Nox Dormienda

CHAPTER FIVE

The two men saluted me when we finally arrived. I watched Arian, who kept his eyes down as he and the centurion faded into the gloom. I unlocked the door to find my bodyguard facing me in a battle position.

“Draco! I used a key!”

He shook his massive head. “When you went away with that man, I thought it best to prepare for anything. Especially with Dominus Bilicho not at home.”

He took his job seriously. Maybe too seriously. When we could breathe again, we walked into the triclinium and found a few lamps still lit.

“Build up the fire. Wake Brutius and tell him to watch for the rest of the night. And tell him to light the kitchen hearth, too.”

Draco tenderly sheathed his cast-off gladius and brought in enough logs for a blizzard. We shrugged off our muddy mantles, and I took out the dead man’s pouch and piece of parchment. By the time Bilicho brought some more lamps from the examination room, Draco was finished.

“Anything else, Master? Food? Drink?”

“Nothing. Go on to bed.”

The mention of sleep made his eyelids heavy. He lumbered through the door, and entered his own room down the hall, shutting it with a light clack.

I turned to Bilicho. “What the hell happened?”

He grinned. “Don’t you want to congratulate ourselves first?”

“You, you mean. Sorry about the story. You know soldiers-they don’t like freedmen.”

“No one does. Yet somehow we breed like rabbits.”

I leaned forward. “Listen-there’s a dead man on top of their altar. And he’s Vibius Maecenas.”

I described how the body was laid out, and told Bilicho what I had found, and what I knew-what there was of it.

“Jupiter’s Balls. So that’s where he went.”

“Who?”

“The Syrian. He must have slipped out when I was inside.”

“Inside what? What happened?”

Bilicho took a few seconds to get it in order. I knew it would be a long story-it always was, with Bilicho. But it was also always worth the wait.

“I caught up with the girl and followed her home. It’s a nice house, small, older style. Looks run down, though. Old door hinges, for one thing, and some of the wall beams are rotten. The roof probably leaks. So my guess is they need money.”

I nodded. That tallied with the market gossip.

“I decided to hole up in an empty market stall across the street. I waited about an hour, thinking nothing interesting was going to happen, and then a man in his early twenties sauntered up to the door. Black hair, well-built, definitely a native. And he was wearing good clothes-too good for that neighborhood. A slave answered when he knocked-a bearded man, red-haired, kind of wild-eyed. About fifty. Bad teeth, too. He probably stank-the younger one kept a distance.”

“Then what?”

“The slave wouldn’t let him in-kept shaking his head. I could tell the man was getting angry, and even from across the street I could hear raised voices. Then he reached for something inside his cloak, and the slave vanished and shut the door like a conjuring trick. The other one just folded his arms and waited.

“About a minute later, the door opened a crack, and he slipped inside. So then I figured I’d better find out more about him, and the corner bakery seemed like a good place to start.”

Bilicho paused for a moment, and picked at a tooth.

“I think that bastard baker adds rocks to the dough. Anyway, he was a typical nosy neighbor and told me Claudia’s family-just she, her father, an underage brother and a couple of servants-are down on their luck, and have been for a year or so. ‘I wouldn’t mind a piece a’ her’, he croaked at me. A real gent. Apparently the only piece he gets is her tongue, and not where it would feel good.”

Bilicho saw my face get red, and hurried a little.

“Ur … the young man. The baker said he’s been after Claudia since her husband died, about a year ago. That’s when their finances went to hell, too. His name is Rhodri. And he’s got a lot of money, for a Roman-hater.”

I looked up. Bilicho nodded.

“He’s made no secret about it. The baker hemmed and hawed a bit, but hinted around that this Rhodri is involved with the old religion. Well, of course he hates Agricola, because of Mona. He fought there, apparently, and he’s living proof the governor didn’t exactly succeed in killing off all the Druids. So naturally Rhodri hates him and everything the Romans do.”

I could understand why. I’d almost left Agricola over it. “Go on.”

“Well, I’d gotten this much out of the old man for the price of an as or two and a chipped tooth, and was on the point of trying to find something else to buy that wouldn’t kill me when out of the corner of my eye I saw the girl leaving the house.”

“How long afterward?”

