*
To give myself a moment to gather my thoughts, I looked up at the ceiling of the exhedra, where birds had nested for as long as I could recall. The nests were empty now, another generation of young successfully launched into the world. Or were they? So many perils face us. Some—predators, disease, hunger—we can anticipate and, to some degree, forestall, but others can strike so unexpectedly and with such devastation, like a volcano, or a head struck on a rock, or a madwoman with an axe—or a lump in a woman’s breast.
And now this. Popilius had been with us at the taberna, standing within reach of Aurora. He must have brought Fabia’s head to the shed. That meant he had seen us at the villa and knew where we had taken her body. He must have followed us from there to Marinthus’ taberna. What an unsettling thought that was. Did he set the fire? He must have. It was the only way he could give his lover and his unborn child something like a funeral.
“Can you swear to me that what you’re saying is the truth?” I asked Nonnius. “Popilius’ description and all the rest of it—is it the truth?”
He nodded quickly and emphatically. “I’ll swear by any god you wish, sir, or by all of them. You would get no different story from me if you tortured me. I’ve no reason to tell you anything but the truth.” His eyes shifted briefly to me, then back over my shoulder to Aurora.
“Did Tacitus tell you Crispina’s version of how Fabia died?”
“Yes, sir. It was terrifying, but I don’t believe a word of it. Popilius adored that girl. He would never hurt her. Crispina killed her. I’ve no doubt of it.”
I reluctantly made myself envision that horrific scene again, trying to imagine it differently, with Popilius tied to the post, forced to watch as his lover—who was carrying his child—was raped and slaughtered. Could a woman have been guilty of such savagery?
“Fabia was violated, numerous times,” I told Nonnius and Marcella. “Who could have done that?”
Marcella groaned. “Crispina had several servants with her when she came to our house. But the poor girl didn’t deserve that.”
Any more than she deserved to have her head chopped off, I thought.
“Were her servants that loyal?” Tacitus asked in disbelief. “I mean, a man can’t just…perform on command.”
“Did you speak to any of her servants when you were at her house?” I asked Tacitus.
“I spoke to one, who met me at the door and wouldn’t let me go any further. He said his master and mistress were away on business and he didn’t know when they would return.”
I felt like I was being tossed around on a ship, unable to predict which way we would bounce next. Every time I thought I had grabbed on to something solid—a bit of evidence, an explanation—it evaporated before my eyes.
“My lord,” Aurora said, “if all of this is true, how does the ROTAS square figure in? Did Popilius really think he was destined to kill a king?”
I was sorry Aurora had brought the square into the discussion, since it apparently had no meaning other than the nonsense Jacob had revealed to me. I couldn’t silence her with a glance.
“ROTAS square?” Marcella asked. “What’s that?”
Nonnius was more openly nervous. “And who’s going to kill a king?”
“It’s a piece of gibberish scribbled on the wall of a taberna on the Ostian Way. Popilius apparently saw it and interpreted it as applying to himself in some way. Crispina showed us a papyrus on which he had worked out the meaning.”
Nonnius shook his head. “He couldn’t have.”
“Why not?”
“He can’t read or write.”
I felt like the ship had lurched in another direction, leaving my stomach behind. “And Crispina can?”
“Yes, sir, quite well. She’s the best educated person in our district. Her father saw to that. Latin and Greek. We’re always asking her to read and write things for us.”
One more damn lie. Why was I surprised? Jacob’s comment that Crispina had been more interested in the square than Popilius had been suddenly made more sense, but I didn’t want to go into any more detail about the square with these two.
“But she told us she knew only a few letters,” I said, “and she spoke like an illiterate peasant. Unlike you two,” I quickly added.
“What can I say, sir?” Nonnius shrugged. “That was part of her deception. She could make you believe almost anything. She made Popilius and her servants believe she was going to have a baby.”
“And you know how hard it is,” Marcella broke in, “for a woman to keep any secrets from the women in her own house.”
“I can only imagine,” I said. “What I don’t understand is why she would spin this elaborate web of lies.”
“She’s not in her right mind, sir,” Marcella said. “I think when she learned what was going on between Popilius and Fabia—and especially when Fabia taunted her about having a child—she just took leave of her senses. And with Fabia blackmailing her—she’s been brooding on that for years, I’m sure. When she came to our house looking for them, she was ranting—quite mad. I was afraid she was going to kill us.”
“Did Popilius tell you where they were going?” Tacitus asked.
“He said they would go to Ostia and take the first ship they could get on, no matter where it was going.”
“Obviously they didn’t make it,” Tacitus said. “It’s late in the sailing season. They would have had trouble finding a ship. I guess that gave Crispina and her people time to catch up with them.”
“But then why were Crispina and the boy on the Ostian Way by themselves, my lord?” Aurora asked. “And on foot?”
“We’ll be able to answer that question,” I said, “when we understand more about her plans.” I turned to Nonnius and Marcella. “Do you know if Crispina or Popilius had any connection with a man named Sextus Tabellius? It was his villa where we found Fabia’s body.”
