Eventually, Nero decided to dismiss us. I do not think he’d tired of the subject, which I heard he could discuss for hours, but the novelty of speaking to a gladiator and his slave had probably worn off. Nero shouted for a servant—the door opened instantly—and Cassia and I were escorted out of the palace.
We said nothing to each other while we walked down the steep slope from the Palatine to the Forum Romanum and joined the throng of people there. Cassia broke off from me to pause at shops and fill her basket with a pot of oil, a box of spice, and other sundries. She led me to a bakery where she purchased hard rolls, at half price because they were left over from the morning rush.
I helped her carry it all home, where she prepared a meal from lunch’s leftovers plus what she’d bought this afternoon.
“We need to speak to Priscus,” she said once she was settled.
“That is obvious.” I slumped to my stool and drank deeply of the wine she poured. “The man who recruited Floriana did not want me protecting Priscus—he must know that someone out there will have Nero killed if Priscus dies, no matter how it’s done.” I paused, letting the wine warm me. “Unless both killers are one and the same.”
“I don’t think so.” Cassia took up her spoon. “I will read through my notes, but the attempt to have Floriana kill you so you could not protect Priscus seems clumsy. Any man who has the power to threaten Nero and not be caught is more careful. Clever. Ruthless.”
“A clumsy attempt makes me think of Avitus. He never could get close to Nero, and would have to try to assassinate him in a roundabout method.”
“What we have is two crimes.” Cassia used the handle of her spoon to draw imaginary vertical lines on the table. “First—a man who finds Priscus important to him hopes to keep him alive by placing Nero under a threat that if Priscus is killed, Nero will be as well.” She frowned as she pondered. “Priscus is very wealthy. A client might want him alive and unharmed for as long as possible, to keep that wealth trickling to him.”
I recalled the clients I’d seen waiting for Priscus, particularly the sour-looking middle-class man. “Such a person would have to have his hands on many reins.”
Cassia sent me a little smile. “You are still caught up in the chariot-racing talk. Though I agree.” She drew a horizontal line with her spoon. “Second—a man wishes to kill Nero but knows he never can get close to him or trust anyone close to him. He hears of this strange bargain that Nero keeps Priscus alive to preserve his own life, and decides to use that as his assassination attempt. All he has to do is kill Priscus—I suggest Priscus was supposed to have been murdered when he delivered the ransom—why else would a dozen pirates be sent to meet him and insist on Priscus coming alone? If you had not been there, both Priscus and Decimus would be dead.”
I agreed. I remembered how I had to insist on coming along to the final ransom delivery, and the pirates had finally agreed to allow only me to accompany Priscus. They must have believed they could easily dispose of me as well.
Cassia went on. “The pirates are instructed to attack, Priscus and his son will be killed, and the incident put down to a ransoming gone wrong. The pirates flee with the money, never to be seen again. Presumably to meet with whomever hired them, or perhaps they were to keep the full ransom as their payment. The assassin wants Nero dead—the money is immaterial.”
A very wealthy man could let go two caskets of gold if it achieved his goal. Usually those who planned to assassinate Caesars were rich and powerful. They did not kill for money but out of ambition or fear of what that princeps would do to Rome. Of course, that description did not fit Avitus.
“But Priscus lets Celnus talk him into hiring a bodyguard,” I said slowly. “He asks for me.”
“And the assassin realizes that you can thwart his plans. You are the best fighter in Rome. Even a group of pirates would have trouble against you—which proved to be the case. So our assassin goes to Floriana, knowing you frequent her house, and gets her to agree to kill you in your sleep. Perhaps he offered her a fortune,