“I’d been talking maybe half an hour. So I see her, wrapped up in something considerably less fine than she was when she came to you, and I thanked the baker with promises of drinks to come. Then I followed her up the street. Her head was covered, and she was in a plain brown mantle, worn at the edges, but I could tell it was her and not a slave woman from the walk and the shape. She knew where she was going-didn’t pause, didn’t look for markers, didn’t ask for directions. So I figured she’d been there before.”

“Go on.” I was getting nervous.

“I stayed behind her pretty close. Went through some nasty alleys-I don’t know if I’ll ever get the pig shit out of my boots. She was making for the center of town, right off the main market, and bold as a peacock marched straight into Lupo’s Place.

“So you were there this evening!”

Bilicho nodded, and allowed himself a pleased smile. “On business, not pleasure.”

“Why was she there? What possible reason could she have for going to a-” I stopped. I felt my face turn red again.

“She wasn’t … selling herself, was she?”

Bilicho looked at me with a modicum of pity. “No, Arcturus, she wasn’t. At least I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean, you don’t think so? Was she or wasn’t she?”

“I-don’t-know. Let me finish telling you what I do know, and you can figure it out.”

I glared at him until I felt better.

“I followed her in, and bought a drink and a semi-decent chicken leg and cheese. The cheese tasted more like beer than the beer did, but it was better than the bakery. She talked to the innkeeper for a few minutes, then walked upstairs-that’s the inn. The whores are kept on the ground floor, in back of the tavern. The barman saw me looking at her.

“ ‘Good-looking little squeeze, that one’, he said. ‘Too bad she’s marrying a fat, hairy foreigner. Persian or something. Rich as Croesus, but not as pretty-even now!’ He laughed at his own bad joke, and the stench that came out of his mouth was enough to make me wish I hadn’t bought the food.

“ ‘Why doesn’t she marry her own kind?’ I figured the native approach would keep him talking, and I made sure not to speak Latin.

“He scratched a wart on the side of his nose, then blew it. ‘Ah, there’s them that wants her but can’t afford her. Leastways, not yet. Young man, nice looking, British of course.’

“ ‘Of course.’ I leaned over the bar and placed my elbow next to his. ‘Is that where she’s going now? To meet her lover?’

“He leaned in close, and I held my breath so I wouldn’t get sick. Thinking about it still makes me want to light some incense.”

I made an impatient noise. “You’ll live, Bilicho. And the drama is over, so hurry it up.”

He eyed me with annoyance, and continued. “Well, to make a long story short he told me she was going upstairs to meet her fat, hairy betrothed.”

“You mean Maecenas? He was staying at Lupo’s?” I scratched my cheek until it hurt. “He had the money for something better.”

“A cattle barn would’ve been better than that place. So I start asking the barman about him. He didn’t know where Maecenas called home, but had a vague notion he was important to high-ups.

“ ‘I’ve even heard it said’-he leaned in close again-‘that he’s come here from Rome, and knows the Emperor personally.’ He was nodding like an owl at the importance of his own information, and I clucked my tongue to show how impressed I was. After this he started repeating himself, so I looked around the room, trying to see who else might know something. Then I saw Claudia again, walking down the stairs.

“She wasn’t in a hurry, and I thought she saw me, so I turned my head as quickly as I could and drank. It had been about half an hour from when she walked upstairs-probably less. It’s hard to tell inside, they don’t have clocks in taverns-keeps people from going home.

“Anyway, I left in a hurry and followed her outside. I still wasn’t sure if she’d seen me. She was going back the same way she came-heading straight for her house. After I trailed her for a block, it just seemed more important to stay with the Syrian. So I turned back.”

“What happened next?”

“I walked back in the tavern, and tried to spot the innkeeper. He’s different from the whoremaster, it’s a separate business. He was watching a dice game near the stairway, so I joined in and made a few throws.”

“You gambled, too?”

Bilicho grinned in return. “Part of the act. I won a sestertius. I played for two rounds, and then stood up to talk to him. I was pretending to be a messenger for some big-shot merchant.

“ ‘Excuse me, sir, but I could tell from your air of authority that you’re the proprietor here.’ I could’ve been running for office, I was so greasy. He stuck out his little pigeon chest, and puffed himself up.

“ ‘Yes, I am. What can I do for you?’

“I made a show of looking around the room. Well, part of it was for show, and part of it was real. I didn’t want to be overheard, and I wanted him to know it.

“ ‘I’m here on a mission of some secrecy for a … businessman. I have a message for the gentleman from the East. The one upstairs.’ I was sure there wouldn’t be two traveling Easterners at Lupo’s Place, even if there were more in Londinium.

