His forehead wrinkled like the sum didn’t total. I wondered how long he was going to keep up the act. “If you’re accusing me of something-”
“Conspiracy. Murder. Treason. If I think of any more, I’ll let you know.”
He inhaled sharply, making a shrill sound while his cheeks sucked air. His eyes kept getting pulled to my sword. By now, my hand was on it. Sweat was starting to crawl out of his forehead. His voice was the dry whisper of snakeskin.
“You can’t prove anything. And there’s nothing to prove.”
I eyed him thoughtfully. “Maybe I’m not looking for proof.”
His eyes strayed back down to my sword again, before he dragged them to my face, a little defiantly. “What is it exactly that you think you know? And know enough to be crucified for?”
The sweat was starting to drip down my back, but I couldn’t afford to squirm. Not now.
“You collect people, Lucullus. Ones you can twist into tools until they’re broken. A year ago, you gave a mine contract to a freedman and sometime messenger whose loyalty to Domitian came cheap. Or so you thought. And you set him up in partnership with a cruel bastard who craved power however he could get it-a little like you, except he liked to get his hands dirty. He wanted his family’s money and position back. Your sense of humor made you stick him in a whorehouse.”
He let go of his sword pommel and leaned against a record shelf. Some tax records fell and skidded to the floor. He didn’t pick them up. His voice was even.
“Awarding contracts is my job.”
I nodded. “Sure. But you want a bigger job. So you kept collecting. That poor son-of-a-bitch Narbo. He was easy, because he didn’t want money. So you whispered in his ear, about his god, his fellow believers. And you spread some rumors about Domitian killing Christians, and that made it easy. You owned Narbo, almost as much as his god did.
“You got him to the fort, so he’d be close by. You used him to do what you can’t do: kill like an expert. Narbo was your best weapon. I even saw him the day I came to question you.”
I raised my hand to my chin in a fluid motion and the procurator’s right jerked back down to his pommel. I scratched where the beard was growing and stared hard at him.
“Then you tried to buy someone else. An old native chieftain named Urien. You used Caelius to bring him in … and Caelius had his own reasons for getting close. Urien thought the world had forgotten him, and he wanted a little attention. And Caelius flattered him, made him feel important and special.”
He was busy trying to swallow the spittle on his lips.
“Maecenas, Caelius, Narbo and Urien. Those are the ones I know about. They were your tools, your latrunculi pieces. And a few months ago, after Domitian’s triumph, you figured out how to work it. So you put them into play. You heard rumors, Lucullus-the garbage you dislike so much.”
His breath was coming out harder, and I felt his arms tense. But he still didn’t say anything.
“While Domitian’s captives shuffled through Rome, you thought up a plan. Maecenas could get the commission for delivery. You could promise him money, women … even a particular woman. And you know, it might have worked. Except for Urien. You never really owned him. He was able to get out a few words after Caelius stabbed him. Caelius was in a hurry, and never thought the old man could last that long.
“Urien said ‘Wrong message’. And, after awhile, I understood.”
He made a move, but I was on him with my sword against his throat. He small teeth shrank against his lips and he stared at me, stared at the gladius. I lowered the blade to his stomach, and kept going.
“Nothing made sense. Why Maecenas was killed, why the message wasn’t found. Until I realized what Urien meant. Maecenas wasn’t carrying orders to remove the governor. He was carrying an order from the Emperor to keep Agricola here-indefinitely.”
I lowered the sword to the ground. “End of the game, Lucullus. You lose.”
He glared for a moment, his shoulders thrust forward in front of his narrow chest. Then he relaxed suddenly, leaning against the wall. His voice was the wheezy sound of dry bones crunching. And it chilled me.
“I’ve always enjoyed latrunculi. But you’re out of your element, and this isn’t a game. It’s politics.” He looked at me with contempt. And you’re not a killer.”
I reached over and pulled his sword out. It was ornate and gold-plated, with rubies in the hilt.
“Don’t be too sure of me. I’m full of surprises.”
He smiled sourly. His eyelids drooped, but his grey eyes never left my face.
“I don’t like making mistakes. They’re messy, and I don’t like mess. So tell me the rest-what you think you know. Maybe I’ll have your woman sold to a better class of whorehouse.”
My hand went for his throat before I could stop it. His face was starting to turn purple, and when I pried my fingers off, he staggered and knocked a few more tablets over, his chest gulping like a beached fish.
“You’re no killer,” he croaked. “You’re weak, like all your kind. You’re going to die, Arcturus. You can kill me now and hope you won’t get caught, or I’ll have you hung upside down with nails in your wrists. There won’t be anything left to bury, and no one left to bury it.”
I took a step closer. “You forget about the money.”
He choked, and spat out something on the floor. His eyes got bigger. “What do you mean?”
“The money you hoarded at Domitian’s triumph. The money Narbo forgot when he killed Maecenas. The money he tried to steal when he broke into my house. That money. It left a trail, and you’re at the end of it.”
His breath was slowing down, and he leaned backwards, bracing himself, his palms making sweaty marks on the wall.
“All right. That’s-that’s useful to me. Not that you can do anything about it. What else?”
There was still a little fear in his face. But not enough. I unclenched my left fist, and started to walk back and forth in front of him, while his little grey eyes tried to follow.
“You’re arrogant. You overlook people. You started a phony rumor about Agricola’s recall when you found out Domitian’s plans at the triumph. Maecenas was a good informer, and he’d get more, if he could convince the Emperor to let him deliver the message in person. His bait was plenty of aurei and Urien’s daughter.” I rubbed my jaw. “Urien didn’t like that.”
“That old bast-”
I took another step toward him and his mouth shut tight. “Urien was sick and bitter, and got some pleasure from being involved and important again. Caelius used him to help spread the gossip-and to get close to Gwyna. But that didn’t mean the old man would sell out his daughter. Maybe he wanted to play it both ways. So he encouraged her not to see me in a way that all but guaranteed she would. And that still worked for you. Because she unknowingly fed me the wrong information. The false rumor.”
I paused. His smile was strained, and he licked his lips but this time said nothing.
“But then Agricola went to see the old man. And he started to change his mind, about the governor, about Caelius. His daughter told him what Caelius had done to a whore he owned. And Urien figured he could trap Caelius, because he had been a real general, once upon a time. But he forgot he couldn’t fight anymore. So Caelius did what he always did-he struck him down, and sent word to you.”
Lucullus stared at me for a minute, hesitating. Then his face relaxed, and got chatty, as if it were dinner conversation. “Caelius was rash. He wouldn’t listen. And he irritated me, killing that whore. Needless, and too much attention.” He gave me a patronizing look. “I won’t pretend you weren’t a nuisance, with all that fretting over slaves and natives. Caelius’ mistake made it worse.”
I spoke carefully. “What happened with Maecenas? Did he want more money?”