The Bull Slayer (25 page)

“You! What are you doing here?” He could hardly get the words out.

She pushed the door open, driving him back—she was stronger than he was—and the three of them crowded in.

“You actually live in this hole?” She wrinkled her nose. “You told me where it was, you didn’t tell me it was a cesspit.”

“I said what are you doing here.” His voice rose through half an octave.

“Hiding just like you. The governor thinks I murdered my husband. I have no protector, no friends, no money.”

“No money? Haven’t I given you enough?”

It had started nearly ten years ago in Egypt when Balbus was on the Prefect’s staff, handling large sums of money for paying the shippers of grain to Rome and Silvanus was his clerk. Silvanus had begun stealing and, when Fabia became aware of it through a careless remark, he had paid her for her silence. She was a grasping, suspicious woman who wanted money of her own in case her husband should ever decide to leave her. Their arrangement had lasted ever since.

“You can’t stay here. You’ll bring the soldiers down of all of us! This is a neighborhood of snoops. How many doors did you knock on before you found me?”

She ignored the question. “We’re here and you must help us, Silvanus.”

“Never! You murdered Balbus, I congratulate you, I suppose the monster there did it for you?”

Lurco, who never spoke, simply glared at him and flexed his huge shoulders.

“You don’t scare me. You’ll have to fend for yourselves. Get out.”

“I didn’t kill him,” Fabia said.

“Oh? Then why are you running away? Because no one will believe you? I don’t blame them.”

Like a punctured bladder, the air seemed to go out of her. She sank down on Silvanus’ one chair and buried her face in her hands. “I’m afraid—not for me, for the boy.”

“A little late for that, murderess,” Silvanus sneered. With his small black eyes, beaky face, and thin lips he resembled a tortoise that had bitten into something nasty.

“She didn’t kill my father! A—a Persian killed him, I saw a letter—” Aulus shook himself from his torpor with a wrenching effort like the snapping of invisible cords that bound him. For hours he had been going in and out of small seizures, hardly knowing where he was.

“The idiot speaks? Stay in the corner there, you filthy thing, don’t come near me.” Silvanus spat.

“It’s all to do with Mithras,” Aulus whispered.

“What’s he raving about?”

“Hush, Aulus, that’s enough,” Fabia warned.

“It’s true. We must go back and tell the governor. He understands, he explained—“

“Be quiet! Silvanus, please. We won’t stay here if you help us to get away. If you don’t they’ll catch us all!”

“Murderess!” Silvanus balled his hands into fists as if he would strike her. Lurco stirred but it was Aulus who stepped between them. “Don’t you dare!” he said.

“Or you’ll what?”

“I am the man of this family.” His legs trembled, his head began to jerk. No! He wouldn’t faint, he would hold on. He had always needed his mother—now she needed him.

Silvanus snorted. “Fabia, if it were possible to pity you I would, just for having such a son.” He paced the little room. “All right. Listen to me. There’s a fishing village not far from here. Fishermen won’t be happy about putting out at this time of year but enough silver might change their minds.”

“You’ll guide us there?”

“Certainly not. I’ll give you directions.”

“The money.”

He dragged one chest from under his cot, being careful to place himself between it and Fabia so that she could not see how full it was. He scooped up a handful of coins and, with a sour look, tossed them on the table. “If I were you, I’d make for the coast of Thrace. You’re from there, aren’t you? Live among the savages. How fitting.”

***

They were tacking northwest along the coast, nearly out of sight of land, when the wind began to blow strong and the boat to pitch and roll in a confusion of waves. Rain drove in their faces, the deck was awash; the four sailors and their three passengers hung grimly to handholds wherever they could. Aulus’ stomach heaved. He felt his bowels loosen. His mouth filled with saliva. Jagged flashes of light exploded behind his eyes. He couldn’t breathe. He had fought it down for hours but it would have its way at last. The sailors looked at him with horror, at the whites of his turned-up eyes, his jerking limbs.

“Look, he has a demon in him!”

“Fling him overboard or we’ll all drown!”

Chapter Thirty-three

The 14th day before the Kalends of December

Sophronia chose a plump snail from the silver platter, dipped it in savory sauce, and placed it between Suetonius’ lips. They reclined side by side on a couch in her elegant dining room. He swallowed and burped appreciatively.

“What’s he like, your governor?” she asked.

“Pliny? Hard to sum him up, really. He’s one of the most generous men I know. He has a great talent for friendship. If you ever need a favor he’s your man.”

“Rather dry, though. Not like you.”

Suetonius laughed. “He publishes his letters, you know. Quite delightful little pieces, there are even one or two to me. I think they reveal more of the man than perhaps he suspects. For example, he witnessed the volcanic eruption that devastated the bay of Naples when he was seventeen. Terrible calamity. His uncle, who commanded the fleet at Misenum, asked him if he wanted to come with him to help rescue people who were trapped along the shore. And young Gaius said no, he’d rather stay home and finish copying out some passages of Livy! Can you imagine?”

“Because he was afraid?”

“No, it wasn’t that. I just think, in a sense, he was never a boy. But he’s a good man and, trust me, he will solve this case however long it takes.”

“And the hunt for Fabia goes on?”

“It does. We’ve got every soldier and
lictor
we can spare visiting every inn and post house and village within fifty miles of the city. We’ve alerted the authorities in Prusa, Nicaea, Apamea. But it’s been four days. By now they could be anywhere. I suspect they’ve put to sea. If they make it across Propontis, we may never find them.”

“She killed him, of course. She and my brother.”

“He denies it.”

“Have you tortured him?”

“Pliny shrinks from it.”

“Your governor is too soft. Let me spend half an hour with him in your dungeon.”

