green scarf and a gold pin. I found part of a fibulae when I searched the room, so that tallies. It seems as though he’s the actual murderer. But there’s a third man, smaller but richer. Someone from Londinium, possibly a merchant. I’ve got a lead about Maecenas and a silver mine I asked Bilicho to check into, but haven’t had a chance to follow up yet. The soldier is probably the link to the temple. Does that match anyone you know?”

He shook his head doubtfully. “Not off-hand. But it’s not much of a description.”

“Rhodri said he could identify him if he saw him.”

Avitus leaned in close. “You know Meditor. He’s not going to give him up and we can’t bring five hundred men in here.”

I scratched my chin. “I may be able to find another witness. A woman. One Meditor doesn’t know about. Would that work?”

“Sure, if you can take her to the fort.”

“You don’t need to look at all five hundred. The man would either be a part of the temple, or in the contubernium of someone who is. He’d be bunked close by Arian’s room, if not actually in it. I assume you’ve checked that?”

“Yes. The other seven men are in the clear.”

“All right, then. It’s someone near by, someone thin, dark, probably an optio or maybe a lower level centurion. Maybe a messenger, or a high-ranking clerk, one of the immunes. But it’s someone in that fort, and you can find him.”

“We have a better chance, at any rate.”

“And another thing-he may be a Christian.”

Avitus looked a little doubtful. “Whatever you say, Favonianus.”

“Come get me when you’ve got some men who might fit. And for God’s sake, don’t let Meditor torture that poor bastard. I know squatting in jail isn’t supposed to be the punishment, but you should see it in there. That’s enough torture for any man, especially an innocent one.”

I left him to deal with Meditor. Avitus didn’t trust me completely, but he trusted Meditor less, and at heart he was a decent man.

I walked home in a hurry, not even feeling the light rain falling in a steady, endless drizzle. I could sense the net closing in, smell the fear in my opponent. Rhodri was in jail. Why kill me unless it was to prevent me from talking to him? Of the three men he described, the soldier was the most likely to try to break in to my house, the one who could most obviously switch swords.

It was a stupid idea. It limited the field too much. Maybe he thought it up on his own. Desperate men always move too quickly, and desperation makes them dangerous. Dangerous but stupid. I wondered what his next move would be… Caelius was a possibility. I’d have to get dirtier and see Caelius. But Stricta first.

I reached home sooner than anyone expected me. Gwyna was in the kitchen, watching Venutius, who was enjoying the attention. Hefin and Brutius were out with the animals. I’d have to remember to make a mixture for Pyxis tonight. Coir was at the marketplace-Gwyna was probably relieved to get her out of the house. Draco was just waking up, and Bilicho was sitting in front of the fire, a worried expression on his weathered face.

He stood up when I walked in. “What happened?”

“I talked to Rhodri.” Gwyna came out to join us. She held her hand out, and I took it, and then she asked me simply: “How is he?”

“I’ve tried to convince them not to hold the quaestio. He gave me what he knows-a description of the murderer. There are three of them involved-Caelius, a thin, dark-complected legionary of some type, and another man, someone wealthy. Meditor won’t free him to make an identification, but I thought if Stricta-if she’d seen anything-”

“She has. But she won’t talk to me. There’s something wrong. She just sits on the bed and hugs herself and rocks back and forth.” Bilicho held his face in his hands, staring at the fire.

“Maybe you can get her to talk, Arcturus. I can’t.” His brown curls, tinged with grey, drooped as much as his wide mouth.

“Let me go, Ardur.”

Gwyna surprised me. “You? But you-”

“I need to apologize to Stricta. I didn’t understand why she was here or who she was. And perhaps this is something she could better tell a woman.”

Bilicho and I gaped at her. She smiled that smile again, and glided out of the room toward the back. Bilicho scratched his nose. We were both quiet for awhile, but quiet together. Then he spoke. “I haven’t touched her, you know. She’s been sleeping in my bed-or lying in it is a better word-and I’ve held her a few times while she cried, but I’ve never touched her.”

“How long have you known her?”

He turned red. “About three months. I-I visited her at Lupo’s a few times.”

“Why didn’t you mention it? I wouldn’t have teased you so often.”

