by Martha Marks
Theodosia closed her eyes briefly as Alexander went on.
“My lord Gaius was so angry that he banished Lycos from the house. Gave Milo complete authority over him and ordered him to report it if Lycos and I even spoke to each other again.”
“I wonder... would you care to add tutoring to your other duties? Train Lycos to be your assistant some day?”
Alexander’s face brightened. He smiled and visibly relaxed, as if their conversation were over. But it wasn’t.
“There’s still one thing left for you to do,” Theodosia said, “to earn my letter to Corinth. Tell me what you know about my brother’s murder. No information, no letter.”
Alexander’s smile had faded as she spoke. Now he winced.
“You’re forcing me to do things that shouldn’t be done.”
She made an impatient little gesture with one hand.
“All right,” Alexander said, “but I’m really not the one you want to talk to.”
Theodosia dropped her head back in exasperation.
“The one you want to talk to is over there.” Alexander nodded sideways. “Drawing his letters in the flower bed.”
Chapter Seven
“Get the boy.”
No answer was required, so she headed for the pergola and settled into a chair. Lycos bounced in soon after, carrying a spray of lilacs. Alexander strode in behind him.
“Thank you, Lycos,” Theodosia said in Greek as she accepted the fragrant bouquet, a momentary distraction from the unpleasantries ahead. “Sit down, both of you.”
Alexander quizzed her with his eyes. A favored slave child might sit beside his mistress on occasion, but that familiarity was forbidden an adult slave by centuries of custom.
“I said... sit down. Let’s have a conversation, not an interrogation.”
Alexander sat, took Lycos on his lap, and was silent.
“Let me guess,” Theodosia said to start the conversation. “You were both in Rome the day my brother died?”
Lycos leaned into Alexander’s chest, his eyes apprehensive. Alexander wrapped his arms around him and nodded. Theodosia remembered his words: “Have you ever loved someone you were powerless to protect?”
“Lycos had been in Rome with the master all week,” Alexander said, “and I rode in that morning. A message had arrived the evening before, ordering me to the city the next day.”
“Why?”
“The message didn’t say, and I never found out. When I got there early in the afternoon, the master was at the baths. By the time he was murdered, Lycos and I were safely back here.”
“You didn’t wait to find out why he’d sent for you? And you took Lycos away without his permission? Why?”
Alexander leaned his head over the boy’s shoulder.
“Tell the mistress what you told me that afternoon.”
“It was two men,” Lycos began in a frightened tone, “at the dinner the night before. I heard them talking.”
“Lycos heard them, but he couldn’t see them. He’d decided to hide before they sent for him,” Alexander’s voice grew hard, “to have their usual sport with him. He was behind a curtain when he overheard the conversation.”
“Did you recognize the voices?”
Lycos shook his head.
“What did they say?”
“Kept talking about the viper. One of them asked if everything was set for the viper, and the other one said, ‘I told him about all the new whores down by the river. He’ll be so drunk when he comes out, he won’t know what hit him.’ And they laughed and laughed and laughed.”
“Viper,” Theodosia said, drumming the tabletop. “That’s the design on those silver serving pieces. A serpent with a ruby in its mouth.”
She looked at Alexander.
“Where’d you say Gaius got that set?”
“He brought it back from Rome about a year ago. Rubies were his favorite gemstone, but that serpent design meant nothing to me. I really never thought anything about it.”
“Until Lycos told you what he’d overheard.”
“Correct. After we talked, I began to put things together. That message I’d received was odd, for one thing. No indication at all of why my lord Gaius wanted me, or what I was to do once I got to Rome. It wasn’t his writing, either.”
“He could have had a secretary write it.”
“True, but it looked almost like his writing, as if somebody wanted me to think it was his. A hired messenger brought it, too, not one of his slaves. He’d often ordered me to ride to Rome before, but it was always one of his own men who brought the message.”
“So, after you talked with Lycos...”
“I knew why I was there. Our master was going to be killed, and somebody wanted me in Rome when it happened.”
“To take the blame? But why would anyone suspect you?”
“The authorities don’t find criminals in cases like that, miss. Just scapegoats. Litter slaves, street thugs… a Greek steward, perhaps. It wouldn’t have been hard for them to find a motive for me, because so many people knew how much I hated him. He used to taunt me about my slavery in front of his friends, or slap me in front of them. I got into lots of trouble trying to protect Lycos, and when your brother started talking with some of his friends about selling Stefan as a gladiator—”
“Gladiator?”
“Well, he’s the kind that circus masters search the world for, and here he is, tending horses just up the road from Rome.”
Stefan in the arena? Damn Gaius!
“You still haven’t explained why you brought Lycos back with you that night. If Gaius hadn’t been murdered...”
“Don’t you see, miss? They were arranging it to look like some of his slaves did it. So, according to your gentle laws, all his slaves in Rome could be executed, even the children.”
“So... you made sure Lycos wasn’t there when they sealed Gaius’ house the next morning.”
“I wasn’t eager for my own execution either.”
