Blood of a Gladiator - Ashley Gardner Page 0,53

clump of trees and scrub.

“Here.” Tullius pointed dramatically. “This is where the body of Floriana was found, stabbed to death.”

Cassia came forward, tablet in hand. She made a quick sketch of the path and river, marking notes alongside the diagram.

“What’s she doing?” Tullius asked. “The vigiles already have their records … that’s how I found out about this place.”

Cassia opened her mouth to explain, but I cut in. “I told her to.”

Tullius looked curious, but shrugged and said no more.

There wasn’t much to see. The bushes where Floriana had fallen were broken. A few footprints marked the mud, but the rain had washed most of them away. The marks of sandals would tell us nothing—all of Rome wore such shoes. Cassia sketched them anyway, and I did not stop her.

Any blood had been washed away as well, either by the rain or a city worker. This spot was near public buildings, where important people might stroll on a sunny winter day, and the consuls would not want to upset their colleagues and clients with the reminder of a violent death.

I gazed along the river to the arched bridge where people hurried to or from the island in the Tiber, wanting to be indoors before it was fully dark. I also wanted to be indoors, not liking that someone in Rome wanted me dead. What was to say they wouldn’t strike down my companions with me?

“None would have seen the murder.” I turned from the river and studied the back of the theatre and the Porticus Octaviae. “The fog would obscure what happened, and that early, it still would have been dark.” A cold finger traced down my spine. This was the perfect place for an assassination.

“Why did Floriana come here?” Cassia asked, her stylus busy. “She must have been summoned to meet her killer, or she asked him to meet her.”

Tullius considered this. “She knew him, you mean? I thought it was done by a robber—they’d be thick in the dark and the fog, happy to find a victim in their snare.”

“Odd weather for a morning stroll,” Cassia said. “And this spot is far from Floriana’s home. I would guess she had an assignation of some sort.”

“With a lover?” Tullius offered.

“She could bring a lover to her house,” I said. “Or meet him at his.”

“A secret lover, then.” Tullius nodded with confidence. “One she didn’t want her women talking about.”

“Possibly.” Cassia’s tone said she did not believe this, but she made another note.

Tullius moved to my side. “We should go back.”

The sun was sinking behind the river, silhouetting the arches of an aqueduct on the hills beyond. Clouds that had lowered on the city all day broke, and a streak of golden light glittered on the river and the stones of the aqueduct.

The natural beauty did not negate our danger. This area would soon come alive with thieves, along with the desperate who trolled the river collecting flotsam or simply hunkered down on the Campus Martius to wait for stray wanderers. Floriana must have sorely wanted to meet with whoever killed her—she’d be canny enough to understand the peril of this lonely place.

I gestured for Tullius to lead the way back to the main road. Cassia lingered, still jotting notes, until I took her by the arm and steered her after Tullius.

A shadow flitted after us, or so I thought. I swung around, my knife at the ready, but I saw nothing, no one. The river rushed on, the breeze bringing only silence.

Tullius decided to stop at a wine bar and steady his nerves before heading back to his barracks. He invited me to drink with him, but I declined, and said good night.

“We stay in,” I told Cassia once we reached our house. I firmly shut the door to our apartment and drew the bolt across it.

“Wise.” Cassia negated my suggestion by opening the balcony and stepping onto it to shake out our cloaks.

I joined her and peered over the edge. “I thought I saw someone following us.”

“So did I.” Cassia finished and moved calmly back into the apartment, folding our cloaks as she went. “It was Lucia.”

Chapter 15

I shot a startled gaze over the balcony again before I strode inside. “Lucia? Are you certain? How could it be?”

Cassia turned from hanging the cloaks, unworried. “Her hair is an odd and noticeable shade of red. I might be mistaken, but the shape of the face I saw under the cloak was the same. If not Lucia, it was a