A Gladiator Dies Only Once (9 page)

“But why didn’t they simply kill the fawn, instead of kidnapping her?”

Sertorius sighed. “This land is crawling with superstition, Gordianus. Omens and portents are in every breath, and a man can’t take a piss without some god or other looking over his shoulder. I suspect that whoever did this had no intention of murdering anyone. What they wanted, what they intended, was that the fawn should simply disappear, don’t you see? As if she had fled on her own. As if Diana had abruptly deserted me to my fate. What would my Spanish soldiers make of that? Can you understand what a disaster that would be for me, Gordianus?”

He stared at the dead girl, then tore his gaze away and paced back and forth in the small space before the pen. “The kidnappers added murder to their crime; that was sacrilege enough, though Liria wasn’t really a priestess, just a girl from a humble family who happened still to be a virgin. But they would never had killed the fawn. That would have defeated their purpose. To kill the emissary of Diana would be an unforgivable atrocity. That would only strengthen the resolve of the tribes to fend off such an impious enemy. That’s why I’m certain the fawn is still alive and unharmed.

“I’ve tried to keep this quiet, Gordianus, but I think the rumor has already begun to spread among the men that the fawn is missing. The Roman soldiers will suspect the truth, I imagine, that she was kidnapped for political reasons. But the natives—the natives will think that the gods have turned against me.”

“Is their faith in the white fawn really so great?”

“Oh, yes! That’s why I’ve used it, as a powerful tool to bind them to me. Powerful, but dangerous; superstition can be turned against the man who uses it, you see. I should have guarded her better!”

“Do you believe in the white fawn yourself, Sertorius? Does she speak to you?”

He looked at me shrewdly. “I’m surprised that you even ask such a question, Gordianus. I’m a Roman general, not a credulous Spaniard. The white fawn is nothing more than a device of statecraft. Must I explain? One day my spies inform me of Pompey’s movements; the next day I announce that the white fawn whispered in my ear that Pompey will be seen in a certain place at a certain time, and sure enough, he is. Whenever I learn a secret or see into the future, the knowledge comes to me from the white fawn—officially. Whenever I have to give an order that the natives find hard to stomach—such as burning one of their own villages, or putting a popular man to death—I tell them it must be done because the white fawn says so. It makes things much, much easier. And whenever things look uncertain, and the natives are on the verge of losing heart, I tell them that the white fawn has promised me a victory. They find their courage then; they rally, and they make the victory happen.

“Do you think me blasphemous for resorting to such a device? The best generals have always done such things to shore up their men’s morale. Look at Sulla! Before a battle, he always made sure his troops would catch him mumbling to a little image he stole from the oracle at Delphi; the deity invariably promised him victory. And Marius, too—he kept a Syrian wisewoman in his entourage, who could always be counted on to foresee disaster for his enemies. Too bad she failed him in the end.

“Even Alexander pulled such tricks. Do you know the story? Once when things looked bleak before a battle, his priests called for a blood sacrifice. While the sheep was being prepared at the altar, Alexander painted the letters N I backwards on the palms of one hand, and K E on the other. The priest cut open the sheep, pulled out the steaming liver and placed it in Alexander’s hands. Alexander turned it over to show his men, and sure enough, there it was, written on the liver in letters no one could mistake—the Greek word for victory!”

“And your device was the white fawn?”

Sertorius stopped his pacing and looked me in the eye. “Here in Spain, the local tribes, especially the Celts, have a special belief in the mystical power of white animals. A good general makes note of such beliefs. When the hunters brought Dianara to me that day—”

“Dianara?”

Did he look slightly embarrassed? “I call the white fawn Dianara, after the goddess. Why not? When they brought her to me, I saw at once what could be done with her. I made her my divine counselor! And the strategy has paid off handsomely. But now—”

Sertorius began to pace again. “My scouts tell me that Metellus has joined Pompey on the other side of the Sucro. If my Spaniards find out that the fawn is missing, and I’m forced into another battle—the result could be an utter disaster. What man will fight for a general whom the gods have deserted? My only chance now is to withdraw west into the highlands, as quickly as I can. But in the meantime, the fawn must be found!” He gave me a look that was at once desperate and demanding.

