Nox Dormienda

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I woke up before dawn, and she was pressed against me, warm against my skin. I caressed the small of her back and her shoulders, and found her hips, and pulled her closer. I could feel her nipples. They were hard and I was getting there. She pushed herself on top of me, and then her hands were busy and then her mouth, and then she put her hands above her head, and mine were busy, too.

I made it last for as long as I could, which was never long enough. We clung to one another, her body hot, damp with the moist perfume of her skin still draped on mine. We went back to sleep.

I got out of bed late that morning, and thought: I could get used to this. But Agricola’s face hung over us, and the face of the man who’d give anything to be in my place. And the other face, too, the strangely familiar man with the unfamiliar god, alone, staring at a wall, waiting for death and deliverance. So we got up and went in to breakfast.

Bilicho and Stricta were already there. The floor was still warm from the night before, though I doubted it would ever feel as cold as it used to. They were smiling, I was smiling, Gwyna was smiling, and we all looked ridiculous.

I said: “Brutius, tell Draco to come in here when he’s through with his exercises.” I could hear him outside, grunting. At least I hoped he was doing his exercises.

The food surprised me . Boiled eggs, fried wheat cakes, dates and dried plums. Maybe Venutius liked having more mouths to feed. Or maybe Gwyna hid the garum.

Hefin ran in like Hannibal was chasing him, and his sister hushed him, and told him to eat in the kitchen with Venutius and Brutius. He sulked a little, and threw us a couple of resentful looks on the way out. What the hell was I going to do with a ten year old? I bit into a wheat cake and decided to think about it later. After Maecenas. After Caelius. After we talked to Urien, and settled everything. And after I found out what happened at home while I was getting my kidneys crushed by Lugh.

“All right, Bilicho-start at the beginning, five days ago.”

He looked ten years younger when Stricta smiled at him like that. Bilicho. Venus was going to get a big offering this year.

He swallowed the date in his mouth, and sipped some mulsum. “Not a lot to tell, Arcturus-I hope you’re not disappointed. I never had the chance to follow up.”

“Just tell me what happened.” I wrestled my eyes away from Gwyna’s hand reaching for a plum.

“Well-the first thing I did was-was check on Stricta.” He turned red and looked at her. “I was worried someone might figure out she was at the temple. The priest didn’t like me much, but when I told him I was your freedman-the doctor who’d been there before-he let me see her.” He fumbled for her hand. “She was too thin, and I could see she wasn’t sleeping. I told her you were away, and things were moving fast, and to be careful. Then I left.”

“Next?”

“I went to see a silversmith I’d met once-remember that poison case a couple of years ago? Anyway, I figured he might know something about a mine and Maecenas without me trying to look up records. He didn’t have anything, but he gave me the name of a lead dealer-a middleman, he buys up leaky pipes and old metal and then melts them down and probably resells them as new. Anyway, he was more helpful.”

He sipped again, and wiped his mouth. Stricta still didn’t have much of an appetite, but she’d at least eaten a date and a cake. The raw edges of her face were beginning to smooth out. Bilicho leaned into her, and brushed her leg without knowing it, as if to make sure she was still there.

“He knew the Syrian by description, not by name. Said he used to buy lead from him. Our Maecenas was a mine contractor-probably the kind that underbids the lease from the government, then hires the cheapest labor or slaves about to croak their last in order to turn a profit.

It was a good mine, too, somewhere in the hills near Aquae Sulis. The dealer’s geography wasn’t as specific as it might’ve been. At first the mine threw up some ore, but it ran out of silver about a year ago-lead was lead was lead. That’s when Maecenas leased it. There’s been a glut on the market, though, and it closed down about four months ago.”

“Did your lead merchant know if Maecenas had any other business interests?”

Bilicho shrugged. “He was a little vague. Thought he’d remembered something about a perfume warehouse in Africa. He wasn’t sure.”

“Was the mine leased by Maecenas alone, or was he part of a societas?”

“I didn’t ask. Does it matter?”

“It might. I’d like to know who his business partners were, if he had any.”

He nodded. “I’ll try to find out.”

“So then what did you do?”

“Well, I was near the forum, so I thought I’d go see a banker and ask him about the money. There’s one that doesn’t cut your left leg off to mortgage the right one. Naturally, he does a small business, but I figured he’d know who’d use coins like that. On the way to his shop I ran into Mollius.”

Draco came in from the back, breathing hard, and looking nervous. I called him over. “Sit down, Draco. I want to hear what happened when I was gone.”

