by Martha Marks
“No doubt.”
Otho saw to that.
“What other lies did you tell them?”
“I said my former master told me there wasn’t no Roman lady could screw as good as a Greek slave whore, and that he was a fool for waiting so long to get one for himself. And then I told them something your father really did say—I didn’t invent it!—right after your mother died.”
“What?”
“Said he shouldn’t have forced her to have a child, because she was so delicate and ended up dead.”
“He might have said that about a wife.”
“That ain’t how the investigators understood it.”
Of course not.
“I heard the old slaves that belonged to your father remembered something similar.”
“Well, after you made the original accusations, it’s not surprising they managed to recall it. Torture must have a strange effect on the memory.” Theodosia paused again, but kept the pressure on his gullet. “I have two more questions, and if you don’t lie, I’ll let you go. Why did Otho kill my brother? And... who was his accomplice?”
“How should I know? I wasn’t there. Immortal gods, I’m telling you the truth! You gotta trust me now, lady.”
“Give me one good reason to trust you.”
“Because that damned sonofabitch betrayed me, too.”
“What do you mean?”
Nizzo swallowed again, nervously.
“After all I done for him, Otho backed out on his part of the deal. Refused to lift a finger to help me get that farm. When the emperor decided to keep it and put somebody else in charge, Otho didn’t do nothing to stop it. Now I’m stuck here with only my savings and that dumpy woman I bought years ago. No new money coming in, just dribbles of rent from them two shops outside.”
“How did you end up with my house?”
“Otho bought it cheap and gave it to me.”
“Why?”
“To shut me up, I guess.”
For some reason, Theodosia believed him.
“Couldn’t you have told the investigators the truth and exposed his scheming? That might have saved me a few years in prison, not to mention my name and property. I would’ve given you a much larger share of the farm income out of gratitude.”
“Only a fool of a freedman would admit he lied to the emperor’s men and accuse a powerful senator of murder.”
“So, you took what you could get and kept your mouth shut.”
Makes sense.
“I have to admit,” she said, easing the knife away from his throat, “in your situation, I might have done the same.”
Nizzo inhaled and exhaled slowly. In the next instant, he slammed his hand on hers, pinning the blade against the table. Theodosia yelped in pain as her knuckles hit the wood.
“Sit down,” Nizzo ordered, and she did.
They studied each other across the table. His heavy hand still pressed the knife—and her hand—against the table.
“I should kill you for that,” he said.
“Go ahead. I don’t care.”
What a mistake. I’ll never get a signed statement from him now.
“I might as well be dead,” she added, “for all my life’s worth, for all it’s been worth these past years.”
“You ain’t the only one whose life ain’t worth shit nowadays. Think I’ve been happy away from everything I know how to do? Everything I worked to get? Everything I built in my life? I had pride and power on that farm, and something even better to aim for.”
He stared at her, but Theodosia said nothing.
“I worked hard for your family, lady, my whole life. Thought that sooner or later one of you Varros would appreciate it enough to reward me. But except for your father setting me free after I ran his farm for years as a slave, that never happened. Then, when you started meddling and—even worse—when you refused to see me anymore... Can you blame me for thinking that maybe Otho was the one who’d finally help me get what I deserved? But that bastard double-crossed me.”
Nizzo released her hand and wrapped his fingers around the handle of Phoebe’s knife.
“You don’t know,” he went on, “how much I despise that man. I hate him. I’d kill him right now if I thought I could get away with it.”
Surprisingly moved by Nizzo’s rant, Theodosia leaned forward and put her hand on his.
“I hate him, too. So, let’s help each other.” She untied the papyrus, ink, and pen on her belt. “Give me a statement to take to my powerful friend in the palace. I’ll write down whatever you say, and you can sign it. I promise... if we work together, we can both get revenge for what Otho did to us.”
“I ain’t signing nothing. Don’t care how powerful your friend is. I ain’t crazy.”
“All right. You don’t have to put anything in writing. Just give me the information I need to clear my name and win my freedom.”
“After you almost slit my throat? Next thing, you’ll have me up in front of the emperor, explaining why I lied. Next thing after that, I’ll be back in chains. Back in hell.” He gestured around the shabby kitchen. “This place ain’t much, but... Shit, lady. Life and freedom and citizenship is all I got. Why should I risk all that to help you?”
“Because you owe all that to my father. Without him, you’d still be a slave chained to a bunch of other men, laboring under some overseer’s whip. For his sake, Nizzo... please help me!”
Nizzo sat still, with the knife resting under his fingers, which rested under hers. It was a while before Theodosia went on.
“Someone told me long ago that Otho was the one who had killed Gaius, but I couldn’t believe a man from a distinguished family would do such a thing. From the start of my relationship with Otho—when he first came to this house to offer his condolences—I accepted his story that he and my brother had been close friends. I guess I was too trusting. Or maybe I didn’t want to think that a patrician could do something so wrong to a friend. Maybe it was just easier—and safer—to figure out your motivation and blame you.”
She lifted her hand from his.
