“Leonidas, thank the gods.It’s Floriana.She’s powerfully ill.”
Floriana, though reedy, was the most robust of women.However, anyone could eat tainted food and have a bad night, even die from it, and fevers could take one suddenly.
Lucia grabbed my hand and dragged me deeper into the house.The women, groggy and hungover, huddled outside the room at the far end of the corridor, their worry filling me with disquiet.
When Lucia flung back the curtain that hid Floriana’s sleeping chamber, I recoiled from the stench that flowed out.I had to swallow bile before I could peer inside.
Floriana’s cell contained a small square window set high on the wall.The shutter was closed, and I reached above her bed to pull it open.
The window looked out to the back of the building behind this one, but enough morning sunlight trickled in to reveal Floriana lying on her pallet, her knees drawn to her chest.A black, many-curled wig perched on a peg above her bed, and Floriana’s own hair, gray and thin, straggled across her scalp.
She wheezed feebly, her mouth working as she tried to gulp air.Her lips were purple, with a touch of foam in their corners.
I straightened abruptly, nearly ramming into the women who crowded behind me.
“She’s been poisoned,” I snapped.“Lucia, stay with her.Keep her warm and try to get her to vomit.”
I turned on my heel and pushed my way through the ladies, who scattered from me like a flock of birds.
“Where are you going?”Lucia demanded.
“To fetch a medic.”
I knew only one who could save Floriana’s life.I plunged out into the bright Roman daylight, marching resolutely for the Tiber.
Chapter 4
It was not easy to navigate the thronged streets between the Subura and the bridges that crossed the river.Not only did I have to push through the crowd, but as often happened when I walked through Rome, I drew a band of followers.All recognized a gladiator, and most recognized me in particular.
I might now be, by law, just another nobody, but I was still Leonidas, the man thousands of people had cheered for until their throats were hoarse.I’d been their champion.
Now they followed me, calling my name, asking me to scratch my letters onto their souvenirs—cups, pictures, an oil lamp with a crude statue of a fighting gladiator on it.
I evaded them as best I could, but even my snarls to get out of my way were received with delight.They wanted me to be the ferocious fighter they saw in the games.
I didn’t have time for the attention today.Floriana was dying, and the only man who could save her would be at theludus, patching up the gladiators who’d survived the Saturnalian games.
I avoided the imperial fora and the crowds there, skirted the Theatre of Marcellus, and crossed the Campus Flaminius to the Tiber.I headed north to the Pons Agrippae, taking it over the river to the Transtiberium and so to Aemil’sludus.
Theludusconsisted of a large rectangular open area for training, surrounded on four sides by a two-floored building that housed the gladiators, trainers, slaves, and equipment.
Did I feel a throb of fondness when I looked upon the gate, a wistfulness that I would not be exercising, dining, and bedding down with my fellow gladiators?
I had no idea what I felt, and I was not a man to examine his emotions.At the moment, I was too worried about Floriana to be nostalgic.
The gate guard straightened as I came toward him, followed by a few of my devotees.He stared at me in surprise then shouted to a boy who raked the practice ring to run for Aemil.
“No,” I yelled after him.“I want Marcianus.”
The guard opened the gate, closing it quickly as the devotees who’d followed me surged forward.He’d done this for me many a day.
“Did you come to be a trainer?”the guard asked.He liked me, possibly because I’d often tipped him to let me in or out after curfew.
I didn’t bother to answer.Aemil headed for me in his loping trot, the sun glinting on his close-cropped, light-brown hair.He moved swiftly for a man who’d retired from his fighting days ten years ago.Ruthless, he’d been.A gladiator drawing Aemil as an opponent made his peace with the gods beforehand.
“Only a day.”Aemil peered at me smugly.He was a Gaul, captured in battle as a child, but now as Roman in attitude as any consul.“Only a day, and you rush back home.”
“I’ve come for Marcianus.A woman is ill.I need him.”
