Iavolenus Priscus was Agricola’s legatus iuridicus-appointed by Domitian, but a loyal and honest friend, and damn good lawyer. He was on a trial circuit listening to important legal cases around the province, something the governor usually did, but had opted out of the last two years to be with his wife and supervise all the construction in the town he’d made the provincial capital. Priscus’ sense of humor was something I missed.
Meditor spoke, his voice as dry as dead leaves. “Arcturus hasn’t told us who warned him about the man, or why.”
All eyes turned to me. “How astute of you, Meditor. And here I thought your father named you as a joke. I’m getting tired of standing. Governor, do you mind?”
Agricola shook his head, and I pushed myself up on his desk. “A native told me about Maecenas, but the Syrian was apparently best known to a citizen in Londinium, the man who owns the inn at which he was staying.”
“And?” Meditor prodded.
“And nothing. You know my methods, and I know yours. Avitus came to get me last night because I can keep my mouth shut and I’m discreet. Do you know what discreet means, Meditor? It means minding your own goddamn business.”
Meditor got red again, and Avitus was almost as angry at me. “You know how to keep your mouth shut, all right. And your freedman was on the spot, too-am I supposed to believe that was a coincidence, that little act you put on?”
I looked him in the face. “Believe what you want, Avitus. But don’t forget we’re fighting for the same thing. The governor. I know these people, I know how to talk to them. They talk to me, because I’m a medicus, because I’m half-native, because I’m neither one thing nor the other, and sometimes that pays off.”
“Like it paid off with that eques this afternoon?” Meditor asked it like he’d won a prize. I knew he was holding something in reserve.
I stood up again, and crossed over to him. “I’m glad the praefectus of the vigiles has so little work to do that he follows the governor’s doctor around. Next time, show your face.”
His bald head turned bright pink. “I wasn’t there-one of my men mentioned he saw you. He thought there was going to be a fight. Don’t wear your toga if you want to be inconspicuous.”
I took one step closer. “You’re about as inconspicuous as a eunuch in a frigidarium. Keep away from me, Meditor.”
He turned toward Agricola, who was still lost in thought. “Governor-”
The general looked up sharply. “Stop whining, Junius. Arcturus, you know the deadline. It’s imperative we find out why this Maecenas was here and who killed him, so that we can determine how to respond to the Emperor.” His brown eyes searched mine. “My life is in your hands. Not for the first time, but I’d damn sure rather take a spear in the stomach than this. I hope you have some leads.”
“I do. I may be out of town for a few days, but I’ll have some answers for you before the New Year.” Both Avitus’ and Meditor’s ears pricked up.
“Sooner, if possible. And I think you should speak to the procurator. If this Syrian was an imperial messenger, one of Domitian’s freedmen, he may know of him. He sees the Emperor more than I do.”
Agricola didn’t have to tell me to be careful with Sallustius. The procurator had a direct link to Caesar, and we both knew the kind of power they could wield-our fathers had been promoted that way.
Numerius Sallustius Lucullus was a dapper little man, and an unlikely inventor of weaponry. He’d always been nice to me. In fact, I’d never met anyone who disliked him, a rare trait for the Emperor’s provincial money-man and tax collector. But then again, he wasn’t the kind of man anyone really noticed. His rank was his most unusual feature. Most of the time the procurator’s office was occupied by equestrians-like my adopted father, or Agricola’s father-but Lucullus was a senator. Domitian enjoyed trite humiliations. Lucullus, for his part, seemed oblivious.
“Right away sir,” I said.
Agricola stood up slowly. He looked older than he did an hour ago. “Well, gentlemen-I needn’t tell you to keep your mouths shut. Put aside any differences and help each other. Publicly, this was a robbery and an attempt to harm the temple, not me. In the next few days, I’ll start to plan for another temple site, but meanwhile, we carry on.
“Someone in our brotherhood is involved in this-even if it is unwittingly, by talking to a tent mate or a friend in a tavern. Avitus, I leave that for you to investigate. Assign some of your men to the task, and learn all you can about Maecenas.
“Saturninus, send word to Priscus to join us. We need to discuss strategy. And we may have to get word to one or two of the legion commanders to stay on alert.”
So Agricola was considering the possibility of a civil war. Nothing like a little pressure, Arcturus.
“Junius, provide any and all help to Arcturus. Stay out of his way. Share your information, and above all, do nothing unless you hear from me personally. No arrests, nothing.”
Meditor wasn’t happy, but he nodded. He at least recognized the magnitude of what we were dealing with. I knew he’d still shadow me, but I also knew his men weren’t very good at it.
“Arcturus, you know the urgency. Make haste. Stay in close contact with me. And I think it would be a good idea if you became a member of the temple. That all right with you?”
I nodded. It would give me a chance to get close.
“Good. We’ll conduct the ceremony in a few days. Saturninus will prepare you for it. Don’t let me down, son. More lives than mine are riding on what you find out.”
Civil war, even. Romans and Britons. Legions and other legions. One fat, nasty Syrian could make a big difference to a lot of people.
We all got up to leave. I lingered behind, Avitus and Meditor both giving me looks on the way out. They wanted to grab the governor’s ear, but I wasn’t letting go of it.
“General-Agricola-have you heard anything about Christians? Here, or in Rome? Any campaigns by Domitian to root them out?”
He scratched his chin, then shook his grizzled head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve heard a few stories about arena kills, but nothing in particular that Domitian is doing. He’s more interested in taxes than god. Why?”
“I know the arena stories myself. Seems I’ve heard Domitian compared to Nero, but now I don’t know where I heard it.”
I watched his jaw muscles move in and out. “Rumors. How I hate the rumors that fly around this place, that fly around the Emperor’s palaces, that fly around Rome. Damned nonsense, most of them.”
I nodded my head and started to leave, but turned back. “One more thing, sir.”
His face told me to hurry.
“There’s an old man-an ally of Rome. A Trinovantian warlord, name of Urien. He was decorated by Claudius. He’s dying, now, and feels abandoned, alone. It would mean a lot if you went to see him.”
Agricola’s eyes raked over me. “Does this have something to do with the Syrian?”
I hesitated. “Yes, it does. What, I’m not sure. But Urien knew about Maecenas. I think you might be able to find out more about how yourself.”
“So you’d have me do your job in addition to mine?”
“No, Governor. I’d have you pay your respects to a man who deserves them.”
His mouth twitched a little. “All right, Arcturus. I’ll find the time somehow. Is that all?”
I looked around the room and moved a little closer. “No. I found some money on the Syrian, the new money Domitian just issued. Gold aurei. Too much money for Britannia.”
He looked startled. “But if you found it-”
“Yes. It wasn’t stolen-originally. I think he was dug up again because someone’s looking for that money. Either to spend it-”
“-or to hide it. I take your meaning.” Agricola was nobody’s fool. He knew how difficult it would be to use the cash. Gold left a trail even a blind man could follow, given enough time. I hoped this blind man could do it in a week. “Very well. No one need know.”