“Nizzo, that same person told me that Otho was afraid his father would find out how dissolute he was. Then the old man would disinherit him, for sure. I know Gaius was blackmailing him. Otho gave Gaius a valuable slave and a set of silver serving pieces inlaid with gigantic rubies. It had to be to keep him quiet about something. So, I think Otho killed Gaius to stop the blackmail.”
“Maybe. But lots of people knew Senator Salvius Otho would have disowned his precious son if he found out half the things he was doing. No telling how many people were blackmailing Otho. His father could have learned those secrets—and disowned him—at any time... and Otho would have been out on the street with no money.”
Nizzo dug the point of the knife into a crack between the boards of the tabletop and began gouging out years of accumulated sediment. After a long wait, he looked straight into Theodosia’s eyes.
“Here’s my suggestion, lady. If you’re looking for motivation for the murder—and the key to proving your innocence—forget about your brother’s blackmail. Start with the Terentius Varro fortune. If Otho had gotten his hands on your money, that would’ve stopped all further attempts at blackmail from anybody else in his slimy circle of friends.”
“You’re saying... our money was the one thing that would have protected Otho from the risk of disinheritance, no matter who might decide to rat him out to his father. That makes sense to me. But what gave him such confidence that he could get his hands on it?”
“He almost did.”
“By marrying me, of course. But what made him so sure he could pull off such a thing?”
“He figgered a young, inexperienced girl would be an easy conquest. More than anything else, Otho’s arrogant. He just assumed you’d fall all over yourself the instant he showed an interest in you.”
“Well, yes, and it worked at first.”
Juno, it’s all so obvious!
“I see the s
cheme now. That’s why Otho started bribing my maid months before he killed Gaius. Why he got to me so fast the morning after the murder and made sure he was the one I’d turn to for advice. That’s why he had me so afraid of Alexander before I even got back to my villa, and why he kept hammering on that theme all summer. And then—when he saw how well we were getting along—that’s why he hated Alexander so much. I bet he even wrote that stupid poem and got Lucilla to plant it in the scroll I was reading... to make me afraid of Alexander again, after I had become too comfortable with him.”
Nizzo continued his tabletop excavations in silence.
Theodosia walked to the fire pit and stared into the glowing embers.
“That’s why he was so determined that I not marry Titus. Why he tried to poison him. Why he preferred to destroy me, rather than see—”
She turned back to Nizzo, marveling at her own discoveries.
“Of course! My money and my Terentius Varro bloodline would’ve made Titus a threat to Otho’s ambitions. And... after everything he had done—after blackmail and bribery and murder—Otho couldn’t bear to see a rival reap the rewards of marrying me!”
<><><>
An hour later, in the doorway of the house that had once been hers, Theodosia shook the hand of the man she had hated and feared and threatened to kill.
“I’m grateful for the insight you gave me, Nizzo. You have my word I won’t mention your name until I’ve got every piece of evidence I need to prove the truth to Nero. And also my word on this: when I regain my name and my estate, I’ll welcome you to the farm as a full and equal partner.”
“That’s good enough for me, lady. Just be careful who you talk to. And keep your hand on that weapon tonight.”
Theodosia fingered the knife that was now tucked into her belt, pulled the shawl over her head, and stepped into the dark street. She had planned to accept Rubol’s offer to escort her out of the Subura, but it was very late. He and his slaves would be asleep by now.
Besides, the streets were beginning to fill with night traffic. Soon the city would be bustling with the carts of construction and market suppliers, who were forbidden to haul in goods by day. Surely the honest workers would protect her from any drunks that might be out at this hour.
Sticking to the main thoroughfares, she made her way out of the Subura to the area bordering the Forum. Wheeled traffic had not yet reached this far into the city. There was no moonlight, but still... it was unlikely she would be accosted in the commercial district. A bit further along the Via Sacra and she would be at the foot of the Palatine Hill.
She turned a corner at the far end of the deserted street of the potters and was halfway down the block when she heard scuffling sounds.
She froze.
At the end of the street, she could make out four hooded thugs who had attacked a man and were beating him with their fists. She ducked into the closed doorway of a shop and drew her shawl to her face, almost certain they had seen her. The next instant, she heard shouts and the smack of sandals on cobblestones.
Before she could get to her knife, three of the men surrounded her, grabbed her arms, and ripped the shawl off her head. The hoods they wore muffled their words, but they smelled of wine... a quality wine this time.
Trapped in the doorway, Theodosia did the only thing she could. She screamed.
A skinny-legged tough in a gray hood and tunic clapped his right hand over her mouth. Desperate to fight him off, Theodosia sank her teeth into his palm, feeling a simultaneous rush of blood on her tongue. The man cursed and yanked his bleeding hand away; then he slapped her hard on the mouth, splitting her lip with his ring.
“Bitch!”
He grabbed her by the hair, jerked her to the paving stones, and was fumbling with the hem of her tunic when the fourth thug ran up.
“Wagon coming!” he shouted.
Without hesitation, the men took off along the deserted street.
Theodosia raised one hand to wipe the blood from her lips as she lifted herself on her other hand and stared at the fleeing gang.
