Our route home took us past Chryseis’s insula once more. The basketmaker’s shop was shut, as was the coppersmith’s, boards bolted across the counters and over doors to lock out intruders.
Something made me turn and enter the building. Cassia pattered after me without question, but I threw her an explanation.
“I want to check one more time. Chryseis might have come home, and we can shake answers out of her.”
I saidwe, but of course I would do the shaking and Cassia would make notes.
We climbed the many stairs toward the top of the insula. The door across the hall from Chryseis’s apartment was still open but again, I sensed no one inside. Even the odors of food I’d smelled last time were gone.
I opened the door to Chryseis’s rooms and halted so abruptly that Cassia ran straight into me. She untangled herself, peered around me, and sucked in a sharp breath.
On the floor was Rufus. He was dressed in a plumed helmet, arm guard, and shin greaves, a sword on the ground next to him. He, like Ajax, had been cut into neat parts, all of them stacked tidily, with his head perched on top of the pile.
A curse left my mouth, one so foul it blackened the air. Cassia, after her initial intake of breath, went very, very quiet.
A footstep sounded behind us. In the next instant, a woman’s shrill and horrified scream rent the silence, echoing up and down the long staircase and all through the insula.
Chapter 9
Iswung around to behold Chryseis, her lush hair tumbling across her shoulders, her beautiful eyes wide in her chiseled face. Her mouth was open, red and gaping, as she screamed and screamed.
Voices sounded on the stairs, Romans braving the gathering darkness to discover what madness occurred above them. Chryseis continued to scream, the sound like a blade straight into my brain.
Cassia swung from me and seized Chryseis firmly by the shoulders. “Stop!”
Chryseis gasped, the noise ceasing, but her eyes remained fixed on Rufus, her breathing ragged.
More voices, and then hurrying footsteps. Residents stared into the apartment, including the small girl from across the hall. I stepped in front of her to block her view of the grim scene.
Astonished and horrified babbling began, those who couldn’t make a noise staring in shocked fascination. Too many people crowded the landing, those on the stairs below demanding to be told what was happening above.
“It’s that gladiator,” one man called down to his neighbors. “He’s all cut to pieces.”
“Rufus?” another man demanded. “Hades.” His gaze fixed on me. “Is that Leonidas the Spartan? Didyoukill him, Leonidas?”
“No,” I said tersely.
“Leonidas never did this,” another man scoffed. “That woman took an ax to him, I’ll wager.” He pointed at Chryseis.
Chryseis broke from Cassia, fell to her knees, and began keening.
“Let me pass. Let me pass, pox take you.” The growling voice of authority came to us as a burly man with a breastplate over his tunic pushed his way to the landing. “Isis …” He breathed as he beheld Rufus, his ruddy face losing color.
The man was a vigile, probably a captain of whatever house was on the Aventine. Behind him came another slim vigile I knew, by the name of Avitus.
“Jupiter’s balls.” Avitus took in Rufus and swiftly turned away.
The watch captain recovered himself. “Did she do it?” He pointed at Chryseis as her wailing continued.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “She did not expect to find him like this.”
The captain pried his gaze from the corpse and Chryseis and fixed it on me. “What areyoudoing here? You’re Leonidas the Spartan, aren’t you? I thought you’d retired.”
“I came to speak to Chryseis.” I debated what to tell him—would Aemil thank me for spreading the tale that his gladiators were being hacked to pieces and left in artful piles?
Avitus stepped forward. He wore no breastplate, only a tunic and sandals. “Leonidas didn’t kill him,” he said with confidence. “He wouldn’t.”
The captain frowned but apparently took another vigile’s word for it. “Send my men up here,” he ordered Avitus. “We’ll take her away with us.”
