The Eyes of Aurora

by Albert A. Bell, Jr.

  “I decided I didn’t have to torment you,” Regulus said with a smirk, “if I could get you to do the job for me. Do you really think you’re so important to me that I have nothing to do besides looking for opportunities to attack you? You’re nothing more than a minor annoyance in my life, Gaius Pliny, like a fly that I swat at once in a while, when it buzzes around my face—as you did when you prosecuted Quintus Vibius and made me look bad in front of all of Rome. The rest of the time I forget about you.”

  I had the sensation that I was being played for a fool, like the old man in a comedy—the senex—who doesn’t see how his servants and his son are conniving against him. “So none of your people have been following me or watching me?”

  “Of course they have. They always do, just as they follow a dozen other people at any given time. I know things about you that your own mother doesn’t know. But my people have not been interfering. Not even when you and a lovely young lady went upstairs at Marinthus’.”

  Aurora dropped the cup of wine she was about to hand me.

  “So it was her. I wasn’t given a name, but I had my suspicions. I hope she performed better that night than she’s doing today.” Regulus stepped aside so the spilled wine wouldn’t run under his feet. Aurora grabbed a cloth off the table and wiped up the mess. “Oh, wait, I recognize her now! When I stopped over at your house at Misenum a few years ago, she gave me a massage after we bathed.” He clapped his hands. “Yes, that’s it. As I recall, I offered to buy her, but you—”

  “I refused,” I said, desperate to put an end to this part of the conversation.

  “Oh, you did more than refuse, Gaius Pliny. You said you’d rather sell me an intimate portion of your anatomy. But I already have two of those—”

  “Marcus Regulus, there is serious business that we need to discuss.”

  “About a murdered woman? I had nothing to do with that.”

  “It’s not about that. I know who the killer is.”

  “And I had nothing to do with it, did I?”

  “Not as far as I know.” It was hard enough to say that. I could not apologize to him.

  “I accept your implied apology. Now, don’t think that I won’t eventually get my revenge for that humiliation in court, but at my own time and in my own way.” He tore off a piece of bread and continued to talk while he chewed it. “So, what’s so damned important that you had to drag me all the way out to this hovel?”

  “I believe the man who killed that girl is planning to kill again.”

  Regulus rolled his hand the way we do when we want someone to hurry up and get to the point. “And…”

  “And he’s planning to kill Domitian.”

  Regulus choked. Jacob pounded him on the back, harder than he really needed to, until Regulus waved him away. “Are you out of your mind? Do you realize how much trouble we could be in if one word of this gets back to…the Palatine?”

  “Do you think either Aurora or Nestor will report what they’ve heard?”

  Regulus glanced at the two servants. “No, I suppose not.” He stepped closer to Aurora, running his eyes up and down her as though formulating another offer. “Trustworthy and beautiful. A rare combination indeed. Are you sure, Gaius Pliny, that you don’t want to—”

  I clenched my fists but kept them at my sides. I didn’t care how many men he had outside. If he touched her… “Yes, I’m sure. Not now. Not ever.”

  “Funny. That’s what your uncle said when I offered to buy his Monica. And the daughter here is much prettier, now that she’s fully developed.”

  Aurora opened her mouth and I knew I had to say something quickly. “Marcus Regulus, I asked you out here to discuss a serious matter in the utmost privacy.”

  Regulus stepped away from Aurora and she let out a long breath. I relaxed my hands.

  “Oh, yes, a madman wants to kill Domitian. And what, by Zeus’ snot rag, do you expect me to do about that?”

  “I believe we will have to work together, as distasteful as that may be to both of us, to prevent it from happening.”

  * * *

  This is not going the way we thought it would. Regulus is keeping Gaius on the defensive, bringing up issues that he wants to settle. Gaius shouldn’t have set up a meeting like this. With only two slaves as witnesses, no one will ever be able to verify what happened or what was said.