Coir was nowhere in sight. I snuck a glance at Gwyna. She was smiling again. I pulled my eyes away. Bilicho bit into an egg and somehow made it noisy. Then he continued.

“So Mollius said he’d ask around about Caelius, because you’d told him what Caelius had done.” He looked at Stricta like she might break. “He wanted to help, and that gave me more time with the argentarius. Then we split up, and I got to the shop.”

“What did the argentarius say?”

“Not a lot. He wanted to see the money, but you had it locked up, and I knew better than to show cash to a banker. Gold makes ‘em go into rut, even the good ones. So Gleuco-that’s his name-starts to pick his teeth, and hem and haw, and says he hadn’t known Maecenas himself, you understand, but he was very surprised to find him carrying that much money, and that only a few of the large financiers would carry that much, the ones that could do business with equestrians and senators, not like him who had to be content to loan money to freedmen and slaves, and he went on like that for a while.

“So I said to him, ‘Which financiers?’ and he got vaguer. He said money like that almost certainly came from Rome, because it was the improved coinage. And only army paymasters and very rich merchants and big investors and government types-not small, honest argentarii-would carry that much around, and even then they’d use it to pay interest to another banker. Big people don’t pay little people with that kind of money. That’s why they go to money-changers, so they can get it in useful denominations.

“So I asked him again who the financiers were, and he waved his hands around and said that the only ones he knew never stayed in Britannia for the winter. They went to Rome or southern Gaul, or some place more civilized than Londinium. And that was all I could get out of him.”

I grunted. “It’s enough. We’re looking for someone who knew Caelius, and Maecenas and Narbo. An odd assortment of men. Not your typical investment dinner party guests. So then what did you do?”

“I decided to spy on Caelius-go down to Lupo’s and see if I could dig up anything. But when I got there, the place was shut tighter than a Vestal’s-” He realized Stricta was next to him, and suddenly went pink. “Anyway, it was closed.”

“So where was Caelius?”

“At my house, Ardur.” Gwyna shivered a little. “He’d come that morning to see my father.”

She looked up from the floor, and said it quietly. “I’m worried about him. He’s been troubled lately, since the governor’s visit. He was so happy-then more ill than ever. He won’t let Meuric move him away from the fire, and he won’t talk to me, or anyone.

“When Caelius showed up that morning, he gave my father receipts proving that the debts were paid. He left about half an hour later. I tried to stay out of his sight.

“Then my father called me in, and said that I was to marry Caelius. When I showed on my face what I felt, he got angry. He said he’d thought of everything. I wasn’t to worry.”

She looked down at her hands. “I am worried about him, Ardur.”

“We’ll see him, talk to him. Is that when you sent a message to Draco?”

She nodded. “Yes. I knew he was outside, and I thought if he could keep Caelius from coming in the house until you were home and could reason with my father-oh, I didn’t know what to do, I was in a panic, and I couldn’t stand to have that bastard in our home again. I was worried he’d try to hurt Hefin. So I sent Meuric outside to tell Draco to keep him away.”

“And Caelius came back?”

“He tried.” It was Bilicho who replied. “I followed him to Urien’s in the afternoon. I’d given up on finding him, and was on my way home, but happened to pass by a jeweler’s-an expensive shop. He was inside, looking at necklaces-jet and gold, lapis and gold, the nice stuff. I didn’t want to let go once I’d caught the son-of-a-bitch, so I just tracked him straight back-to Gywna’s. He’d bought the jet and gold one, I guess as a bribe for her.”

Her face was hard. “I hope someone chokes him with it.”

“So you stopped him, Draco?”

The large man spoke up promptly. “Yes, Master. I got in his way, and told him that no one inside wished to see him. He was very angry, but didn’t do anything except threaten to have me flogged, and worse. He didn’t know me from when we went that day, but he kept staring like he was trying to remember where he’d seen me.”

“I watched the whole thing. It really got to Caelius, having Gwyna in his grasp and not being able to walk in and get her.”

She squirmed, hearing Bilicho talking about it.

He said: “Draco and I thought it over, and we figured it would be best for him to stay the night, so I went home and sent Coir out with a couple of blankets for him. He slept in front of the door.”

Draco hung his head. “That was the night somebody tried to break in.”

Bilicho frowned, and squeezed Stricta’s hand. “I was asleep. Still a little groggy from the headache, I guess. But I heard a crash-it was Brutius knocking over one of Venutius’ pots-and I got up, and he was trembling all over and could barely talk. Someone-he didn’t see what size he was or anything-had tried to climb over the back wall, and had kicked Pyxis pretty hard.

