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  A Gladiator Dies Only Once

  Book Jacket

  Series: Roman Sub Rosa [11]

  Tags: Mystery, Historical Novel

  SUMMARY:

  ‘Saylor evokes the ancient world more convincingly than any other writer of his generation.’ -The Sunday Times (London) on The Judgment of Caesar Steven Saylor’s Roma Sub Rosa series of novels, set in the later Roman Republic and featuring Gordianus the Finder, has garnered unusual acclaim from readers and reviewers alike, establishing him as one of the pre-eminent historical mystery writers. In A Gladiator Dies Only Once, the second collection of his award-winning Gordianus stories, Saylor more than meets the high standards of his previous work. Set mainly in the seventeen years between the events of his first novel, Roman Blood, and his third, Catilina’s Riddle, these tales will delight his many fans while relating previously untold adventures of Gordianus’ early career.

  A GLADIATOR DIES ONLY ONCE

  STEVEN SAYLOR

  THE FURTHER INVESTIGATIONS OF GORDIANUS THE FINDER

  A GLADIATOR DIES ONLY ONCE. Copyright © 2005 by Steven Saylor. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y 10010.

  www.minotaurbooks.com

  “The White Fawn” first appeared in Classical Whodunnits, edited by Mike Ashley, Robinson (London), 1996, and Carroll & Graf (US), 1997; first publication, EQMM, December 1996. “Archimedes’s Tomb” first appeared in Crime Through Time, edited by Miriam Grace Monfredo and Sharan Newman, Berkley, 1997. “Poppy and the Poisoned Cake,” first appeared in EQMM, December 1998. “Death by Eros” first appeared in Yesterday’s Blood: An Ellis Peters Memorial Anthology, edited by Maxim Jakubowski, Headline (London), December 1998; first U.S. publication EQMM, August 1999. “The Consul’s Wife” first appeared in Crime Through Time III, edited by Sharan New-man, Berkley, 2000. “If a Cyclops Could Vanish in the Blink of an Eye” first appeared in Candis (UK), September 2002; firstU.S. publication, EQMM, August 2003. “A Gladiator Dies Only Once” first appeared in The Mammoth Book of Ancient Roman Whodunnits, edited by Mike Ashley, Constable & Robinson (London), August 2003, and Carroll & Graf (U.S.), November 2003. “Something Fishy in Pompeii” first appeared in Candis (UK), July 2003; first U.S. publication, EQMM, March/April 2004. “The Cherries of Lucullus” first appeared in EQMM, May 2005.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Saylor, Steven, 195 6—

  A gladiator dies only once : the further investigations of Gordianus the Finder / Steven Saylor—1st ed. p. cm. ISBN 0-312-27120-4 EAN 978-0-312-27120-6

  1. Gordianus the Finder (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Rome— History—Republic, 265-30 B. C.—Fiction. 3. Private investigators—Rome— Fiction. 4. Detective and mystery stories, American. 5. Historical fiction, American. I. Title.

  PS3569.A96G57 2005 813’.54—dc22

  2004065828

  First Edition: June 2005

  CONTENTS

  Preface xi

  THE CONSUL’S WIFE 1

  IF A CYCLOPS COULD VANISH IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE 29

  THE WHITE FAWN 39

  SOMETHING FISHY IN POMPEII 71

  ARCHIMEDES’S TOMB 81

  DEATH BY EROS 111

  A GLADIATOR DIES ONLY ONCE 137

  POPPY AND THE POISONED CAKE 183

  THE CHERRIES OF LUCULLUS 211

  The Life and Times of Gordianus the Finder:

  A Partial Chronology 1

  Historical Notes 2 6 5

  Natura inest in mentibus nostris insatiabilis quaedam cupiditas veri videndi. (Nature has planted in our minds an insatiable longing to see the truth.)

  MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO

  Tusculan Disputations

  PREFACE

  Gordianus the Finder, detective of ancient Rome, was introduced in a novel called Roman Blood, first published in 1991.