  I still feel dirty when I think about that “massage” he made me give him five years ago at Gaius’ house at Misenum. I washed my hands in water that was almost boiling afterwards, and I still couldn’t get him off my hands. And he remembers me. Gaius was wrong about that.

  * * *

  Regulus sat in a chair under a window that looked out on the road. By sitting down first he had put me in the position of a client, a suppliant. “You want to save Domitian’s life? I thought his death was the thing you desired above all else, the very first thought that came into your mind when you opened your eyes in the morning.”

  “I can truthfully say that is not the case.” I looked at Aurora, who was the first thought that came into my mind each morning.

  “What about your friend Tacitus?”

  “I cannot speak for anyone else.” I sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room.

  “This is preposterous, Gaius Pliny. Why should I help you? The smartest thing for me to do would be to go straight to Domitian and tell him that you’re aware of some plot and let him deal with you in his own inimitable way.”

  “And I’m sure I would break under torture. To save myself, I would be forced to tell him what I know about your involvement in the murder of Lucius Cornutus two years ago in Smyrna.”

  Regulus gave a short, ugly laugh. “I’ve never been in Smyrna.”

  “But one of your henchmen was there, carrying out your orders. Did you know Domitian was grooming Cornutus for some important posts? He sent Cornutus’ father a personal note of condolence. I doubt he would be happy to hear how a favorite of his died and who was responsible.”

  Regulus took a sip of wine and pursed his puffy lips while he pondered a response. I hoped he didn’t think too long. My threat was largely bluff, with nothing to back it up but a confession from a man now dead. But Regulus didn’t know that, and even the faintest possibility of standing accused before a princeps has broken stronger men than he.

  He drained the cup and handed it back to Aurora. “You don’t have a shred of proof.” It was almost a question.

  I felt myself gaining the upper hand. “Even if I didn’t have proof, as you well know, with Domitian I don’t need it. All I have to do is plant a suspicion.”

  Regulus got up and walked to the door, then stopped and turned back to face me. “All right, damn you. We’ll work together. I’m glad to learn that you’re such a true patriot.” He sat back down.

  “I think I am, but in this case I’m merely being a pragmatist. Domitian has no heir, no successor of any kind in place. His death would mean civil war, just as happened when Nero died without an heir.”

  “Yes. Well, Nero kept killing off the male members of his family. Domitian’s not been guilty of that.”

  Except for his brother, I thought but did not dare say. Even four years after Titus’ seemingly natural death, the rumors of Domitian’s involvement would not be quieted.

  “And he does also have his cousin, Flavius Clemens,” Regulus ­continued.

  I had met Clemens on two occasions. He was a great-nephew of Vespasian and married to another cousin of his, Flavia Domitilla, a descendant of Vespasian’s brother. His cognomen, “the mild one,” fit him perfectly. He spent most of his time reading philosophy; rumor had it that he was attracted to Judaism.

  “Clemens has shown no interest in matters of state,” I said. “The Praetorians wouldn’t be likely to support him, since he has no military record. Domitian’s not given him any offices to mark him as a successor. If the Praetorians did hail him, commanders on the frontiers would probably march on Rome.”

  Regulus nodded. “It
would be Galba, Otho, and Vitellius all over again. I supported Otho and barely escaped with my life.”

  “Exactly. I don’t think Rome would survive another year with four emperors.” That was what people were already calling that dreadful time sixteen years ago. “Keeping Domitian alive is the best thing for Rome right now. And for you.”

  “For me?”

  “You don’t know if another princeps would let you whisper in his ear the way Domitian does. He might shut you out like Vespasian did.”

  “Thanks to your uncle.” A flash of dark anger crossed Regulus’ face. “Your friend Agricola wouldn’t try to take power?”

  “Even if he did, it would require a long fight.”

  Regulus sighed and took another cup of wine from Aurora. “What do you want me to do, Gaius Pliny?”