“ ‘Ah, you mean the Syrian gentleman? Vibius Maecenas?’

“I landed on the name like I’d already known it. ‘Of course, who else?’ I elbowed him a bit to be chummy.

“He leaned against me. ‘You know that he’s here on the Emperor’s business.’

“I dug my elbow in deeper and nodded. ‘And you know, I’m sure, he’s to marry Claudia Catussa.’ He nodded back, as smug as a bookmaker on collection day.

“ ‘So may I see the gentleman? It’s rather urgent.’

“The innkeeper turned red. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait’. He’s with-er-one of the girls right now. I think they call her ‘Stricta.’ It means ‘tight’, you know.’ ”

Bilicho frowned, and his chin stuck out like it was looking for something to fight.

“Well, I told him I knew Latin better than he did, and that I’d wait for a while until the ‘gentleman’ was disposed to see me. The Syrian certainly hadn’t wasted any time-barely fifteen minutes since Claudia left, and he’d already picked out the most expensive whore.”

“How do you know she’s the most expensive?”

He turned bright red. “I asked.”

I ignored the implications. “Then what happened?”

“Nothing. For an hour or so. Claudia left as the sun was setting, and here it was the second hour of night and I was hungry and bored, waiting to see this Maecenas. The innkeeper didn’t know anything else, beyond that Maecenas was rich, thick with Domitian, and here on some errand of mystery.

“I decided to leave and come back home. But when I walked through the tavern door-and after spending time in that dump, the night air was a real blessing-I heard some strange noises from the rear of the building.”

I raised my eyebrow again.

“It wasn’t that,” he added, with a slight blush. “Unless Lupo’s trying something new. This sounded like-I don’t know-something scraping the walls or the floors. And something heavy, walking very slowly. It was odd-odd enough to make me want to find out more.”

“And?”

“I started walking toward the back. There’s a small alley behind the building-they probably have a rear exit. The noises got louder as I walked closer, and then stopped. Then I hear what sounds like a horse stomping, and a kind of muffled squeak, and this time toward the road to the west, on the other side of the building. Then all of a sudden there’s a scream and a shout from the tavern, and I ran back inside. Who do you think I saw?”

“The Syrian?”

“No-Rhodri. He was standing in a face-off with some drunken soldiers. The natives in the place were moving to his side of the room-it was a real little war. One of the Romans pushed Rhodri, and he punched back, and all hell broke loose. I ducked, fortunately, because someone threw a stool at me. Then I made my way to a quiet corner where the innkeeper was hiding.

“ ‘What happened?’ I asked.

“ ‘That Rhodri. Always after trouble with the Romans. And he’s still in heat for the little blonde bitch. She’s pretty, all right, but why the fuss? And who’s going to pay for the damages?’ I left him wailing and counting up the broken dishes and furniture.

“The real fighting lasted maybe five minutes-typical tavern brawl. Rhodri got in his licks and then sprinted upstairs. Two of his friends stayed at the bottom of the stairs, so I didn’t follow.

“Finally, Lupo himself-the whoremaster-came out of the shadows and roared-that was enough to scare shitless anyone left standing. He’s a great, big, ugly monster with one eye and a mass of scars-looks like the Cyclops, but not as handsome.

“That calmed it down, and just in time. The tension between the Romans and the natives in that place was like Greek fire-anything could have set it off. I waited for a few minutes to see if Rhodri was coming down or not. I figured he wasn’t up there to inspect the rooms. His men were getting nervous, but he never showed, and I was wondering what happened with the Syrian. So I decided to go back outside.

“I crept over to the rear of the building, listening for more noises. Nothing. It was too dark to see clearly in the alley, but I could make out what looked like some tracks going around the back and toward the western road.

“Well, call it a hunch. But I wanted to follow those tracks and see where they led. It was mostly all guess work-I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, and couldn’t smell a damn thing other than the pig shit on my boots. I didn’t even know what I was following.

“Soon enough, I wound up in the middle of nowhere, in a dark country meadow, tracking what I thought was a horseman way up in the distance. But I couldn’t be sure. By the time I got to that tree where I stashed my purse, I’d lost the trail.”

“When did the soldiers find you?”

“They didn’t find me, I found them.” He chuckled. “I saw the earth open up and figured it was a mithraeum. Supposed to be some evil-worshipping underground cult, where all the young men get deflowered. Anyway, I knew I was in way over my head, and heard several voices, including Avitus’.

