A Gladiator Dies Only Once (8 page)

“And do you believe that? Is that why you choose to stay?”

Mamercus bristled. “The question is, what’s keeping
you
here, Gordianus? I’ve given you my answer. Now go!”

At that moment, the crowd before the commander’s tent broke into a cheer. I heard the name of Sertorius shouted aloud in acclamation, and saw that the great man himself had emerged from the tent. He was a tall, robust-looking man with a strong jaw and a smile that radiated confidence. Years ago, he had lost an eye in battle. Other men might have been embarrassed by the defect, but Sertorius was said to consider his leather eye-patch to be a badge of honor. The many battle scars scattered over his arms and legs he considered to be his medals.

Some mortals possess a charismatic allure that is almost divine, that anyone can see at a glance, and Quintus Sertorius was such a mortal. This was a man whom other men would trust implicitly and follow without question, to glory or death. The cheers that greeted his appearance, from both his own soldiers and from the local petitioners, were absolutely genuine and spontaneous.

Then the cries died away to a whispered hush. Eco and I looked at one another, puzzled. The cheering was understandable, but what was this? It was the hush of religious awe such as one hears in Rome at certain ancient rites performed in the temples in the Forum, a barely audible welter of whispers and murmurs and muttered prayers.

Then I saw the remarkable creature that had followed Sertorius out of the tent.

It was a young fawn. Her soft pelt was utterly white, without a single spot of color. She gamboled after Sertorius like a loyal hound, and when he paused, she nuzzled against his thigh and lifted her snout for him to stroke. I had never seen anything like it.

The hush grew louder, and amid the strange dialects I heard snatches of Latin:

“The white fawn! The white fawn!”

“They both look happy—that must mean good news!”

“Diana! Bless us, goddess! Bless Quintus Sertorius!”

Sertorius smiled and laughed and bent down to take the fawn’s head in his hands. He kissed her right on the snout.

This evoked an even louder murmur from the crowd—and from one onlooker, a loud, barking laugh. My dear mute son has a very strange laugh, alas, rather like the braying of a mule. The fawn’s ears shot straight up and she cowered behind Sertorius, tripping awkwardly over her spindly legs. Heads turned toward us, casting suspicious looks. Eco clamped his hands over his mouth. Sertorius peered in our direction, frowning. He saw Mamercus, then appraised me with a curious eye.

“Mamercus Claudius!” he called. “I wondered where you’d got to. Come!”

Sertorius pressed on through the worshipful crowd, with the white fawn and a cordon of guards following behind. Included in the retinue, I was surprised to see, was a girl who could hardly have been older than Eco. She was a beautiful child, with dark eyes and cheeks like white rose petals. Dressed all in white, with her black hair bound up in a scarf, she looked and carried herself like a priestess, keeping her eyes straight ahead and striding between the soldiers with a grace and self-assurance beyond her years.

“A white fawn!” I said. “And that girl! Who is she, Mamercus?”

But Mamercus only glowered at me and went to join Sertorius. I ran after him and clutched his arm.

“Mamercus, I shall try to find lodgings in Sucro tonight. If you should change your mind—”

He yanked his arm from my grasp and strode off without looking back.

Lodgings were not hard to find in Sucro. There was only one tavern with accommodations, and the place was deserted. The battle between Pompey and Sertorius had driven travelers far away, and the likelihood of another battle was keeping them away.

The tavern keeper was a strong-looking Celt with a shaggy black beard, named Lacro. He seemed to be in high spirits despite the hardships of war, and was glad to have two paying guests to share wine and conversation in the common room that night. Lacro’s family had lived on the banks of the Sucro for generations. He boasted proudly of the bounty of the river and the beauty of the coast. His favorite recreation was to go trapping and hunting in the marshes near the river’s mouth, where birds flocked in great numbers and crustacean delicacies could be plucked from the mud. Lacro had apparently been spending a lot of time in the marshes lately, if only to stay clear of the fighting.