  Over the course of the eight subsequent novels and eighteen short stories of the Roma Sub Rosa series, Gordianus has progressed from the age of thirty to the age of sixty-one. His concubine, Bethesda, has become his wife, and his family has expanded to include a daughter, two adopted sons (one born a slave), and four grandchildren (“a typically Roman extended family,” as the classicist Mary Beard commented in the Times Literary Supplement). He has tubbed elbows with the most famous men and women of his time, including Caesar, Cicero, Marc Antony, Pompey, Crassus, and Cleopatra. He has taken part (usually behind the scenes) in many of the most important events of his era, witnessing the final decades of the Roman Republic as it disintegrates into the civil wars that ultimately will give rise to the empire of the Caesars.

  Through it all, Gordianus’s adventures and investigations have been followed by readers in fifteen languages, and a fair number of these readers (thanks to the invention of e-mail) have seen fit to contact his creator with comments, questions, words of encouragement, and notification of the occasional typographical error.

  The first nine short stories about Gordianus (all of which take place in the eight-year period between the first two novels, Roman Blood and Arms of Nemesis) were assembled in a collection titled The House of the Vestals. Since that book was published, nine more short stories have been written; readers will find them collected in these pages. Like the stories in The House of the Vestals, all these tales take place early in Gordianus’s career. Often at his side, rapidly growing up, is Eco, the mute boy he met in Roman Blood. Also here is Bethesda, Gordianus’s Jewish-Egyptian concubine, who eventually becomes his wife. Frequently conferring with Gordianus is his good friend and patron, Lucius Claudius. Cicero, the great lion of the Roman law courts, makes several appearances. Sertorius, the rebel general who set up a rival Roman state in Spain, casts a shadow across the book’s beginning and end, and makes an appearance in “The White Fawn.” Two towering figures of the late Republic who have figured very little in the novels, Lucullus and Cato, appear in the collection’s final story.

  One of the joys of writing the Gordianus short stories is the chance to explore various aspects of Roman life and history which simply have not come up in the novels. In these pages, readers will learn about gladiator combats, chariot racing, and the role of the Roman censor, as well as some curious facts regarding food—the making of garam (the fish-pickle sauce essential to Roman cuisine), the origin of Cicero’s famous epigram about a piece of cake, and the first appearance of cherries in Rome. (Regarding this last, somewhat touchy subject, see more details in the historical notes at the end of the book.)

  Preface

  The setting of most of the stories is the teeming, beautiful, endlessly fascinating, endlessly wicked city of Rome, but Gordianus’s investigations also take him to Spain, Sicily, the Bay of Naples, and across the breadth of Italy.

  The stories are presented in chronological order. At the back of the book, readers will find a detailed chronology, which incorporates all the short stories and novels, along with some notes on historical sources.

  Why “Roma Sub Rosa” for the collective series title of the Gordianus novels and stories? In ancient Egypt, the rose was the emblem of the god Horus, later regarded by the Greeks and Romans as the god of silence. Customarily, a rose hanging over a council table indicated that all present were sworn to secrecy. “Sub rosa” (literally, “under the rose”) has come to mean “that which is carried out in secret.” Thus “Roma Sub Rosa”: a history of Rome’s secrets, or a secret history of Rome, as seen through the eyes of Gordianus.

  THE CONSUL’S WIFE


  “Honestly,” muttered Lucius Claudius, his nose buried in a scroll, “if you go by these accounts in the Daily Acts, you’d think Sertorius was a naughty schoolboy, and his rebellion in Spain a harmless prank. When will the consuls realize the gravity of the situation? When will they take action?” I cleared my throat.

  Lucius Claudius lowered the little scroll and raised his bushy red eyebrows. “Gordianus! By Hercules, you got here in a hurry! Take a seat.”

  I looked about for a chair, then remembered where I was. In the garden of Lucius Claudius, visitors did not fetch furniture. Visitors sat, and a chair would be slipped beneath them. I stepped into the spot of sunlight where Lucius sat basking, and folded my knees. Sure enough, a chair caught my weight. I never even saw the attendant slave.

  “Something to drink, Gordianus? I myself am enjoying a cup of hot broth. Too early in the day for wine, even watered.”

  “Noon is hardly early, Lucius. Not for those of us who’ve been up since dawn.”

