“I? Lucius, I think you need some sleep. You make no sense.”
Lucius started. “You are right, Demetrius. I am fatigued.” He took a step back toward the table, then changed course abruptly when Aulus barred his path.
Demetrius gestured to the stool. “Luc. For the love of Aphrodite, stop pacing. You are upsetting my stomach.”
Lucius dropped onto the stool sideways, straddling it with one leg on either side. “My apologies, old man. We must safeguard your digestion at all costs. I wouldn’t wish the aroma of the latrine to worsen.”
“Insolent wretch,” Demetrius said affectionately. He fell silent for a moment, then asked, “What information has Candidus gleaned from the slaves?”
Lucius frowned. “Aulus kept largely to himself, in the garden or library, until Vetus’s arrival late last summer. After that, the tribune was often in my brother’s company. The pair dined alone on the night before Aulus’s death.”
“Their conversation?”
“Light banter.” He spread his palms on his knees and rose. “It seems Aulus and the tribune were”—he grimaced—“the closest of friends.”
“Ah,” Demetrius said, understanding. “Aulus never was one to turn from pleasure.”
“Indeed.” Lucius had nothing against pleasure-seeking, but Aulus’s predilection for male companionship in his bed was a subject upon which he’d never cared to dwell.
“Do you suspect a crime of passion?”
Lucius sighed. “It’s difficult to say. I have a hard time believing Vetus capable of any passion save that for cleanliness. I doubt he killed Aulus over the temperature of the baths.” He squinted at the narrow window set high in the outside wall. The sky was lightening. Dawn could not be far off.
Demetrius stood wearily. “Perhaps the dilemma will seem clearer after a few hours’ rest.”
Lucius glanced at Aulus. He’d sunk to his knees. His upper body rested on the cushion of a stool, face buried in his crossed arms.
“You go,” he said. “I’m to address the garrison at cockcrow.”
“Very well.”
“What has gotten into you?” he asked Aulus once Demetrius had gone. “Did my nightmare affect you?”
Aulus didn’t look up. Lucius inched closer. He had the sense that his brother had changed in more than demeanor. His shoulders shook with emotion, causing his toga to slip off his shoulder and onto the floor. There were wounds on Aulus’s upper arms Lucius hadn’t seen before and as he stared at the vicious welts in horror, his mind dimly registered that the blood oozing from Aulus’s wounds was no longer gray, but pink. His brother’s body seemed almost solid. Almost alive.
Lucius’s blood turned to ice in his veins.
Aulus sobbed and though no sound stirred the chamber, Lucius heard the echoes of his brother’s grief in his mind. Without thinking, he reached out and laid a comforting hand on Aulus’s shoulder. His palm cooled, but the chill was not unbearable. Lucius could almost imagine that something other than air brushed his fingers.
“I’m trying to help you, brother, though I’ve begun to wonder what good it will do.”
Aulus looked up, his pale eyes wet with tears.
Chapter Nine
The pilfered brass knife sliced easily, piercing a fine network of roots. Rhiannon lifted the fragile clump of greenery from the garden bed, murmuring soothing words to the plant as if it were a babe. Meadowsweet should catch the sun, not hide in the shade. She settled the herb into the shallow hole she’d prepared earlier and swaddled its roots with a blanket of soil. It would thrive here, away from the spreading branches of the apple tree.
Unless, of course, Edmyg was successful in taking the fort. If that happened, one of his warriors would surely trample it.
She sat back on her heels. In the short time she’d been in the fort, the Roman thorn shrubs—roses, Lucius had called them—had begun to fill out. Tiny leaves covered the arching canes. They were edged in red, as if an unseen hand had dipped them in blood.
Blood. She’d dreamed of blood as she’d slept in Lucius’s bed. Once again she’d seen the Druid circle. Madog’s sword had thrust deep, plunging through the fragile flesh of Lucius’s brother. A red river had flowed from his stomach, even as his hand reached for her …
Dear Briga. Aulus’s soul clung to his brother’s side and Lucius suspected she was to blame. He wasn’t so far from the truth. She’d awoken at dawn, chilled to her soul, choking for breath.
She’d found Lucius gone. She knew she should be glad of it, but she was not.
Tell him. Aulus’s dying plea echoed in her skull. Had he been speaking of Lucius? Did he haunt his brother now, hoping to draw him to the Druid circle, where his skull rode the point of a wooden spike? Unless that skull was buried, neither brother would have peace.