A Gladiator Dies Only Once by Steven Saylor Read Free Book Online Page A

been damaged. She obviously treated them with great respect.”
    I glanced at the cat. She stood in the doorway beside Bethesda and peered back at me with a bland expression that admitted no guilt. She rubbed herself against Bethesda’s ankles, whipped her tail in the air, and sauntered back toward the garden. Bethesda raised an eyebrow and looked at me steadily, but said nothing.

    That night, after a very busy day, I slipped into bed beside Bethesda. Her mood seemed a bit cool, but she said nothing.
    The silence stretched. “I suppose I owe you an apology,” I finally said.
    “For what?”
    The best course, I decided, was to make light of my mistake. “It was foolish of me, really. Do you know, I almost suspected you of taking Eco’s figurines.”
    “Really?” By the pale moonlight, I couldn’t quite decipher the expression on her face. Was she angry? Amused? Unconcerned?
    “Yes, I actually suspected you, Bethesda. But of course it wasn’t you. It was the cat, all along.” The creature abruptly jumped onto the bed and crawled over both of us to settle between Bethesda and the wall, purring loudly.
    “Yes, it was Bast who took the figurines,” said Bethesda. She rolled away from me and laid her hand upon the cat, who responded with a purring that was almost a roar. “But how do you know that it wasn’t I who put her up to it?”
    For that, I had no answer.

THE WHITE FAWN

    The old senator was a distant cousin of my friend Lucius Claudius, and the two had once been close. That was the only reason I agreed to see the man, as a favor to Lucius. When Lucius let it slip, on the way to the senator’s house, that the affair had something to do with Sertorius, I clucked my tongue and almost turned back. I had a feeling even then that it would lead to no good. Call it a premonition, if you will; if you believe that such things as premonitions exist.
    Senator Gaius Claudius’s house was on the Aventine Hill, not the most fashionable district in Rome. Still, there are plenty of old patrician households tucked amid the cramped little shops and ugly new tenements that sprawl over the hill. The facade of the senator’s house was humble, but that meant nothing; the houses of the Roman nobility are often unassuming, at least on the outside.
    The doddering doorkeeper recognized Lucius (could there be two men in Rome with his beaming round face, untidy red hair, and dancing green eyes?) and escorted us at once to the atrium, where a fountain gurgled and splashed but did little to relieve the heat of a cloudless midsummer day. While we waited for our host to appear, Lucius and I strolled from corner to corner of the little square garden. On such a warm day, the various rooms facing the atrium all had their shutters thrown open.
    “I take it that your cousin has fallen on hard times,” I said to Lucius.
    He pursed his lips. “Why do you assume that, Gordianus? I don’t recall mentioning it.”
    “Observe the state of his house.”
    “It’s a fine house. Gaius had it built when he was a young man and has lived here ever since.”
    “It seems rather sparsely decorated.”
    “You saw the busts of his noble ancestors lined up in their niches in the foyer,” said Lucius, his nose tilting up. “What more ornamentation does the house of a patrician require?” Despite his genial temperament, Lucius sometimes could not help being a bit of a snob.
    “But I think your cousin is a great lover of art, or used to be.”
    “Now why do you say that?”
    “Observe the mosaic floor beneath our feet, with its intricate acanthus-leaf pattern. The workmanship is very fine. And note the wall paintings in some of the rooms around us. The various scenes are from the Iliad, I believe. Even from here I can see that they’re works of very high quality.”
    Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Cousin Gaius does have good taste, I’ll grant you that. But why do you assume he’s fallen on hard times?”
    “Because of the things that I don’t