“Very nice.” Albus munched a fried sheet of dough folded around walnuts and honey, gazing with interest around the wine shop.
The walls were painted with bright depictions of overflowing fruit baskets and tall amphorae of wine. Patrons ate and discussed business, family, friends, and the latest races without compunction. In deference to Parentalia, plates on an empty table contained bread soaked in vinegar, a handful of almonds, and a glass of wine, should anyone’s ancestor decide to drop in to refresh himself.
Cassia removed a wax tablet from the bag at her side and began to make notes in it.
“Is she writing down the price of the meal?” Albus asked in curiosity. “I wish I had a scribe. I’d not spend so much money without realizing it, I think.”
Cassia gave him a wise smile and continued to mark her tablet. I knew she was noting the time we had entered the popina, the fact that Albus was with us, where exactly we were, and what we waited for. I hadn’t told her, but she’d likely guessed.
“The man who ordered the gladiator helmets.” I shoved my wine cup aside, though the wine was quite good. “Would you recognize him again?”
“Absolutely.” Albus spoke with confidence.
“Even if he shaved off his hair? Or wore different clothes?”
“Of course. A man can’t change his nose, can he? Or the shape of his face, or his ears.”
“Even though you only saw him once?”
“Once when he made the order, once when he came to collect it.” Albus tapped the side of his head. “I remember everything, me. But I’m not as good at bronze work. So Volteius tells me, every day.”
“Perhaps your master will realize your true skills,” Cassia said kindly. “You said the man made the order and then collected it. How many helmets did he ask for?”
“Four. Four helmets, four sets of leg greaves, three arm guards, a couple of swords, a spear.” Albus rattled this off without having to think about it. “Said Aemilianus needed to outfit new gladiators and replace some broken equipment.”
Four. A knot tightened in my stomach, and Cassia and I exchanged an uneasy glance.
I feared Regulus would be the third gladiator the man meant to kill. The fourth—any of them. Praxus, Herakles, me.
“Why are we here?” Albus asked, noting our tension. “If you wanted to give me a cup of wine, we didn’t have to walk all the way up the Caelian.”
“The man who ordered the gear might be in that house over there.” I gestured with my wine cup, keeping my voice quiet. “When he comes out, I want you to tell me if it’s him.”
Albus’s eyes rounded. “You brought me here to identify the killer?” Alarm warred with excitement in his voice.
“Maybe,” I said.
I had no evidence but the hardness I’d seen in the large bodyguard’s eyes, coupled with the fact that he protected Severina without the disgust or apprehension I’d observed in the rest of her servants.
We waited for several hours. The proprietor of the popina didn’t mind as long as we continued to order wine and bread. His luncheon customers had long gone, and the popina quieted. Cassia glided to the pastry shop and returned with more crushed, sweetened walnuts in a pastry shell stamped to look like a whole walnut.
Albus grew restless by the afternoon and worriedly said he should get back to Volteius before he was dismissed. I was about to relent and send him off when the gate of Severina’s domus opened, and a litter emerged.
Two muscular men with the blank faces of those assigned the heaviest tasks bore the litter, and Severina’s head bodyguard walked closely beside it, his gaze watchful.
I moved into the deepest shadows of the popina and gestured with my chin. “Him. Is that your man?”
Albus leaned forward to peer at him, almost falling from his stool. His wine cup teetered, but Cassia caught it before it tumbled over. Albus did manage to sweep an empty plate to the floor, where it shattered, earning him the glare of the proprietor.
The bodyguard paused a step and gazed straight at Albus. His eyes flicked past the young man without recognition and then landed on me, and stopped.
Chapter 22
Itried to conceal myself, but a large champion gladiator could only be so hidden. I decided to brazen it out, met the bodyguard’s gaze, and gave him a nod.
He stared at me in grave suspicion for a few heartbeats, then he decided, like me, to pretend there was nothing unusual in me sitting in a popina a few strides from his mistress’ gate. He returned the nod and walked on.
Cassia let out a long breath. The bodyguard had not noticed her, but Cassia was excellent at effacing herself.
