“Not fast enough to save my head. I found a tavern near Rhodri’s house-which is next to an oak grove, by the way, very handy if he happens to be worshipping the Old Ways.”
“And?”
“Well, I walked in, and ordered some mead-no sissy Roman wine, remember-and people were friendly enough. But cautious.”
“Did you see anyone from last night?”
“Not that I could be sure of. There were two that looked familiar-rough types, leather aprons, maybe tanners or something. It was dark, like all those places, and darker than most, even Lupo’s.” He grinned. “At least the food was good.”
“Then don’t complain about the broth.”
He grimaced at the empty bowl, and continued. “Anyway, once I started asking about Rhodri-and not even about Rhodri, kind of around Rhodri-they clammed up tight. Couldn’t get a thing out of anyone. So I left, and decided to prowl around his house myself.”
“You should’ve gone home to get Brutius. Or waited for me.”
“Yeah, I know. But I was on his trail, Arcturus, and I just had one of those feelings that he was there, that he hadn’t left town.”
“So then what?”
“What you see on my head. I left the tavern, strolled over toward Rhodri’s house-it’s very countrified out there-and walked around it.”
“What does it look like?”
“Not much. Wooden farmhouse. Probably about fifteen years old.”
“Any sign of life?”
“I found some horse tracks, fresh, on the road in. I think he was there.”
“If he wasn’t, I don’t see the point of knocking you out. How did it happen?”
“I rounded a corner. I thought I was being quiet. I heard voices from the oak grove. Then a crashing pain on the back of my head, and I must’ve fallen and hit myself on a flagstone-I was close to the house by that time. Next thing I knew I woke up on the bit of road leading back to the bridge and Londinium proper. And it was raining. Hard.”
“They could’ve killed you.”
“I know. I don’t think Rhodri’s guilty of murder, if Rhodri or one of his friends gave me this.”
“Maybe.” We were silent for a while. Then I told him what happened to me.
“So we’ve got three crimes now?”
“Unless we can think of something to tie them all together. It just doesn’t make sense. Why was Maecenas clutching a document he hadn’t delivered? Why wasn’t the money stolen? How did Madoc and Rhodri and everyone at the whorehouse know he was killed?” I shook my head.
“I’ve got more questions than a Greek philosopher, and they’re just as useless. Maybe someone from Agricola’s inner circle did murder the Syrian. Maybe I did. Who the hell knows?”
“What do we do next?”
“You stay in bed. People are going to a lot of trouble to keep me from finding Rhodri, so that’s where we start. I don’t think he’s guilty, at least of murder. But he knows too much-and it’s something ugly.”
Caelius’ face flashed into my mind. I felt the stubble on my chin and frowned. “I’ll have to see Agricola first. We don’t have much time. Maecenas was a lackey, but a lackey for the Emperor. And what he was carrying-wars have been started over less. Then Rhodri next. I’m sure he’s left town by now, maybe returned to Camulodunum. I still have friends there-you remember my father’s freedmen, the ones who paid for his tombstone?”
“Favonianus, you mean? Your father the centurion?”
“Yeah. Verecundus and Narcissus. I gave them one of Pyxis’ puppies a couple of months ago, when Verecundus was in town on business. I can talk to them, they might know the local gossip.”
“What about Caelius?”
I wanted the next time I saw Caelius to be the last time I saw Caelius. He was too poisonous to handle too often. And I needed information first.
“As soon as I talk to the governor, I’ll leave for Camulodunum and look for Rhodri. I should be back in four days. That’ll give you one or two days to find out what you can. Chase any leads. Find any connections between Caelius, Maecenas, Urien. And keep an eye on the whores.”
I didn’t want to meet his eyes. “One other thing. I want to know who Urien owes, and I want to pay off his debts.”
Bilicho raised his eyebrows at me, then scowled in pain.
“Arcturus-”
“I know what you’re thinking. Yes, I know she’s lying or at least keeping something from me. And I don’t care.”
He let out a groan. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
I hoped so, too, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. A loud bang made us jump, and Bilicho grimaced. He started to get up, but lay back down after I shot him a nasty look and stood up myself. Draco came running into the room, agitated.
“It’s the man from last night. He’s-”
“-Right behind you. Hello, Favonianus.”
“Hello, Avitus. Can I expect a visit from you every night from now on?”
He didn’t respond. “What happened to him?”
I rolled my eyes. “Got drunk again. Fell down and hit his head. I’m thinking of sending him back to work in a mine.”
“You freed him.”
“Yes. But he just can’t seem to adjust.” I stood in between Avitus and Bilicho, so that the beneficarius couldn’t look at him too closely. “So what brings you here tonight?”
The lines on his face were deep, and there was a weariness in Avitus that I’d never seen before. His cloak and boots were even muddier than last night. “Agricola wants you. Now.”
I reached for my bag, which was still next to Bilicho. “Should I bring-”
“No. It’s not the kind of healing we need.”
I straightened up and looked at him. “What’s going on, Avitus?”
The beneficarius sighed. The weight of his exhaustion-and more than exhaustion, despair-was crushing him to the floor like a midget with a millstone.
“Just come with me, Arcturus. Leave your bag. Leave your slaves. Leave your drunken, sore-headed freedman. Just come with me.”
Avitus called me Arcturus. It was unlike him to unbend so far. But it was also unlike him to look so much like a tired old man. I whispered to Bilicho to get some sleep. He gave me a look that said to be careful.
Draco brought me my warmest cloak and thickest boots. I told him to stay awake-Bilicho’s life might depend upon it. He nodded, wide-eyed.
When we left the house, instead of turning left toward the palace, Avitus turned right.
“Isn’t Agricola-?”
“Just follow me.”
The beneficarius was unusually taciturn, even for him. The icy mud crackled as we walked, and it all started to feel like a bad dream that wakes you up every night. We were taking the same road as the night before.
We passed Lupo’s, but no drunk was singing and no Galla appeared in the window. The lights were on, but it was quiet. By taking the same path, Avitus was trying to tell me something, prepare me for something, I was sure of it.
I saw the answer when we reached the meadow with the mithraeum. There, standing in a circle, was Agricola and some of his highest ranking officers. And there, on the torn, muddy ground that last night opened up to reveal the mystery within, was the naked body of Vibius Maecenas.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Agricola was not happy. He stood over Maecenas-and whatever he’d done, I was beginning to feel sorry for the poor bastard-like the Colossus of Rhodes. He had a look I’d seen before, but not very often.
As my eyes adjusted, I glanced around. No one greeted me; no one even dared to shuffle. I saw the unmistakable, burly shape of Lucius Antonius Saturninus, Agricola’s quaestor, his brown eyes gleaming from beneath furry eyebrows, his mouth pinched uncharacteristically tight beneath his thick beard. I caught a glimpse of one of the governor’s top speculatores, a man he used often as an executioner and whose name I never remembered. I saw the short, swarthy figure of Agricola’s princeps praetorii, Quintus Claudius Corvus, the governor’s tough head of staff. Farther back, I thought I could see Arian, and I wondered if he’d wonder if I would remember his name. I squirmed a little, feeling the grey-green eyes of Publius Junius Meditor on my back. I turned around and grinned at him. My charm didn’t impress him. It never did. Serenus was by his side. So somebody had finally called in the praefectus vigilium-or maybe he was standing in the mud because someone had lost a dinner napkin?