The Venus Throw

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Authors: Steven Saylor
Tags: Fiction, Historical, Mystery & Detective
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steel. Caelius turned back, stooped down and picked up the dagger that had been dropped. That was when he looked up and saw me in the shadows across the street.
    He squinted drunkenly and turned his face sidelong, trying to decide whether I was a man or merely a shadow. I held my breath. He stepped slowly toward me, holding the dagger in his hand.
    “Where in Hades are you off to now?” moaned Asicius. “Come on, Caelius, it’s cold out here. You said you’d warm me up!”
    “Shut up!” Caelius whispered hoarsely. He was halfway across the street, staring straight at me.
    “Caelius, what—is someone there?”
    “Shut up, Asicius!”
    The night was so still I thought they might be able to hear the pounding of my heart. Caelius’s dagger glinted in the moonlight. He stepped closer and tripped on a paving stone. I flinched.
    “It’s only me, neighbor,” I said, through gritted teeth.
    “Only—you, Gordianus!” Caelius grinned and lowered his dagger. I sighed with relief.
    “Who is he?” demanded Asicius, swaggering up behind Caelius and reaching inside his tunic. “Trouble?”
    “Oh, probably not,” said Caelius. In the moonlight, with a smile on his lips, he looked like Apollo done in white marble. “You’re not looking for trouble tonight, are you, neighbor?”
    “Out for a walk,” I said. “I leave on a trip tomorrow. I can’t sleep.”
    “Cold for a walk, isn’t it?” said Asicius.
    “Not too cold for you to be out,” I said.
    Asicius growled, but Caelius slapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “Go home and get some sleep, Gordianus! Only people up to no good are out at this time of night. Come on, Asicius. Tune to warm you up.” He put his arm around his companion’s shoulder and drew him back to the doorway. They disappeared inside and the door slammed shut.
    In the stillness of the night, through the closed door, Iheard their muffled voices and the dump of their heavy footsteps on the stairway. These sounds quickly faded, and the empty street seemed almost preternaturally quiet. The cold suddenly penetrated my cloak, making me shiver. I walked back to my house taking quick, careful steps. Everything was bland oyster-white and fathomless black shadow. Cold moonlight had turned the world to stone.
    I slipped back into bed. I might have stayed awake for a long time, staring into the darkness above, but Bethesda rolled toward me and snuggled against me, and I fell asleep almost at once.
    As planned, my son Eco came calling before daybreak. Belbo brought horses from the stable, and the three of us set out through the quiet gray streets of the waking city. We took the Flaminian Way and passed through the Fontinal Gate, leaving the dangers and deceits of the city behind us, at least for a while.

chapter
Six
    T he journey was without incident, except for a brief but wave-tossed crossing from Fanum Fortunae, at the terminus of the Flaminian Way, across to the Illyrian shore. In winter there are only a handful of boatmen who will ferry passengers across the Adriatic Sea, and on this trip we discovered why, for we very narrowly escaped a sudden squall that easily could have sent boat, Belbo, horses, Eco and myself to the bottom of the sea.
    Before we left Fanum Fortunae, I had insisted on visiting the famous grounds consecrated to the goddess Fortune and leaving a few coins at her temple. “Better spent tipping the boatman,” Eco had muttered under his breath. But after surviving the wet, windy crossing, it was Eco who suggested we give thanks at the nearest temple of Fortune. Pounding rain turned the wooden roof into a drum. Inside the rustic little temple incense swirled, coins jangled, and the goddess smiled, while the trembling in my knees and the queasiness in my stomach gradually subsided.
    With our feet back on solid ground, even the arduous, rain-soaked journey up the rugged coastline and over the windswept hills to Caesar’s winter quarters seemed like a holiday.

    After he became a

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