  “Help me find out what’s going on. Your network of spies is the most extensive in Rome, after Domitian’s own.” Regulus nodded as though acknowledging a compliment. “I need to know what your spies know.”

  “It’s easier if my people are looking for someone specific.”

  “We’re looking for a man named Clodius Popilius.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “I don’t know.” I upbraided myself for not asking such a basic question. “I’ll ask his wife when I get back to Rome and let you know.”

  “My lord,” Aurora said, “if I may—”

  “Yes?”

  “Crispina said he is about my height, with thick, light brown hair.”

  “And you’re the same height as I am,” Regulus said. “That’s something to go on. Any marks to look for?”

  “Crispina didn’t mention any.”

  “He plans to assassinate Domitian,” I said, “and present himself to the Praetorians. He has a son whom he could put forward as his successor.”

  “Is this son with him?”

  “No, he’s at my house, with his mother.”

  Regulus shook his head slowly, the way one does when confronted with something utterly unbelievable. “The man must be absolutely mad.”

  “He is. He was the one who beheaded that girl.”

  “Why?”

  “She was his stepdaughter. He was jealous because his wife had been married first to someone else. By killing her in such spectacular fashion, he got his revenge and showed his accomplices what he’s capable of. He beheaded her to show that he was going to cut off the head of Rome.”

  “You mentioned accomplices. So he has people working with him?” Regulus finished his wine and handed the cup to Aurora to refill again.

  “Only a handful. His wife says he has convinced himself and a few others that he is destined to rule Rome in the name of the people. He’s told them that his name comes from populus and means something like ‘the little people,’ or ‘man of the people.’ ”

  “How did he come to such a bizarre conclusion?” Regulus asked.

  “It’s his interpretation of an obscure line of poetry that he ran across.”

  “Something from the Sibylline Books? Gaius Pliny, I know you don’t take such things any more seriously than I do.”

  “It’s even more obscure than that.”

  Regulus’ legal instincts were coming to the fore. “Did he tell you this? Have you talked to him?”

  “His wife did. She showed me the papyrus he scribbled on when he figured it out.” I couldn’t help but think also of the piece on which Tacitus had scribbled the line with my name substituted for Popilius’.

  “If you want my support, you’ll have to show me this poem or prophecy, or whatever it is. I need to know as much as you know.”

  I had hoped to avoid spreading this bit of information around, partly because I felt it made me look foolish to give it any credence, but Regulus was right. If he knew what it was, he might be better able to direct his spies in their search. Martial had a pile of papyrus and writing implements on a table in one corner of the room. I wrote out the ROTAS square on a piece and handed it to Regulus.

  “It’s nonsense,” he said, squinting at the document and holding it at arm’s length. “Nestor, does this mean anything to you?”

  As Jacob, standing behind Regulus, took the piece of papyrus his eyes widened. “No…no, my lord. As you say, it’s nonsense—the sort of thing one sees scribbled on a wall.”

  “That’s exactly where Popilius saw it,” I said. “On a tavern wall.”

  “What does it mean? AREPO? What is that?” Regulus asked. “And why did it persuade this man to attack Domitian?”

  “He apparently took the AREPO line to be an acronym for Ad Regis Excidium Popilius Optatus.”

  “He could just as easily have taken the R to stand for my name,” Regulus said. “’Popilius is chosen for the destruction of Regulus.’ Or the P to stand for your name. Are you chosen for my destruction, Gaius Pliny? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “We’re not here to rehearse old enmities.”

  “No, I guess not, as much as I enjoy that.” He took the papyrus from Jacob, glanced over it again, and handed it back to his steward. “And you say his wife told you this was his interpretation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hearsay evidence like that is the weakest kind of support for a case. It’s no better than bathhouse gossip.”

  “If you had talked to her, as Aurora and I have, you would recognize that she’s telling the truth.”

  Regulus tented his fingers and brought them to his lips. “Why do you think this man is such a serious threat—any more than any other lunatic in Rome with a knife in his hand?”

