I wasn’t surprised. I wasn’t surprised that a Druid knew more about another religion that I did, either. They made it their business to know things, and acquiring knowledge and passing it on was their life’s work. That’s what made them so dangerous. That, and a long, native memory, and the fact that they could fight like hell.
“You know anything else about Iesus Christus?”
“Only a little. The faith sprang up in Rome and Judea. They have many wandering priests in the deserts, not unlike our own. He was one such, but his followers proclaim him as the one true God, a son of the First Creator. Some of them refuse to worship any others, though some just add him to the list of those to whom they pray. They are supposed to be gentle enough. They don’t care for us because we believe the truth is revealed through death. They believe the truth is revealed after death. A small difference.”
“So they hate the Old Believers because you roast criminals in baskets-”
Madoc’s eyebrows raised slightly at the description.
“-and they hate the Romans because of Nero.”
“And also because they must pray to the Emperor. And for the same reasons others hate the Romans. Nero killed many of them, just as Agricola and Paulinus killed our folk at Mona. But not all of them hate as much as the soldier. This I’ve discovered since talking to you last.”
I shook my head. “And let’s not forget Narbo is a Roman and a Christian, and maybe that’s enough to make the poor son-of-a-bitch lose his mind. Meanwhile, Rhodri’s still in the dark, pissing on himself. You heard I saw him this morning?”
“Yes. I hope you will be able to free him. That is why I wanted to talk to you.”
“Could you recognize the third man who was with Caelius and the Christian that night?”
“No. He kept his face well-wrapped. But he was a wealthy man, and he seemed to hold a power over the others.”
“I thought so. Someone’s pulling the strings like a puppet show in front of the amphitheater. Narbo will never talk.”
“No. His kind welcome death. It may be the most merciful thing for him.”
“I just don’t know why the hell this was done. Why those three men killed Maecenas. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Such a killing never does. But you will find the truth.”
“I’m glad you trust me. Now.” I grinned. “How did Bilicho do that night? I’m sure you saw him; he must’ve been behind you, trying to follow the tracks.”
Madoc turned down the corners of his mouth and shrugged. “He wasn’t a bad tracker-for a Roman.”
I laughed. I wasn’t sure which part would irritate Bilicho more.
“You have with you one of our tokens.”
“The anguinum. That’s what convinced Rhodri to speak to me.”
“Take care of it, Ardur. You may need it again sometime.”
I rubbed my sore cheek. “So long as I don’t have to fight Lugh.”
Madoc allowed himself a rare smile. “He is a good man.” Then he turned, and with a small gesture of farewell, seemed to vanish into the street itself. I’d have to learn that trick sometime.
I decided to go straight to the palace. I’d talk to Agricola, try to convince him not to torture Rhodri They owned Narbo or what was left of him, and not even Meditor could connect the two. Of course, there was only Stricta’s identification, and politicians and whores, though familiar bed-fellows, generally didn’t appear together in court.
The palace was busy. It was about an hour before sunset, and tomorrow was the last day of the year. The procurator’s staff would be working all night, and tomorrow, too-interest rates were due on the first. The Empire glutted on credit and loans, and grew more bloated every year. War was always good for business.
I sent word in to Agricola through a secretary. I waited, watching the accountants and the translators and the bookkeepers and the lawyers bustle in and out of the offices, the record room, leading people in, leading people out. There was an eternal feeling about it, like the flooding of the Nile. A thousand years later, the same scene would be taking place. I hoped I’d have this solved by then.
The secretary came back and ushered me through a hallway into one of the workrooms. Inside, Agricola was hunched over a desk with tablets and styli and papyrus sheets and ink all over it, and Iavolenus Priscus, his red-hair gleaming in the lamp light, was hunched over it with him, writing furiously.
Each of them looked up briefly when I entered, but kept going.
“What are you doing?”
Priscus answered. “Writing to the Emperor, Arcturus. We’re concocting a story to explain why the governor here can’t answer the message he’s not supposed to know anything about.” He stood up and pointed a stylus at me. “What do you think? They murdered him and threw the body in the river and no one has been able to find it? All that was left was one shoe and the top portion of a dispatch box…”
“Very creative, Priscus. Sounds like a Greek novel. I take it you’re blaming this on Rhodri and the Christian.”
“Well, they are in custody. It’s convenient that way.”
“One of them is innocent.”
Agricola was cross. He put down his stylus with a thump. “Arcturus, I’m tired of hearing how innocent this native is. He may be innocent of the murder-or he may not. But he’s not innocent of plotting revolts against Rome.”
“Neither are many Romans. At the moment, sir, neither are you.”
He stood up, his brown eyes flashing, his hands clenched into fists on the table.
“If you’re suggesting-”
“I’m suggesting, governor, that you’re doing what you have to do, and I understand and support you. I don’t care what you tell Domitian. You can tell him I did it, if it helps. But we don’t know the extent of your danger until we find out why this man was killed. We now know we are dealing with three people: Narbo, the Christian, Marcus Caelius Prato, the owner of Lupo’s, and someone else, someone with money.
“Narbo will never talk. Ask Corvus, if you don’t believe me. Torture won’t help. He’s insane. Someone put him up to this. I don’t think it was Caelius, though he’s been to Judea, and maybe Narbo has, too. Caelius isn’t wealthy-but a year ago he got the funds to open Lupo’s. No one knows from where, and now he’s suddenly flush enough to pay off Urien’s debts? Where’d he get the money? And why?”
“That’s your business.”
“I know. And I’ll find out. But you’re still in danger until I do. If someone connects you-or one of your staff-with Narbo, it will look like you arranged for him to kill Maecenas, because you have the best motive. So far, we’ve been able to hush that up. But for how much longer? What if the papers resurface? You were going to be removed as governor. The dispatch was stolen, but a lot of money was left. And if any of this gets out to your enemies-either openly or on the sly-it will be all too easy for the Emperor to accuse you of treason.”
The governor sat back down, slowly. Priscus pulled at his moustache, and looked at me like I was an unfriendly witness. He answered softly: “Has it occurred to you, Arcturus, that if we don’t get a response to the Emperor soon, it won’t matter what actually happened? That whoever is behind this may already have sent word to the Emperor that Maecenas was killed?”
“I know that. But the more you know, the safer you’ll be. You’ll know how to frame an answer. The Emperor will believe what he wants to believe. He always does. If he’s out to get rid of Agricola, there’s not much we can do to prevent it. But if he has an ounce of reason or sense left, he’ll stall, because he knows how popular the governor is with the men. And he’s busy with the Rhenus. He won’t risk war unless he can really prove your guilt. And that will give us time to find the truth.”
“Maybe he’s right, Priscus.” Agricola held his head in his hands and they were shaking. “Maybe we should wait.”
The red-haired man shook his head stubbornly. “Let’s work on a response. We may not need it-if Arcturus produces this mysterious third man for us-but it will help keep us focused.”