Free A Gladiator Dies Only Once by Steven Saylor Page A

she?”
    “Just a girl from one of the Celtic tribes. Their priests said that only a virgin should be allowed to feed and groom the white fawn. This girl volunteered. It brought great honor to her family. Her name was Liria.”
    “Where is her white scarf, the one she wore around her hair?”
    “You are observant, Finder. The scarf is missing.”
    “Do you think . . .?” I reached toward the marks on her throat. “A scarf would be one way of strangling someone.”
    Sertorius nodded gravely. “She must have tried to stop them. The guards were drugged, which means that Liria should have been drugged as well; she always ate the same food. But last night she may have fasted. She did that sometimes; she claimed that the white fawn would order her to fast, to keep herself pure. When they came to take the fawn, she must have woken up, and they strangled her to keep her from crying out.”
    “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