Too much information again. Why was he telling me this? To emphasize no one in the house had any reason to kill Maecenas? No one, that is, except the woman who was sold to him.
He gestured toward a bowl. It smelled good. Small pieces of roasted pork swam in the chickpea mixture. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Sioned creeping toward the front door with another helping. Draco would be fed.
We ate for a few minutes without talking. It gave me time to think. He obviously didn’t know about Gwyna’s trip to see Maecenas last night. He’d have already offered an explanation.
I cleared my throat. “I wish only health and fortune to you and your daughter. The unexpected death of her sponsus must grieve you both. If you have any information that would help me find his killer, I’d be grateful.”
He sat down his bowl, and wiped his lips punctiliously with a napkin.
“Yes. I thank you for your good wishes. They do not buy food for the table, however. We will sorely miss Maecenas’ money. Be that as it may, I can only think of one person who would wish him dead.”
“Who?” My arms tightened.
He gazed at me steadily with a faint-very faint-twitch of his lips.
“Our governor. Agricola.”
I jumped up, knocking my bowl to the ground.
“What?”
“I wouldn’t have fed you if I’d known you were going to waste it,” he growled. “What I have heard-and this is just the gossip that comes to a shut-in old man-is that Vibius was carrying papers to Agricola from Domitian. The papers were orders, telling Agricola to relinquish the governorship. Everyone knew they were coming, there’ve been rumors going about for months. Unfortunately, they seem to have arrived in the person of Maecenas and he appears to have borne the brunt of the bad news.”
His face twitched again into a bitter imitation of a smile. “So you see, young pup, however unlikely it is, our governor has the best motive for killing him.”
Urien basked in my confusion, rolled around in it like a cat in a sunbeam. While he called Sioned to clean up the mess and refill my bowl, I fell into the chair. I felt as clumsy as a retiarius caught in his own net. The old man was right.
Rumors had been flying for months that it might be the governor’s last year. Agricola and his supporters had the best motive for murdering the messenger and destroying the documents. Provided they knew Maecenas was carrying them. And from what Urien said, that wasn’t exactly a secret.
Killing Maecenas was risky, but the only way to keep Agricola in power. Once those orders were delivered, read and accepted, any delay in following them would guarantee a civil war.
Sioned handed me a full bowl with a look that suggested she’d put in some poisonous mushrooms. I barely noticed. Too many goddamned questions again. Why didn’t Maecenas go to the palace right away? Why stay at Caelius’, and not be lodged like a normal imperial messenger? And the money-the question of the money gnawed at my mind like a ship rat with a rope.
Urien‘s opaque eyes glinted with malice, and for once I knew what he was thinking. Maybe I had a motive. Maybe even two motives. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect myself.
I finished the meal in one long gulp, and stood up.
“Thank you. I’ll keep you informed of our progress.”
His sunken chest wheezed with satisfaction. “I assume you wish to speak to my daughter?”
“Yes. Is she here?”
“I believe she is in her room. You may go to her.” I could see him calculating how much my clothes were worth. The lines on his face carved out the imitation smile again. “I trust your intentions.”
I bowed. He clapped his hands, and Sioned emerged from the kitchen. He told her to take me to Gwyna. She wasn’t happy, but gestured for me to follow. I left Urien in front of his cold fire. I wondered what I’d find behind his daughter’s door.
CHAPTER TEN
Sioned led me through the hallway on the right side of the round room, to the upper corner of the corridor. She turned her head, to make sure I was behind her, and gave me a look normally reserved for bill collectors. I don’t think she cared for my toga. She tapped lightly on the door three times.
“My lady? You have a guest. A Roman.”
She made it sound like a disease. I heard the rustle of frantic movement behind the doorway, and Gwyna thrust open the door. Her face still came as a shock.
The finery of yesterday was gone. She was dressed in a brown linen tunic, old and spotted with stains. No jewelry on her fingers, no furs caressing her body. But she took my breath away.
She looked at me like she’d never seen me before. She nodded at Sioned. “You may leave us.”
Sioned reluctantly bowed, and Gwyna motioned for me to come in. The room was simply decorated, with a small mattress, a writing desk, some shelves with scrolls and tablets, and a few scattered souvenirs of better times. There was also a blond boy, about ten, sitting at the desk and staring at me.
She blushed a little. “Hefin, go to your room. We’ll read more later.”
The boy jumped off his stool.
“Who are you?” he asked, reaching out a hand to feel my muddied cloak. “I saw your slave outside. He’s big.”
“Yes, he is. Bigger than me, even. My name is Arcturus. I’m a medicus.”
He nodded sagely. “I know what a medicus is. Are you here to marry my sister?”
It was my turn to blush. “I’m a friend of your sister’s.”
“Lots of men want to marry her. Rhodri wants to-”
“Hefin! Go to your room!”
He gave Gwyna a look of injured dignity. His head held high in an uncanny imitation of his father, he marched from the room and shut the door behind him. She paused for a moment, still looking toward the door. Her shoulders were tense. She turned to me, and met my eyes head on.
“I’m sorry. Hefin is-”
“A child. And your brother. You’re teaching him?”
“Yes. We can no longer afford a real tutor.”
“You don’t need one.”
She looked down, and reddened again, and plucked at a spot on her tunic. The room was hot and it was hard to breathe. The memory of how we said good-bye was crowding us out. She walked to the desk, her back to me.
She said: “Arcturus, I’m-sorry you’ve seen me. Seen my family.”
I followed her. Then I put a hand on her shoulder. She let it stay.
“Why? Because you’re not rich? Because you save your good clothes to make an impression? Do you think I care?”
She didn’t respond. Her eyes were dull today. The spark of urgency, of resistance, was gone. I turned her around to face me.
“Listen to me. Maecenas was murdered last night. I know you saw him.”
There was no surprise. She searched my face, but didn’t find what she was looking for. Despair hung on her beautiful body like a shroud.
“I’m so tired, Ardur. Tired of fighting. Tired of worrying.” She sank on the bed.
I sat beside her. I reached over and brushed a stray hair from her neck. She stiffened. A coolness crept between us, and froze me colder than a Vestal’s tit. We were two strangers sitting on a bed. And I was running out of patience.
“Do you want my help or not?”
She got a little sharper. “Of course I do. I-I told you so yesterday.”
“You said a lot of things yesterday. Were they all true?”
I expected her to get mad. But she answered as if she were really thinking about it.
She said slowly: “Yes. All of them.”
“Including the part about needing me?”
It was too hard and too easy to look at the face that turned toward me. Somehow I managed.
It was just one word. She said: “Yes.”
I was tasting her hair before I realized she was wrapped around me. I smelled lavender again, and the pressure of her nails in my back felt as good as anything could. We drank each other in, but the thirst wouldn’t go away.