Nox Dormienda

CHAPTER SEVEN

I was lucky to recognize her. Her voice was distinctive, and even though Avitus had dragged me away from last night’s comedy, I remembered the stream of curses and piss the whore tried to pour on the drunk. I’d underestimated Lupo. It wouldn’t happen again.

Galla was staring at me with curiosity. No doubt she hoped for a bonus. She grinned knowingly, laid back on her cot, and spread her legs. Unlike Gwyna, she couldn’t afford silk underwear. Apparently, she couldn’t afford any at all. The sight was far from arousing.

I walked the few paces to the cheap straw mattress-glad the stuffing had been changed recently-and sat down, next to her, facing the wall.

“Here-what is this? I thought you paid for me. Stricta,” she emphasized. “Don’t you wanna see why tha’s my name?”

I shook off the exploratory hand she’d snaked around my lap. Her hands were older than her face.

“No offense-Stricta”, I added, with equal emphasis. “I paid for information. That’s all.”

She studied me, surprised, from a kneeling position. I stood up and faced her. She met my eyes, shrugged, rearranged her thin, spotted tunic, and sat down. A cautious, animal-like wariness came over her.

“So whaddya wanna talk about?” She slurred her Latin, and now spoke with a pronounced native accent. She smelled of fusty wine.

I held up a finger, and stepped to the door. I craned my head around the corner and saw Draco, still alert, but revealing an unhealthy fascination with the odd noises coming from a cubicle up the hall.

“Draco!” I whispered.

He jumped, blushed, and strode toward me.

“Yes, Master?” he breathed in a booming undertone.

“Shhh. Quieter. Where did that other woman who came out of here earlier go? The dark-haired one?”

“I remember. She was small. Looked a little like Coir. She and Lupo walked into that end room.” He pointed to the first curtained stall off the tavern, the farthest from where I was. “Then Lupo left, and she’s been there ever since.”

“Good. Now listen to me, and this time don’t forget what I tell you.”

He hung his head and blushed. I couldn’t be too hard on him. Maybe Lupo told a hell of a joke.

“Stand in front of her cubicle and don’t let her leave. If Lupo-or anyone else-comes through here, yell.”

He nodded. I turned back into the room, where Galla had lit some shabby incense and poured herself something fermented.

“Wan’ some?” She offered the drink with an expansive gesture, as if she were a hostess on the Palatine.

I smiled, and shook my head. What she was drinking smelled like the cheapest posca. She swigged it from a chipped, cracked kylix-a bit of eastern drinking ware that probably belonged to Stricta. The posca probably belonged to Stricta, too.

“Tell me about the Syrian who was here last night.”

She drank again, smacking her lips. Then she shrugged. “Not much t’tell. He had a lotta money. Saw some little blonde thing he’s gonna marry. ‘Course, she didn’ give ‘im what he needed,” she added knowingly. “Thas why he called me.”

Galla must’ve already been half drunk when I walked in, and the boozy vinegar she was gulping finished the job. That should make mine a little easier.

“Did he say why he was here?”

A wary look again crossed her face and body. She sat up straighter. She’d been rehearsed.

“Business deal for Domitian. Friend of the Emperor. A freedman. Here to marry tha’ girl. Came-oh, day b’fore-night before-last. Don’ know why-he didn’ pay to talk to me”. She aimed a leer at me.

“What did he do when he was done with you?”

“Whaddya think? What they always do. He wenta sleep. Then tha’ Rhodri started trouble,” she added with an afterthought. That didn’t sound like part of the script.

“What about Rhodri?”

She stared at me and frowned. The wine was starting to make her a little volatile. “He’s one ‘a us. Not one ‘a you. I ain’t sayin’ nothing against ‘im. He wants that lil’ bitch … her father sold her. Sold her for money to tha’ Syrian.” She hiccupped. “Tha’ makes her a whore, jus’ like me.”

“Were you with the Syrian when Rhodri came in?”

“No. He finish’d early.” She giggled. She was improvising.

“How long between when you were done with the Syrian and when Rhodri came upstairs?”

“Who knows? I go from one t’other. I work all night. After th’ Syrian, I had one a’ my regl’ars.”

“A tradesman?” I asked.

She sobered up a little. “Yes. I have many re-gu-lars.” She stretched out the word in an effort to speak more clearly. Fear crept behind her eyes.

“Do you know where the Syrian is now?”

She paused before replying. Insinuation perfumed the rancid atmosphere. I reached into my purse, and took out a denarius. Walking over to the kylix, I dropped it in with a plink.

She grinned. “You’re a good man. I’m s’pposed t’ say he left for Durovernum on business. Changed his mind, maybe, ‘bout the girl. But-I heard-” her voice dropped to a low whistle-“He’s dead. Murdered.”

