Lucullus sighed, as if he’d just discovered an error in a long column of computation.
“Always more money. Like Caelius. When Narbo saw him the night he arrived, he told him he’d sell off the message to the highest bidder-Agricola or his friends would be glad to know his job was so secure.”
“So Maecenas tried to cross you, and you decided to kill him and the message. But why the mithraeum?”
He was in a talkative, indulgent mood now. “The temple was Narbo’s idea. He was to get Maecenas to show him the papers-so we knew Domitian hadn’t changed his mind. Then he’d stab Maecenas. I wanted the body left at the whorehouse, so it would look like a simple robbery, but Caelius wanted more money for that. So Narbo thought of the mithraeum.”
Lucullus shrugged, and ran his tongue over his teeth.
“He hated how popular Mithras is with the soldiers. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. Agricola’s temple would be defiled, and his men may even come to suspect him of something. Or at least each other. The native New Year was a lucky coincidence-and those knots Narbo used were a helpful touch.”
He frowned. “But then that native interfered, and Narbo panicked. He was dragging the body down the hallway, and the fight broke out, and he got scared and hid, and the boy saw him. And worst of all, he forgot to take the money.”
“Smart of you to figure out I had it. But not so smart to send Narbo.”
He shrugged. “You weren’t there. It was worth a chance. Not like the sword switch. That was his idea. Although from what I understand, it very nearly worked.” He looked at me as if looking would make me go away. “He and Caelius were getting worried. But if they’d just waited-”
“They’d already turned on you. Maybe you’re not the general you think you are. They wanted more money, and kept biting your ankles until they got it. Or you killed them. It would’ve been cheaper to pay.”
I looked at him thoughtfully. “I wondered why Agricola’s enemies weren’t running to tell the Emperor. If Maecenas’ murder meant big trouble for the governor, why keep quiet? An enemy wouldn’t kill a messenger bringing bad news. Much safer to sit and wait for the message. Of course, it made sense when I realized what the message actually was.”
The smile was brittle. “No one likes mistakes, but the great ones always learn. I’m not too proud to learn, even from you. And nothing you’ve said will ever matter to anyone else.”
I said it gently, and took my sword out once more. “I’m not done, Lucullus.” His eyes focused on the edge of it. He was sweating again.
“You want to be governor. You’ve waited for six years, and you weren’t going to wait for six years more. Even if it meant causing a civil war. It was time for your rightful place in the world, and nothing-not Maecenas’ greed, not Caelius’ blackmail, not Narbo’s madness-nothing was going to stop you.”
I took another step closer, and he retreated, his eyes thin and tight. My fist hurt from where it was holding the sword. He wasn’t sure what I was capable of anymore. I wasn’t sure, either.
“You planted that slipper on Narbo during one of your meetings. If anyone found it, they’d know they caught the killer-and stop looking for anyone else. And then there was Rhodri. He wasn’t part of your plan, but he worked for you, anyway. He was native, he was there, he had motive, and he ran. Narbo and Rhodri. Two sacrificial calves, ready for your war god. Two deaths for Maecenas’ murder would be enough. Everyone would forget the third man. Why should they believe a madman, a Roman hater and an Egyptian whore? Yeah, Lucullus-I don’t know what Caelius told you, but Stricta got away.”
He leaned against the wall, and raised a hand to wipe his forehead. The fingers were trembling. “Are you through?”
“Not yet. Because now we come to tonight. You couldn’t be sure Narbo wouldn’t talk, babble something about the plan. And it worried you. So you got a message to him earlier today, something that probably told him Domitian was killing Christians again, and suggesting he not wait to join them. Yeah-the message worked, since you’re keeping track.
“But then I sent you another message, and you were puzzled. What if Narbo hadn’t killed himself? What if the orders he’d snatched from Maecenas’ fingers weren’t destroyed? You couldn’t risk the real will of the Emperor coming to light, not after all your planning.”
I stood over him, and thought about how easy it would be. His eyes searched the room again, this time looking for an escape.
“You couldn’t get word from the fort, to see if your plan had worked. Everyone’s celebrating the end of the year, and besides-Corvus was smart enough to keep the hanging a secret. To everyone but a few, including me. We’d have eventually traced the message you sent him. Another mistake. Like killing Caelius. Amateur job, particularly leaving the knife behind.”
His shoulder blades touched the wall. His mouth pulled open into a grimace, while a drop of sweat rolled down his cheek and fell in.
“No, Lucullus, you’re desperate. You’ve murdered two men in one day because you got scared and you wanted to save an aureus or two when you could’ve afforded a few more months of blackmail.”
I got in his face, and his eyes were big and his breath was shallow and this time I could smell the fear on him.
“You’re no soldier. You’re a money-pusher. You’re good at using people. Too bad you ran out.”
He raised his face to mine, trying hard to breathe, trying not to watch the sword. “What exactly do you think you can do about it?”
“Let Agricola know.”
He was silent for a minute, then he almost fell, and wrapped his arms around his chest and laughed. When he was done, he wiped his eyes. Relief smoothed his face again.
“It’s over. You don’t have anything left. I told you, Arcturus, this isn’t latrunculi. It’s politics. Why did you bring me here? I admit, it’s a clumsy trap, and one I fell into. But you don’t have many choices. Only one, really. You can kill me, and die yourself, and that’s all you can do. And you won’t kill me. You can’t.” He let himself bask in it, gloating a little.
“You think the governor will believe you? And if he did, do you think he can do something about it? So some people got killed. So what? A whore? A pimp? A freedman even Domitian won’t overly miss? No one cares. They’ll think the slaves murdered Caelius. Narbo killed himself, and saved me the trouble, and even if they trace the messenger, he won’t know who I was. Nor will they care to find out. It’s over and done with. Agricola will face Domitian with a lie-responding to the wrong message in the wrong way-Domitian will get suspicious, and recall him. Or they’ll start a war. Either way, I’ve still won. He’ll make me governor. I’ll get command.”
I took a step backwards. His face was flushed, his eyes bright, his smile secure. I felt sick.
“I wonder how many more of you are out there. Every crooked law suit, every burned down building. Every trumped-up war.” I looked at him. “It’s your face I’ll see, Lucullus. You and all the small grey men just like you.”
He laughed again. “You won’t be seeing much of anything, Arcturus. You’re so-British. I told you-this is politics. Agricola would’ve done the same thing.”
A door on the right wall opened, and the governor stepped inside. “Salve, Lucullus.”
The procurator turned pale, and pressed himself backward, his hands and feet flat against the wall. Avitus stepped quietly out of the other door behind him, and stood blocking it. The governor didn’t look at me; he stared at Lucullus.
“I think you should go back to Rome. You’re not feeling well-unable to perform your duties. Have the Emperor appoint an interim procurator for however long he wishes me to stay. We still don’t know how long that will be, do we?”
I counted five beats. Avitus’ eyes were fixed on Lucullus. The procurator looked from one to the other and sucked his cheek. “Why should I?”