We cut around the back of the Forum Augusti, climbing the slope of the Quirinal a short way to our lane. It started to rain again as we reached the wine shop.
Not until we were safely upstairs inside our apartment, the door to the street bolted, did Cassia say a word.
“Is he at the ludus?” she asked as she removed her cloak and hung it neatly on its peg.
“Yes,” I answered.
Cassia’s smile warmed something deep inside me that had been cold too long. “Very wise of you to put him there.”
I discarded my cloak and wiped rain from my arms and close-cropped hair. Cassia frowned at the droplets of water on the floor but turned away as though she had grown used to living with a slovenly gladiator.
She had apparently purchased more foodstuffs at the popina or maybe from vendors at the baths. Cassia untied a cloth she’d carried under her cloak that was filled with dates and dried apricots, our lunch. I sat down, hungry.
“We will have to search for Secundus,” Cassia said as she arranged the food on clean plates. “Whoever he may be. A pity he gave them no other name.”
“Yes.” I popped a date into my mouth and savored its sweetness.
Secundus might be the man’s given name, or it could be a nickname. Most highborn and Equestrian families named their sons and daughters after their father—the daughters of Marcus Antonius, for example, had all been called Antonia. To keep similarly named children from being confused for one another, families bestowed nicknames.
Secundus might simply be a second son, with his older and younger brothers being Primus and Tertius. As names were handed down over the generations, the number meaning was often obscured, like with Octavian, the man who became Augustus.
Without a nomen, or a clan name, or Secundus’s true praenomen, we’d have difficulty tracking the man.
“I wonder if he has any ties to the Theatre of Pompey,” Cassia mused. “With a troupe who performs there, perhaps. Or, maybe he simply went seeking actors and thought Laurentius was a good mark.”
“Maybe he is the true playwright.” I spit out the date’s pit and reached for a handful of apricots, their golden hue bright against my palm. “Thinking to write a drama about the Etruscan kings of old but not wanting to admit the idea was his.”
“A misguided playwright, no matter who it is.” Cassia nibbled daintily at one apricot while I tossed the handful into my mouth. “A play that lauds Tarquinius and proclaims there is a new king in Rome would hardly go over well with Nero.”
“Someone might be using Secundus and the play to send a message to Nero,” I suggested as I chewed. “Or searching for a willing actor to become the returning king in truth, to overthrow Nero, as he fears.” I glanced out the open balcony as I spoke, lowering my voice. Dangerous even to discuss such things.
Cassia nodded thoughtfully. “I have been thinking that.”
I’d been insistent that Duilius take his family south not only because I feared Secundus—or whoever was controlling him—but because I worried that Nero would have them arrested and questioned for their part in the intrigue.
“Questioned” meant tortured. Gentle Camille, Duilia, and the young brothers and sisters would not withstand it, nor would Duilius. Even if Secundus was harmless and truly only producing a drama for the theatre, Nero would not stop until he was certain he’d eradicated any possible threat.
“Finding out where the ring came from might lead us to Secundus,” Cassia said. “If he bought it or had it made specially, the jewelers will know him. They keep careful records. I can find that out.” She paused, setting down her second apricot, untasted. “I believe I need a look at the ring again.”
“You copied the inscription.” I finished the apricots, washing down the sweet fruit with tart wine.
“Yes, but there’s more to a ring than that. There’s the type of gold and where it was mined. Certain jewelers work with particular types of gold, and some will do inscriptions even if they don’t understand the language they are writing. I’ll have an easier time finding them if I can show them the actual ring.”
“Nero has it,” I pointed out.
“I know.” Cassia sent me a remorseful glance. “I should not have given it to him.”
“Better that than being caught with it.” I hesitated, realizing where the conversation was going. “We’ll ask him for it. After I finish my meal. If we’re arrested, I’d like to have a full belly first.”
The guards at the gate of Nero’s domus did not want to admit us. We hadn’t been sent for, and we weren’t welcome. I wondered if Lucanus Faustinus, his majordomo, had told the guards to bar our way.
I was about to lead Cassia away in defeat when a familiar guard pushed his way to the gate.
“What do you want?” Servius asked us, curious, not condemning. He was in full armor, minus his helmet, a sword at his side.
I did not want to explain the errand with half the praetorian guard listening. I turned to go, but Servius barked an order for the gate guard to open the door.
“Come with me,” he ordered.