“She was yelping, and he was starting to cry, and you weren’t here and neither was Draco, and none of us slept any more that night. I checked all the outside rooms the next day to make sure he hadn’t taken any poison or anything, but I guess Pyxis scared him off.”

“I’m sure it was Narbo.”

“I’m not shedding any tears when he’s dead. Anyway, that worried me. And I was scared, and started thinking-about Stricta. And I didn’t tell anybody about it, because she’s still a slave, and if Caelius found out where she was, he’d tell Meditor.

“Meditor would cut off his own balls and sacrifice them to Jove if he could get something on you. Not that they’d bring much. But hiding a slave-even one that’s maybe helping the governor-is a big, big something. I figured if I kept my mouth shut, no one would get in trouble except me. And I’m used to it.” He looked at Stricta. Then he turned back to me, with a plea in his face.

“Someone was after us, or you, or the money, or something, and I wanted-I wanted her where I could look after her. So I got up early, and walked to the temple, and bribed the priest into smuggling in a note. I hoped she could read Latin. And she could. My Latin, anyway.” They looked at each other, and I coughed.

What we were doing wasn’t legal. Hiding a fugitive slave flouted the laws of the Roman Empire. I scratched my chin with my thumbnail. Not like the perfectly legal act of Caelius killing Galla.

“Stricta has to stay here, out-of-sight. When this is settled-when Caelius is settled-I think I can get her freed. As thanks for services rendered to the governor.”

Stricta’s soft voice answered me. Her deep-set brown eyes studied each of us in turn. “I will never be able to thank you-to thank all of you-for giving-for giving me life back.”

Bilicho squeezed her hand, and they stared at each other again. I hurried it along, because they didn’t look like they were going to wait for us to leave.

I asked: “How did you get away?”

“The procession. When we walked in front of the governor’s palace, I pretended to fall, and slipped through the crowd. Some of the others helped me. Then I found my way here. To you. To Bil-i-cho.”

She pronounced each syllable separately, and he beamed.

“What about you, Draco? When did Caelius come back?”

“The next morning. With Lupo. Lupo hates him. He would kill him if he could-and please forgive me for saying it, Dominus. All the other slaves would be killed if Lupo did, so he obeys.

“When he wrestled me, he didn’t hold me with any strength. And he whispered to punch him in the left side of his face, where a tooth was loose. Caelius would beat him, but Lupo wouldn’t help him get in the house. So we pretended to fight, and he pretended to lose.”

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment. “There were a lot of people in the streets. The odds were on Lupo, five to one, so some people weren’t happy with how it ended. A woman tried to throw a chamber pot on me, but I ducked and some of it hit Caelius. He was very angry.”

I grinned. “I bet. Is that when he threatened you with the vigiles?”

“Yes. But the mistress came out as soon as he left, with the little boy, and said she’d come home with me and wait for you.”

Gywna shook her head. “I’d watched as much as I could from the window. I tried to reason with my father, but he wouldn’t talk to me. He kept saying he knew what he was doing, and when I tried to tell him what Caelius was capable of, he wouldn’t talk at all. I’d already packed some clothes, so I said good-bye to him and took Hefin and left the house when I knew Caelius was gone.” She looked far away for a moment. “I hope-” She paused, while we looked at her. Or at least I looked at her. She bit her lip. “Never mind, Ardur.”

“So you came here, and the next day you found Stricta here, too.” She turned red, and Stricta turned red, so I hurried on. “Whom Bilicho was hiding to protect everybody, and then Mollius came and told you Rhodri was arrested and then I got home.”

“Yes. And now you must tell us what to do, Ardur.”

I scratched my head. “I wish I knew. We still don’t know why Maecenas was murdered, even if we have a good idea how. But the place to begin is Caelius. Maybe I can scare him into talking. I think he may be blackmailing someone-the man we don’t know, the one with the money. That necklace wasn’t a cheap little souvenir of Londinium. And then there’s his payment of your father’s debts.” I looked at her. “We’ll start there, in fact. You and I will go to Urien. He may know something about Caelius that can help us. Bilicho, can you find out about the mine? If Maecenas had any business partners?”

“I’ll try.”

“Good.” I scratched my head again. “I keep thinking I’ve seen Narbo somewhere.”

