Blood of a Gladiator - Ashley Gardner Page 0,47

me. It had been a long time before I’d been able to let down my guard around him.

“Marcianus is a good man,” I told her. “You will do well here.”

“Leonidas is flattering.” Marcianus folded his arms, his smile slanted. “And wiser than he knows.”

I wasn’t certain how to answer, so I took my leave of them both and went on with my pursuits.

It was the fourth hour, breakfast finished. Shops were doing flourishing business, Rome as vigorous as ever, despite the rain.

Saturnalia was over, and the new year had begun. Janus, the two-faced god, looking both forward and backward, ushered in a new month. I remembered Marcianus telling me that the senate had once proposed naming December as the first month of the year, since it held Nero’s birthday, but Nero had refused the honor.

I thought of the haughty young man who’d delighted in Cassia’s applause. Many believed Nero didn’t care about the running of Rome, only his own preoccupation with music and drama. Rumor went that he’d instructed for his mother, Agrippina, to be killed because she’d interfered with his pursuit of music. Others speculated that his new wife, Poppaea, had simply encouraged him to get rid of Agrippina so the two could marry.

The quirks of the princeps didn’t concern me at the moment, beyond his admonishment to protect Priscus. I wasn’t foolish enough to involve myself in the affairs of those on the Palatine. Everyday life was challenging enough.

I made my way past the Circus Maximus, where the thump of hoofbeats told me teams of horses were being trained. Nero favored chariot racing, which made him liked by most Romans. He defied the stuffy senators and gave the rest of Rome games and races.

The house where the vigiles of the Subura slept during the day and brought in miscreants at night was near the Clivus Pullius as it went up the Oppian Hill.

I did not know the name of the man I sought, but I had no fear of plunging into the house and searching through beds until I found him. The vigile had plunged into mine.

I didn’t need to look for him, as it turned out. The young vigile walked out of the house as I approached it, saw me, and tore off in the opposite direction.

Chapter 13

I chased my quarry through the rain, splashing over stones, bumping through crowds and around shouting vendors. The vigile fled past the fountain of Orpheus, tearing around clumps of people, and toward the Porta Esquilina. I pounded after him.

Plenty of people streamed in and out of the triple-arched Esquiline gate, moving to and from Rome’s main markets. A litter born by thick-bodied men shoved its way along—the vigile deftly slid around it and ducked into a grove that lined the road up the Esquiline Hill.

Priscus lived not far from here, and my heart jumped. Did this vigile have something to do with whoever hunted Priscus?

The grove of trees I dashed into surrounded a shrine to Venus-Libitina, sacred to undertakers, whose businesses filled the area. I shivered inwardly, having no wish to encounter merchants who dealt with death.

I emerged into a small clearing, in the midst of which stood a square temple, very old, with columns rising into the rain. My vigile was nowhere in sight.

I slowed my steps, my breath fogging in the cold mists. The temple appeared to be empty this morning, no rituals performed on the front steps, no priests sweeping the entrance. Venus-Libitina was being ignored today.

I heard nothing, nor did I see a flash of tunic among the bare-branched trees. The grove held sudden peace after the teeming roads, a place to catch the breath and contemplate.

The only place the vigile could be hiding was inside the temple—however no one but priests of the goddess were allowed in there. To defile a temple held penalties that ranged from a mere thrashing to horrific death, depending on the rules of the place. No one would risk such a thing.

I pretended to turn and walk away, as though I’d given up. I strode under the trees back to the road, but at the last moment slipped into shadows and waited for my prey.

The rain came down harder. Water dripped from branches and darkened the arches of the aqueduct that soared on the side of the hill. Romans drank perpetually fresh spring water, untainted by waste.

I waited in vain. The vigile never appeared, though I stood there until the fifth hour was called by a crier in the street