The slave was loyal, but his eyes betrayed him and darted down a corridor on the right.
“Let’s go, Draco.”
Draco brought up the rear, keeping an eye on the slaves, who were both armed. Vibia wandered out of a room behind us, clutching a long robe. She looked disappointed when she realized Draco wasn’t there to give her a good time. When we told her what we wanted, she turned around and went back to her own bedroom. So much for wifely devotion.
The room was dark and full of raspy sawing. Draco stood by the door, to make sure no one got too courageous. Grattius was lying on his back, his mouth open, an obscene noise erupting from his nose like a lava flow. I leaned in close and made it loud.
“Grattius! Get the hell up!”
The eruption choked itself and sputtered ash into the air. He did a sit-up, his jellied belly heaving with fear. “Wha-what-who-”
“Open the door wider, Draco, and let some light in.”
I took out my little lamp and lit it again. Sat it on a table beside his bed, and sat myself on the corner of the mattress.
“Wake up and talk. This isn’t a social call.”
He scooted back in bed and braced himself against the wall, covering up with a purple blanket. “How-how dare you-”
“Quit with the leaderly noises, Grattius. You’re one step away from court, prison, and maybe slavery. Rome doesn’t like it when her mines are trifled with. She likes to be awake and paid off when she’s getting screwed.”
His eyes darted, landing on Draco. They bounced off Draco’s chin and took in the stubble on my own. Then they narrowed and started to think.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I was tired. I didn’t want to dance with Grattius. He’d step on my feet.
“Look, you stupid bastard. All I have to do is tell the governor about the silver mine that wasn’t supposed to be a silver mine, that wasn’t even supposed to be open-the one you’ve been bragging about-and it’s over. Your house, your wife, your slaves-all gone. Like that.”
I snapped my fingers under his nose, and he jerked his head back. He swallowed and thought it over. It took him about five seconds. Then he whined.
“I-I didn’t kill Faro. You can’t pin it on me. I didn’t know anything about it.”
“I believe you. What do you know?”
His breath was coming out in hysterical little gulps. “I-I knew it was silver. And I paid Faro. To keep-keep talking about the ghost.”
“How did you pay him?”
“The-the baths. Left money in a cubicle.”
“Your money?”
He nodded. “I got-got paid back. Same way. Through the baths. They-they told me what to do-left instructions.”
“Who’s in the syndicate?”
“Don’t-don’t know. A man-not from town. I meet him sometimes near Iscalis.”
“Who else?”
He shook his head. “I-don’t-know. Someone-someone from town. I-I know that much. Someone. Not me.” He raised his piggish, bloodshot eyes to mine. “I’m not taking the blame. I’m not taking the blame!” His voice was a shrill whistle of hysteria.
I grabbed his wrist. “Talk, Grattius, and I’ll see you don’t lose everything. Talk.”
His voice quavered. “I told you! I-I just followed orders. I don’t know!”
I stared at him for a few seconds while his tongue came out from behind his teeth and he opened his mouth to gasp like a beached tunny. Maybe a change in direction.
“Did you curse Aufidio? The farmer’s son? Did you? Answer me, goddamn it.”
He shrank against the wall. The pallor of his skin was frightening. I slapped him lightly on the face.
“Grattius-tell me. Did you pay Bibax to curse Aufidio?”
The covers knotted in his hands, and he held them up to his mouth, exposing his white, bony knees, swimming in a sea of flesh.
I slapped him harder, and he gulped air. Let the blanket down a little.
“Did you curse Aufidio?”
He looked at me, and then Draco, and back to me, and all around the room. Finally, he came back to my face and held my eyes and nodded. Slowly.
I said it softly: “Was it an order?”
He nodded again. I took a deep breath. That made it simpler-and more complex.
“Grattius-listen to me. Have you been blackmailed over this? Has anyone threatened you?”
His wispy eyebrows huddled together for comfort, and he lowered the blanket again. “N-no. No one.”
“Are you sure? You’re telling me the truth?”
“Yes-yes, of course.”
I stood up. It was probably the seventh or eighth hour of night by now, and my legs felt as wobbly as Grattius’s stomach.
“Set up a meeting. With your contact. He’s got three days to see me before I tell the governor. I’ll do what I can for you.”
He whistled like a boiling lobster. “You-you promised! I told you everything! I didn’t kill Faro-don’t let them-don’t let them-”
I pried the mitt of flesh off my arm. “I said I’ll do what I can, Grattius.”
He was already preparing a speech for the defense. “Remember-I didn’t know, Arcturus. When you tell-”
“Yeah, Grattius. I know.”
We left him clutching his purple blanket and whatever hopes he could cling to and ran like hell out of the room.
* * *
I wandered through a burned-out plain, wheat stalks and vines still smoking. The acrid fumes filled my mouth and nose until I retched into an open grave. They gaped between the scorched piles of the harvest. My footsteps led me to one in particular.
The earth was damp and dark and smelled clean. Then I looked again, and Grattius was in it, his body swollen with rot, the sweet odor rising like the smoke from the field. I watched as his body writhed, the maggots and the flies thick and hungry.
I turned my head and fell and kept falling, in one headlong flight that didn’t stop until I found myself lying in another grave, staring at the blue sky. Agricola was above me, and Gwyna, and Bilicho, and so were Philo and Octavio and Papirius. Drusius was carving the stone. Papirius bent over and looked at me, then threw in a clod of dirt that hit my head and made me scream. The dirt was coming thickly now, and everyone was helping. I covered my face with my arms and turned over, my fingers grasping toward the dark for a way out.
They touched something soft and warm that liquified in my hands. I opened my eyes. It was Faro, and the flesh was falling off his face.
“Ardur-Ardur!! Wake up, Ardur!”
My heart echoed in my ears. It was a good sound. “Gwyna-I’m sorry-bad dream-”
I was out of breath, as if I’d been running. Which, in a way, I had been. She repositioned herself to sit next to me on the bed and stroked my hair.
“Shh. Take your time. Do you want to go back to sleep?”
I tried to focus on the window. The light told me it was the first hour of morning. I’d been in bed for four hours. “I couldn’t, anyway. Best thing for me is work.”
I stood up and held out my hands to her. “Come on. Eat breakfast with me, and I’ll tell you all about the Bud of the Nymph.”
She let the worry go when I pulled her toward me and followed that with a hard caress.
“Stop it. I’m barely awake, and the first thing you think about-”
“-is you. See how much better I feel?”
She leaned her head back, eyes closed, and smiled. “That’s not the end I’m worried about.”
I took my hands off the small of her back and reached for a tunic. “I can’t wait to get back home and have a real vacation. Meet me in the dining room.”
“In a few minutes. It takes me more than one drip on a water clock to dress.”
I arched my eyebrows at her. “Are you accusing me of sartorial neglect? I’ll have you know this tunic-”
“Smells like a dead fish. Here. Wear this one. And put on some trousers, Ardur. You never know when you’re going to run into Sulpicia.”
“I don’t-”
“Yes, I know. I’m the only one you want to-run into. But you won’t let me wear my blue linen tunic to Philo’s for dinner-and I won’t let you go out without protection. Wear some leather underneath. That woman’s eyes can see right through cloth.”