“I guess not.” Theodosia tapped Lycos’ knee. “Go play.”
Alexander stood up as the boy skipped away.
“An old habit.”
“Suit yourself. I see why you didn’t want to tell me any of this.”
“Information of this sort does a slave no good. Leads right to the torture chambers of the Carcer Tullianus.”
“Why did you hint at it last night?”
“Mistake. But I hated to see you inventing scenarios that had nothing to do with the truth. It’s time to put your brother’s murder behind you.”
“That’s not so easy.” She rose to her feet. “All right, you’ve satisfied my demands. Think you’re up to riding to Ostia tomorrow, to send a letter to Corinth?”
“Whenever you wish it.”
He followed her to the library, and together they composed a letter to Junius Gallio, the Roman governor of Corinth. Theodosia dictated and Alexander wrote, supplying data about his wife and son.
“Now,” Theodosia said as she pressed her ring into a drop of red sealing wax, “go to the barn and tell Stefan to pick out a horse for me to ride this afternoon.”
Alexander took the scroll and bowed. As he turned away, Theodosia caught the sleeve of his tunic.
“One more thing. On your way through Rome tomorrow, go to the shop of Sordus, the fine-fabric merchant on the Argiletum, and buy a good length of the most brilliant green silk you can find. I want to be stunning at Vespasian’s party.”
<><><>
“Well, Stefan... are you going to put me on your gentlest horse or your most spirited?”
Stefan had been lounging against the open barn door; he straightened as Theodosia approached.
“Somewhere in the middle.” He smiled shyly, but his manner was formal. “And they’re your horses, miss, not mine.”
“Well... you work with them so much, they... must seem... like your own.” She floundered to a stop and took a deep breath. “Do you have a favorite?”
Stefan nodded
and ushered her to a sleek, well-groomed black filly ready with a blanket, bit, and reins.
“I call her Lamia, miss, but you can call her whatever you like.”
“Lamia. The mythic sorceress. I like that!”
Theodosia patted the filly as she led her into the sunlight. Stefan made a step with his hands and gave Theodosia a boost; then he walked beside her up and down the driveway.
“Get a horse for yourself,” she said, “and let’s go somewhere.”
He disappeared into the barn and soon emerged on a roan gelding. Theodosia trotted between the sycamores that lined the long driveway linking her villa to the Via Aurelia, with Stefan following a few lengths behind. At the road, she urged the filly into a gallop. Stefan hung back, though Theodosia was sure he had to rein in the gelding to do so.
Rolling pinewoods stretched for miles on both sides of the Via Aurelia, broken only by occasional patches of once-cultivated land. A century earlier—before the rise of rich landowners like the Varros—those had been small farms. Now they fed no one. Few farm families could compete with the big, slave-worked plantations.
Theodosia felt a quick flash of guilt. Still, there was no denying that those overgrown fields were beautiful. Gray-green leaves of gnarled olive trees rustled in the breeze. Strips of wildflowers carpeted the spaces between them and spread out along the roadway, mixed with wild fennel and rosemary. The scent was incomparable.
She led the way across a stone bridge toward a hill that promised a fine view of the sea. Guiding the filly off the paving stones, she threaded her way up the slope through pines and plane trees. At the top, she reined in again to savor the panorama of her property. To the north and east lay forests and hills. Somewhere inland was the farm. To the southwest, beside the sea, sat her villa... its red-tile roof seemingly afire in the afternoon sun.
“How’s it feel to know all this belongs to you?” Stefan’s voice was close behind her.
“Feels great! But this was Etruscan land, you know, long before it was Roman, and it’s only mine temporarily. Just an instant or so, as the world goes. Then it will all ‘belong’ to somebody else.”
<><><>
They rode again the next afternoon—despite aching muscles that threatened to paralyze Theodosia—and headed south along the shoreline toward Caere. As before, Stefan lagged behind. When they were out of sight of the villa, she slowed the filly and motioned for him to join her.
“Ride up with me when we’re alone like this. I invited you to come for companionship, not as a bodyguard.”
Stefan made no answer. He didn’t even look at her.
“Look, I get lonely sometimes. I need someone to talk to.”
Still he kept silent.
Frustrated, Theodosia raised her voice.
“Stefan, you’re such an old friend. Relax!”
“It ain’t easy for me after all these years.”
“You think it’s easy for me? Just talking to you is an ordeal.”
“At least it ain’t dangerous for you.”
“Is talking to me dangerous for you?”
“It was always dangerous to talk to my lord Gaius.”
“Gaius is gone. This is me.” She tapped her chest. “The same person you used to call Theodosia. It’s no more dangerous to talk to me now than it was before.”
“I can’t just forget who you are.”
“Really? Well, maybe you do belong back there, after all!”
Angry now—and hurt—she kicked the filly and raced off under the trees that lined the shore, aware of the gelding’s heavy hooves behind her. She rode until she thought Lamia might not be able to stand much more. Stopping at a grove by the water, she waited for Stefan to draw near.