She fished the denarius out of the cup and drained it. “Maybe you killed him!” She laughed her angry laugh again at her own bad joke.

“Maybe.” I walked to the cot, and it agitated her.

“Whaddya want? I was jus’ jokin’ around-I tol’ you what I know, even extra.”

“I appreciate it. If you remember anything else, there’ll be more.” I gestured to the kylix, and sat beside her, and spoke in the native tongue.

“Listen. Forget you talked, to me or anybody else. If you’re asked, say you haven’t. And if someone makes trouble for you, find me.” I handed her two more denarii and her eyes bulged.

“Lupo’s put you in a bad spot. Don’t let him make you play Stricta for anyone else.”

She rose from the cot.

“H-How did-”

“It doesn’t matter. Find me. Ask at the marketplace for where Agricola’s doctor lives.”

Her mouth hung open, and I could see she didn’t have many teeth. I wondered how long she’d been living like this-and how much longer she could expect to live. I got up to leave. She just watched me. The shock had nearly sobered her.

“I’m going to find Stricta. Stay here, keep quiet, and tell Lupo you did what he told you to do. Remember-come if there’s trouble.”

I left her to hide the denarii wherever she could and entered the hallway. A retired veteran was walking toward me with a dyed blonde whore in a skimpy crimson tunic. He glanced at Draco and me, but the woman succeeded in pulling him behind the drapes of her stall.

Draco was still standing near the cubicle with the real Stricta, keeping an eye on the entrance to the corridor. I pushed aside the cheap green linen that hung from the doorway.

Inside, the small brunette I’d glimpsed earlier was perched on the far corner of an even cheaper mattress than in her own room, holding her arms tightly around herself, and rocking in a quick, repetitive motion. The smell of fear overwhelmed the other odors.

She looked up like a wild thing when I entered, and shrank against the wall as if she expected me to hit her. She was actually pretty. With her nickname, she must not have been in the business long. Her skin was olive and her face was Greek.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t be afraid of me, Stricta.” It was the voice I saved for the fatal cases. She understood the tone. Never letting her eyes leave my face, she edged toward the bed. I tried Greek.

“Are you Egyptian? I can speak to you in Greek, if that is easier.”

At the sound of the other language, her tired brown eyes found a spark of something, and she stared at me.

“That’s good. You can understand me. Listen. I am your friend. I am Galla’s friend, too.”

She frowned, and a little more spirit crept into her face.

“No, she did not betray you. But I knew she was not Stricta. I have seen her before.”

There was a long pause. She finally spoke in Greek, with a heavy Egyptian accent.

“Who are you? And what do you want with us?”

I wanted to get her out of there. She’d been beaten recently-bruises still showed on her thin arms, even behind the dark complexion. Her lip was swollen, and the garish white makeup that covered her face couldn’t hide the marks of violence. But she moved like a priestess. Despite her pain and the omnipresent stench, she made the squalid room feel like a temple.

“My name is Arcturus. I’m the governor’s physician. Something happened here last night to the Syrian. I’m trying to find out what.”

She nodded. She appreciated the truth.

“I know. He was murdered.”

“Do you know when?”

She shook her head and lowered her eyes.

“Do you know why he was here?”

Again, she shook her head. Kindness wasn’t enough. I tried money. I reached into my purse and pulled out six denarii. I’d spent that much on Galla.

Her face darkened at the sight of the coins, and she brushed me aside. They insulted her. I should’ve known better.

“Go now. I have nothing to tell you.”

I placed the money on the bed, and took her hand. “Who did this to you?”

Her eyes hurt too much to read them. “If I talk, I lose my ears. Or my eyes. Or anything else a whore doesn’t need. Please go. I have nothing to say.”

“Stricta, listen. You don’t have to stay here. You can come with me. I will protect you. I have many slaves-one of them is very strong, he’s outside. Please-promise me if they beat you again you’ll find me. I live by the river, not far from the governor’s palace. I can buy you.”

She shook her head before I was finished. “No. They will not sell me now. If I am quiet, they will be merciful.”

I took her by the shoulders, and she flinched. “Don’t believe that. Lupo asked Galla to pretend to be you. Both of you are in danger. I can protect you both.”

She looked at me with a kind of desperate hope, but then I heard Draco. Someone was coming. She reacted more quickly than I did.

“Take the coins!” she hissed, grabbing them from the bed. I pocketed all but one, which I kept in my palm. I raised my voice.

“So-Galla-you look like you could handle-”

Lupo lumbered in the room with another man, a young Roman immaculately dressed and coiffed. He moved with the lightness of a backstabber and stank of perfume. He seemed to hold Lupo with an invisible chain. I had a feeling he was the real owner of the entire business, inn, tavern, and whorehouse. The fact that I was seeing him at all meant I was doing something right.

