“At some point, yes.” Aurora’s arrival in my house, perhaps. “But not here. It’s too convenient. I can’t help but think—”
Tacitus held up a hand to stop me. “Consider your words carefully. I swear, if you tell me Regulus is behind it, I’m going to turn around and ride straight back to Rome.”
“These men have been in Rome for the past eight months,” I reminded him sharply. “At least that’s their story. They’re down on their luck, no patron—just the sort of men who would jump at any offer someone like Regulus—I said someone like Regulus—might make them.”
Tacitus shook his head like a man who isn’t convinced by an argument but is tired of hearing it. “My friend, Regulus doesn’t have to plot against you. You keep imagining that you see a plot every time a shadow falls across your path. You know Terence’s play, The Man Who Tortures Himself? It could have been written about you.”
“Do I have to remind you of what Jacob said?” I decided I would, mostly for the sake of Aurora, who hadn’t been present at our conversation with Regulus’ steward. “Regulus was furious about losing Pompeia’s case. He’s planning something to even the score. And he sent a sealed message to Domitian.”
“Yes, a sealed message,” Tacitus said. “Which means you have no idea what was in it. It could have been a recipe Domitian asked for at their last dinner party, or the name of a particularly lively whore.”
Before I could reply, Segetius shouted out, “It’s the next house, sir.”
“We’ll talk more about this later,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sure we will.”
*
“By the gods,” Segetius said when we drew to a stop in front of the fifth house on the right. “What has happened?”
The house was abandoned and clearly had been abandoned long enough for vandals and animals to begin the process of reducing it to rubble. It sat back from the road, with a semi-circular lane of hard-packed earth giving access for horses and vehicles.
I turned to Segetius and Rufinus. “When did you say you left here?”
“Right on eight months ago, sir,” Segestius said. “Everything was fine then. I mean, the place was never a palace, but it was a nice enough house.”
“You men wait here,” I said to my freedmen as I dismounted. “Keep an eye on those two.”
Tacitus and Aurora got down from their horses as well and stayed slightly behind me. “There are the tracks of a raeda,” I said. “They’re still sharp and clear, so I think they’re recent. And the horses were wearing hipposandals.”
We walked slowly up the lane, examining the tracks.
Aurora knelt and peered closely at the ground. “There’s another set of hoofprints. Several sets, I think. They’re bare. And some of them are on top of the hipposandal prints.”
I knelt beside her, forcing myself to ignore her perfume and concentrate on the prints. “Those horses don’t seem to have been pulling anything. There aren’t any other wheel tracks.”
By the time we reached the door of the house the prints had become such a jumble—mixed in with the footprints of the people who had dismounted or gotten out of the raeda—that I couldn’t make any more sense of them.
“So Justus dropped off Crispina, the boy, and a man,” I said. “And at least a couple of riders arrived and seem to have dismounted.”
“But why would anyone come here?” Tacitus asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “The place is a wreck.”
He was right. The barns and stables on my estates are in better condition than this, which was supposed to be a living space for humans. The front door stood open, not inviting us to enter so much as daring us.
I motioned for Segetius and Rufinus and my freedmen to join us. “What was the state of affairs in this house when you left?” I asked them. “Was there any illness or dissension within the family?”
“Why, no, sir,” Segetius said. “The master was elderly, but everything was in order.”
“Have you heard anything from others in the house since you left?”
“No, sir. We were happy to get away from the place. We’ve not looked back.”
We heard people coming through the woods and put our hands on our weapons. A small, elderly man emerged, followed by a retinue of half a dozen servants, all showing swords.
“Who are you?” the man asked. “What do you want?”
“I am Gaius Pliny. This is Cornelius Tacitus. We’re looking for someone who came to this house yesterday. Are you the owner?”
“No. I live in the next house. My name is Titus Lentulus.” He ran his eyes over the rest of my party until they rested on Segetius and Rufinus. “So, you two scoundrels have returned.”
“Good day, master Lentulus,” Segetius said. Rufinus bowed his head.
“You know these two?” I asked.
“They were servants here until they were emancipated eight months ago. And they must have emancipated those donkeys from somewhere. They didn’t leave here with them.”
“We worked for them,” Segetius said, drawing himself to his full height, “in the house of Quintus Vibius.”
I gasped and turned on Segetius. The hand holding my sword went up involuntarily to Segetius’ throat. “Did you say Quintus Vibius?”
Segetius tilted his head back and spoke like someone was strangling him. “Yes, sir. Rufinus’ cousin is a freedman in that house. He said he could get us work there. Vibius was doing well, planning to add on to his house. And everything was fine until yesterday. Then Vibius lost some kind of big case in court. It must have cost him a lot of money. He told all of us who weren’t slaves or his own freedmen that we had to leave. He wouldn’t be able to support us.”
“Do you know anything about the case?”
“Well, sir,” Segetius said, swallowing carefully, “I believe I did hear your name mentioned.”
With my sword still at Segetius’ throat, I glared at Tacitus. “Tell me this is a coincidence. Go ahead, tell me.”
