Page 52 of Brother at Arms

Gallus had shown confidence in me from the day he’d met me, once he’d finished screaming at the sight of a gladiator in the room he’d been measuring. He’d become fascinated that I knew the function of each of his surveying tools and had trusted me ever since.

“I have another appointment,” I extemporized to explain my abruptness. Though I would, tomorrow, return to Marcella’s farm and shake Lucius until he told me the entire truth.

“I see. Well, thank you for pointing me toward the new project on the Aventine. I will visit Sextus Livius in the morning and grovel appropriately. I might even try to gain an appointment with your new friend Mena. Who knows? He might be a reasonable man, for a patrician.” Gallus chuckled.

I acknowledged his humor with a nod, then bade him a good afternoon as cordially as I could and left him.

The baths all over Rome emptied before sundown, which in May came an hour or so later than it had a few months ago. Dark clouds that had begun forming over the western edge of the city as I’d come up the hill now moved to encircle us. The sun alternately burst from behind the clouds or disappeared entirely, plunging the streets into and out of gloom as I descended.

I made my way to the Argiletum, which lay between the Subura and the high walls of the Forum Augusti. Nearby was the Macellum, the vast marketplace where goods from all over the world were sold across stone tables. One could buy gleaming fresh apricots and bright berries in summer, bolts of cloth—including silk from licensed sellers—grains measured carefully into baskets, and trinkets and novelties from every corner of the known world.

I knew the popina Fabius’s guard had mentioned, having passed it many a time as I trudged through the Argiletum. The wall between the counter and the entrance bore three painted bunches of grapes, colors now faded.

I spied the large bodyguard inside the popina, sitting against the far wall. Above him, a wall painting, also faded, depicted three men around a table similar to that at which the bodyguard sat. Someone had scratched words above the men’s heads, as though spelling out their conversation. I knew enough Latin letters by now to recognize how rude the words were.

Fabius’s guard didn’t rise when I entered. He remained seated on a bench against the wall, his wine cup on the table. He signaled to the proprietor, who hurried to us with another cup for me.

“My fighting name was Memnon,” the man said as I seated myself. “At least, that is the name Aemilianus gave me.”

I blinked in surprise. “Aemil? You mean you fought in his ludus?”

“Years ago. I was one of his first recruits. I am called Vitus now. Memnon is long gone.”

Aemil liked to give his gladiators the names of ancient heroes—Greek, Spartan, Persian, and otherwise. Because of Aemil, I was now Leonidas, and Manius Aelius had become Xerxes.

“He’s never mentioned you,” I stated.

Vitus did not look offended. “He was angry when I paid off my debt and bought my freedom. I was one of his best, and he didn’t want to lose me.”

I nodded. “He’s not happy with me either.”

“Aemil believed we were friends.” Vitus showed broken teeth in a smile. “I told him a gladiator and his lanista can never be friends, and I went. He never spoke to me again.”

Aemil must have learned his lesson by the time I departed, because he did not try to appeal to me with friendship. He offered me employment, with pay, but did not pretend to be amiable.

I took a sip of wine, which was watery and thin. “Now you work for Fabius?”

Vitus shrugged. “I’ve done other jobs—loading and unloading ships, exhibition fighting for a ludus in Pompeii, once that city’s ban on games was lifted. Making sure no one robs Fabius is easiest. He needs me only during the day, and he locks up his funds at night behind the thick walls of his house.”

“Why did you want to speak to me?” I asked, as though I hadn’t realized he’d overheard me asking Fabius about silk shipments.

“I know what gladiator you meant.” Vitus leaned forward, nearly overturning his wine cup with his bulk. “It was Xerxes. And I know exactly what illegal deeds he was doing.”

Chapter 17

Outside the popina, the thick clouds had prevailed. Thunder rumbled and sudden rain pattered down. Those waiting in line for food to take home groaned but pulled cloaks over heads and stoically remained.

“How do you know about Xerxes?” I asked Vitus sharply.

“He was at the ludus with me,” Vitus answered, settling in comfortably against the wall. “He was recruited not long after I was. Xerxes was a natural-born fighter and a showman, and he rose through the ranks very fast. He won many prizes—which Aemil took his cut of, as usual. I suppose Xerxes got into his side business because he wanted more money for himself.”

“Most gladiators do labor or bodyguard work, like you did,” I said. “They don’t rush into importing cloth.”

Vitus spread his hands. “You knew the man. Xerxes was fearless. If he saw a way to sell silk at a great profit, he’d do so.”

“He told you about it?”

“No.” Vitus gave me another of his wolflike smiles. “I caught him. He sneaked out of the ludus one night, at the same time I was returning from a day out. I grew curious, and I followed him.”