Blood of a Gladiator - Ashley Gardner Page 0,43

to Floriana.”

“One of her customers, you mean.” In spite of his fear, his eyes took on a knowing twinkle. “Former customer, that is. The poor woman was brutally murdered.”

“I know. I am trying to discover who struck her down.”

I could imagine Cassia’s disappointment at my frankness, but I’d warned her I was not subtle.

The man raised thick brows that seemed to perch on the edge of his forehead. “Are you? Well, good luck to you. Probably a robbery. No one is safe on the streets at night, or in a morning fog.”

I gestured at the lead weight in his hand. “That is a plumb bob.”

His surprise grew. “It is indeed. Are you a builder? You look more like a gladiator.”

“You don’t attend the games?”

He shuddered. “Too gruesome for me. I know it shows my lack of courage, but I invent excuses when my friends press me to go. I prefer buildings. Dangerous in their own way, but when handled correctly, perfectly peaceful.”

I agreed. “Are you measuring these walls?”

“I am. I’m an architectus. Gnaeus Gallus. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” He watched me hopefully.

“No.”

Gallus’s face fell. “Ah, well. I try for fame, but I am no Vitruvius. Maybe if I worked on great public buildings instead of former lupinari in the Subura, I might make my name. But it is the brickwork and concrete beneath the marble that render the buildings sound.”

“I know.” I ran my hand along the bricks that showed under the flaking wall paintings. “I once worked for a master builder.”

Gallus eyed me doubtfully. “As a quarryman? You appear to be strong enough.”

“As an apprentice.” So long ago, the days almost forgotten in the blur of training, sleeping, fighting, staying alive.

I recalled my master’s sonorous voice as he explained about lifting bolts and the precise fitting of blocks, how the Greeks had built the Parthenon steps in a slight curve so that the entire edifice appeared straight to the eye. How to design walls with a lip on top to hold a wooden ceiling mold so the corridor could be used even while the concrete was being poured to form the barrel vault above.

Memories long suppressed returned to me in a flash. I’d done all I could to blot them out after my arrest. To remember days of contentment had made my time in the dark prison even more horrific.

“Intriguing,” Gallus said, scattering my thoughts. “Then you’ll appreciate what a mess this house is.” He lifted the plumb line to a corner and grimaced as the bob swung out crookedly. “I am inspecting the place to see what can be done with it.”

“Why?” I asked, perplexed.

“Because I was hired to, that’s why. If you are going to stand in my way, will you put away your knife and hold a few things? The boy who assists me was ill today.”

Gallus bent to a corner and lifted a box that contained tools, a straight edge, and tablets like those Cassia used, and thrust it at me.

“I mean, why are you here?” I persisted without moving. “Not your apprentices or workers?” An architectus was usually too grand to do the menial work himself.

“Because I like to study a building for myself. See how it hums.” Gallus pressed his hand to the wall, his thumb landing next to a lurid painting of two women giving a man fellatio. Gallus didn’t appear to notice. “This wall is whimpering a bit. We will have to shore it up if we don’t knock it down entirely.”

I tucked away my knife and took the box, heavy for its size. “Someone has inherited the house?” I wasn’t certain whether Floriana, or her husband in Etruria, had owned the building or if Floriana had rented it, or worked for whoever owned or rented it. So many things I didn’t know.

“Purchased it. He’s had his eye on the place a long time. A prime area for shops, I suppose. One day I’ll be lucky and land a commission for a decent temple. My masterpiece in carved marble.”

“I thought you said the brickwork and concrete were more important.”

“Ha. Cheeky, aren’t you? A man can still wish to make his name, and temples and public buildings are how that is accomplished.” He sighed. “I suppose Gnaeus Gallus, designer of shops, will have to do.”

“Who purchased the building?” I asked. This was the sort of information Cassia would want.

“Haven’t met the fellow, only seen letters brought by his scribe. Chap called Sextus Livius.”

I’d never heard of him, but I noted the