But he did not complain about the war, except to excoriate Pompey and Metellus. Lacro was very much a partisan of Sertorius, and praised him for unifying the various Celtic and Iberian tribes of Spain. He had no quarrel with Romans, he said, so long as they were like Sertorius; if it took a Roman to give his people leadership, then so be it. When I told him that Eco and I had come that very day from the great commander’s camp, and indeed had caught a glimpse of Sertorius himself, Lacro was quite impressed.

“And did you see the white fawn?” he asked.

“Yes, we did. A strange creature to keep as a pet.”

“The white fawn is not a pet!” Lacro was appalled at the idea. “The white fawn was sent to Sertorius as a gift, by Diana. The goddess speaks to him through the fawn. The fawn tells Sertorius the future.”

“Really?”

“How else do you think he’s gone undefeated for so long, no matter how many armies Rome sends against him? Did you think that Sertorius was merely lucky? No, he has divine protection! The white fawn is a holy creature.”

“I see,” I said, but apparently without sufficient conviction.

“Bah! You Romans, you’ve conquered the world but you’ve lost sight of the gods. You saw the white fawn with your own eyes, and thought it was a mere pet! But not Sertorius; that’s what makes him different.”

“How did Sertorius acquire this amazing creature?”

“They say some hunters came upon the fawn in a wood. She walked right up to them, and told them to take her to the great leader. The hunters brought her to Sertorius. When he bent down to nuzzle the fawn’s face, she spoke to him, in his own tongue, and he recognized the voice of Diana. The two have never parted since. The fawn follows Sertorius everywhere, or strictly speaking, he follows the fawn, since it’s she who tells him where his enemies are and what routes to take. Ah, so you saw her with your own eyes. I envy you! I’ve never seen her, only heard of her.”

“This white fawn is quite famous then?”

“Everyone knows of her. I keep a tavern, don’t I? I know what people talk about, and every man from the Pyrenees to the Pillars of Hercules loves the white fawn!”

Since there was only one tavern in Sucro, Mamercus Claudius had no trouble finding us the next morning. He stepped into the common room just as Eco and I were finishing our breakfast of bread and dates. So, I thought, the young man has decided to return to his grandfather after all. I smiled at him. He did not smile back.

I realized that he was still in his military garb, and that he was not alone. A small band of soldiers entered the room behind him, all wearing the same grim look.

His visit was official, then. My breakfast turned heavy in my stomach. My mouth went dry. I remembered the evil premonition I had felt about this mission from the very first, even before I met Gaius Claudius . . .

Mamercus marched up to us. His manner was soldierly and impersonal. “Gordianus! Quintus Sertorius has sent me to fetch you.”

Then it
was
the worst, I thought. Mamercus had betrayed me to Sertorius, and now Sertorius was having me arrested for trying to engineer the defection of an officer. I had known the mission would be dangerous; I should have been more cautious. Mamercus had made it clear the previous day that he had no intention of returning to Rome with me; why I had lingered in Sucro? I had tarried too long, a victim of my own sentimental sympathy for the old senator. And I had made Eco a victim, as well. He was only a boy—surely Sertorius would not lop his head off along with mine. But what would become of him after I was gone? Sertorius would probably conscript him as a foot soldier, I thought. Was that to be Eco’s fate, to end his days on a battlefield, fighting for a lost cause in a foreign land? If only I had left him behind in Rome!

I stood as bravely as I could and gestured for Eco to do the same. Mamercus and his men escorted us out of the tavern and marched us up the river road, back to the camp. The men’s faces looked even grimmer under the bright morning sun. Not one of them said a word.

The same grimness presided in the camp. Every face we saw was glum and silent. Where were the high spirits of the day before?

We came to Sertorius’s tent. Mamercus pulled back the flap and announced my name. He gestured for Eco and me to enter. He himself remained outside, as did the other soldiers.

The commander was alone; more alone, in fact, than I realized at first. He rose from his chair eagerly, as if he had been waiting impatiently, and strode toward us. This was not the reception I had expected.

“Gordianus the Finder!” he said, grasping my hand. “What good fortune that you should happen to be here, on such a day! Do you know why I’ve summoned you?”

“I’m beginning to think that I don’t.” The look on Sertorius’s face was grim but not hostile. My head started to feel noticeably more secure on my shoulders.

“Then you haven’t heard the news yet?”

“What news?”

