I remembered how fearful Lucia had been when she’d parted from me, bundled in the nondescript clothes Cassia had given her. “Why would she return to Rome? She was terrified.”
Cassia set out her tablets—she had a dozen of them now, arranged in rows. “To kill you?” she suggested. “Perhaps when the other attempts on your life failed.”
“Why should she want to kill me?” Lucia’s fear had been real, I was certain. “We helped her flee. You sent her to a place of safety ... if she went there.”
“I do not know why. I only know that an attempt was made on your life today, and a woman who resembles Lucia appeared and followed us.”
My bafflement grew. “Lucia has no reason to kill me. Even if she did, she could have done so any time I slept in her bed.”
I didn’t like the qualm I had as I spoke. Of course Lucia wouldn’t wish me dead. Why would she? I had paid Floriana well for her—at least Aemil had—and I wasn’t brutish with her as some of Floriana’s clients could be.
I’d also thought Lucia and I were friends, as far as such a friendship could be. But in truth, I realized Lucia had no reason to be loyal to me, no matter what I wanted from her. A woman hadn’t held me under in the bath, a man had, but men could be hired, or manipulated.
Cassia offered no more explanations. I moved to the balcony again and peered down at the street, then went back into the apartment and closed the wooden shutters.
In the gloom, I crossed to the front door and left without a word. Cassia didn’t try to follow—this time I would have sent her back, and she seemed to understand this.
At the bottom of the stairs, I eased open the door and scanned the dark street. The wine merchant’s was shut now, only a tiny flicker of light behind the wooden slats that closed off the shop showing someone was awake.
I slipped outside and moved down the lane. At this hour, few people were about. Most would be inside, doors bolted, dining and sleeping, huddled with their families.
Footsteps sounded on the cross street. I walked to it quietly, not hurrying, my boots making almost no noise. I reached the main street and took a quick glance around the corner. No one.
In no rush, I waited. Anyone following me would wait also, to see what I would do.
It could be a while. I folded my arms against the cold and remained in the side street, out of the wind.
A clump of men passed. The few in togas were surrounded by lackeys with lanterns, trying to light the way through inky blackness.
A darker shape detached itself from a doorway a little down the street and followed them.
A robber hoping for a good take? Or a man seeking the safety of the group? Or Lucia, trying to escape me? The cloaked figure was slender enough to be her.
I stepped out and quickened my pace. The men’s guards heard me and turned, lanterns high. Their pursuer sought a doorway, hiding. I went right after her.
The men and their lantern bearers hurried on, voices hushed in fear.
I laid my hands on the follower and yanked her out of hiding. I realized in an instant that it wasn’t Lucia, though the man’s build was as slim as a woman’s.
I stared down at my vigile, his face pale in the darkness. He struggled, but I held him firmly and took his knife away from him as soon as he pulled it. He found its point at his own throat.
“Why are you following me?” I demanded.
His dark eyes were bulbous. “You are following me. You chased me a long time this morning.”
“Because I wanted to ask you a question. Why are you in this part of Rome?”
“I’m doing my job—what did you think? I’m supposed to patrol the streets at night. Searching for fires or disturbances.”
“You were spying on me and trying to sneak away with the group of patricians. I ask again, why?”
“Because you probably killed that woman.” The vigile tried to draw himself up, but with me crushing his ribs and holding a knife to his throat, he failed. “I only have to prove it to the magistrates.”
“The last time I was accused of murder, no one went to the trouble of making sure they could prove it before dragging me to prison.”