“I’m a Finder, Quintus Sertorius, not a hunter.”

“This is a kidnapping, Gordianus, not a chase. I’ll pay you well. Bring Dianara back to me, and I shall reward you handsomely.”

I considered. My commission from Gaius Claudius was completed. I had verified young Mamercus’s whereabouts, delivered the letter, and given him every chance to accompany me back to Rome. I was a free agent again, in a foreign land, and a powerful man was seeking my help.

On the other hand, to aid a renegade general in the field would surely, in the view of the Roman Senate, constitute an act of treason . . .

I liked Sertorius, because he was honest and brave, and in the long run, the underdog. I liked him even better when he named an actual figure as a reward.

I agreed. If I could not return an errant young man to his grandfather, perhaps I could return a missing fawn to her master.

Sertorius allowed me to question the two guards who had been drugged. I could only agree with his own assessment, that the men were truly remorseful for what had happened and that they had nothing useful to tell. Neither did any of the other watchmen; no one had seen or heard a thing. It was as if the moon herself had reached down to fetch the white fawn home.

By the time Eco and I arrived back in Sucro that afternoon, the tavern was full of locals, all thirsty for wine and hungry for any news they could get of the missing white fawn. The secret was out, and rumors were flying wild. I listened attentively; one never knows when a bit of gossip may be helpful. Some said that the fawn had actually deserted Sertorius long ago (this was patently false, since I had seen the creature myself). Others claimed that the fawn had died, and that Sertorius had buried it and was only pretending that it had disappeared. A few said that the fawn had been stolen, but no one reported the death of the virgin. Perhaps the wildest rumor (and the most ominous) asserted that the fawn had showed up in Pompey’s camp, and was now his confidant.

None of this was very helpful. After the local crowd dispersed to their homes for the night, I asked our host what he made of it all.

“Not a one of them knows a blasted thing! All a bunch of wind-bags.” Lacro said this cheerily enough, and why not? He must have turned a nice profit on the sale of wine that day, and quite a few of the crowd had stayed on for dinner. “The only story that rang true to my ears was the one about the fawn being seen in the marshes.”

“What’s this? I missed that one.”

“That’s because the fellow who told it wasn’t shouting his head off like the fools who had nothing to say. He was here behind the counter, talking to me. An old friend of mine; we sometimes go trapping in the marshes together. He was there early this morning. Says he caught a glimpse of something white off in the distance, in a stand of swamp trees.”

“Perhaps he saw a bird.”

“Too big for a bird, he said, and it moved like a beast, from here to there along the ground.”

“Did he get a closer look?”

“He tried. But by the time he reached the trees, there was nothing to be seen—nothing except fresh hoof prints in the mud. The prints of a young deer, of that he was certain. And footprints, as well.”

“Footprints?”

“Two men, he said. One on each side of the fawn.”

Eco gripped my arm and shook it. I agreed; this was very interesting. “Did your friend follow these tracks?”

“No, he turned back and went about his business, checking his traps.” Lacro raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t say as much, but from the look on his face, I think he felt afraid when he saw those tracks. This is a fellow who knows the marshes like his own mother’s face; knows what belongs there and what doesn’t, and if something’s not right. He saw those tracks and felt a bit of awe, standing where Diana’s gift had passed. Mark my words, that white fawn is in the marshes.”

Eco nudged me and put his hands to his throat, miming strangulation. Lacro looked puzzled.

I translated. “If your friend was afraid to follow those tracks, then his instincts probably
are
good.” At least one person had already been murdered by the fawn’s abductors.

“I don’t quite follow you.”

I looked at him steadily. “Yesterday, you spoke well of Sertorius . . .”

“I did.”

“And you spoke with reverence about the white fawn . . .”

“Diana’s gift.”

“Lacro, I want to tell you a secret. Something very important.”

“So, what are you waiting for? Who can keep secrets better than an innkeeper?” He hooked his thumb and gestured to the sleeping quarters upstairs, as if alluding to all the trysts which had taken place under his roof that would never be revealed by his telling.

