Page 54 of Brother at Arms

Arsakes and his men were Parthians, but they dressed in tunics and boots or sandals and were clean shaven. Arsakes had explained that they tried to blend in with Romans to grease the wheels of their trade.

Perhaps the silk merchant, whoever he was, preferred to keep his dress and customs. Parthians were proud people, descendants of the Persians, and had no intention of knuckling under to anyone. That was why there were so many border skirmishes in the east.

“Will you come to the Emporium with me and point him out?” I asked. The merchant Vitus had observed might have retired or started trading in another city, but it was worth the chance.

“No one will be there now,” Vitus said. “Not the merchants anyway. Just the laborers, and even they will break for supper.”

“Tonight, then,” I said. “About the time Xerxes met with him.”

Vitus shrugged. “Why not?” His brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “For two sestertii, same as Xerxes paid.”

Rain pelted down by the time I left the popina. Vitus stayed put, saying he wanted a meal and to keep dry, but he agreed to meet me two hours before midnight at the Emporium. I told him I’d pay him there, wanting to guarantee he’d arrive. I’d have to ask Cassia for the coins, but I thought she’d be willing to part with them for the information.

Now to reach home without being swept away by the water rushing through the streets.

Small hailstones beat down on my head as I hastened around the Forum Augusti and started up the Quirinal. I had no cloak to cover me, and I flung up my arm to fend off the worst of the deluge.

When I reached the wine shop, the wine merchant called out to me from behind his counter. He’d pulled all his bottles and amphorae inside, with the shutters of the shop propped to shield the interior from the rain.

“The medicus is there,” he told me, pointing upward. “No one else has come.”

I thanked the man with a nod and unlocked the outer door, which someone—Cassia or the wine merchant—had prudently locked behind Marcianus. Marcianus himself would never have thought of it.

I found Marcianus and Cassia deep in conversation, the remains of a loaf of bread and a jug of wine on the table. They were arguing, from their gesticulations and adamant voices, but in Greek, so I had no idea about what.

Cassia glanced up as I tramped in and shook water from my body. She immediately ceased whatever point she was making to fetch another plate and hunk of bread. Hail clattered on the roof and bounced on our makeshift terrace, but the apartment was dry and cool, comforting.

I sat down on the visitor’s stool, since Marcianus had taken mine. I planted my elbows on the table and stuffed the bread into my mouth, washing it down with the wine Cassia poured for me.

“I regret I brought in nothing else to eat,” Cassia said to me apologetically. “I became absorbed in my reading, and then Marcianus came.”

I shrugged. I could have carried something home from the popina in the Argiletum or stopped at another along the way, but I’d thought only about getting out of the hail and telling Cassia about my meeting with Vitus.

“We’ve narrowed down the poison used on Xerxes to two possibilities,” Marcianus told me as I ate. “Each of us favors a different one, but I suppose we will never know which of us is correct.”

Cassia, by her expression, did not agree, but she kept silent.

“What are they?” I asked.

“The snake venom and the hemlock,” Marcianus said. “I suspect the venom, while Cassia believes it was the hemlock. Regardless, either would be strong enough to weaken Xerxes without him realizing it until too late. If he ate a dish containing either one, say less than an hour before going into the arena, the effects would begin once he was facing his opponent.”

I swallowed the last of the bread. “We never eat a meal too close to a fight. It slows us down.”

“He might have drunk the poison,” Cassia said. “In a strong cup of wine.”

I shook my head. “We also don’t want to be tipsy.” I drained my cup, letting Livius’s Caecuban wine drive away the aftertaste of the inferior vintage I’d consumed at the popina.

Marcianus deflated. “That is true.”

“What about pastry?” Cassia asked. “If someone offered Xerxes a pastry before the match, would he take it? It wouldn’t be as heavy as a meal but sweet or spicy enough to disguise the taste of poison.”

I considered this. “Xerxes did like sweets.”

“You are brilliant, young Cassia,” Marcianus proclaimed. “Now, all we must do is discover who Xerxes met before the match and whether they gave him a pastry. Who would he accept such a thing from?”

“Only someone he knew,” I said. “And trusted.”

“A woman,” Marcianus suggested.