Nox Dormienda

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

It was dark when I got up, and I wondered where Gwyna was. She was sitting in the triclinium, her hands still and simple in her lap, staring at the fire.

“I have to go.”

She turned to look at me, and asked the question as if she didn’t care about the answer.

“Where?”

“It doesn’t matter. This business.” I sat next to her and held her hands. “I want you to know something. Your father was trying to protect you. That’s why he was killed.”

A spark of life came into her face.

“You think so?”

“I know so. He had some sort of plan against Caelius-him letting you marry him was part of it. He was trying to take care of you. He always did.”

She looked at me, and her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Ardur.”

I held her hand to my lips and left. I wasn’t sure whether it had happened that way, but it didn’t matter. Urien changed his mind-that’s why Caelius killed him. It didn’t matter to anyone when he’d changed it-anyone except his daughter. So the record would stand like I said it did.

The streets were empty, and the air was cold. The last day of the year. Vale, a.u.c. 836. Ave, 837: morituri te salutamus. The guard at the procurator’s palace let me in immediately. The entrance hall was as still as the city. Except for Domitian. There he was, gloating quietly, the man behind it all.

I turned left toward the large record room. It was the heart of Roman bureaucracy, a center of the palace. Four doors, one on every wall, opened to other pathways, even to the apartments, in case someone felt the need to file something in the middle of the night.

Standing in front of the room, waiting for me, was the procurator, Numerius Sallustius Lucullus.

“Arcturus-I got your message. I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. Even if you have proof, do you know what you’re doing? The Emperor won’t believe you. Agricola is one of his best generals-it doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t expect him to believe me. That’s why I need you. You deal with him directly. If I have to take down the governor-my patron, my friend, the man who’s been like a father to me-I need someone powerful to back me up. I don’t like this any more than you do.”

He nodded, the lines around his mouth grim. “Let’s go in. What are we looking for?”

“A piece of the document. It was brought in today-one of the temple soldiers found it with Narbo’s things. He must’ve been holding on to it like an insurance policy.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s from the message Maecenas was carrying-and proof that the governor had Narbo kill him. Agricola would do anything to stay in power-and the Emperor was going to remove him, send him packing. This paper proves it. And Narbo will talk, if we confront him with it.”

Lucullus shut the door carefully behind him, and walked to the center of the room, his brow wrinkled, shaking his head.

“How do you know it’s in here, in my records room? If it’s so dangerous to him, why wouldn’t the governor destroy it immediately?”

“Can you tell me a better place to hide a record than a record room? Not even you could find it, if you didn’t know where to look. I had my man plant it earlier today. I haven’t seen it yet. The governor doesn’t know-no one knows except us and the soldier who found it, and neither he nor my slave can read. But we need to get it before the soldier talks. I’ve only got so much money.” I licked my lips and tasted sweat. “ I made sure of everything before I got you involved.”

The little man’s face crumpled, while his eyes searched the rolls of documents.“I don’t like it, Arcturus. Not at all. And before I agree to anything, I want to see this paper. Where is it? Where do we start?”

I waited a minute, while his eyes flicked back and forth, and made my voice soft. “A long time ago. With a little boy playing soldier, a little boy who always dreamed of leading an army.”

He stopped then, and turned to me, a funny look on his face. “What are you talking about?”

“Or maybe six years ago. When Agricola was made governor, and year after year after year went by, and he stayed on. While you watched.”

Lucullus’ eyes got harder and he forgot about the document.

“Or maybe the day when Domitian appointed you procurator. You, born a senator, to a lowly equestrian job. No armies for you, Lucullus. You got to push around numbers. And you hated it.”

His hand went toward his sword. I pretended not to notice.

“Of course, that was before you realized how much money you could make as a procurator. Money was almost as good as an army command. Because money let you buy things. It let you control things. People, for instance. You collected them … along with your weapons.”

