Page 39 of Brother at Arms

“Poison.” I repeated the word and sat heavily down beside her.

“It is reasonable, I think.” Cassia faced Marcianus. “Leonidas says Xerxes went into a daze while he was fighting, then simply stopped, allowing the other gladiator—” she consulted a note in her tablet—“Perseus, to land the killing stroke.”

“Yes, I did wonder why Xerxes didn’t deflect the thrust.” Marcianus leaned one hip on the table. “Your idea has merit, Cassia. A poison can paralyze a man or make him so lax he can’t lift his arms. The method of administering it will depend on how quickly the poison could act. A slow ingestion time means something he ate beforehand or even a cup of water before the bout. A faster-acting poison would require a more daring method of administration.”

“Such as a dart, shot from the stands?” Cassia asked.

“Possibly.” Marcianus stared thoughtfully into the distance. “It would have to be very stealthy, so that no one noticed or tried to halt the match. I didn’t see the bout, but we can find out if anyone noticed Xerxes flinch, as though a dart had struck him.”

“You are both certain it was poison,” I stated.

Marcianus made a conceding gesture. “A good point, Leonidas. This is speculation and should be treated as such. What are the chances that a man could aim a dart, either with a sling or other weapon, and hit Xerxes precisely? A sidestep could easily take him out of range, and I doubt the person would risk trying a second time.”

“It must have been in something given to him before the match, then,” Cassia said.

“Or it was Perseus,” I said.

Both Cassia and Marcianus swiveled heads to stare at me. “What do you mean?” Cassia asked gently.

I grew irritated that the pair of them considered me the brick-headed statue in their midst. “Perseus was close enough to Xerxes to give him poison. He might have coated his blade with it, nicking Xerxes enough to let the concoction work. Then when Xerxes was weakened …”

I looked away from them, willing the dream not to rise in my mind again.

“That is a possibility,” Marcianus said. “One we shall not overlook. For what purpose would Perseus have done so, do you suppose? To give himself a chance to win?”

“It did him no good, in any case,” I said. “Perseus died less than an hour later, in the bout against me.”

Marcianus and Cassia went quiet a moment, my words falling flatly in the silence.

“You explained that Aemilianus meant the match to end with a draw, or with Xerxes winning and sparing Perseus,” Cassia said. “Perseus, therefore, should not have been in fear of his life. I wonder if he was put up to it—paid to make certain Xerxes didn’t leave the arena.”

Her theory fit with what I remembered of Perseus. He’d been greedy for any prize money or reward. He’d have readily taken a payment to weaken Xerxes, which would give him more cash when he won the match.

“If Xerxes had been poisoned before or during the match, or incapacitated somehow … ” I fixed my gaze on Marcianus. “Why didn’t you know?”

Marcianus blinked. “Pardon?”

“Regulus noticed something was wrong. He said nothing at the time, because it had happened quickly and he wasn’t sure. But you are interested in how bodies work, and why they cease working.”

Color rose in Marcianus’s dark cheeks as I spoke, and he nodded.

“You are very right, Leonidas. I ought to have realized. But it was the Saturnalian games, and gladiators were coming in and out, needing to be stitched up or their bones set. Including you, I recall. I was very busy that day, but yes, I should have examined Xerxes more closely. I was so shocked at his death, I’m not certain what I was thinking.”

I hadn’t been certain of my thoughts either. I’d expected at any moment for Xerxes to rise from the dirt floor, swipe his hands over his bloody tunic, and laugh at me for being fooled.

“It is not your fault he died,” I said.

“I know that,” Marcianus said, resigned. “Not if he was poisoned. But I should have noticed if he was behaving strangely before he went into the arena and told Aemil to pull the match.”

“Aemil wouldn’t have listened to you.”

“Sometimes he does, but no, mostly he doesn’t. No matter what, I ought to have examined Xerxes’s body more closely.” Marcianus sighed, a man weighed down with regret.

“This is all conjecture,” Cassia reminded us. “We can’t know exactly what happened by merely theorizing. We will need proof that someone coerced Perseus into poisoning Xerxes. And, it might not have been Perseus at all. Xerxes might have swallowed the poison himself—unwittingly—before he entered the arena.”

“How can we know any of it?” I asked, coming to my feet. “If someone slipped poison to Xerxes, or paid Perseus to do it, or shot a dart at him from the stands, how are we to know? It was more than two years ago.”

Neither Cassia nor Marcianus looked as despondent at this problem as I felt.