Page 72 of Brother at Arms

The man’s face crinkled further in a smile. “Not all the men who arrive bother with conversation.”

“She has a maid,” I stated.

“Ah, yes, Julia. Pretty young thing. Now, she likes pastries.” He winked.

“Has Julia been Horatia’s maid long?” I asked. The honeyed strawberries set into a nest of baked dough were drawing my gaze.

“As long as I can remember. I’ve had this shop for twenty years. Julia likes apricots.”

I knew it would be useless to ask the man if he’d sold pastries to Julia—or to Horatia via Julia—on a December day two and a half years ago. Someone from the household likely stopped by every day to provide the senator his dessert even if his wife didn’t care for it.

“I’ll take two of the strawberry,” I said, fishing out coins.

The proprietor shrugged. “As you like. The ladies aren’t home anyway. They went to Baiae for the summer.” As my dismay rose, he added, “Though I hear they are coming home tomorrow, for some business Horatia must take care of. The servants left behind are in a flap to get everything ready for her. Unexpected, this was.”

I thanked the man and paid him, and he wrapped the pastries in a cloth for me.

“Want me to send a message to her?” the proprietor asked. “Horatia or Julia, as you like?”

“No,” I said, then softened my blunt tone. “No, I’ll try again tomorrow. No need to mention me at all.”

“As you wish, gladiator. Enjoy the pastries.”

I walked down the hill, my pace slower than when I’d charged up it. I’d learned more today but still wasn’t close to putting my hands on the man who’d caused Xerxes’s death.

A man who could be dead himself, I realized. Hadrianus had indicated he’d know the man if he saw him again, but poisoner might have died without Hadrianus’s knowledge.

Xerxes had been killed because Lucius had contacted him after years of silence, suggesting they start their silk trade again. The person who’d covertly taken over Xerxes’s part somehow intercepted the message and feared Lucius and Xerxes would find him out. And so, he’d murdered Xerxes before he could respond to Lucius.

Mihrdat had told us that he’d ended his collusion with the false Xerxes—Cassia and I assumed because it was no longer profitable for him. But what if Mihrdat had decided that dealing with the false Xerxes was too tricky, and had his ruffians end the man’s life? The false Xerxes had tried to coerce money from Arsakes, probably to gather enough to flee into safe retirement. Mihrdat might have found him and finished him before Arsakes could.

Mihrdat could also have been responsible for the attack on Arsakes and Gotarz, wanting them out of the business as well. He might have hired a Roman to do his bidding rather than risk one of his own men.

I could be chasing a ghost after all.

I was not in the best mood when I reached home.

I found Arsakes in the act of moving out. The other two beefy Parthians had arrived and were steadying Arsakes on his feet when I stormed in.

“I tried to explain that Marcianus said he shouldn’t be moved,” Cassia told me in resignation. “But Arsakes is insisting.”

“I’ll rest better at home,” Arsakes said. “My bed’s more comfortable.”

Arsakes’s escorts eyed me warily as I stood aside to let them leave. They hadn’t forgotten the dunk in the frigidarium.

The two managed to get Arsakes down the stairs with only a minimal of growling from him. Cassia followed with cloths she instructed them to apply to his wound if it seeped and an admonition to return to Marcianus if the pain grew worse or the injury was slow to heal.

I did not hide my relief once I shut the door on them, leaving Cassia and I alone in the quiet apartment.

“They were discussing the funeral for their friend Gotarz,” Cassia told me as I bolted the door. “It is very sad.”

It was. Whoever had attacked Arsakes and Gotarz hadn’t cared who would be hurt and who would mourn once he was finished.

I pulled out the pastries and silently laid them on the table.

“Oh, how lovely,” Cassia said in delight. “I adore strawberries. Let us feast.”

She brought out plates, because it was her way to eat anything on a plate or in a bowl. I’d questioned her about that once, saying we’d only have to clean the plates again, and she’d stared at me as though I’d run mad.