Free A Gladiator Dies Only Once by Steven Saylor

something like this happens, but it’s like putting out fires in a hayfield—”
    I looked about the crowded tent, at the general’s sleeping cot, the portable cabinets with maps and scrolls stacked on top, the little lamps on tripods. Something was missing . . .
    “Where is the white fawn?” I said.
    The color drained from his face. “Then you have heard the news?”
    “No. But if there is some crisis at hand, shouldn’t your divine counselor be with you?”
    Sertorius swallowed hard. “Someone has stolen her, in the night. Someone has kidnapped the white fawn!”
    “I see. But why have you sent for me, Quintus Sertorius?”
    “Don’t be coy, Finder. I know your reputation.”
    “You’ve heard of me?”
    Sertorius managed a wry smile. “I do have some idea of what goes on in Rome, even if I haven’t been there in years. I have my spies and informants there—just as Pompey and the senate no doubt have their spies in my camp. I try to keep abreast of who’s taking whom to court, who’s up and who’s down. You might be surprised how often your name comes up. Yes, I know who you are.”
    “And do you know what brought me here?” I wanted to be absolutely certain that we understood each other.
    “Yes, yes. I asked Mamercus about you yesterday. He showed me the letter. What a silly hen his grandfather is! The Sullans can have the old fellow—I have the grandson, and he’s turned out to be worth any three of Pompey’s officers, I’ll wager! Bright, curious, clever, and wholly committed to the cause. If the powers-that-be in Rome had any sense, they’d have restored his family’s estates and tried to win Mamercus over to their side, once his father was out of the way. But the Sullans always were a greedy lot of shortsighted bastards. They’ve driven all the best young men to Spain; all the better for me!” For just a moment he flashed the dazzling smile which had no doubt won the hearts of those bright young men. Then the smile faded. “But back to the business at hand. They call you the Finder, don’t they? Well, I am a man who has lost something, and I must find it again!”

    At night, Sertorius explained, the fawn was kept in a little tent of her own, near the general’s quarters. For religious reasons, the opening of the fawn’s tent was situated to face the rising moon; it had so happened, in this particular camp, that the front of the fawn’s tent faced away from most of the others, and so was not visible to Sertorius’s own night watch. The tent had its own guards, however, a pair of Celts who had vied for the religious honor of protecting Diana’s emissary. These two had apparently been given a powerful drug and had slept the night through. Sertorius was convinced of their tearful remorse at having failed the white fawn, but otherwise had not been able to get any useful information from them.
    I asked to see the tent. Sertorius led me there himself. Before we entered, he glanced at Eco.
    “The boy has seen death before?” he said.
    “Yes. Why do you ask?”
    “It’s not a gory sight—believe me, I’ve seen gore! Still, it’s not pretty to look at.”
    He gave no further explanation, but led us into the tent. A little pen had been erected inside, with straw scattered on the ground along with pails of water and fresh grass. There was also, outside the pen, a little sleeping cot, upon which lay the girl we had seen in the general’s entourage the previous day. She was dressed in the same white gown, but the white scarf was no longer around her head, so that her hair lay in a shimmering black pool around her white face. Her legs were straight and her hands were folded on her chest. She might almost have been sleeping, except for the unnatural, waxy paleness of her flesh, and the circle of bruised, chafed skin around her throat.
    “Is this how you found her?” I asked.
    “No,” said Sertorius. “She was there in front of the pen, lying crumpled on the ground.”
    “Who was