The freedmen and slaves looked surprised at this generosity, but the foreman and Vibius merely nodded. They were used to Gallus.
It took us most of the day to dig out half the foundation. By the time Gallus called a halt, we wiping sweat from our faces and handing around a wine flask, it was well into the afternoon, the air turning warm.
Vibius did not invite me to join him at his baths today. He marched from the site as soon as Gallus released us, barely giving his farewell to any of us. Gallus watched in concern as Vibius’s lanky form tottered down the street toward the Aventine.
“He has been twitchy lately.” Gallus stuffed scrolls and tablets into the bag that hung at his side. “Easily offended. Perhaps his brother-in-law is upsetting him again.”
“Tertius Cloelius Crispus?” I asked. “I’ve met him. He doesn’t think much of Vibius.”
Gallus huffed a laugh. “Because Cloelius was born in a grand villa at the top of the Esquiline Hill. Still lives there, though he has no money to hold it together. The estate is crumbling around him, according to Vibius. Wouldn’t forgive his sister for moving to a happier household.”
“They are fond of each other?” I asked. “Vibius and his wife?”
“I believe so. He speaks highly of her, and she seems kind to the fellow. An unlikely pair, but they work well together.”
I’d caught that in Vibius’s indignant response when I implied his wife would be greedy enough to send thieves to retrieve the ring.
My entire conversation with Vibius about the ring had been strange. I wondered why he was so upset with me for ridding myself of it. If not because he’d missed out on the ring’s worth, then what? Was Cassia’s and Nero’s theory that a man might use the ring to gain power true? And was Vibius that man?
Though Vibius had briefly examined the ring, I doubted he’d been able to read the inscription. It had taken Cassia the better part of a day to decipher it, and Vibius was nowhere near as clever as Cassia.
Gallus resumed tucking away his documents, the discussion over, and I bade him good night.
“Have a good evening yourself, Leonidas,” Gallus said. “As the project develops, there will be more interesting things for you to do. I did not hire you only for your strength, dear boy, never fear.”
I answered with a shrug and another wave good night.
I didn’t have the words to tell him that I didn’t mind whatever I did here. It was enough that I worked at the job I’d much enjoyed as a youth. No more learning the best ways to injure or kill the men I lived with every day, no more nights of smelling sweating gladiators and avoiding Aemil’s uneven temper.
When I’d heaved the stones out of the ground with the workers, I’d reveled in the harmony of us laboring as one. None of us tried to best the other, but each threw in our weight to accomplish the task.
I could hear the derision of my rival, Regulus, snorting that I was growing maudlin. Even Xerxes would have laughed at me.
I skirted the Aventine with a light step and passed the end of the Circus Maximus, quiet now in the increasing afternoon heat.
As I passed a temple at the edge of the Forum Bovarium, I sensed someone following me. It was very quiet in the space between this temple and the back side of the Palatine, as most Romans had retreated to the baths or returned home to prepare for the coming night. I had no trouble hearing the quick patter of feet that paused when I paused, resuming when I did.
My stalker was amateurish, but that did not make me feel better. Whoever it was could not mean me any good.
As I reached the long shadow thrown by the Horrea Agrippiana, a warehouse on the Viscus Tuscus, footsteps rushed toward me. I turned to intercept a whirlwind of limbs and a gleaming knife that came straight at me.
Chapter 9
A few seconds into the fight, I realized this was not the same thief who’d broken into our apartment two nights ago. He was thinner, more limber, and surprisingly more skilled.
I managed to swing him around, crashing him into the wall of the Horrea Agrippiana. I held him by the shoulders as he struggled.
The man had a thick head of dark hair, with a thin face and body, was young—perhaps five years younger than me—and unnaturally strong. He didn’t cease battling me as I held him, inflicting bruises on top of the ones I already had. He didn’t stop until I had my forearm across his throat, my body crushing his as I choked off his air.
He switched from punching me to clutching at my arm, eyes bulging as he gasped for breath.
“What do you want?” I demanded. “To rob me? Or to tell your friends you bested a gladiator?”
An angry glare answered me as the young man desperately sucked in breaths that were rapidly failing him.
“You took it.” He croaked the words, clawing at my wrist. “My ring.”
I started, but this young man looked nothing like a would-be king. His freedman’s tunic was threadbare at the shoulders, his sandals, which I’d noticed while he was kicking me, held in place with twine. He was old enough to marry and father children, and probably already had, but not so old that lack of regular food had worn down his body.