I stared at his smooth, soft face-marred only by the closeness of his eyes. I turned to the Cyclops.

“What is this, Lupo? I’m not accustomed to being interrupted when I pay for a woman-”

“You pay to talk to Stricta. This not Stricta.”

I studied the giant like a haruspex examining a particularly foul liver. “I paid three denarii. That should be enough money to buy your entire shithouse of a business-”

“Not quite,” the young man interrupted. His voice was easy and pleasant, the voice of someone who spends his time selling dried-up mines and two-thirds shares in leaky ships.

“My name is Caelius. And you are-?” He meant it as a demand, not a question.

I smiled. My first look should’ve been enough to warn him. “I was under the impression that we don’t use names in an … establishment like this one. So you’re actually proud of your business. A citizen, are you? Why don’t they call it ‘Caelius’ Place?’ Such a nice ring to it.”

He turned a gratifying shade of purple. Small, mean eyes darted back and forth, looking for a target, and I expected the pink tongue that licked his lips to have a fork in it. He wasn’t showing fangs. Not yet.

“And who I am is not really the point, is it? I paid money-good money-”

I poked him in the chest with the denarius still in my hand. Hard. Lupo took a step forward, but Draco was right behind him.

“-to find out some information about a lying, cheating, smelly bastard that, unsurprisingly, chose to stay here last night. He always had a taste for shit.”

I moved close enough to smell the unguent on his cheeks.

“I play with real money, not the bark you people wipe your asses with. I talked to Stricta, who tells me he left. The Syrian was only interested in oiling his prick-she doesn’t know anything else.”

Sweat was starting to ooze from Caelius’ face. I watched a drop form on his forehead and slowly drip down his cheek. I moved in a little closer.

“The money was spent, so I decided to have a go at this little thing here. She’s not completely worn out, unlike most of the hags I’ve seen crawl out of these rooms. And then you come in and interrupt me before I can get her clothes off.” I took one more step. This time, he backed up.

I said: “You’re lucky I don’t haul you into court.”

Lupo was watching us, confused and alarmed. He kept looking toward Stricta, and concern etched a pattern in his caved-in face. But then, he wasn’t the monster.

Caelius had no dignity to recover, so he was scrambling to pick up the pieces of his shattered aplomb. He would’ve sold his mother’s eyes to find out who I was and what I really wanted. I almost wanted to tell him. But I was sure he’d long since blinded his mother for a chance at something else.

“Very well, I understand. Lupo thought-well, never mind what Lupo thought.”

Lupo looked at him with bewilderment. This wasn’t Lupo’s idea. Caelius’ small, girlish mouth was smiling the toothy grimace of a man afraid of something. It was something dirty, something he was equally afraid of losing and getting. Money was a part of it. I could smell it on him, despite the sandalwood. He probably slept with it at night.

He said: “If you like her, take her. I apologize for the intrusion.”

I shook my head. “Forget it.”

I moved forward to enter the hallway. He thought about blocking my way, but reconsidered and stepped back, a pleasant smile on his pleasant face. The cruel lips and eyes and twitchy hands were desperate. He’d do anything to save himself. I wondered if he’d be able to save himself from me.

I made it deliberate. I said: “I don’t like whores that look like boxers.”

He raised a plucked eyebrow. “Oh? Is she bruised?”

“Oh? Are you blind?” I mocked him. “I get my money’s worth. If I want bruises, I’ll make my own.”

That got his attention. I was, after all, a man he could understand.

“We have more-”

“No thanks. There are other whorehouses in Londinium. Maybe your competition will appreciate a paying customer.”

“You must be new in town.”

He thought he’d scored a point.

“Must I?”

This time my smile didn’t bother to hide anything. Caelius got a little pale. “It’s not been a pleasure, gentlemen. If I find the Syrian, he’ll owe me even more money. For forcing me to talk to you.”

I let my eyes memorize the pores in his nose. Then I gestured to Draco with my head. He fell in behind me and we made our exit.

The innkeeper was craning his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. The tavern was nearly full. Natives and Romans, merchants and auxiliary soldiers, all formed small pockets. There was a murmur when Draco and I walked into the room.

If anyone had any information, I’d make it worth their time. I marched up to Pigeon-Chest, slapped my palmed denarius on the table, and in a loud voice proclaimed that I’d give ten denarii to anyone who could help me find the fat Syrian bastard. Then I ordered a drink, which gave the crowd enough time to get a good luck at us. Caelius was watching my every move.

I swigged a cup of watered-down mead and readjusted my toga. With a dramatic gesture of farewell, I finally got the hell out of Lupo’s Place.