Page 41 of Brother at Arms

“I hope I have the correct street,” Marcianus said ahead of us. “I don’t come here often. Ah, here it is.”

He dove down an ally that stank of urine and feces, rats scurrying out of his way. Cassia lifted the hem of her tunic and stepped delicately, the walls of the place narrowing to brush our shoulders.

“Samorix,” Marcianus called into an open door. A symbol of a snake twined around a staff had been carved into the door’s stone lintel, though time and rain had flaked much of it away.

The shop inside was tiny and dark. An oil lamp burned on a table, behind which sat a man with a thin, leathery face and shaved dark hair. He was tall and lean, his tunic hanging from bony but hairy arms. Around him were shelves upon shelves of boxes, clay pots and ceramic jars, and stacks of scrolls and tablets.

“Who is that?” The man jerked his head up from whatever scroll he’d been studying. His eyes, which were a light shade of blue, widened as he took me in. He grew curious when he beheld Cassia, then relaxed in recognition when he lit upon Marcianus.

“Ah, it’s the medicus. What extraordinarily difficult potion do you want me to mix for you this time?”

“None at all,” Marcianus reassured him. “I’ve come to ask what sort of elixir could render a man paralyzed but not stiffly so. In a stupor, let us say. And what sort would take only a minute or so to work, and which would take longer?”

Samorix regarded him in incredulity. “Is that all you want to know? That’s a denarius-worth of information.”

Marcianus blenched. “I’m not asking you to make it, only to tell me what would have such an effect.”

“Yes, but that’s time for me to read through my books and maybe test out a few concoctions, which is the use of ingredients and more time. A denarius.”

Marcianus leaned his fists on the one clear spot on the table. “I’ll wager you know exactly what will cause such a thing without reading a word.”

Samorix tapped the side of his head. “Perhaps, you are forgetting all the years of experience and knowledge that you wouldn’t have without me. An as per name of such poisons, but a denarius for my wisdom.”

Marcianus’s lanky arms firmed as he leaned closer to Samorix. “A sestertius.”

Samorix was not impressed. “And if I do not capitulate? You’ll set your pet gladiator upon me?”

“Are any of your scrolls for purchase?” Cassia asked around Marcianus. “I collect every scrap of knowledge I can. We will take information on the concoctions and a scroll of my choice for one denarius.”

Samorix’s narrow face scrunched. “Gods save me from dealing with Greeks.”

“Do you agree?” Marcianus asked. “Cassia loves to read.”

“Only if she doesn’t take a scroll I have great need of.”

“I can copy it out, if so,” Cassia said.

It was her calm tones that won over Samorix, I was certain. “Agreed,” Samorix snarled, then shouted, “Hadrianus!”

A curtain in the corner of the shop moved. I didn’t think there was room in this building for anything beyond the wall behind Samorix’s desk, but I glimpsed shadowy depths when a giant of a man raised the curtain.

He was thick muscled, though not as tall as I was, with feet the size of platters in huge sandals. His tunic stretched over a broad chest and shoulders, and his dark hair was cut short, like mine and Samorix’s.

While Samorix was obviously a Gaul, this man was fully Roman, with dark hair and eyes and a solid build. He gave us a quick, assessing stare, then turned inquiringly to Samorix.

“Fetch the goods from the top shelf—you know the ones,” Samorix instructed. “And bring out the boxes of scrolls that are under the table. All of them.”

The man nodded, gave us another once-over, and left without a word.

“He can’t speak,” Samorix told us once Hadrianus had gone. “He had his tongue cut out when he was a quarry slave, because he talked too much. So I was told. He must still have made trouble after that because the quarry owner was happy to be rid of him. I had him at a bargain, plus he can’t betray my secrets.”

The casual way Samorix spoke of the man’s torture chilled me. I recalled standing with other condemned slaves in a marketplace while Aemil looked us over with his cold, hard gaze. I’d been one of the lucky ones chosen for the life of a gladiator. Quarry slaves lived brutal lives, few surviving for long.

“A denarius before he returns,” Samorix said. “And you never asked me for this information.”

Marcianus patted his rope belt in sudden bewilderment, as though realizing no pouch hung from it. “I do not have such sum on me, I am afraid. I can bring it to you when I return for more valerian root.”

Samorix scowled and drew a breath, as though to call Hadrianus back. Cassia glanced quickly at me, and I stepped forward, tugging open my money pouch.