He tried to bluff. He wasn’t sure how much of it was a guess. “What is this, Arcturus? A game?”

I wiped my head across my forehead. It was hot in the room. He gripped the sword hilt tighter.

“Yeah, A game. A game of ambition and greed called your life. You figured you’d studied battles for long enough. It was time to lead one for a change. But the gutless Emperor didn’t listen, did he, Lucullus? He wouldn’t give you what you deserved. So you decided to take it for yourself.”

His forehead wrinkled like the sum didn’t total. I wondered how long he was going to keep up the act. “If you’re accusing me of something-”

“Conspiracy. Murder. Treason. If I think of any more, I’ll let you know.”

He inhaled sharply, making a shrill sound while his cheeks sucked air. His eyes kept getting pulled to my sword. By now, my hand was on it. Sweat was starting to crawl out of his forehead. His voice was the dry whisper of snakeskin.

“You can’t prove anything. And there’s nothing to prove.”

I eyed him thoughtfully. “Maybe I’m not looking for proof.”

His eyes strayed back down to my sword again, before he dragged them to my face, a little defiantly. “What is it exactly that you think you know? And know enough to be crucified for?”

The sweat was starting to drip down my back, but I couldn’t afford to squirm. Not now.

“You collect people, Lucullus. Ones you can twist into tools until they’re broken. A year ago, you gave a mine contract to a freedman and sometime messenger whose loyalty to Domitian came cheap. Or so you thought. And you set him up in partnership with a cruel bastard who craved power however he could get it-a little like you, except he liked to get his hands dirty. He wanted his family’s money and position back. Your sense of humor made you stick him in a whorehouse.”

He let go of his sword pommel and leaned against a record shelf. Some tax records fell and skidded to the floor. He didn’t pick them up. His voice was even.

“Awarding contracts is my job.”

I nodded. “Sure. But you want a bigger job. So you kept collecting. That poor son-of-a-bitch Narbo. He was easy, because he didn’t want money. So you whispered in his ear, about his god, his fellow believers. And you spread some rumors about Domitian killing Christians, and that made it easy. You owned Narbo, almost as much as his god did.

“You got him to the fort, so he’d be close by. You used him to do what you can’t do: kill like an expert. Narbo was your best weapon. I even saw him the day I came to question you.”

I raised my hand to my chin in a fluid motion and the procurator’s right jerked back down to his pommel. I scratched where the beard was growing and stared hard at him.

“Then you tried to buy someone else. An old native chieftain named Urien. You used Caelius to bring him in … and Caelius had his own reasons for getting close. Urien thought the world had forgotten him, and he wanted a little attention. And Caelius flattered him, made him feel important and special.”

He was busy trying to swallow the spittle on his lips.

“Maecenas, Caelius, Narbo and Urien. Those are the ones I know about. They were your tools, your latrunculi pieces. And a few months ago, after Domitian’s triumph, you figured out how to work it. So you put them into play. You heard rumors, Lucullus-the garbage you dislike so much.”

His breath was coming out harder, and I felt his arms tense. But he still didn’t say anything.

“While Domitian’s captives shuffled through Rome, you thought up a plan. Maecenas could get the commission for delivery. You could promise him money, women … even a particular woman. And you know, it might have worked. Except for Urien. You never really owned him. He was able to get out a few words after Caelius stabbed him. Caelius was in a hurry, and never thought the old man could last that long.

“Urien said ‘Wrong message’. And, after awhile, I understood.”

He made a move, but I was on him with my sword against his throat. He small teeth shrank against his lips and he stared at me, stared at the gladius. I lowered the blade to his stomach, and kept going.

“Nothing made sense. Why Maecenas was killed, why the message wasn’t found. Until I realized what Urien meant. Maecenas wasn’t carrying orders to remove the governor. He was carrying an order from the Emperor to keep Agricola here-indefinitely.”

I lowered the sword to the ground. “End of the game, Lucullus. You lose.”