“You almost frighten me, my dear. I should not like to be your enemy.”

She laughed. “Let’s hope you never will be.”

They were companionably quiet for a while, pleasantly drunk. Then Sophronia rubbed her foot against his and said, “I have a small problem you might help me with.”

“If I can.”

“There is a banker in the city who owes me money, a rather large sum that I deposited with him to invest for me. It’s been months now and he neither returns it nor tells me what he’s done with it. A typical Greek male; because I am who and what I am, he thinks he can safely cheat me. Balbus was going to get it back for me but then he died.”

“How much money are talking about?”

“Two talents.”

Suetonius looked at her in astonishment. “That’s a fortune! What were you thinking?”

She pouted. “Balbus thought it was a good idea. He said he trusted the man.”

“And who is this man?”

“A wretched little one-armed creature by the name of Didymus.”

***

“Didymus is his name.” Suetonius and Pliny were in the palace baths, soaking in the hot pool. Slaves stood by with armloads of towels. Suetonius knew that his chief was always more amenable to requests when he was warm and wet.

“I know the man,” said Pliny. He breathed in a lungful of steam and exhaled it slowly. “I brought him in for an interview two weeks or so ago, just after Glaucon was poisoned. He’s the family’s banker—the brother’s, that is. But it turned out that Glaucon also had invested money with him without his brother’s knowledge. I thought it was worth having a chat with him.”

“What did you learn?”

“Nothing, really. He struck me as honest, anxious to please. Said he would return Glaucon’s deposit to the family.”

“They’re an important family. He doesn’t seem to feel equally obligated to Sophronia, a foreigner, a brothel keeper. And as a woman she can’t take him to court.”

“You’re quite her champion, aren’t you?” Pliny cocked an eyebrow.

“Well, I mean she
has
been helpful to us. I think we owe her something.”

“All right. Calm down, my friend. I can’t officially take sides in a private dispute but I am curious about him—more than curious. Interesting that he’s Glaucon’s banker and Sophronia’s too.”

“On Balbus’ advice.”

“And Balbus said he would get her money back for her and soon after that he was murdered. With so much smoke I think there is bound to be fire. I will pay him a visit.”

“On what pretext?”

“Actually, he invited me to visit his premises. He seemed anxious to help me invest my money. I wonder if he did the same for Balbus.

***

Galeo had been a
lictor
for twenty years. His father had been one before him, and his uncle and his grandfather as well. In fact, the men of his family had attended Roman magistrates going back to the reign of Augustus. It was an honorable profession: to march beside a magistrate, or the emperor himself, clad in a red tunic and white toga, bearing on one’s shoulder the heavy ax bundled with rods, emblematic of the power to chastise and execute, ordering the crowd to make way. In his time he had served a dozen or more officials, been entrusted by some of them with important assignments—carrying messages, guarding prisoners. Once he had even deflected an assassin. The profession didn’t pay well but the gratuities added up, and the ladies were always impressed. Gaius Plinius was his first provincial governor. He had rejoiced when the lottery selected him from the pool of
lictors
; a chance to see a part of the world he had never visited.

But Galeo was not happy. For a week he had ridden along the coast north of Nicomedia in every kind of vile weather, for winter was upon them; sores on his backside, legs splashed with mud, inquiring in every town and hamlet if anyone had seen a big woman with a sickly boy. This was work for soldiers, not a person of his standing.

Nightfall found him in a tavern, or what passed for one in this piss-poor village, hardly more than a loose construction of boards and thatch that threatened to collapse in the buffeting wind. He stood at the bar, bracketed by a couple of leather-skinned fishermen. Galeo’s family were Greek-speakers from southern Italy, nevertheless he struggled to understand the local patois.

He lifted his arm to pour the last dregs of undrinkable wine down his throat, when over the rim of his cup he saw the man coming through the door. The size of him! There was no mistaking him: the monster who had confronted him and his fellow
lictors
when the governor invaded Fabia’s house.

And, at the same moment, the man saw him. Unlikely that he recognized him, but he was a stranger to the village and that was enough. The man turned and fled. Galeo tossed his cup aside, lowered his head, and charged after him into the wild night.

Chapter Thirty-four

The 11th day before the Kalends of December

Didymus’ round face beamed with delight. The little man bowed, folding himself nearly in two, as he greeted Pliny at the door. “What a pleasure to see you, Governor! We’re honored by your presence. I felt when we last spoke that I might have interested you in investing with us. You won’t be sorry, sir, you won’t be sorry.” He put out his left hand to touch Pliny’s shoulder confidingly; the stump of his right arm pointed the way within.

The bank occupied the ground floor of an undistinguished brick building on the waterfront. The upper story, Pliny assumed, was the family’s apartment. Nothing about it advertised the fortunes concealed in its vaults, the prominent names recorded in its ledgers.

Inside, half-a-dozen clerks hunched over tables, counting sums with their fingers. A rack of scrolls occupied one wall. It was in every way a smaller version of the counting room in the treasury building.

Pliny was ushered into an inner office, seated in a comfortable chair, and offered a cup of wine by a young slave. Didymus stood, rocking on the balls of his feet, his eyes gleaming, his feathery brows going up and down. Of course there would be no more investments in ships’ cargoes for the next few months, he said, but there were many, oh many, other attractive opportunities in the meantime—luxury goods brought overland from the East; slaves, always a sound investment. Was there something the Governor was particularly interested in? Pliny was noncommittal. For a while they discussed interest rates and the deplorable waste of funds on ill-advised building projects, to which Didymus nodded in vigorous agreement. Pliny wondered if Didymus’ vault was quite secure. Oh, Absolutely! Would the Governor care to inspect it?