  “I don’t know of any other lunatic who has butchered a young woman to insure the success of his undertaking.”

  “Well, not since Agamemnon’s day.”

  XI

  We agreed that Nestor and Aurora would serve as the messengers between our two houses. Nothing was to be written. When everything had been settled, we waited for Regulus and his entourage to leave first, then talked a bit more with Martial and Lorcis. Erotion played in Aurora’s lap but never would do more than look at me. They seemed a happy enough family, although I sensed regret on Lorcis’ part that Martial spent so much time in Rome. Even though I find many things to dislike about the city and enjoy my occasional escapes from it, I could understand his attraction to the place. It inspired his poetry, and its dilettantes fed his need for acclaim. Since Cicero’s day, men like us have complained about how unpleasant life in Rome can be and then complained even more about every day spent away from there. For us it is the center of the world, regardless of what the fatuous Greeks claim about the Omphalos at Delphi.

  Clouds were gathering to the east, in the Apennines, as we mounted our horses.

  “Sir, won’t you stay a bit longer until the storm passes?” Lorcis said.

  I sensed Aurora’s tension as she swung up onto our horse and wrapped her arms around me, but I said, “It looks like the clouds are far enough away that we can make it back to Rome before it hits.”

  “I hope so,” Lorcis said, glancing up at the mountains again.

  “My lord,” Aurora said, “the horses are nervous. Don’t you think we should wait?”

  “I want to get back and talk to Crispina. Let’s not waste time arguing about this.” I also wanted to contact Jacob and see why he had reacted to the ROTAS square the way he did. He had rolled up the piece of papyrus surreptitiously and must have taken it with him. I didn’t miss it until Regulus’ party was out of sight.

  We made it halfway back to Rome before the storm broke with a fury that I’d never experienced. With the rain coming in waves, at times I could not see more than a single pace beyond our horse’s nose. The animal was becoming increasingly difficult to control.

  “Gaius, we can’t go on,” Aurora said.

  I was about to disagree—because I didn’t want to admit I’d made a bad decision—when a lightning bolt struck a tree just ahead of us. Our horse reared in panic. If I’d been riding alone, I might have kept my seat, but Auro
ra began to slide off and tightened her grip on me. I knew if I held the reins I risked being dragged by the animal, so I let go and we both tumbled to the ground as the horse galloped away. My servants rode over to us.

  “My lord, are you all right?” one of them shouted over the thunder.

  “Yes. Aurora, are you injured?”

  “No, my lord, I’m fine.”

  I took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “You men take cover wherever you can,” I said. “We’ll find one another when this is over.”

  “What about your horse, my lord? Should we go after him?”

  “He’s probably in Rome by now. We’ll worry about that later. Find shelter. I would stay away from trees, though.” I pointed to the one that had just been struck. It was smoldering.

  As the men scattered in different directions, Aurora and I made our way up a slope on the south side of the road. Peering through the sheets of rain with difficulty, I saw some overhanging rocks that might offer a bit of shelter, so I pulled Aurora after me in that direction.

  What we found was more than I’d hoped for—a small opening that let us into a cave. My eyes, as sensitive as they are to bright light, enable me to see better than most people in semi-darkness such as we now encountered. Peering around in the gloom, I could not detect any sign of an animal or any indication that people had used this cave recently. It went back only about five paces, but it gave us room to walk about and it was dry. One thing I’ve learned about myself over the past couple of years is that I don’t like being in small, confined spaces. But this cave was large enough that we could stand and I could see the entrance—or exit—so I felt no more sense of being closed in than if I were in a small room in my own house.

  “I think we’ll be all right here,” I said with more confidence than I felt. With its view of the road, this would make an ideal spot for bandits to watch for wealthy travelers, and it could not be seen from the road. My servants might have difficulty finding us after the storm if it weren’t for the tree that had been struck by lightning.