“And do you think this friend of yours could keep a secret, as well?” I said. “And more importantly, do you think he might agree to guide a couple of strangers into the marshes? There’s likely to be some danger—but there’ll be a fee in it, too. A fee for you both . . .”

________

Before daybreak the next morning, we set out for the marshes.

Lacro and his friend, who was called Stilensis, led the way. Eco and I followed behind.

We came to the stand of trees where Stilensis had seen the tracks. They were still visible in the mud, picked out sharply by the first slanting rays of sunlight. We followed them. In places where the ground was too hard or too soft, the trail seemed to vanish, at least to my eyes, but our experienced guides were able to discern even the faintest traces. Occasionally even they lost the trail, and when that happened, they would patiently circle about until they found it again. Sometimes I could see how they did it, by spotting a broken twig or a crumpled leaf; at other times, it seemed to me that they were guided by some hidden instinct, or simple luck. Perhaps Lacro would say that Diana showed them the way.

They also seemed to sense, by some unknown faculty, the moment when we came within earshot of our prey. At the same moment, Lacro and Stilensis both turned and gestured for us to be utterly silent.

As for the enemy, there were only two of them, as the tracks had indicated; but the tracks had also indicated, by their size and depth, that the men making them were large fellows, with large shoes and heavy bodies. Fortunately for us, they were still asleep when we came upon them. They had no tent, and had made no fire. They slept on a bed of leaves, with light blankets to cover them.

Lacro and Stilensis had brought their hunting bows. While they notched arrows and took aim, Eco and I yanked away the men’s blankets. They woke at once, scrambled to their feet, then froze when they saw the arrows aimed at them. They cursed in some native tongue.

Lacro asked them what they had done with the white fawn. The men grumbled and pointed toward a thick patch of bushes.

In a little clearing, Eco and I came upon the creature. She was tied to a small tree, asleep with her legs folded beneath her. At our approach, she stirred and lifted her head. I expected her to scramble up and try to bolt away. Instead, she stared at us sleepily and blinked several times, then threw back her head and seemed to yawn. She slowly and methodically unfolded her limbs and got to her feet, then sauntered toward us and lifted her face to be nuzzled. Eco let out a gasp of delight as he stroked the back of his hand against the shimmering white fur beneath her eyes.

We marched our prisoners through the marsh and then along the river road, with Eco leading the fawn by her leash, or as often as not being led by her. We stopped short of Sertorius’s camp, and while the others waited in a secluded spot by the river, I went to give the general the news.

I arrived just in time. Only a single tent—the general’s—was still standing. The troops had already begun the westward march toward the highlands. Sertorius and his staff were busily packing wagons and seeing to the final details of disbanding the camp.

Sertorius was the first to see me. He froze for an instant, then strode toward me. His face seemed to glow in the morning light. “It’s good news, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Is she well?”

“Yes.”

“And the scoundrels who took her—did you capture them as well?”

“Two men, both native Spaniards.”

“I knew it! I woke up this morning with a feeling that something wonderful would happen. Where is she? Take me to her at once! No, wait.” He turned and called to his staff. “Come along, all of you. Wonderful news! Come and see!”

Among the officers, I saw Mamercus, carrying a cabinet out of the general’s tent. “Put that down, Mamercus, and come see what the Finder has caught for us!” shouted Sertorius. “Something white! And two black-hearted Spaniards with her!”

Mamercus looked confused for a moment, then put down the cabinet. He nodded and stepped back into the tent.

“Come, Gordianus. Take me to her at once!” said Sertorius, pulling at my arm.

On the banks of the Sucro, the general and his fawn were reunited. I don’t think I had ever seen a Roman general weep before. I certainly know that I had never seen one pick up a fawn and carry it about in his arms like a baby. For all his protestations that the white fawn was only a tool of statecraft, a cynical means of exploiting superstitions he did not share, I think that the creature meant much more than that to Sertorius. While she might not have whispered to him in the voice of Diana, or foretold the future, the white fawn was the visible sign of the gods’ favor, without which every man is naked before his enemies. What I saw on the banks of the Sucro was the exultation of a man whose luck had deserted him and then had returned in the blink of an eye.