He glared for a moment, his shoulders thrust forward in front of his narrow chest. Then he relaxed suddenly, leaning against the wall. His voice was the wheezy sound of dry bones crunching. And it chilled me.

“I’ve always enjoyed latrunculi. But you’re out of your element, and this isn’t a game. It’s politics.” He looked at me with contempt. And you’re not a killer.”

I reached over and pulled his sword out. It was ornate and gold-plated, with rubies in the hilt.

“Don’t be too sure of me. I’m full of surprises.”

He smiled sourly. His eyelids drooped, but his grey eyes never left my face.

“I don’t like making mistakes. They’re messy, and I don’t like mess. So tell me the rest-what you think you know. Maybe I’ll have your woman sold to a better class of whorehouse.”

My hand went for his throat before I could stop it. His face was starting to turn purple, and when I pried my fingers off, he staggered and knocked a few more tablets over, his chest gulping like a beached fish.

“You’re no killer,” he croaked. “You’re weak, like all your kind. You’re going to die, Arcturus. You can kill me now and hope you won’t get caught, or I’ll have you hung upside down with nails in your wrists. There won’t be anything left to bury, and no one left to bury it.”

I took a step closer. “You forget about the money.”

He choked, and spat out something on the floor. His eyes got bigger. “What do you mean?”

“The money you hoarded at Domitian’s triumph. The money Narbo forgot when he killed Maecenas. The money he tried to steal when he broke into my house. That money. It left a trail, and you’re at the end of it.”

His breath was slowing down, and he leaned backwards, bracing himself, his palms making sweaty marks on the wall.

“All right. That’s-that’s useful to me. Not that you can do anything about it. What else?”

There was still a little fear in his face. But not enough. I unclenched my left fist, and started to walk back and forth in front of him, while his little grey eyes tried to follow.

“You’re arrogant. You overlook people. You started a phony rumor about Agricola’s recall when you found out Domitian’s plans at the triumph. Maecenas was a good informer, and he’d get more, if he could convince the Emperor to let him deliver the message in person. His bait was plenty of aurei and Urien’s daughter.” I rubbed my jaw. “Urien didn’t like that.”

“That old bast-”

I took another step toward him and his mouth shut tight. “Urien was sick and bitter, and got some pleasure from being involved and important again. Caelius used him to help spread the gossip-and to get close to Gwyna. But that didn’t mean the old man would sell out his daughter. Maybe he wanted to play it both ways. So he encouraged her not to see me in a way that all but guaranteed she would. And that still worked for you. Because she unknowingly fed me the wrong information. The false rumor.”

I paused. His smile was strained, and he licked his lips but this time said nothing.

“But then Agricola went to see the old man. And he started to change his mind, about the governor, about Caelius. His daughter told him what Caelius had done to a whore he owned. And Urien figured he could trap Caelius, because he had been a real general, once upon a time. But he forgot he couldn’t fight anymore. So Caelius did what he always did-he struck him down, and sent word to you.”

Lucullus stared at me for a minute, hesitating. Then his face relaxed, and got chatty, as if it were dinner conversation. “Caelius was rash. He wouldn’t listen. And he irritated me, killing that whore. Needless, and too much attention.” He gave me a patronizing look. “I won’t pretend you weren’t a nuisance, with all that fretting over slaves and natives. Caelius’ mistake made it worse.”

I spoke carefully. “What happened with Maecenas? Did he want more money?”

Lucullus sighed, as if he’d just discovered an error in a long column of computation.

“Always more money. Like Caelius. When Narbo saw him the night he arrived, he told him he’d sell off the message to the highest bidder-Agricola or his friends would be glad to know his job was so secure.”

“So Maecenas tried to cross you, and you decided to kill him and the message. But why the mithraeum?”

