Bookworm Gladiator

How big of a watermelon can you actually choke on, before it becomes suspicious? I wish I'd answered that question with the deliberation it deserved. Fortunately for me, Atia would soon be able to give me an answer as we climbed the last flight of stairs that led to the roof; Suetonius' last abode in this realm.

"Honestly, I can't believe the old fart missed breakfast," Atia huffed. Her hips swayed in my face as she slowed in the final steps and I almost ran into her.

"Perhaps he has already eaten?" I said, and chided myself at the lame attempt of a setup. Oh, this will be interesting...

We entered the sun-lit terrace, frightening a flock of birds that took flight; a cloud of flapping wings that broke into the sky, splitting off either into the oasis to the south or another terrace of the palace. I would have enjoyed the fresh air and view if it weren't for the throbbing absence of Lepidus in my heart as soon as I saw Suetonius' hut. I'd abandoned him hadn't I?

No matter how far I travelled, or how many months and years I'd never seen my boy, he seemed ever-green in my mind. Destined to live beyond my years and flourish without me. I'd taken comfort in that and left to wander my own thoughts and try to find some meaning in my life without my wife. How long had it been since I'd even said her name alone? I couldn't... not yet.

Atia wore a ruby-anklet with bells on her bare feet and they chimed violently when she kicked open Suetonius' door.

"Mother of Zeus..." Atia said immediately, pausing at the entrance. I glanced over her shoulder to make sure the scene of the crime was just as I'd left it.

Suetonius sat upright against the bed's headrest, a plate of fruit on his lap and a suspiciously large, quarter-sized piece of a watermelon shoved painfully into his gullet, stretching his flabby cheeks. I'd placed his hands into the collar of his night-robes to make it seem he'd struggled as he'd choked to death.

"Oh my," I said, starkly aware of my inability to put on an act, "it seems the old man has-"

"Heart attack," Atia cried. The Priestess ran to his bed-side, placing a finger under his nose to catch his breath. "He's dead, he's really dead!"

Heat attack? Really? "I don't know, Atia. It seems he must have choked."

"Are you mad?" Atia said, stepping back to stare at the strange display in front of her. "We've just lost our sponsor, by the Gods of the Inferno! I knew I should have requested Plutarch instead. This is... not good, Cicero. This is not good at all." She bit her lip and I decided to push my case some more.

"Are we sure he didn't, in fact, choke instead?"

"What are you on about, man!" Atia threw her hands, "this is no time for jest, we have to hide him."

"Hide him?" I was thoroughly puzzled. I'd worked so hard to build the perfect narrative of an untimely death by watermelon, and it came crashing down around me. Though, yes, a heart attack was much more plausible. I should be glad Atia was distracted by her panic. But to hide the body? For what?

Atia answered my unspoken question, "No one must know of his death until Nero himself arrives in Palmyra. The tournament might lose Rome's sponsorship. You must continue to write in his name!"

"Acta Diurna?" I said, wondering if she was suggesting treachery. Although I'd already made up my mind to kill Nero if given the chance, so I supposed I could handle a bit of forgery along the way. "Yes, I could even pair Hurek to the best opponent possible, within reason of course."

"Exactly," Atia replied, "a blessing in disguise, nay? Good, now help me with this." With dexterous hands, she unhinged the watermelon from Suetonius' jaw and threw it away, along with the fruit plate. It then took both of us to wrap the old man in his bedsheet and roll him off to the door. Atia threw aside her frazzled hair and looked at me with sweat beading her brow. "Now what?" she asked.

"What?"

"Where should we hide him?"

"How am I suppose to know," I snapped, "you're the conniving nymph matriarch of this damned plane."

"Oh please, Cicero," Atia replied, "You're not the innocent little bird you always pretend to be. Think!"

I opened my mouth to retort but the idea came to me instantaneously. Regardless, I feigned some thought and licked my lips before asking her about the potted plants out on the terrace balcony. Some of them were large enough to hide a body.

"My flowers! I need those-"

"How many plants does a woman need, Atia?" I snapped, "For fuck's sake, we can't really be dragging him across the grounds can we? It's best he stay here on the roof."

Atia pouted, then bit her lip, "fine, but you owe me a tree."

"You can have Diogenes."

"Who?"

"My mule," I grunted, lifting the old bastard by his shoulders and pulling him outside and around to the front of the roof, where a line of pots adorned the railing. Some of them already had plants and flowers growing inside but one was left empty with a bag of fresh dirt in a burlap sack on the side.

"Grab that bag," I directed the Priestess and she didn't hesitate. She slipped a knife from inside her robes - the same one used to kill Layla I realized - and she cut the sack open, spilling fertilizer around our feet.

I needed her help to push and crumple Suetonius' body inside the clay bowl, and it turned out to be the perfect fit. "Flexible old man," Atia said randomly. I wasn't sure what to make of that comment.

We scooped up the black dirt with our bare hands, smelling strongly of manure and piss, and dumped it in fistfuls. It took the better part of an hour and my arms burned but I dared not get tired before her. Atia was openly panting, though.

After the tiring labor, we crashed down together against the railing, Atia wiping away her sweat and leaving a streak of dirt across her forehead. Her was tunic also drenched wet and muddy.

I saw her knife laying not too far from us, glinting dangerously in the fading sunlight. I wondered if Hurek had found out about Jirikoy yet... and I thought about how long the servants had scrubbed to wipe clean his blood from the garden courtyard. "What did you do with the body?"

"What's that?" Atia said. Her eyes were closed and she leaned her head back against the cold marble.

"Jirikoy's body," I said, "where did you send it?"

"To his friends or family or someone," Atia said, "I don't know, my eunuch took care of it."

"To his wife, then," I said, "Ollia is her name. You best remember that."

Atia stared back at me, "I do regret it went that far, Cicero. But why do you care so much about the life of a slave?"

"He was a free man. Julius had freed him."

Atia sighed, and closed her eyes again. "There will be many more deaths until this is over, to be sure. You and Hurek can get your revenge in the arena."

"Do you really believe we can get that far?" I don't know why I felt so comfortable revealing my doubts to her. But it was a valid question to ask. Maybe Hurek could defeat Shams and maybe even another ranked opponent. But what if the others start showing up? The best of Rome. Men like Attilius... or worse. Apocalypse.

"There are some things about Hurek you are still to learn, dear Cicero," Atia replied tiredly, "let's take this step by step, nay? Focus on that demon spawn Shams for now."

I wasn't sure what she was suggesting by that cryptic answer, but how much did I really believe in Hurek? I had to answer that question, and quick. My vengeance would ride on his shoulders. Either his or I find someone else...

***