Steven Saylor - A Mist of Prophecies

"Not alone. Before he left that morning, Caelius told Cassandra what had become of you. She looked in on you, then left Rupa to look after you."

"Where did she go?"

"She came to this house, of course, to collect her money."

"Money," I said dully. "That was how you persuaded her to go against Calpurnia's wishes? All it took was a little gold?"

"No. It also required a great deal of persuasion. When I told her what I wanted her to do-to encourage Milo to get on with his hopeless insurrection-she resisted. For a while she kept up her pretense of being a genuine seeress. I told her it was no use trying to fool me, and whatever Calpurnia was paying her-that was an educated guess on my part, that she was Calpurnia's agent-I would pay her more. I kept harrying her and offering more gold, until at last she weakened. Put yourself in her place, Gordianus. Here in Rome, thanks to all the skullduggery surrounding the war, Cassandra found herself in a position to make a great deal of money-probably the only chance in her lifetime for such a woman to make so much money. Can you blame her for seizing the opportunity to maximize her fortune? 'Where's the risk?' I asked her. 'If Milo wins, he'll shower you with riches and honors. If he dies, he'll be silent forever. Whatever happens, you'll receive your pay from both of us, with Calpurnia never the wiser.' "

I shook my head. "Then it's just as I said: in the end, all it took was a little gold."

"Not a little gold, Gordianus, a great deal of it! That's what I promised her, anyway. And it wasn't entirely for herself. She said she needed the money… for you."

"For me?"

"So she said. When she came here to collect her money, she seemed to think she had to justify herself to me-as if I cared about her sense of honor. 'I would never have done it,' she told me, 'except that I need more money. I need it for the man I love. He's in a great deal of trouble. He's accumulated an enormous debt. It's crushing the life out of him. If I can free him of it, I will.' You didn't know, Gordianus? Cassandra was thinking of you."

I felt a fire in my head. "But instead of paying her, you poisoned her. Why, Fausta?"

"Because I had no more money! The partial payment I had given her in advance was all I had. She came here looking for the balance, but I had nothing to give her, not even a token payment. I stalled her for as long as I could; I told her I was sending a slave to fetch the money for her. In fact, I dispatched the fellow to the Subura to finish off Rupa. The slave I sent was a big, burly fellow, a former gladiator like Birria. I thought he'd have no trouble, but it seems that Rupa was more than a match for him."

"That was the dead body I found when I woke! Rupa killed him-there in the room while I lay unconscious. Cassandra left Rupa to watch over me. When your man arrived, there must have been a struggle, and Rupa broke his neck. Then Rupa must have panicked. He gathered up everything in Cassandra's room and ran off." Everything, I thought, except her biting stick, which he must have dropped or over looked.

"So far as I know, the mute is still in hiding," said Fausta.

"And even as I woke, Cassandra was here, in this house…"

"Waiting with me in the garden. When one of the slaves brought in a cold porridge for the midday meal and served a portion to each of us, Cassandra suspected nothing."

"What poison did you use?"

"How should I know? I bought it from a fellow who's been in that sort of business a long time; Milo used to go to him occasionally. Painful, or painless, he asked me. I told him I didn't care so long as it was guaranteed to work quickly. But it didn't. The poison acted very slowly. We both finished our porridge and put the bowls aside. Nothing happened. I began to think I had misjudged the dose, or perhaps I'd even given her the wrong portion. Had I poisoned myself? I sat there imagining a burning in my gut as I watched her, unable to take my eyes off her, waiting to see the first sign of distress on her face. Finally-finally! — the poison began to take effect. At first she merely felt ill. She said she thought something in the porridge had disagreed with her. Then a look came over her face-shock, panic-as she realized what was happening. She screamed and threw her empty bowl at me and ran from the garden. I tried to stop her. We struggled. I tore her tunica. She escaped and ran from the house. Birria went after her, but she lost him. He didn't know which way she'd gone.

"I was frantic with worry. Who might she see before the poison finished her? What might she tell them? Finally, later that day, I heard the report of her death in the marketplace. She died in your arms, I was told. Had she told you what happened? Surely not, because hours passed, then days, and you did nothing about it. Still, I was torn by doubts. That was why I dared to come to see her funeral pyre. You were there. So were Calpurnia and some of the other women who had known Cassandra. Everyone saw me, yet no one reacted. That was when I knew for certain that no one suspected I had killed her. I watched her burn, and I was finally satisfied that I had gotten away with it. At last I could turn my thoughts to Milo and wait for the delicious news of his destruction."

I shook my head. "I thought it was Clodia! I thought Clodia would stop at nothing to destroy Marcus Caelius, but in the end she was desperate to save him-from himself! And I thought that you would do whatever you could to stop Milo from carrying out such a mad scheme, but your only desire was to see him destroy himself."

"Paradoxes amuse you, don't they, Finder? I told you, I've no patience with playwrights' devices, similes, metaphors, and such. Ironies and enigmas displease me even more. But I do know when the final act is over." Fausta reached for the pitcher on the table beside her and filled the cup to the brim. "You'll forgive me if I don't offer you a cup as well," she said, lifting it to her lips.

I gave a start and reached for the cup, but too late. She had swallowed the contents in a single draught.

Fausta put down the cup. Her eyes glittered. She blinked and swayed slightly. "The poison merchant promised me that this one would act much more quickly and without… too much… pain." She grimaced. "The liar! It hurts like Hades!" She gripped her belly and staggered out of the room, into the portico off the garden. "People will say I did it out of grief. It's an honorable thing for a widow to take her own life… after her husband dies in battle. Sulla's daughter shall bring no shame to his memory!"

Fausta collapsed to the floor. Birria, who had been pacing the garden, gave a cry and rushed to her. He knelt and scooped her up. Her eyes were open, but she was as limp as a sack of grain in his arms, already dead. He threw back his head and let out a howl. Tears streamed down his face. "No!" he cried. He stared up at me. "What have you done to her?"

"She did it to herself," I said, pointing to the doorway and the little tripod table just inside.

Birria spied the pitcher and the cup. For a long moment he stared into Fausta's lifeless eyes. Finally he released her. I heard a slither of metal as he pulled his short sword from its scabbard. I started back, but the blade was not for me. Kneeling over Fausta, he turned the sword against his belly and braced himself. A look came over his features such as one sometimes sees on the face of a gladiator in the arena at the end-a look at once resigned and defiant, contemptuous of life itself.

Birria drew a last breath and fell onto his sword. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a gasp. Blood poured from the wound and trickled from his lips. He pitched and heaved for a moment, then stiffened, then collapsed across the body of his mistress.

"Egypt!"