“Excellent! That means that word hasn’t yet spread to the town. One tries to keep down the gossip and rumors when something like this happens, but it’s like putting out fires in a hayfield—”

I looked about the crowded tent, at the general’s sleeping cot, the portable cabinets with maps and scrolls stacked on top, the little lamps on tripods. Something was missing . . .

“Where is the white fawn?” I said.

The color drained from his face. “Then you
have
heard the news?”

“No. But if there is some crisis at hand, shouldn’t your divine counselor be with you?”

Sertorius swallowed hard. “Someone has stolen her, in the night. Someone has kidnapped the white fawn!”

“I see. But why have you sent for me, Quintus Sertorius?”

“Don’t be coy, Finder. I know your reputation.”

“You’ve heard of me?”

Sertorius managed a wry smile. “I do have some idea of what goes on in Rome, even if I haven’t been there in years. I have my spies and informants there—just as Pompey and the senate no doubt have their spies in my camp. I try to keep abreast of who’s taking whom to court, who’s up and who’s down. You might be surprised how often your name comes up. Yes, I know who you are.”

“And do you know what brought me here?” I wanted to be absolutely certain that we understood each other.

“Yes, yes. I asked Mamercus about you yesterday. He showed me the letter. What a silly hen his grandfather is! The Sullans can have the old fellow—I have the grandson, and he’s turned out to be worth any three of Pompey’s officers, I’ll wager! Bright, curious, clever, and wholly committed to the cause. If the powers-that-be in Rome had any sense, they’d have restored his family’s estates and tried to win Mamercus over to their side, once his father was out of the way. But the Sullans always were a greedy lot of shortsighted bastards. They’ve driven all the best young men to Spain; all the better for me!” For just a moment he flashed the dazzling smile which had no doubt won the hearts of those bright young men. Then the smile faded. “But back to the business at hand. They call you the Finder, don’t they? Well, I am a man who has lost something, and I must find it again!”

At night, Sertorius explained, the fawn was kept in a little tent of her own, near the general’s quarters. For religious reasons, the opening of the fawn’s tent was situated to face the rising moon; it had so happened, in this particular camp, that the front of the fawn’s tent faced away from most of the others, and so was not visible to Sertorius’s own night watch. The tent had its own guards, however, a pair of Celts who had vied for the religious honor of protecting Diana’s emissary. These two had apparently been given a powerful drug and had slept the night through. Sertorius was convinced of their tearful remorse at having failed the white fawn, but otherwise had not been able to get any useful information from them.

I asked to see the tent. Sertorius led me there himself. Before we entered, he glanced at Eco.

“The boy has seen death before?” he said.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“It’s not a gory sight—believe me, I’ve seen gore! Still, it’s not pretty to look at.”

He gave no further explanation, but led us into the tent. A little pen had been erected inside, with straw scattered on the ground along with pails of water and fresh grass. There was also, outside the pen, a little sleeping cot, upon which lay the girl we had seen in the general’s entourage the previous day. She was dressed in the same white gown, but the white scarf was no longer around her head, so that her hair lay in a shimmering black pool around her white face. Her legs were straight and her hands were folded on her chest. She might almost have been sleeping, except for the unnatural, waxy paleness of her flesh, and the circle of bruised, chafed skin around her throat.

“Is this how you found her?” I asked.

“No,” said Sertorius. “She was there in front of the pen, lying crumpled on the ground.”

“Who was she?”

“Just a girl from one of the Celtic tribes. Their priests said that only a virgin should be allowed to feed and groom the white fawn. This girl volunteered. It brought great honor to her family. Her name was Liria.”

“Where is her white scarf, the one she wore around her hair?”

“You
are
observant, Finder. The scarf is missing.”

“Do you think . . .?” I reached toward the marks on her throat. “A scarf would be one way of strangling someone.”

Sertorius nodded gravely. “She must have tried to stop them. The guards were drugged, which means that Liria should have been drugged as well; she always ate the same food. But last night she may have fasted. She did that sometimes; she claimed that the white fawn would order her to fast, to keep herself pure. When they came to take the fawn, she must have woken up, and they strangled her to keep her from crying out.”