Furies (52 page)

“Gurculio’s dead,” Aculeo gasped. “He was murdered last week.”

“You don’t like to make it easy for yourself, do you?” Posidippus said, slowly tracing the tip of the razor-sharp blade across Aculeo’s naked neck, like a thread of liquid fire across his flesh.

“No, wait! Wait. I know who killed Petras.”

The Cosian stared at him, his eyes cold, expression blank. “What did you say?”

“Petras,” Aculeo said. “I know who murdered her.”

“Petras … she’s dead?” Posidippus asked, his voice thick with emotion, disbelieving. Aculeo nodded, not sure how the man would react. The Cosian said nothing for a moment, just stared at him. Then he dropped the knife, covered his face with his hands and began to weep like a child.

They sat on the loading bay of an abandoned warehouse near the docks. “Tell me what happened,” Posidippus said in a hoarse whisper. “Leave nothing out Roman or on my oath I’ll gut you like a fucking tunny.”

Aculeo told him most of what he knew, about the murders of Iovinus, Myrrhine and Gurculio, the discovery of Neaera’s necklace, the freedman’s wretched farm where likely a dozen more women had been murdered and disposed of.

“You’re sure of this?” the Cosian asked.

“As sure as I can be. We found no bodies.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The killers fed the victims’ remains to the pigs.”

“Gah. Throw me that skin, will you?” the Cosian said to one of his men, who tossed him a wineskin. Finally he asked, hesitantly, “And what of Petras? Was … was she among them?”

“No. We discovered her body in the Necropolis. She was buried anonymously as a fellahin. She was murdered three months ago.”

“Three months, by the gods. Februarius then?”

“Yes. Why? What’s so …?”

“Shut the fuck up, Roman. What else d’you know?”

“Her wounds were similar to those found on Myrrhine. They were likely murdered by the same person. Her burial was paid for by someone named Sabazius.”

“Who?”

“It’s a false name. Sabazius is another name for Dionysos.”

“Dionysos,” the Cosian said, and spat on the ground. “Filthy peasant god that he is, him and his fucking Symposium of Gallus.”

“What happened, Posidippus? Tell me what you know.”

The Cosian raked his fingers back through his lank, greasy hair and sighed. “Petras was a part of Panthea’s brothel. I fell in love with her the moment I laid my eyes on her – so lovely, witty, bright, beautiful, and her voice like honey in my ears. I had to have her. I’d had enough dealings with that foul bitch Panthea to know it wouldn’t be easy to buy Petras from her. And when she figured out I’d fallen for her, that multiplied the price tenfold – and she played me for all it was worth. Gurculio agreed to loan me the money. Like a fool, I agreed, not caring about the price or the interest. It gave us no way out, though. I’d leveraged myself far too much already. Then Ralla bought her out from under me. I wanted to murder the man but I couldn’t even get close to him. I’d lost Petras, yet my debts remained. I paid back what I could but the interest that had already gathered hobbled me. Then Gurculio began to squeeze. He wanted to take over my trade routes, my ships, everything. Everything was closing in. I made plans for Petras and I to escape. We’d go to Assyria, make our way from there,” the Cosian said bleakly, taking another draw on the wineskin.

“The night before we were to leave, Petras was told to attend a special symposium. The Symposium of Gallus. She couldn’t say no, it would have raised too many suspicions. We planned to make our escape the next day. Except … she never returned. I held onto my hope, but feared for the worst. I knew the people I was up against were far too powerful. I was no match.”

“Ralla?”

“Him, yes, but there were a dozen others as well. Gurculio,
Avilius Balbus
…”

“The Prefect’s son?”

“The same. Petras had no chance against them. Nor did I.”

“And what of Iovinus?” Aculeo asked. “Was he involved in this as well?”

“Iovinus?” Posidippus said with a bitter laugh. “He’s just the mouse that fell in the pitch when he stood on the edge of the pot for a sniff. He went up against too many powerful men, with even more powerful friends. You should have learned from his mistake, Aculeo.”

“I’ve lost too much already to give up now.”

“Have you? We’ll see about that, I suppose.” Posidippus stared into the distance. “Iovinus was living right here in Canopus all the time, did you know that?”

“No.”

“He came here to hide right after the second fleet was supposed to have sailed to Porteus. I learned he was here soon after I arrived. I had him brought to me. He told me all about Corvinus’ treachery. Did you know of this?” he demanded.

“Only recently. Corvinus betrayed me as much as anyone.”

“So you say,” Posidippus said dubiously. “I should have cut Iovinus’ fucking balls off the moment I saw him.”

“I wish I’d done the same. Did he have some tablets with him?”

“Ah, so you know about Flavianus’ tablets do you?”

“Why did Iovinus have them?”