And then she began to tremble... for the voice that had shouted the warning was Otho’s, and the ring on the pudgy hand she had bitten bore an enormous ruby set into a twisted-serpent design.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The narrow, winding street of the goldsmiths was one of many in the commercial district between the Palatine, Caelian, and Esquiline hills. Despite the early hour and the threatening sky, the area hummed with life. Slaves unfurled awnings and hauled displays into the street as their masters looked on. Children racing each other to a schoolmaster’s house hurtled down the cobblestones and careened around corners. Beggars plied their trade with the zeal of mosquitoes after a big rain. Litters clogged traffic near the best shops as teams of bearers crouched beside their poles... complicating the situation for a lame pedestrian who had slipped out of the emperor’s palace on an urgent mission.
“Odd walk for a cute little duckie,” cackled one litter slave as Theodosia approached. “Musta got its leg run over by a cart.”
“What’sa matter with you?” said his pole-mate, a blond, brawny Gaul. “Never seen a gimp whore before? Man, they’s lotsa ducks like that’n down by the river.”
“Ain’t never seen no duckie walk like that.”
“Hell, man, you don’t know nothin’. Cheapest ducks in town, they all walk just like that. One bad night, y’know, and the duckie’s banged up for life. Then nobody but a dreg like you’d want ‘er. Hey there, duckie!”
The Gaul reached out and tugged at Theodosia’s tunic.
“Tell me where they keep you. I’ll come give you a real good time tonight!”
“You would, wouldn’t you?” said a third man as Theodosia stepped back and pulled her shawl more snugly around her face before picking another route around them. “You spend every sesterce you can steal in them duck nests.”
“Beats chasin’ girls that see you haulin’ a litter.”
Without warning, the Gaul stuck his foot out and laughed heartily when Theodosia stumbled over it, dropping her shawl.
“Weedy thing, ain’t she?” said the Gaul. “Not so cute up close. Got yourself cut up some, eh, duckie?” He turned as he lost interest in her. “Down by the wharf, any man’s a king who’s got three sesterces. Pay the fellow at the door—or the slut-lady at the door—and you got a little duckie all to yourself for the night. Do anything you want. Nobody’s gonna say nothin’ ‘less you kill ‘er outright.”
Burning with humiliation, Theodosia continued along the street. She couldn’t recall the name of the goldsmith who had come to her villa to size the Varro signet ring, but most merchants displayed their names on awnings over their doors. She searched two dozen shops before she recognized a name and knew she had found him.
<><><>
“Get out, slave. We have nothing for the likes of you.”
“Please... may I speak with Reuben ben Judah?”
“He’s busy.”
“But he knows me.”
The clerk looked amused.
“You must go.”
“It’s important!”
Theodosia slipped past him, heading for the rear of the shop as fast as her stiff gait would take her. Reuben ben Judah and two others working at a long table looked up as she barged in, followed by the clerk.
“I’m sorry, Reuben. She got away from me.”
Theodosia dropped the shawl from her head. Ben Judah stared at her, obviously searching his memory. The next moment, he rose, frowning.
“Leave us, please,” he said to the other three. When they were gone, he closed the door. “What are you doing here?”
The man’s Semitic accent revived bittersweet memories of that long-ago day when Theodosia had felt as beautiful and pampered as Cleopatra.
“You know who I am?”
“I know all about you.”
“Then you know I was falsely accused and have been released—”
“What do you want from me
?”
“Just a bit of information, then I’ll leave. I won’t scare off your customers, and you’ll never see me again.” She sighed. “You once told me you had made a very special ring for my brother. Do you remember?”
“I remember.”
“You said he picked that ring up from you just a few hours before he was murdered. Remember that, too?”
“I do.”
“You said you hoped the ring had made it into my hands, but I think you knew I’d never seen it. I believe you told me that for a reason.”
Theodosia waited for a response, but none came.
“Can you tell me what that ring looked like?”
“Why?”
“It may help solve the mystery of my brother’s murder.”
“That murder was solved years ago.”
“They found a scapegoat—me—but they solved nothing.”
“Why should I get involved with a murder?”
“You’re not! Nobody’s going to think you had anything to do with my brother’s murder. But the information you have about that ring may help me prove who did and restore some sanity to my life.”
“Look, slave or lady or whatever you are... I’m not a Roman citizen, just a foreigner trying to make a living in Rome. A Jew with a little talent who likes his head attached to the rest of him. I’ve got a wife and six children. I can’t afford to get involved with you.”
Theodosia laid her hand on his sleeve.
“My brother gave you a lot of business. His money must have bought plenty of meat and sandals for those children. Reuben ben Judah, please. Help me identify his real murderer and clear my name!”
The goldsmith stared at her bony hand; then he shook it off his arm, moved away, and opened the door.
“Joseph,” he called, and the clerk entered quickly. “Show this woman to the street.”
Fighting tears—barely able to see where she was going—Theodosia brushed past the obnoxious litter slaves and joined the flow of people moving toward the Forum. After a while, exhausted from trying to keep up, she collapsed against a building on the southwest side of the Via Sacra.