“Cui bono. You know, Ardur-that reminds me of the mine, and the development by the spring.”
“Now you know why my head hurts.”
“Poor baby. Let’s get back to categories. Calpurnius was probably killed for knowledge-that works, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. We should list that under Faro, as well.”
Her hand shook a little when she wrote the name down. I said: “Before I forget-that boy-Dewi. You can put him under your ‘unknown’ category.”
Gwyna looked up, pleased. Then she realized what I meant. “You mean he really was murdered?”
“Drusius said he was talking about ‘ants crawling’ before he died. I think he was killed, and with the same poison as Calpurnius.”
“But why? Why would anyone kill him for stealing a bath robe?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, Gwyna. I don’t even know how much I don’t know.”
She was silent as she wrote everything down.
“All right. The mine. Pure greed. But the syndicate would need a contact or two in town, especially if they were planning to dump the metal in Aquae Sulis.”
“What about Grattius?”
“He’s involved, or he wouldn’t be hiding. But he can’t be the only connection. No, Grattius is altogether too conspicuous, and maybe that’s his role. To shield the real link-and the real murderer.”
“You mean of Faro?”
“I mean of Faro. Someone other than Grattius must be connected with the mine-Faro was murdered too quickly. Unless, of course, Grattius killed him, but I don’t think so. One set of footsteps led away from the cart, but I’d be willing to bet there were two people in it.”
“How do you know?”
“Too much chance in leaving a cart and horses unsupervised while you unloaded a body, even if you were strong enough to do it yourself. Faro was small, but dead bodies always weigh more than you think they will. And the mine is guilty of more than just Faro. There’s Aufidio.”
“What about the ghost? Or was he real?”
“Once. Probably found the vein of silver, and got a pick in the face for his trouble.”
She shuddered. “How horrible. And you-it could’ve been-”
“No. It could not have been me, because I have a very clever wife.”
Her smile was tender. “Thank you, Ardur.”
“They would’ve attacked anybody. Not like here. Not like Materna.”
Her eyes were the hard blue of the standing stones on the Great Plain. “You can talk about it. I’m not going to break.”
“Someone’s been using us for javelin practice-and as tired as I am of acting like a straw dummy, I’m at least used to it. But not you. Not my wife.”
My muscles tensed and a jolt slid down from my neck to my right leg. She was beside me before I could rearrange my face.
“It’s my fault. I should have told you. Then those bastards couldn’t have used it against us. At least not-not with such a terrible shock.”
I took her hand from my forehead, where her fingertips were smoothing out the creases.
“You didn’t tell me because I was too blind, stupid, and self-absorbed to see for myself. And I left you-left you before I left for the North. I’m sorry, Gwyna. I don’t know why you married me. I’m a stubborn, moody fool, slow with my head and too quick with my tongue. I’m-”
I paused in the litany of my many flaws, watching her lips curve in an unmistakable fashion. She was kneeling on the couch, and she bent over me, lips to my ear. She whispered: “You’re not at all too quick with your tongue.”
I stared at Gywna in a cloudy haze. Then she looked over my shoulder and straightened her tunic and stood up.
“What is it, Lineus? Are you-”
Lineus was quivering in the entrance. “I’m fine, Domina. It’s-it was just a knock on the door, and-and no one was there-”
I stood up too quickly and grabbed the arm of the couch to steady myself. “No one was there?”
“At least I couldn’t see anyone, sir. I-I didn’t explore, because I found this on the threshold.” He held out a scrap of torn papyrus, his hand shaking.
I took it from him. “It’s all right, Lineus. Tell one of the other slaves to watch the door.”
He stood up straighter. “They all refused, sir. I apologize for their behavior.”
Still scared from the corpse. “I’ll speak to them tomorrow.”
“Very good, Dominus.”
I smiled at him. He finally got the idea and bowed himself out of the room. I’m not comfortable around body servants. There are certain functions I prefer to do in private. I made my peculiarity known on arrival, when I realized I might trip over somebody on the way to take a piss.
The paper was dirty, and the writing on the back looked like an inventory list. Tallied results of a dice game, with amounts owed. I sniffed. Smelled like wine. Definitely a tavern.
Gwyna was already standing next to me, trying to read it. “ ‘If you’… I think that’s what it says-dreadful Latin-”
“ ‘If you want information and you’re willing to pay for it, come to the Bud of the Nymph at the second hour of night.’ ” I looked up at her. “If I leave now, I’ll be on time.”
She stood with her hands on her hips. “Not without me.”
“It’s no kind of place for a lady, you can see that from the-”
“Yet I managed to walk into Lupo’s by myself.” She held her head high in that proud way of her father’s. I grabbed her shoulders.
“Please, Gwyna-let me protect you from what I can. That’s not a whole hell of a lot.”
She stopped tapping her foot and made a noise of reluctant concession. “Arcturus-I won’t let you leave this house without Draco, am I understood? I’ll stay at home like the proper wife, but you’ve got a concussion, and I’m damned if I let you walk into another trap!”
“I’ll take every precaution-including him.”
Her face softened, and she took me by the arm. “You’ll be late. I’ll help you get dressed.”
So my gambit at the spring worked. Someone swallowed the bait.
I wondered if I had, too.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Bud of the Nymph made Lupo’s whorehouse-where Gwyna had once journeyed and where Stricta once worked-seem palatial. I contrasted the memory of last December with what was in front of me. Draco’s nostrils wrinkled at the odors from the side of the building. A shed out back left nothing to the imagination. My imagination wasn’t that good.
We sipped vinegar for an hour, watching the blue-bodied flies buzz around the matted hair of various drunks. The Nymph was tucked around the corner and down a block from the main marketplace, in a low wooden building with a tattered roof. It squatted in the street and clung to the adjoining apartment house like a old woman taking a piss at the public latrine. The latrine smelled cleaner.
No one who came to the Nymph had heard there were baths in town. And no one who visited the shed cubicles stayed for long. The whores were professionals. They ran it like a three-minute legion drill.
The barman was grumpy until I overpaid him. I could always buy nice. After that he got out his better bottles of vinegar and found a piece of cheese with no maggots. He watched us, though, and he was curious. No one with money ever came into the Nymph. At least not anymore. Now it was about as exclusive as the Cloaca Maxima.
Draco’s eyes were swimming with the gnats in his cup of posca. I raised my lips to the wooden cup and pretended to sip. The door opened, and a small man in dirty leather walked into the room. His eyes were sharp.
I made a noise to Draco. He quit thinking about Coir and looked up. The man was at the bar, having a word with the black-toothed barkeep. I reached under the table for my pouch and untied it without bringing it out into the open. Then I took four small dice out of it and whispered to Draco.