“He probably followed you. That’s how he knew you were out of town, and why he decided to try to rob us that night.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Gwyna and I left a little later. The sun was smiling weakly, as if it were glad to be alive. It felt good after the drizzle the day before, but we kept our heads covered anyway. She was wearing an old cloak of mine which was much too big, but it kept her face and body better hidden than anything of her own.

The streets weren’t busy but we didn’t talk. I could feel how anxious she was to see her father. So was I. Caelius had some kind of hold on the old man, and I was going to break it. Along with Caelius himself.

The house was quiet. It looked forlorn, like a maiden aunt whose dinner guests all leave at once. I knocked on the door, and after a few moments Meuric answered. He was slightly out of breath and not too pleased to see me. But Gwyna stepped forward, and he said with surprise: “My lady! Your father will be happy you’re home! He was talking about you this morning, before he sent me with the message.”

She brushed past him, in a hurry.

I asked: “What message?”

His mouth turned down in a strong grimace, and he spit out the door before shutting it. “To that man. The one he betrothed my lady to.”

“Caelius? What was it?”

Before he could answer, I heard a noise, not particularly loud, but one I’d heard before. Gwyna had gone ahead of me, into the main room by the fire. It was a rumbling cross between a groan and a gasp, a noise that was heavier than a gold throne and more final than a handful of dirt over a coffin. I ran.

She was standing in front of Urien. He looked like he was sleeping. But the posture was wrong. He’d tried to get up, maybe tried to call for help. His legs wouldn’t work, so he’d slumped over, as if he were cold and the fire was warming him. But nothing would ever warm him again. There was a knife wound in his side, and a slow drip of blood had made a pool on the wooden floor.

She was in shock and breathing hard, her eyes wide and dry and empty. I knelt down. He was still breathing, but it wouldn’t be for long. His pale, milky eyes were still open. He was watching his daughter and then he looked at me.

“Gwyna-he wants to say something.”

She moved very deliberately, as if any motion would make her crack and fall apart, and knelt by him, the hem of the cloak slowly soaking her father’s blood from the floor. Urien’s breath was ragged. He’d been bleeding for a while. The sharp features were beginning to blur, and the hawk-blind eyes groped for something to hold on to, something to see, but were slipping backward into nothing.

“Daughter.” A dry, rattling gasp. Then more breaths. Not many left. His eyes moved to me. I could feel him trying, feel him taxing his body for one last battle.

“Caelius. Wrong message.”

He closed his eyes, and I thought we’d lost him. I picked up his hand, and Gwyna was holding her mouth and shaking all over. But he opened them again, and there was less worry on his face. Maybe even a little peace.

“Daughter. Proud.” She broke down then, and sobbed, still shaking, and held on to him, the blood of his wound brushing a macabre pattern on her cloak.

“Why don’t you do something? He’s dying, goddamn it, Ardur, my father is dying!”

I shook my head and stroked her hair. Meuric stood by, frozen and numb, the dull gold of Urien’s prize of valor gleaming in the firelight. He never regained consciousness. His fierce face relaxed into what he must have been before he was sick, before he was old and bitter and disappointed and lonely. Before he lost his money, before he lost his wife. He died in his daughter’s arms.

Meuric said: “I was in the kitchen. Sioned is at the market, buying some food. I thought he was sleeping.” His bearded face crumpled, and his mouth opened to make a wail, but no sound came out.

“Tell me the message you took.”

He looked at me but didn’t see me. But he was an old servant, and servants are trained to respond.

“That he was to come see him. The Master. He did at once, returned here with me. I left them alone together.”

“Was that the last time you saw Urien?”

He stared down at the old man’s body. Gwyna was cradling it in her arms, a low keening sound coming from her lips. He didn’t need to answer me.

Sioned opened the door, and started to walk into the room and stopped. Her knees began to fold underneath her, and I strode over and held her up by the arm.

“Your master’s dead. Murdered. I’m going to settle the one who did it. Take care of her. You and Meuric-lay him out. Put his best clothes on him.”

She nodded, again her training keeping her upright. She walked slowly over to Gwyna, and put her arms around her. Gwyna started to sob into Sioned’s chest, and they held on to one another, rocking back and forth. Meuric watched dully, his stained beard ragged in the flickering light.

“Meuric. Leave the women here. Go to my house-the big one by the river-and tell my freedman what happened. Tell him I’m going to see Caelius. Can you remember that?”

He nodded dumbly.

“Go. And hurry.”

He hovered for a moment, and then turned, and walked out the door. I hoped he could find my house. But I knew he couldn’t hurry, and I didn’t care. I wanted to deal with Caelius by myself.