“My lord,” Aurora said, putting her hand on my arm. “These men have done nothing. Why are you acting like this?”
“Quintus Vibius?”
“Oh,” Aurora said as recognition struck. “Oh! He was the client—”
“Yes, the client for whom Regulus was acting when I defeated him in court yesterday morning.”
*
I pulled Tacitus and Aurora aside into the trees in front of the house. I was so angry I could barely form words. “We should have left those two tied to a tree back there, like you suggested.”
Tacitus sighed like a father trying his best to be patient with a stubborn child but losing the battle. “Gaius Pliny, what do you think they’re going to do? They’re two ignorant men on donkeys—which they probably stole from somebody.”
“They came directly from a house with a close connection to Regulus.”
“Which proves nothing, except how easily you can work yourself into a panic. They’re freedmen from this house. Lentulus has corroborated that. They have a perfectly good reason to be coming here.”
“Gaius,” Aurora said in her most soothing voice, “I have to agree with Cornelius Tacitus. These men just happened to leave Rome at the same time we did. If we had been half an hour earlier, as you wanted, they would never have seen us.”
I wasn’t ready to give up. “Unless they were waiting for us outside the gate and had been told to look for us.”
“But how would they know when you were leaving, or even that you were leaving? You didn’t post a notice in the Forum, did you?” The note of sarcasm in her voice suggested that I might indeed be giving her too much liberty.
“Everyone in our house knew. Someone could easily have informed Regulus. Someone did inform Regulus, you can be sure of it.”
“And Regulus,” Tacitus said, “dug down to the very bottom of his barrel of spies and scraped up these two idiots to follow you. On donkeys, no less, just to make sure they would stand out.”
It did sound ridiculous when he put it like
that. I leaned against a tree and closed my eyes, trying to reason with myself. Was I being so insistent on the impossibility of coincidence that I couldn’t recognize one when it stood up and jeered at me? “All right,” I finally said, “for now I’ll accept what you’re saying. But I’ll believe nothing those two say until someone corroborates it.”
“All right.” Tacitus put a hand on my shoulder. “Now, let’s find out what happened to Crispina and the child, and get home. We might still make it before dark.”
I very much wanted to get back home. We walked over to where Lentulus and his men were standing.
“Thank you for waiting for us,” I said. “Do you have time for us to ask you a few questions?”
“Certainly.”
“Who is the owner of this place?”
“His name was Sextus Tabellius.”
“Was?”
“He died six months ago.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Segetius and Rufinus look at one another in surprise.
“Does he have heirs?”
“Yes, sir, two sons, Marcus and Lucius. They can’t agree on what to do with the place. Lucius wants to sell, but Marcus refuses. I’ve offered to buy it to increase my holdings, but they can’t come to a decision.”
“There isn’t much left to sell,” Tacitus said.
Lentulus waved his hand. “I don’t care about the house. I would tear it down anyway. I want the land, to enlarge my vineyards.”
“The sons don’t want to live here?”
“No, sir. They have much grander houses in Rome and to the north. They’re leaving this place to crumble into dust while they argue over it. Not that it was ever much to begin with.”
“Did you see a raeda stop here yesterday?”
“No, sir, I did not. As you can see, the woods are thick here. There’s quite a bit of traffic on this road. People have come and gone.”
“What sort of people?”
“Strange people. I’ve heard music, loud noises, seen lights.”
“But you don’t know who was here?”
“I’ve been leery about inquiring, especially at night. I happened to be out this morning and saw you people, so I thought I would see what was going on.”
I hesitated, wondering how much to tell Lentulus. He seemed trustworthy and disinterested, but I’m always careful—
“We’re looking for a woman and child,” Aurora blurted. “We were told that they were brought here yesterday.”
“A woman and child?” Lentulus seemed to be thinking about something. “Well, as I said, I didn’t see anyone yesterday.”
“Would you object if we went in and looked around?” I asked.
“It’s not my property, sir. Do whatever you like. Just lock up as you leave.” He chuckled at his own joke.
Leaving two of my men and Segetius and Rufinus on guard with the horses, we pushed aside what remained of the front door and entered the atrium of the house. Instead of holding water, the impluvium was dry, filled with half-burned wood. There was no furniture or statuary left, only the unoccupied lararium, its walls decorated with a fresco of a man—presumably Sextus Tabellius—making an offering.
“As though the household gods did much good,” I said. “They couldn’t even protect themselves. Let’s spread out and search the place. Call for help before you go into a room where the door is closed.”
Aurora and my two freedmen started for the back of the house while Tacitus and I examined the atrium and the rooms off it.
My warning about closed doors proved unnecessary. None of the rooms had doors left on the hinges. Some of them had been splintered and used to make what must have been a large fire in the atrium. Others lay next to the openings they had once protected. The rooms were empty or contained only smashed-up furniture.
“This looks like the work of an enemy army,” Tacitus said. “Who would—”
A long scream rang out from the back of the house.
“That’s Aurora,” I said as the scream was repeated.