“Help me down.”
He dismounted, looped his reins around a low branch, and reached out to help Theodosia off her horse. Holding on to the filly’s neck and Stefan’s hand, she swung her right leg over the blanket and slid to the ground. Her muscles stabbed as she landed, and she cried out in pain.
“You all right?” Stefan’s tone was somber as he bent over her, then a hasty, pent-up apology tumbled out. “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
His contrition swept away the remains of her anger.
“It wasn’t your fault. You don’t make the rules.”
She tottered to a flat rock beside a gnarled cypress and sat down facing the sea. After an interval, she turned. Stefan was still standing by the horses, one hand clasped around a thick branch above his head, watching her.
“Please... come sit and talk with me.”
Stefan released the branch and moved closer, eyeing her as if to confirm the invitation. Amused, Theodosia pursed her lips and nodded. Stefan lowered himself to the rock, bending his enormous legs and wrapping his hands around his knees, plainly uncomfortable with the situation.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Theodosia reached down, scooped up a handful of pebbles, and began tossing them, one by one, into the water below, increasingly aware of the tantalizing difference between the size of Stefan’s arms and her own.
“You never had any qualms... about sitting next to me...” she said between tosses, looking him full in the face, “when we were children.”
Stefan bent and picked up his own handful of pebbles. Then he imitated her tossing and returned her look with an odd mixture of humility and humor.
“You weren’t... my owner... in those days.”
<><><>
“How much do you know about Alexander?”
“Not much. He don’t talk about himself.”
“But you must know something about his background.”
“Just that he was twenty and had a family when the Romans made him a slave. He’s faithful to his wife, although he ain’t seen her for over eight years. Swears he’ll go looking for her one of these—” Stefan glanced at Theodosia. “Guess I shouldn’t tell you that, should I?”
“It doesn’t matter. He already told me much the same thing.”
“Slaves can love, you know, miss, no matter what you Romans think, and Alexander still loves Antibe very much. I don’t know nobody else like him. He can read and figure, and he writes poetry, too.”
“Poetry?”
“You didn’t know that? Something else I shouldn’t have said. He’ll be furious at me if he finds out. Please don’t let on that I told you.”
Theodosia nodded her promise.
“One more question. Can I trust him?”
“The master trusted him with all his money. So can you.”
“Can I trust him with my life?”
“I don’t understand.” Stefan’s eyes were wary.
“Alexander was in Rome the day Gaius was murdered. He says he left there before it happened, but...”
“Don’t you believe him?”
“To be honest... I guess I really don’t. He admitted he hated Gaius. That would be stupid if he were guilty, and Alexander’s not stupid. On the other hand... admitting up front that he hated Gaius would be a clever tactic if he actually were guilty. And Alexander is very clever.”
She stared out to sea and tossed a few more pebbles into the water.
“Did you or anyone else see him come in with Lycos that night?”
Stefan was slow to respond. Finally, he shook his head.
“So nobody,” Theodosia said, “can vouch for him.”
“Don’t worry about the murder, miss. Forget it!”
Why is everyone so anxious to get my mind off the murder? I’ve every right to know why Gaius died.
Then a new thought occurred to her.
That whole scene with Lycos could have been a set-up, an elaborate ruse to keep me in the dark.
“You’d tell me the truth if you knew it, wouldn’t you? I’ve got to believe that. You and Lucilla are the only ones here I know for sure I can trust.”
“What’re you afraid of, miss? Alexander ain’t no killer, but even if he did what you’re thinking, you don’t have to worry. I
t was your brother he hated, not you.”
“This is an odd thing to say, but... I might actually be glad to learn that Alexander was the murderer. I understand what might have motivated him. It’s more frightening to think that maybe he didn’t do it.”
“I didn’t know you cared so much about your brother.”
“I didn’t. But if Alexander’s telling me the truth... if his theory is correct... if it wasn’t a random thing... if someone other than robbers or the litter slaves killed Gaius... then the men who killed him may have some reason to kill me, too.”
She looked into Stefan’s azure eyes.
“I’ve got to find out who killed Gaius, if only to protect myself.”
Chapter Eight
Lucilla was in the driveway, flirting with a slender houseboy who had first caught Theodosia’s eye earlier that morning. He was, without a doubt, the handsomest of all the youths Gaius had brought to the villa. His skin was smooth, his nose and chin so perfectly shaped that a sculptor might have chiseled them, his eyes round and a sensuous brown.
“Remember,” Theodosia said as Stefan helped her dismount, “not a word to anyone about our conversation.”
She turned to the houseboy as Stefan led the horses away.
“What’s your name?”
“I am Marcipor, mistress.”
The young man stood before her without obvious discomfort, his voice respectful, his eyes politely lowered. Though dressed in the drab brown of a country slave, Marcipor had the look, sound, and deportment of a servant from a sophisticated city household.
“How long have you been here?”
“Almost a year, mistress. Before that I belonged to Tribune Marcus Salvius Otho.”