“I figured I’d better be quiet until we talked, and I was pretty sure Avitus would bring you up there if he recognized me. Then I saw those two lumbering giants. They couldn’t find piss in the Cloaca Maxima. I thought up a story about being robbed, stuck my purse in the crook of that tree, and let myself be caught.”

I rubbed my eyes and grinned at Bilicho. “You always manage to surprise me.”

His mouth twisted into a misshapen smile. “The day I stop, kick me out of the house. I’ll be no good to you. Are you going to Agricola?”

I frowned. “Maybe. I’d like to make sure he’s all right-we haven’t spoken since before Saturnalia.”

Bilicho yawned like a shaggy hippopotamus. “Sleep first, then decide.”

I sank on the couch and yawned in return, then saw what was on the table and flung myself back up. Bilicho checked to see if I’d sat on Draco’s gladius.

We pulled the basket chairs around the table and moved in closer. I opened the fragment of papyrus and anchored each of the ends down with a lamp. The paper had been torn diagonally. From its size, and the quality of the papyrus, it looked like a formal letter, the kind that usually arrives with military orders or other command messages. A dollop of red wax remained at the top edge.

“His name is the only full word we have-here at the top,” I muttered. “This looks like ‘leg’ afterward-probably legatus. Hmm. That would declare him an official emissary. Here’s the next line-”

“-erio Domitiani. By the order of Domitian!”

“Good. That fits. The rest of the missing lines would describe his office and list Domitian’s titles. I can just make out a few more letters here, right in the tear. Hmm. ‘-Olae’?” I looked up. “It could be ‘Agricolae’. That means the message was to Agricola.”

“Or about Agricola.”

“Maybe.” I carefully rolled the papyrus back up and turned toward the calf-skin pouch. It was sleek and expensive, beautifully tanned, and sewn with expensive gold thread. I weighed it in my hands.

“Heavy. We’ll find more than brass or bronze in here.”

I pulled open the leather strings, and emptied the contents on the table. Bilicho gasped. At least thirty freshly-minted gold aurei poured out, mixed in with about twenty silver denarii. The coins looked like the new type we’d heard about. Domitian had increased the amount of gold without increasing the face value, and the more valuable money almost never made its way up to Britannia. I stared at it. It didn’t get here by swimming.

The murder motive couldn’t have been robbery-at least of the monetary kind. But what was the Syrian doing with so much? Even a woman of Gwyna’s beauty wouldn’t fetch a price like this, even if she came from one of the scion families of Rome. Even if any were left.

The metal was a little too bright for my eyes. Next to it was a ring and a small pair of ivory dice. I picked up the ring. It was a signet, gold, thick, ostentatious. Malachite is hard to carve, and the initials were not elegant. I could make out the “V M” intertwined with a grape vine. I shook the pouch again, but it was empty.

“Nobody could spend this stuff. At least not on the street. And not without changing it.”

I put everything back in the pouch. Bilicho added a slow-burning log to the fire, while I walked into the chilly corridor and took what seemed like a long walk to my bedroom. I opened a locked chest. Only I had the key to it, and I kept it around my neck, next to my mother’s medallion. I nestled the pouch underneath some souvenirs of Delphi. Avitus would have to pull more strings than Orpheus if he wanted to search my house.

I stumbled and almost dropped the lamp on the way back to the dining room. Bilicho was sitting in the chair, nodding off. We were useless. I nudged him gently.

“Go on to bed. I’m staying here.”

“Why?”

“I need to think before I fall asleep. It’s bigger and warmer in here than my bedroom.”

Bilicho shrugged. “It’s your stiff back.” He stood up, stretched, popped a joint in his shoulder, and made his way out the door.

“You sure you’ll be all right?”

“There’s the mantle if I get cold later, and I’ll probably crawl into my own bed soon enough. Get some sleep.”

I heard him mumble in agreement as he walked down the hallway. I yawned again, and after wadding up one of my cloaks as a pillow, burrowed into the couch with a still-damp mantle as a cover. Tucking my hands beneath my head, I stared at the ceiling. Vibius Maecenas was dead. Murdered and mutilated. Agricola’s temple-a symbol of the Roman Army-desecrated. I closed my eyes, but it didn’t help. All I could think about was the smell of blonde hair on a summer’s day.