He mumbled something about her being a slave, and working in a whorehouse, and I let it go. Then he looked up again.

“I do love her, Arcturus. I guess it was you who made me think about it, you and Gwyna. I started to think about how nice it would be to have a woman of my own, someone to take care of me and fix my clothes, and put up with my temper, someone to keep me warm at night, somebody to fight with. Someone to laugh at my jokes.” He grinned. “You’ve done a pretty good job of some of those things over the years, but it’s not the same thing. A man wants his own, once he’s free. You know how it is.”

“I know how it is. But don’t think she’ll laugh at your jokes.”

He grinned at me again. It wouldn’t be the same, but it would be the same, because we were friends.

Gwyna was back before we could get embarrassed again. “She’s all right, Bilicho. I think she’ll eat some broth.”

He stood up, fiddling with the hem of his tunic. “What was wrong with her?”

She looked serious for a moment, and then said: “She’ll tell you herself. But she’ll be fine, now. Just-love her.” She looked up at me. “That’s all the healing that’s necessary.”

Bilicho practically flew to his room. We were by ourselves. I rewarded myself by kissing her for a long time. Then she pulled away. “Aren’t you forgetting to ask me something? Stricta saw someone.”

“I knew it. What did she say?”

“The day before Maecenas was murdered, she saw a thin, dark soldier talking to Caelius. Caelius got very angry when he saw her looking, so she remembered it. The next night, Maecenas-requested her-after I left. Luckily for the poor woman, he couldn’t perform. I give myself partial credit.

“She heard a pig squeal outside, and went to look out the window. When she turned around, the soldier was standing there with Caelius, who was surprised to see her. He thought she’d left. He told her to remember that she’d been with Maecenas all night, if anyone asked. She went downstairs, and that’s all she saw.

“But a little later, she heard noises upstairs, and Caelius came down and-and hit her. He told her that if she repeated anything she’d seen or heard, they’d mutilate her. I don’t want to say how, you can use your imagination. Then he had the idea to get Galla to pretend to be Stricta, because they were friends, and nobody would pay attention to Galla, anyway, because she was a drunk.

“Galla talked too much, as you know. Caelius found out, and-beat her to death. Stricta had been planning to kill herself, but she wanted to revenge her friend. So she used a little of the poison to drug a customer who’d paid for the whole night, and left while Caelius was still …” She shuddered. “The rest you know.”

I held her at arm’s length. “Have I told you today how beautiful you are?”

“No. But don’t start, Ardur, I feel terrible hearing that poor woman’s story, and knowing that man wanted to-wanted to-”

“Yes, I know. And I know you miss your father. As soon as I can catch my breath we’ll see him. If he gave you to Caelius, it was only because he was ill, and his mind was clouded.”

She twisted a ring on her finger. “I think Caelius has some sort of hold on him. He wouldn’t listen to me, wouldn’t believe me when I told him Hefin and I would be in danger. All he could think of was the money.”

I took her hand. “That was the illness talking. Not your father.”

She looked at me doubtfully, and I kissed her head. “I’m right. You’ll see.”

A loud banging on the door drew Draco from the kitchen where he was eating.

He was at the front door in a few strides, a determined look on his face. He came in the dining room a few minutes later, his mouth still full of oat cake. “It’s a message, sir.”

I unrolled the scrap of papyrus, and recognized Avitus’ handwriting. It said: “Have a few to check. Bring the woman.” I grunted and showed it to Gwyna. “Draco, I need to go to the fort. It’s still a few hours until dark, but I’d like you to stay here. I need to take Stricta.” I looked at Gwyna. “I’d better get Bilicho.”

A tap on his door brought him out immediately. “Yes, Arcturus?”

“I’m sorry, Bilicho. I just got a message from Avitus. They’ve found some men who answer Rhodri’s description, and Stricta is the only one who can identify the right one. Can she come?”

A thin brown hand grasped Bilicho’s shoulder, and he turned. Stricta stepped into the hallway, meeting my eyes with that peculiar grace that was all her own. She was too thin, like a stripped leaf in the winter time. But her eyes were clear, and they were strong.

