Steven Saylor - Arms of Nemesis

'No, by something worse: living men. Two, I think, but I can't be certain. In the confusion Eco disappeared. Afterwards I went searching for him, but my head…'

I touched the tender spot and winced. The bleeding had stopped. Olympias studied the wound. 'Iaia will know what to do for this,' she said. 'But what about Eco?'

'Lost. I never found him, and then I lost consciousness. When I awoke I came here. If he's gone back to Gelina's villa, he may end up at the funeral games by himself. He's seen gladiators fight to the death before, but the massacre — whatever else happens, I must get back before it starts. I don't want Eco to see it alone. The old slaves, and Apollonius… and little Meto…'

'What are you talking about?' Alexandros looked at me, puzzled. 'Olympias, what does he mean by a massacre?'

She bit her lip and looked at me ruefully.

'You haven't told him?' I said.

Olympias gritted her teeth. Alexandros was alarmed. 'What do you mean by a massacre? What are you saying about Meto?'

'Doomed,' I answered. 'All of them, doomed to die. Every slave from the fields and the stables and the kitchens will be publicly slain to satisfy the good people of the Cup. Politics, Alexandros. Don't ask me to explain Roman politics to a Thracian slave, just take my word for it. For the crime of the true killer, whom he cannot find, Crassus intends to have every slave in the household put to death. Even Meto.' Today?'

'After the gladiator contests. Crassus's men have erected a wooden arena in the flatlands by Lake Lucrinus. It should be quite an event, the kind of thing people will talk about from here to Rome for a long time to come, even after Crassus defeats Spartacus and finally gets himself elected consul — and after that, who knows? Perhaps he'll manage to make himself dictator, like his mentor Sulla, and people will still talk about the day he put the slaves of Baiae in their place.'

Alexandros leaned back, aghast. 'Olympias, you never told me.'

'What would have been the point? You would only have fretted and brooded-'

'And perhaps he would have made some grand gesture by returning to Baiae to face Crassus's judgment himself?' I suggested. 'Is that why you didn't tell him, Olympias? Instead you let him think that he merely had to stay in hiding long enough for Crassus to leave, and then he might escape, and you never whispered a word about all the slaves fated to die in his place.'

'Not in his place, but alongside him!' said Olympias angrily. 'Do you think it makes any difference to Crassus whether he finds Alexandros or not? He wants to put the slaves to death — you said so yourself, just now, for politics, to put on a show. Better for Crassus if he never finds Alexandros — that way he can keep scaring people with stories of the murdering Thracian monster who ran off to join Spartacus.'

'What you say may be true now, Olympias, but was it so at the beginning, when Alexandros first fled to Iaia's house? What if you had turned him over to Crassus then? Would Crassus ever have concocted his scheme to avenge Lucius Licinius in such a terrible way? Do you feel no guilt for what you've done, hiding your lover and letting all the other slaves be slain? The old men and women, the children-'

'But Alexandros is innocent! He never murdered anyone!'

'So you say; so he tells you, perhaps. But how do you know, Olympias? What do you know?'

She drew back and sucked in a breath. The lovers exchanged an odd glance. 'You know as well as I that it makes no difference whether Alexandros is innocent or not,' she said. 'Guilty or innocent, Crassus will crucify him if he's caught.'

'Not if I could prove him innocent. If I could discover who did kill Lucius Licinius, if I could prove it-'

'Then — most especially then — would Crassus be certain to put Alexandros to death. And you as well.'

I shook my head and grimaced at the flash of pain across my forehead. 'You talk in riddles, like the Sibyl.'

Olympias looked at the mouth of the cave, where flashes of light were reflected from the churning water beyond. 'The tide has ebbed enough,' she said. 'It's time for us all to go up to the house to see Iaia.'

Iaia made a great fuss over the wound on my head. She insisted on brewing a compound of foul-smelling herbs which she slathered onto the cut, then wrapped a long strip of linen around my head. She also gave me an amber-coloured infusion to drink, which I put to my lips with some trepidation, thinking of Dionysius.

'You seem to know a great deal about herbs and their uses,' I said, sniffing at the steam that rose from the cup.

'Yes, I do,' she said. 'Over the years, learning to make my own paints — to harvest and prepare the proper plants at the proper time of year — I came to know quite a lot about such things, not only which root might provide a splendid blue pigment, but which one might cure a wart.'

'Or kill a man?' I ventured.

She smiled thinly. 'Perhaps. The brew you're sipping now could possibly kill a man. But not in the concentration I've given you,' she added. 'It's mostly an extract of willow bark, mixed with just a touch of the stuff Homer called nepenthes, made from the Egyptian poppy. It will ease the pain in your head. Drink up.'

'The poet says nepenthes brings surcease to sorrow.' I gazed into the cup, searching for a glimpse of death in the swirling steam.

Iaia nodded. 'Which is why the queen of Egypt gave it to Helen to cure her melancholy.'

'Homer says also that it brings forgetfulness, Iaia, and what I have seen and learned I do not choose to forget.'

'The amount I've given you will not set you to dreaming, only ease the throbbing.' When I still hesitated, she frowned and shook her head in disappointment. 'Really, Gordianus, if we had wanted to do you harm, I imagine Alexandros could have done away with you down in the sea cave or on the steep hillside. Even now, I imagine, we could somehow manage to send you plummeting from this terrace onto the rocks below, if we were determined to do so; you would be swept out to sea and vanish forever.' She gazed at me intendy. 'I've come to trust you, Gordianus. I didn't trust you at first, I'll admit, but I do now. Won't you trust me?'

I looked into her eyes. She sat stiffly upright in a backless chair, dressed in a voluminous yellow stola. The sun had not yet risen above the roof of the house and the terrace was in shadow. Far below us, beyond the terrace wall, the sea pounded against the rocky coast. Olympias and Alexandros sat nearby, watching the two of us as if we were gladiators engaged in a duel.

I lifted the cup to my lips again, but set it down untouched. Iaia sighed. 'If you would only drink, the pain would vanish. You'll thank me for the gift.'

'Dionysius is beyond all pain, but I don't think he would be thankful if he could be here with us now.'

Her brow darkened. 'What do you insinuate, Gordianus?'

'You say you trust me, Iaia. Then at least admit to me what I already know. On the day when I came to see the Sibyl, I saw Dionysius following Olympias in secret. I think he knew about the sea cave and who was hidden there, or at least he guessed; that was why he insisted on telling the tale of Crassus hiding in the cave in Spain. I saw how you and Olympias reacted that night. Dionysius was very near to giving away your secret. The very next day, at the funeral feast, Dionysius was given poison in a cup. Tell me, Iaia, was it aconitum you used? That was my guess.'

She shrugged. 'What were the precise symptoms?' 'His tongue was aflame. He began to choke and convulse, then to vomit; his bowels were loosened. It all happened very fast.'

She nodded. 'I would say that you made an excellent guess. But I cannot say for sure. I did not poison the cup, and neither did Olympias.'