  “Since dawn?” Lucius grimaced at such a distasteful notion. “A cup of wine for you, then? And some nibbles?”

  I raised my hand to wave away the offer, and found it filled with a silver cup, into which a pretty slavegirl poured a stream of Falernian wine. A little tripod table appeared at my left hand, bearing a silver platter embossed with images of dancing nymphs and strewn with olives, dates, and almonds.

  “Care for a bit of the Daily! I’m finished with the sporting news.” Lucius nodded toward a clutter of little scrolls on the table beside him. “They say the Whites have finally got their act together this season. New chariots, new horses. Should give the Reds a run for the prizes in tomorrow’s races.”

  I laughed out loud. “What a life you lead, Lucius Claudius. Up at noon, then lolling about your garden reading your own private copy of the Daily Acts.”

  Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Merely sensible, if you ask me. Who wants to elbow through a crowd in the Forum, squinting and peering past strangers to read the Daily on the posting boards? Or worse, listen to some clown read the items out loud, inserting his own witty comments.”

  “But that’s the whole point of the Daily,” I argued. “It’s a social activity. People take a break from the hustle and bustle of the Forum, gather round the posting boards and discuss whatever items interest them most—war news, marriages and births, chariot races, curious omens. It’s the highlight of many a man’s day, perusing the Daily and arguing politics or horses with fellow citizens. One of the cosmopolitan pleasures of city life.”

  Lucius shuddered. “No thank you! My way is better. I send a couple of slaves down to the Forum an hour before posting time. As soon as the Daily goes up, one of them reads it aloud from beginning to end and the other takes dictation with a stylus on wax tablets. Then they hurry home, transcribe the words to parchment, and by the time I’m up and about, my private copy of the Daily is here waiting for me in the garden, the ink still drying in the sun. A comfy chair, a sunny spot, a hearty cup of broth, and my own copy of the Daily Acts—I tell you, Gordianus, there’s no more civilized way to start the day.”

  I popped an almond into my mouth. “It all seems rather antisocial to me, not to mention extravagant. The cost of parchment alone!”

  “Squinting at wax tablets gives me eyestrain.” Lucius sipped his broth. “Anyway, I didn’t ask you here to critique my personal pleasures, Gordianus. There’s something in the Daily that I want you to see.”

  “What, the news about that rebellious Roman general terrorizing

  Spain?”

  “Quintus Sertorius!” Lucius shifted his considerable bulk. “He’ll soon have the whole Iberian Peninsula under his control. The natives there hate Rome, but they adore Sertorius. What can our two consuls be thinking, failing to bring military assistance to the provincial government? Decimus Brutus, much as I love the old bookworm, is no fighter, I’ll grant you; hard to imagine him leading an expedition. But his fellow consul Lepidus is a military veteran; fought for Sulla in the Civil War. How can those two sit idly on their behinds while Sertorius creates a private kingdom for himself in Spain?”

  “All that’s in the Daily Acts?” I asked.

  “Of course not!” Lucius snorted. “Nothing but the official government line: situation under control, no cause for alarm. You’ll find more details about the obscene earnings of charioteers than you’ll find about Spain. What else can you expect? The Daily is a state organ put out by the government. Deci probably dictates every word of the war news himself.” “Deci?”

  “Decimus Brutus, of course; the consul.” With his ancient patrician connections, Lucius tended to be on a first-name basis, sometimes on a pet-name basis, with just about everybody in power. “But you distract me, Gordianus. I didn’t ask you here to talk about Sertorius. Decimus Brutus, yes; Sertorius, no. Here, have a look at this.” His bejeweled hand flitted over the pile and plucked a scroll for me to read.

  “Society gossip?” I scanned the items. “A’s son engaged to B’s daughter … C plays host to D at his country villa … E shares her famous family recipe for egg custard dating back to the days when Romulus suckled the she-wolf.” I grunted. “All very interesting, but I don’t see—”

  Lucius leaned forward and tapped at the scroll. “Read that part.

  Aloud.”

  ” ‘The bookworm pokes his head outside tomorrow.

  Easy prey for the sparrow, but partridges go hungry.

  Bright-eyed Sappho says: Be suspicious!

  A dagger strikes faster than lightning.

