“So?”
“So you’ll need new friends. People who can protect you. You’ve angered a good many people. The procurator-”
“The ex-procurator. Is that how you got your mining contract?”
He sat up stiffly. “I thought you might be intelligent enough to-”
“You thought I might be bought-but I don’t worship money. I also don’t work with men who won’t show their faces and hire killers and rot out towns like the plague.”
Outrage poured through the layers of clothing, his gloved hand a tight fist on the reins. His voice was soft. “You could afford that pose-once. But now … now, Arcturus-you’ve got a wife. Maybe a family coming. Will you spit on money then? Or will you run to the governor-who won’t be in a position to help you?”
“Say what you came to say and get the hell out of here.”
He watched me for a long minute. It came out abruptly. “We’re leaving town. Pulling out. The mine is closed.”
“What do you mean, leaving town?”
“I mean no investment. No temple, no bath. Our dealings with Aquae Sulis are through. Our local representative-”
“Grattius?”
A derisive rasp. “Grattius is a buffoon. Our representative got a little out of hand. Aquae Sulis isn’t a good place for business anymore. So I came by-as a courtesy-to let you know you can call the legion in whenever you want. They won’t find anything. The silver’s all gone.”
“You underestimate the legion.”
“You overestimate the governor. He’ll be in Rome soon, and no one will give a good goddamn about a little mine in a little corner of Britannia.”
“You seem to know Agricola. Or maybe think that you do.”
I could see his teeth in the dark. “I know enough.”
“Who’s the local representative?”
The teeth got bigger. “You’re the clever doctor. You figure it out.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds. Finally, I said: “Is that all?”
“For now. I’ll be going. Don’t try to stop me-there are seven men in various locations around the villa, all skilled mercenaries and very well armed.”
I’d moved closer to his horse a few inches at a time. I looked up at him. “I don’t want to stop you. I want you to get the hell off this property.”
“You made your noise, native. It was loud enough for us to pay you a call. If I hear you again, you won’t be shouting.” He paused for a minute, then added softly: “You’ve got a weak spot now, hard man.”
He tried to rein in the horse, but I grabbed the bridle. “Let me give you some information, since you’ve been so helpful. If you fucking bastards ever even look at my wife, you’ll be begging me. And it won’t be to go on living.”
The raspy chuckle bit my ears. “But you would never know, Arcturus. You wouldn’t be there-and she wouldn’t tell you.”
I buried the hook in his leg. The leather shin wraps ripped, and I felt the flesh quiver. Then I yanked the hook forward, dragging it around the circumference of his calf, until I was in danger of hitting the horse.
He screamed and clutched at it, and by instinct I ducked. An arrow whizzed by and stuck in the hawthorn tree. Another one flew from the rock where my men were but missed. Down on the path, I heard shouts and a clank of metal.
He was holding on to his leg, galloping down the hill. Footsteps ran by chasing him. I shouted for the servants to grab what they could and follow me. Somebody lit a torch, and we ran down the pathway until we could see a group of men in a circle. Draco and the slaves. They were holding four mercenaries at sword point.
Draco’s face lit like a torch when he saw me. He’d spotted their men and circled behind them. Then he found their horses and figured capturing the mounts wasn’t the same thing as an outright attack. When he heard the shouts, he tried to avenge my death. Fortunately, I was around to appreciate the effort.
The walk back up the hill felt like a triumph. The slaves started to sing, the burliest ones nudging the mercenaries forward with sword points. I sent one of the others to the legion outpost. Soldiers would pick up the men in a few hours, but meanwhile they’d be bound and gagged and harassed by the servants.
When the procession reached the front of the house again, I saw Gwyna standing in the door. She was holding a knife. “Ardur-I was so worried. My God-you’re wounded-”
Everyone was quiet while I looked down in the torchlight at my new tunic. There was a bloodstain on the right side.
I reached in and pulled out the hoof pick. A chunk of leg was still attached.
“Not mine, sweetheart. Just a souvenir from our visitor.”
The slaves shouted, some waving swords in the air. I heard “curse” several times, and someone was earnestly explaining to one of the women that I had magical powers and couldn’t be killed.
I handed the pick back to Lineus, who gave it to Marchoc. Draco was explaining to Ligur where to keep the prisoners-the woodshed-and how far apart they should be and how often they should be given water.
I wasn’t going to bother with questioning them. Too many questions tonight. Besides, they were mercenaries. They wouldn’t know the Aquae Sulis contact. They could help the legion track down the syndicate-maybe. If anybody cared to find it. The bastard was right about that.
Gwyna was grabbing my arm and leading me inside. “Sit down-let me-”
“What are you doing?”
“Taking care of you. I thought I’d give you a bath, and then-”
“Just get me my old tunic. We’ve got a dinner appointment.”
She stared at me, her mouth open, until I closed it with a kiss. She kissed me back, and I didn’t care if the servants saw. Another faint shout rose from outside.
God, I was hungry.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
We were about an hour overdue. I leaned against the cushions. The litter swayed to the steady footfalls of the bearers, but I wasn’t in the mood for a lullaby. I’d come close to killing a man. I was hungry for food, still hungry for blood. Always hungry for my wife. I watched Gwyna as she gazed out at the soft rain.
She was wrapped in a shiny golden tunic that glittered when she moved. A twilight-colored mantle draped her shoulders. She wasn’t hiding anything in that outfit.
While Philo’s pretty serving girl escorted us to the triclinium, I put on my party face. I was even more of an outsider tonight. Maybe it was the excitement of wanting to kill and knowing I could. Maybe I was always like this.
My stomach felt as flat and empty as the grapes in a winepress. Rich pork odor-maybe suckling pig-tinged with a hint of fig teased my nostrils, and peas-with bacon and caraway-stewed chestnuts and lentils-honey cakes. A real goddamn dinner in Aquae Sulis.
The room was warm-but not too much. The furniture was good-but not too expensive. Nothing in excess-unless it was the fat old dowager stuffed into a stola that was too tight twenty-five years ago.
Philo rose with an easy grace. Libations had been poured; some of the guests were already on the road to Olympus. Even the large goblet on Philo’s table was almost empty. The good doctor was still drowning his sorrows by drinking in my wife. I smiled and bowed and stood in front of her.
“Arcturus. Gwyna. Thank you for sending back the message. I understand you were detained?” The always smooth delivery was for the guests: His eyes were worried.
“An unexpected visitor.”
He looked his age tonight. Anxiety dug out the fine lines around his eyes and mouth. He absentmindedly reached a hand to brush Gwyna’s arm and spoke in an undertone. “Are you-are you both-all right?”
I grinned again and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “Never better-but hungry.”
He dropped his hand from her elbow, and I let the wry expression he threw me bounce off my teeth. Message understood. “Of course. I’m sorry-let me introduce you to the guests. You know Octavio and Prunella-”