We ran to the back of the garden, but the scream was coming from beyond there. A door opened off the rear wall of the garden. When I stepped through it, I saw Aurora, her hands to her mouth, looking at something off to one side which I couldn’t see at first because of the way the wall jutted out. She couldn’t stop screaming.
Not until I stood beside her and looked in the direction she was looking did I see what was causing her terror. Tied to a large wheel, propped up against the wall, was the nude body of a woman.
Minus her head.
V
I took Aurora by her shoulders and tried to turn her around. She was rigid, her eyes fixed on the horrible sight of that bloody, splayed body.
“Come on,” I said. “You’ve got to get away from here.” I finally got her turned and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her head onto my shoulder, shielding her from the awful sight. She still would not move more than a couple of steps but at least she had stopped screaming. I could feel her entire body shaking now.
Tacitus started into the garden, but I stopped him. “Don’t let anyone in here until I’ve had a chance to look the place over. I don’t want this area disturbed.”
As I held Aurora I could look beyond her and survey the scene. That was the first step in any investigation like this—to have a comprehensive view of the site where the crime was committed. Where were things in relation to the victim and to one another? Was there anything here that seemed not to belong? Was something—other than the head—missing that I might expect to find in such a situation?
What I saw over Aurora’s shoulder was that, although a modest house, this one did boast this second garden. Not a formal peristyle garden with a fishpond, but a working garden. With the owner dying in the spring, no one had planted anything this year, but the trampled remains of crops from the previous summer were evident, along with a few hardy plants that had come up on their own from seeds dropped last autumn. From the way the vegetation was flattened, I suspected that a good number of people had been walking around in here. Were they the audience or participants? There were two sheds, which I hoped contained tools and not a severed head.
“Let’s get you into the other garden,” I said, “where you won’t have to look at this.”
She clung to me, gripping my arm so tightly she was hurting me. “No. Don’t leave me, Gaius.”
“I have to examine her.” Aurora wasn’t going to let me get far away from her, so I had to find some place for her in this second garden. I saw a bench in one corner and turned it so it faced the wall. “Sit here. I won’t go anywhere.”
Releasing me reluctantly, she sat on the bench and put her hands over her stomach. I stayed beside her longer than I otherwise would have because I really had no enthusiasm for the examination I knew I had to make.
“Are you all right?”
“How could I be?”
My two freedmen were standing in the doorway of the garden, their jaws dropping. The horror of the scene at least kept them from noticing how informally Aurora addressed me, I hoped. Tacitus stood beside them as though waiting my permission to go any further. Rats—at least a dozen of them—frightened away by our presence at first, were crawling back onto the body.
“Get those beasts off her,” I told the freedmen. “And don’t touch the body.” I didn’t really have to add that last admonition.
They began waving their swords, killing and scattering the rats, which ran squealing and scurrying in every direction.
* * *
By the gods! I think I’m going to be sick. I’ve never seen anything so horrible, not even that time when I went to the games in the arena. I’ve seen a few people lying dead in the streets of Rome—everyone has—but nothing like this.
How could anyone do such a thing? I’ve got to…I’ve got to throw up.
* * *
I was about to approach the body when I heard Aurora make a gagging sound. I turned to see her on her knees, beginning to retch. She was wearing her hair loose t
oday. I pulled it back out of her face and held it until she stopped vomiting. She collapsed onto the bench and I sat down beside her. When she threw her arms around my neck, I hoped my freedmen would take it as a sign of a master comforting a servant and nothing more.
“Oh, Gai—my lord, how can you stand to look at that? That poor woman!”
I rubbed her shoulder. “You know how I work. If I’m going to learn what happened to her and get any clue to who might have done it, I have to make an examination. You’ve been very concerned about this woman. Don’t you want to know what happened?”
“But I don’t know if it’s the same woman.”
“What?” I let go of her and she sat back on the bench.
“The only thing I had to recognize her by was a scar on her left cheek. If I can’t see that, I have no sure way to identify her.”
From behind us, Tacitus said, “All right, men. Look for her head. I’m sure you’ll recognize it. There can’t be that many lying around.” He went to one of the tool sheds. “I’ll look over here.”
Aurora began to cry again. If there was one thing I would change about Tacitus, it would be his sardonic—often inappropriate—humorous remarks.
I hugged Aurora one more time, then stood up. “I’m going to examine the body. You can go back to the front of the house or you can sit right here. You don’t have to look at her again.”
“I’ll stay here.” She turned on the bench so her back was to the ghastly scene, drew her knees up and clasped her arms around them. “I’m sorry to be so childish, Gaius. You know I can stomach a lot more than most women, but this… I’ve never seen anything so horrible.”
I couldn’t admit to her that the main reason I hadn’t retched was my determination to act the man in her presence. I hoped I could keep my stomach under control when I began a close examination.
Tacitus emerged from the shed, wiping his mouth on his arm.
“Any sign of the head in there?”
“What?” He lowered his voice. “Oh, I just needed someplace to throw up, where Aurora wouldn’t see me.”
“After all the slaughter you’ve seen in the arena, this nauseates you?”
The Eyes of Aurora Page 6