“Of course I’ll come, Arcturus.” She spoke Latin with a pronounced Greek accent. Bilicho would have to learn Greek now. I told her so in that language, and she laughed, a low, throaty sound that seemed to fill his chest with enough pride and joy to make him float to the ceiling. I was getting even for all the times he’d given me those funny looks.

“What did you say?”

“I told Stricta you’d have to learn Greek.”

“Can you teach me?”

“I think she can teach you better,” and winked at him. He blushed. He was hopeless.

Stricta took her green cloak. It covered most of her face. I nudged Bilicho in the ribs. “Keep an eye out, now. Don’t get so soft that you’re not good for anything.”

“What are you talking about? I’m as hard as a rock.”

I leaned over and whispered: “Yes, but in all the wrong places.”

He blushed an even deeper red, and said: “You’re as bad as Antonius.”

Stricta said nothing. She knew we were scoundrels.

We arrived at the fort a little over an hour later. I didn’t want to hurry. Stricta was physically weak, and I was worried about her, though I didn’t tell Bilicho that. When I gave my name to the guard, they told us to go straight to the principia, the officers’ building and the most formal one in the fort.

There seemed to be a lot of activity, and the thin woman with the stained green cloak drew attention we didn’t need. Bilicho and I flanked her.

The primus pilus was there to greet us, along with Quintus Claudius Corvus, Agricola’s head of staff. Avitus was beside him.

“That was quick. It took longer to get here than to receive your message.”

“When you left I found I had one myself. Seems one of our temple members told his centurion that one of the men in his contubernium had been asking a lot of questions about the temple, and the rites, and so on. It made him nervous. The fellow is a frumentarius, and of course our man worried that if he didn’t tell him what he wanted to know, he wouldn’t get his daily ration.”

“What’s the man like? Does he know why he’s here?”

Corvus replied. “He’s been told there’s a change in the ration order. We also picked some other men who might fit the description Avitus sent us. They’ve joined him in the office there.” He nodded to his left.

“As for what he’s like, he’s been a very honest frumentarius. He travels to the city frequently, deals with merchants, and is always searching for better bargains for our fort. Our main foodstuffs are supplied by conscript, of course, but the men get tired of oats and barley. He’s tried to liven up the diet.”

“But what is he like, Corvus? How does he act? What gods does he worship?”

Corvus shook his thick head. “No one seems to know much about him. His name is Sextus Narbo. He’s a very intense man, very single-minded, a good soldier. He keeps himself to himself. Not a bad idea, if you ask me.”

I nodded. Avitus said: “Where’s your eyewitness?”

I held Stricta gently by the elbow. “She’s here, gentlemen. Let’s get on with it.”

We walked toward the room on the left. The doorway was open, and the soldier standing guard at it saluted Corvus and Avitus, and stood aside.

Inside, there were five men sitting in front of a desk, most looking bored. Some were thin, some were dark, one or two were both. But one-and only one-stared at us as we walked in. His eyes burned like coals, and even from a distance I could tell they were an uncommon brown-green, more like an animal’s than a human’s. There was something familiar about him-I wondered if I’d seen him before. He made me uncomfortable. I kept my back stiff to keep from squirming.

He wasn’t wearing a green scarf and a gold pin. Just a tunic, and they’d taken his sword. But he was poised to run or strike. I could feel it. He was the man.

Corvus and Avitus both looked at Stricta. She slowly removed her hood. Bilicho and I held on to her. I could feel her body weaken, but her resolve was stronger. With a long finger that didn’t tremble, she pointed at him and said in a low voice: “That is the man.”

Panic seized him. He looked around the room for a place to hide, found nothing, and bolted for the door. He made it past Corvus, but not the two guards. They held him, struggling, his face hard and bitter and full of something else-something fanatic. I’d seen faces like that in Rome during the Magna Mater celebrations, men in fits of ecstasy that would try to castrate themselves out of love for the goddess. He didn’t look like a gallus, but the madness was there.

With a crook of his finger, Corvus sent two soldiers to search his belongings. The primus pilus, whom I hadn’t met, was trying to question him and getting nowhere. Bilicho’s arm was around Stricta, and she leaned into him.

Very soon, one of the soldiers came running in. He was holding up a shoe, a fancy thing that belonged to a dead Syrian by the name of Vibius Maecenas. Things didn’t look good for Sextus Narbo.