I moisten my parched lips. “No, Dominus. No one.”
“Is that so?”
“No one,” I say again. “I swear on my oath to you, Dominus.”
He doesn’t move or speak. Doesn’t look anywhere but right at me. Cold sweat beads on my neck. The wounds on my back and shoulders tingle to life, reminding me of every place the flagellum bit into my flesh, and those wounds will be scratches compared to today’s punishment, I’m sure of it.
Abruptly, Drusus moves on to Quintus, and I barely keep a relieved breath from escaping my lips.
“Quintus,” Drusus growls. “You were a businessman before you sank to the level of an auctoratus, weren’t you?”
Quintus sets his jaw. “Yes, Dominus. I was.”
“Which means,” Drusus says, “you can read. And, I assume, write. Would that be correct?”
Quintus swallows hard. “Yes, Dominus. I can read and write.”
“Mm-hmm.” Drusus holds the scroll in front of Quintus’s face. “So this could feasibly have come from you, yes?”
“I can read and write, Dominus.” Quintus’s voice wavers just enough to reveal his fear. “But I didn’t write that message. I swear it.”
Drusus raises on eyebrow.
Quintus struggles to look him in the eyes. “I swear it on the names of my ancestors, Dominus. The message isn’t mine.”
Drusus eyes him silently for a moment. Then he continues down the line. “And finally, Lucius.” He puts a hand on Lucius’s shoulder. “You know, it would seem the wife of Senator Octavian Aurelius has a soft spot for you.” Leather creaks as Drusus withdraws his hand and folds his arms across his chest, and the smirk on his lips turns my blood cold. “Would you care to show us all what fascinates her so much about you?”
Lucius’s jaw falls open, and he stares at Drusus with wide eyes. “Begging your pardon, Dominus?”
“Go on.” Drusus makes a sharp, downward gesture. “Is there something we should all envy for fascinating such a beautiful and influential woman?” He leans in closer, and all the amusement leaves his voice. “Or do you two have things to discuss that are best discussed behind closed bedchamber doors?” The scroll crinkles quietly in his hand. “Or perhaps on paper?”
Lucius gulps. Then he reaches for his belt.
“Oh, keep it where it belongs.” Drusus waves a hand and turns to walk away. He faces us all from a couple of paces away, and he glares at each of us in turn. “Every one of you, look at the men standing beside you. Memorize their faces as they’re memorizing yours. Whoever among you is here for any reason at all beyond training and fighting so you don’t starve out on the fucking streets like the stray dogs you are, you can be sure I will learn your name. And when I do find out who’s responsible for this”—he holds up the scroll again—“rest assured you’ll leave this ludus alive and intact only if the gods are feeling far more charitable than I.”
He turns and starts away from us, across the courtyard.
All five of us have nearly released our breaths when Drusus pauses and turns to us again.
“I nearly forgot.” The smirk says he most certainly did not. “The man who brings me the name and motive of the traitor among you will be most generously rewarded.” The smirk widens. “That will be all.”
“Hey, Saevius.”
At the sound of my name, Hasdrubal and I stop sparring. I turn toward the voice that called me, and my throat tightens at the sight of Arabo, one of Drusus’s bodyguards.
He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb. “The master’ll see you. Now.”
“Gettin’ popular with the master,” Hasdrubal quips as he takes my weapon and shield.
“Popular?” I laugh dryly. “We’ll see about that.”
“Come on,” Arabo says. “The master doesn’t tolerate being kept waiting.”
My heart beats faster as I follow the lanista’s bodyguard from the training yard. Men look. Some murmur among themselves. I can only imagine what they suspect, but for the moment, my concern is what Drusus suspects. After he confronted all the auctorati this morning, this could be anything. Has one of the other men accused me?
Moments later, I’m standing before Drusus in that familiar room. I’m certain this place will always give me chills. The afternoon blazes outside, but it’s dark and cool in here. Only the single oil lamp on the small table illuminates the shadowy room, along with a few faint sunbeams that make it in through the shuttered windows.
“Leave us,” Drusus says, and the scribe and bodyguards immediately obey. After the door closes behind them, Drusus looks up at me from his chair, and gestures at another on the opposite side of the table. “Sit, Saevius.”
Of course I obey. I’m as guarded now as I am in the arena, taking note of every move he makes and every move he doesn’t. I hold his gaze and he holds mine. Does he see anything in my eyes? Any reason to suspect why I’m in his ludus?
Lamplight flickers across his smooth skin and along the sharp edges of his jaw and his cheekbone. Something about his eyes—or maybe it’s my uncertain conscience?—unsettles me, like I’m more and more certain that if he looks at me long enough, he’ll draw out of me any truth he chooses.
I lower my gaze, and instead watch his finger running idly around the rim of his cup. And a moment too late, I realize I’m staring. And Drusus is watching me.
I clear my throat. “You wanted to see me, Dominus?”
“Drusus,” he says in a slightly amused tone. “In here, call me Drusus.”
His request of familiarity doesn’t worry me like Calvus’s had, but it doesn’t sit comfortably either.
“Right. Drusus.” I clear my throat. “You wanted to see me?”
“I did.” He leans down and picks up a small jug from beside his chair. As he pours wine into his cup, he glances at me. “Wine, Saevius?”
Every time he says my name, he unnerves me a little more. Maybe that’s why he does it. A cat toying with a mouse who’s well aware of how many dead mice precede him.
He raises the jug and lifts his eyebrows. “Wine?”
“I . . . um . . . all right. Thank you.”
He pours wine into a second cup, then leans forward to hand it to me.
“Thank you, Domi—Drusus.”
He offers a slight smile, thin lips tightening as the corners just curl upward, but says nothing.
I take a sip, and much like the wine I drank with Master Calvus, I can’t say how it compares to the taste of Venus, but it is luxury on the tongue. Sweet and tart, perfectly fermented. Even if I don’t know why I’m drinking it at all.
Drusus watches me. “Good, isn’t it?”
I nod. “Yes. Quite.”
“Falernian wine.” He raises his cup. “Nothing compares.” I’m certain he’s expecting me to say something, but then he speaks again. “I think I’d like to hear some poetry. Do you like poetry, Saevius?”
“I do,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say.
Drusus hands me a partially unrolled scroll. “Read this one, then.”
My heart stops and my mouth dries. Read? Oh, gods . . .
I set down my cup and hold the scroll in both hands. “I . . .”
“Go on.” He gestures at the scroll and leans on the armrest, cradling his wine between his slender fingers. “Read it.”
Stomach twisting with panic, I pull my gaze from him and look at the rows of symbols in front of me. So this is poetry? Somewhere in there is poetry?
“I’m waiting.” Drusus’s tone teeters precariously between amused taunting and dangerous impatience.
I release my breath. “I’m sorry, Dominus.” I slowly roll the scroll, careful as I can not to wrinkle it. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
I sweep my tongue across my lips and hold the scroll out to him. “I can’t read.”
There’s no surprise in his expression. No reaction at all, really, nor can I be certain what he’s thinking when he says, “Can’t you?”