  Better yet: an arrow.

  Let Venus conquer all!’”

  Lucius sat back and crossed his fleshy arms. “What do you make of it?”

  “I believe it’s called a blind item; a bit of gossip conveyed in code. No proper names, only clues that are meaningless to the uninitiated. Given the mention of Venus, I imagine this particular item is about some illicit love affair. I doubt I’d know the names involved even if they were clearly spelled out. You’d be more likely than I to know what all this means, Lucius.”

  “Indeed. I’m afraid I do know, at least in part. That’s why I called you here today, Gordianus. I have a dear friend who needs your help.”

  I raised an eyebrow. Lucius’s rich and powerful connections had yielded me lucrative work before; they had also put me in great dan-ger. “What friend would that be, Lucius?”

  He raised a finger. The slaves around us silently withdrew into the house. “Discretion, Gordianus. Discretion! Read the item again.”

  “The bookworm—’”

  “And whom did I call a bookworm only a moment ago?” I blinked. “Decimus Brutus, the consul.” Lucius nodded. “Read on.”

  ” ‘The bookworm pokes his head outside tomorrow .. .’” “Deci will venture to the Circus Maximus tomorrow, to watch the races from the consular box.” ” ‘Easy prey for the sparrow . ..”’

  “Draw your own conclusion from that—especially with the mention of daggers and arrows later on!”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You think there’s a plot against the consul’s life, based on a blind item in the Daily Acts? It seems farfetched, Lucius.”

  “It’s not what I think. It’s what Deci himself thinks. The poor fel-low’s in a state; came to my house and roused me out of bed an hour ago, desperate for advice. He needs someone to get to the bottom of this, quietly and quickly. I told him I knew just the man: Gordianus the Finder;”

  “Me?” I scowled at an olive pit between my forefinger and thumb. “Since the Daily is a state organ, surely Decimus Brutus himself, as consul, is in the best position to determine where this item came from and what it really means. To start, who wrote it?”

  “That’s precisely the problem.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you see the part about ‘Sappho’ and her advice?” “Yes.”

  “Gordianus, who do you think writes and edits the Daily Acts?” I shrugged. “I never thought about it.”

  “The
n I shall tell you. The consuls themselves dictate the items about politics and foreign policy, giving their own official viewpoint. The drier parts—trade figures, livestock counts and such—are compiled by clerks in the censor’s office. Sporting news comes from the magistrates in charge of the Circus Maximus. Augurs edit the stories that come in about weird lightning flashes, comets, curiously shaped vegetables, and other omens. But who do you think oversees the society news—weddings and birth announcements, social engage-ments, ‘blind items,’ as you call them?”

  “A woman named Sappho?”

  “A reference to the poet of ancient Lesbos. The consul’s wife is something of a poet herself.”

  “The wife of Decimus Brutus?”

  “She wrote that item.” Lucius leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Deci thinks she means to kill him, Gordianus.”

  “My wife …” The consul cleared his throat noisily. He brushed a hand nervously through his silvery hair and paced back and forth across the large study, from one pigeon-hole bookcase to another, his fingers idly brushing the little title tags that hung from the scrolls. Outside the library at Alexandria, I had never seen so many books in one place, not even in Cicero’s house.

  The consul’s house was near the Forum, only a short walk from that of Lucius Claudius. I had been admitted at once; thanks to Lucius, my visit was expected. Decimus Brutus dismissed a cadre of secretaries and ushered me into his private study. He dispensed with formalities. His agitation was obvious.

  “My wife …” He cleared his throat again. Decimus Brutus, highest magistrate in the land, used to giving campaign speeches in the Forum and orations in the courts, seemed unable to begin.

  “She’s certainly beautiful,” I said, gazing at the portrait that graced one of the few spaces on the wall not covered by bookcases. It was a small picture, done in encaustic wax on wood, yet it domi-nated the room. A young woman of remarkable beauty gazed out from the picture. Strings of pearls adorned the masses of auburn hair done up with pearl-capped pins atop her head. More pearls hung from her ears and around her throat. The chaste simplicity of her jewelry contrasted with a glint in her green eyes that was challenging, aloof, almost predatory.