Blood of a Gladiator - Ashley Gardner Page 0,73

had to traverse several groups of guards when we reached the top of the Palatine, who were more interested in asking me about previous matches than what my business was. When I finally conveyed what I wanted, I found that Severus Tullius was not in.

“He’s at the camp,” the guard who took my request said. “What do you want him for?”

I hesitated, trying to think of a plausible excuse. Cassia had become a mute bundle of cloth behind me, not venturing to help.

Before I decided what to say, a man in a toga with a shaved head strode from the courtyard, ignoring the guards. “You.” He pointed at me. “Follow. Now.”

The guard, with an annoyed grimace behind the other man’s back, let us in.

We crossed the courtyard, which contained a film of dust from the masonry work being done on the other side of it. A long arcade was under construction, and I would have liked to linger to watch the work.

Our guide had not indicated Cassia was to stay behind. He strode ahead of us in a bad temper, his toga dragging from his arm through the dust.

We went not to the peristyle garden as before, but into a smaller chamber with walls decorated with scenes from chariot races. A man in a racing tunic and gloves—a charioteer—stood before the paintings, absorbed in them. I saw no guards in the room with us, but I sensed them lurking out of sight.

The man in the toga cleared his throat, then abruptly pivoted and left us.

The charioteer turned around, Nero himself.

“My friends.” He gave us a nod, as though he’d invited us for the sole purpose of admiring the paintings—and maybe he had. They were very well done, the horses lifelike as they leapt, nostrils flaring, chariots pounding down the long stretch of the Circus Maximus.

I bowed low—Cassia had already abased herself on the floor. Nero waited a moment, then bade us rise.

“I have so few friends that I wish to call you thus. The young lady is a true musician.” He sounded admiring.

I had heard it was not unusual for a princeps to have slaves and freedmen in his most intimate circle. Claudius had been surrounded by them, and a favorite concubine of Nero’s, Acte, had been a slave. I supposed it was easier for the princeps to trust those who had no actual political power.

“I saw you approach, and assumed the guard would fuss about letting you in,” Nero continued. “I sent my majordomo to fetch you, because I knew it would annoy him.”

Cassia glanced at me, worried. I went over phrases in my head, trying to find ones that would warn Nero without having the two of us arrested and tortured until we coughed out the entire story, including the names of Lucia and Avitus.

Nero forestalled me by launching into a speech. “I want to tell you everything, Leonidas. You deserve to know. I will tell you why I chided you to protect Decimus Laelius Priscus from all harm, though you must not share this secret on pain of death.” He held us with a stern gaze, the same that had ordered soldiers to go after his mother shipwrecked on an island, and murder her.

He threw out his hand in a dramatic gesture. “If Priscus dies,” he announced. “Then I am doomed to die with him.”

Chapter 21

Cassia stared in amazement. I must have had the same expression, because Nero suddenly burst out laughing.

“You look like fishes, your mouths agape.” Nero barked a laugh. “But alas, it is true. If Priscus is harmed, I will be assassinated. I know this every day when I rise, and every night that I retire.”

Cassia stirred next to me. She wanted to ask questions, but talking without leave invited punishment. I had to speak and hope I satisfied her curiosity.

“Who would do this? Why do you not arrest that person?”

Nero’s smile was patient. “Because I have no idea who is making the threats. I’ve received letters, outlining exactly what will happen to me if Priscus is harmed. They are not nice letters. They are left in the domus in secret, and no one knows who delivers them or writes them.”

That spoke of someone who knew the buildings well, or had help from inside them.

I shifted my weight uneasily. “Why Priscus? He seems a harmless man.”

Nero spread his fingers. Behind him on the wall, a charioteer snarled across at another driver, ruthless determination in his eyes.

“Priscus was liked by my uncle, trusted. One of