“Blackmail, why else? He stole them from Corvinus to use against Ralla and Flavianus. He got cold feet though. He tried to sell them to me but I wanted no part of it. Far too dangerous, even for me. He thought Gurculio might give him a good price.” The Cosian looked warily at Aculeo, evaluating him. “You said the moneylender was murdered.”

“Yes, a week ago.”

“Who did it?”

“Panthea.”

“The whore finally made her move then,” the Cosian said. “She wants it all, that one. Pah, fuck them all. It’s all over.”

“No it’s not,” Aculeo said. “We still need to stop them.”

“To what end? They’ve already won, and I’ve cut my losses.”

“You won’t avenge Petras?”

“You really are the worst kind of fool – an earnest one. You go after these people you’ll accomplish nothing more than getting yourself caught, which will bring them that much closer to finding me.”

“What of Petras?” Aculeo demanded. “You were ready to give up everything to be with her. Ralla and the others stole from you, from her, just to feed their sick desires. They murdered her, and others like her, using them and throwing them away like trash.”

“It’s over damn you!”

“Is it? And what will you tell Petras at the end of your days, Posidippus, when you find her shade still wandering on the banks of the Styx, her murder unavenged?” The Cosian looked away for a moment, lost in his misery. “We’ve a chance to stop them.”

“We’ve no chance at all!” the Cosian roared, hurling the wineskin into the darkness.

“So we should just turn our backs and run away?”

Posidippus glowered at Aculeo for a long while, looking as though he might murder him on the spot. Finally, he held out an open hand. Aculeo took it, relieved, and the Cosian grasped it tight, pulling him close. “Fine. I’ll give you passage, Roman. But let’s be clear about something. You haven’t seen me. You don’t know where I am. As far as you’re concerned or anyone asks, I’m already dead. Understand me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Posidippus stared him hard in the eye, unblinking, not releasing his hand. “I’m not sure you do. Not fully.” He signalled his men who grabbed Aculeo and forced him face-first to the ground. The Cosian knelt on his right forearm, pinning the hand flat on the ground, splaying the fingers out. “I won’t make the same mistake I made with Iovinus. Try not to move,” he said calmly, then put his knife to the base of Aculeo’s little finger.

“No!” Aculeo cried. The Cosian chopped the knife down quick. Aculeo screamed, the pain excruciating, hot blood pumped from the stump where his finger had been only seconds before.

“Now you understand, eh?” Posidippus said, his voice cutting through the searing pain. “Every fucking time you eat, drink, wipe your arse or stick your hand up a woman’s box, you’ll remember. And the thing I want you to remember most of all is that if I ever see your fucking face again, Roman, I swear to all the gods it won’t just be your finger I take.”

Zeanthes of Araethyrea took little notice of the man walking towards him along the crushed red gravel pathway of the Museion grounds, a broad-brimmed straw sun hat obscuring his face. The sophist, lost in meditation, tried to veer around him, but the man shot towards him suddenly, seized him roughly by the wrist and clapped a hand roughly over his mouth. Zeanthes tried to break free but the man held him fast, shoving him back against a marble column. They were quite alone. His attacker looked up at him then from beneath the brim of his hat, wary, watching, and slowly took his hand from the sophist’s mouth.

“Aculeo!” Zeanthes said in relief. “By the gods, you startled me. But I thought you’d left the city.”

“I just got back this morning,” Aculeo said, eyeing him still.

“Why did you come back? It isn’t safe.”

“I could hardly have stayed away. It’s time I did something right in my life.”

Zeanthes smiled. “The Skeptics contend one can never truly tell right from wrong. In fact …”

“Enough with your fucking sophistry,” Aculeo snapped. The scholar’s smile faltered. “Where’s Calisto? She’s not in her villa – it looked abandoned.”

“I don’t know,” Zeanthes said. “I understand Ralla moved her.”

“Of course,” Aculeo said wearily, dropping onto a nearby bench.

Zeanthes sat next to him, then stared at Aculeo’s hand. “You’re injured!” he gasped. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing I want to discuss now,” Aculeo said. “What do you know about the Symposium of Gallus.”

“Ah,” Zeanthes said, looking across the grounds at a shallow meditation pond, where a snow-white ibis waded stilt-legged through the water lilies, spearing fish with its sharp beak. The bird stared back at them for a moment, its bright yellow eyes cold, unblinking. “I take it you found Posidippus.”

“You knew?” Aculeo cried and grabbed him by the neck of his chiton, wrapping his other hand around the man’s throat.

“Aculeo, please!” the sophist gagged.

Aculeo squeezed his fingers into the soft flesh of Zeanthes’ throat. “No more lies old man. Tell me, damn you, or I’ll break your fucking neck.”

“Please, please stop, I beg you!” the sophist gasped, his fleshy face turning from red to purple. Aculeo loosened his grip and Zeanthes slumped back on the marble bench, coughing, rubbing his throat. Another sophist walked by then, giving them an odd look before moving on.