He was in a talkative, indulgent mood now. “The temple was Narbo’s idea. He was to get Maecenas to show him the papers-so we knew Domitian hadn’t changed his mind. Then he’d stab Maecenas. I wanted the body left at the whorehouse, so it would look like a simple robbery, but Caelius wanted more money for that. So Narbo thought of the mithraeum.”

Lucullus shrugged, and ran his tongue over his teeth.

“He hated how popular Mithras is with the soldiers. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. Agricola’s temple would be defiled, and his men may even come to suspect him of something. Or at least each other. The native New Year was a lucky coincidence-and those knots Narbo used were a helpful touch.”

He frowned. “But then that native interfered, and Narbo panicked. He was dragging the body down the hallway, and the fight broke out, and he got scared and hid, and the boy saw him. And worst of all, he forgot to take the money.”

“Smart of you to figure out I had it. But not so smart to send Narbo.”

He shrugged. “You weren’t there. It was worth a chance. Not like the sword switch. That was his idea. Although from what I understand, it very nearly worked.” He looked at me as if looking would make me go away. “He and Caelius were getting worried. But if they’d just waited-”

“They’d already turned on you. Maybe you’re not the general you think you are. They wanted more money, and kept biting your ankles until they got it. Or you killed them. It would’ve been cheaper to pay.”

I looked at him thoughtfully. “I wondered why Agricola’s enemies weren’t running to tell the Emperor. If Maecenas’ murder meant big trouble for the governor, why keep quiet? An enemy wouldn’t kill a messenger bringing bad news. Much safer to sit and wait for the message. Of course, it made sense when I realized what the message actually was.”

The smile was brittle. “No one likes mistakes, but the great ones always learn. I’m not too proud to learn, even from you. And nothing you’ve said will ever matter to anyone else.”

I said it gently, and took my sword out once more. “I’m not done, Lucullus.” His eyes focused on the edge of it. He was sweating again.

“You want to be governor. You’ve waited for six years, and you weren’t going to wait for six years more. Even if it meant causing a civil war. It was time for your rightful place in the world, and nothing-not Maecenas’ greed, not Caelius’ blackmail, not Narbo’s madness-nothing was going to stop you.”

I took another step closer, and he retreated, his eyes thin and tight. My fist hurt from where it was holding the sword. He wasn’t sure what I was capable of anymore. I wasn’t sure, either.

“You planted that slipper on Narbo during one of your meetings. If anyone found it, they’d know they caught the killer-and stop looking for anyone else. And then there was Rhodri. He wasn’t part of your plan, but he worked for you, anyway. He was native, he was there, he had motive, and he ran. Narbo and Rhodri. Two sacrificial calves, ready for your war god. Two deaths for Maecenas’ murder would be enough. Everyone would forget the third man. Why should they believe a madman, a Roman hater and an Egyptian whore? Yeah, Lucullus-I don’t know what Caelius told you, but Stricta got away.”

He leaned against the wall, and raised a hand to wipe his forehead. The fingers were trembling. “Are you through?”

“Not yet. Because now we come to tonight. You couldn’t be sure Narbo wouldn’t talk, babble something about the plan. And it worried you. So you got a message to him earlier today, something that probably told him Domitian was killing Christians again, and suggesting he not wait to join them. Yeah-the message worked, since you’re keeping track.

“But then I sent you another message, and you were puzzled. What if Narbo hadn’t killed himself? What if the orders he’d snatched from Maecenas’ fingers weren’t destroyed? You couldn’t risk the real will of the Emperor coming to light, not after all your planning.”

I stood over him, and thought about how easy it would be. His eyes searched the room again, this time looking for an escape.

“You couldn’t get word from the fort, to see if your plan had worked. Everyone’s celebrating the end of the year, and besides-Corvus was smart enough to keep the hanging a secret. To everyone but a few, including me. We’d have eventually traced the message you sent him. Another mistake. Like killing Caelius. Amateur job, particularly leaving the knife behind.”

His shoulder blades touched the wall. His mouth pulled open into a grimace, while a drop of sweat rolled down his cheek and fell in.

“No, Lucullus, you’re desperate. You’ve murdered two men in one day because you got scared and you wanted to save an aureus or two when you could’ve afforded a few more months of blackmail.”

I got in his face, and his eyes were big and his breath was shallow and this time I could smell the fear on him.

“You’re no soldier. You’re a money-pusher. You’re good at using people. Too bad you ran out.”

He raised his face to mine, trying hard to breathe, trying not to watch the sword. “What exactly do you think you can do about it?”

“Let Agricola know.”

He was silent for a minute, then he almost fell, and wrapped his arms around his chest and laughed. When he was done, he wiped his eyes. Relief smoothed his face again.

“It’s over. You don’t have anything left. I told you, Arcturus, this isn’t latrunculi. It’s politics. Why did you bring me here? I admit, it’s a clumsy trap, and one I fell into. But you don’t have many choices. Only one, really. You can kill me, and die yourself, and that’s all you can do. And you won’t kill me. You can’t.” He let himself bask in it, gloating a little.

“You think the governor will believe you? And if he did, do you think he can do something about it? So some people got killed. So what? A whore? A pimp? A freedman even Domitian won’t overly miss? No one cares. They’ll think the slaves murdered Caelius. Narbo killed himself, and saved me the trouble, and even if they trace the messenger, he won’t know who I was. Nor will they care to find out. It’s over and done with. Agricola will face Domitian with a lie-responding to the wrong message in the wrong way-Domitian will get suspicious, and recall him. Or they’ll start a war. Either way, I’ve still won. He’ll make me governor. I’ll get command.”

I took a step backwards. His face was flushed, his eyes bright, his smile secure. I felt sick.

“I wonder how many more of you are out there. Every crooked law suit, every burned down building. Every trumped-up war.” I looked at him. “It’s your face I’ll see, Lucullus. You and all the small grey men just like you.”

He laughed again. “You won’t be seeing much of anything, Arcturus. You’re so-British. I told you-this is politics. Agricola would’ve done the same thing.”

A door on the right wall opened, and the governor stepped inside. “Salve, Lucullus.”

The procurator turned pale, and pressed himself backward, his hands and feet flat against the wall. Avitus stepped quietly out of the other door behind him, and stood blocking it. The governor didn’t look at me; he stared at Lucullus.

“I think you should go back to Rome. You’re not feeling well-unable to perform your duties. Have the Emperor appoint an interim procurator for however long he wishes me to stay. We still don’t know how long that will be, do we?”

I counted five beats. Avitus’ eyes were fixed on Lucullus. The procurator looked from one to the other and sucked his cheek. “Why should I?”

“Because I don’t think you’d be comfortable in Britannia. At least while I’m still governor. You might meet with an accident.”

He whispered: “You wouldn’t dare.”

Agricola replied with a shrug: “Others would.”

Avitus took a step closer. The governor looked up at me. “You can go now, Arcturus.”

“Remember what I asked.”

He nodded. “I’ll see that it’s done.”

Lucullus’ eyes darted back and forth. He seemed smaller than he did a minute ago, small and grey and brown and full of venom. He muttered to Agricola: “You’d have done the same thing.”

I walked out. I couldn’t hear what the governor answered. I didn’t want to.

I left them discussing politics. Lucullus would obey, because he had no choice. He was out of people to use, and he didn’t want to fall in the street and break his neck. Domitian would appoint an interim procurator, and look at all of them with fresh suspicion in his eyes. And Rome would go on, the same scenes reenacted in different cities, greed and power and lust and money and desperate people, all tools in the hands of the right men.

They’d get their page in the annals, the mention in the history books, holding death by the throat through eternity by the grace of a papyrus leaf. It’s funny how many men will kill for the sake of immortality.

The light was warm, and they were waiting for me when I walked in the door.