They looked at one another, then Marcella asked her husband, “Was that the fellow’s name, the one whose villa they looked at?”
“That sounds right,” Nonnius said. He kept his eyes off Aurora long enough to address me directly. “A few months ago they heard about a place that might be for sale up in this direction. Somebody in our village knew somebody up here. Popilius is always talking about owning property closer to Rome. He has grandiose ideas about himself.”
“Like wanting to be a king?” Tacitus asked.
“I said grandiose, sir, not insane. They came up to look at the villa, but for some reason the owner’s heirs decided not to sell.”
“Popilius seemed especially disappointed,” Marcella added.
There was the connection I hadn’t been able to find. Crispina could not have happened upon the villa at random. She had to have known about it and known that it was empty. But there were hundreds of other places between her farm and the villa where she could have killed Fabia.
“Since they didn’t buy the place,” I said, “do you know of any reason why Crispina would have chosen that spot to do what she did?”
“Well, Popilius told me he’d like to divorce Crispina, marry Fabia, and move up to that villa.”
“Did he really think Crispina would divorce him that easily?” I asked.
“I don’t think he knew her as well as he thought he did. As if any man can ever know a woman.” Nonnius shot a glance at his wife.
I wondered if the point of contention between them was just Nonnius’ suspicions about the paternity of a child or something even more divisive. It was obviously serious and had been festering for a long time. It’s awkward to see an unhappy couple yoked together like two oxen that keep nipping at one another instead of pulling as a team. I suppose Martial would find material for an epigram in their bickering, but I just wanted to look away. Is that where my marriage would end up?
Marcella sat rigid, determined to ignore her husband, as she said, “It wasn’t so much that she loved him. I think she would have let him go—probably let him have what he thought was his son, too—but
not once she found out how he had betrayed her, and under her own roof.”
“Would he have been so stupid as to tell her he wanted to leave her and move to the villa with Fabia?” Tacitus asked.
“I doubt he would,” Marcella said, “but I’ve no doubt Fabia would have thrown it in Crispina’s face. She was that much of an ungrateful stepchild.”
*
Once we were satisfied that Nonnius and Marcella had told us all they could, we brought in little Clodius, who seemed overjoyed to see his “Aunt” Marcella and “Uncle” Nonnius. Hashep and Dakla came along with him, escorted by Phineas.
“They’ve grown inseparable,” Phineas said. “We’re just back from a trip to the gardens of Maecenas. I thought, after our lessons, they would enjoy running and playing for a while where they had more room than here in our garden.”
“Tell them who you saw,” Hashep said to Clodius, nudging him forward.
The boy looked uncomfortable.
“Go on,” Hashep said with the authority of an older sister.
Clodius looked from one adult to another and, receiving a nod or two from us, said, “I saw one of my mother’s servants.”
“Which one?” Nonnius asked.
“Eustasius,” the boy said.
“What would he be doing here,” Marcella said, “if Crispina has left?”
“Is he one of her more important servants?” I asked.
“One of her most trusted, I believe.”
“She didn’t have any servants with her when she came to my house.” I turned to Clodius. “What was Eustasius doing when you saw him?”
“He was looking at your house.”
“Did he see you?”
Clodius shrugged.
“I don’t believe he did, my lord,” Phineas said. “I noticed Clodius looking at the man, so I observed him, too. If he was spying, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. He was standing at the corner of the house to our north, trying to act as though he was waiting for someone, I think.”
“Did you try to speak to him?” I asked Clodius.
“No. I don’t like him. He’s mean.”
XIV
We sent Nonnius and Marcella, along with Clodius, back to Tacitus’ house, accompanied by two of the servants who had come with Tacitus. They would spend the night there before heading home. Hashep and Dakla stood at the door waving good-bye long after the party had been absorbed into the crowd on the street.
My attention was drawn to the north. Tacitus, Phineas, and I went to an upper room that had a window that gave a view in that direction. “Do you see the man?” I asked Phineas.
“No, sir. He’s gone.”
“I want someone watching for him,” I told Phineas. “Set up a rotation of three or four people. Give them a description. I want to know where he comes from. That will be where we find Crispina, I suspect. If anyone sees him, come and get me. I’m going back to the garden.”
As Tacitus and I settled back in the shade of the exhedra, I said, “Nonnius and Marcella are quite the pair.”
“Julia is much amused by them,” Tacitus said. “When they realized that Julius Agricola is her father, it was all we could do to keep them from falling to their knees in front of her.”
I winced. “If Domitian heard about that—”
“I know, I know. But he hasn’t or we’d have disappeared by now.”
“What do we make of what they’ve told us?” I asked. “Other than the fact that Crispina has lied to us and to everyone else from the very beginning? She told Aurora one story and Marinthus another, and a third to Justus. Then she fabricated a tale for us.”
“Don’t forget,” Aurora said, coming around to sit beside me, “that she lied to her husband about the son he thought was his.”
“Yes,” Tacitus said. “I’m surprised she left the boy with you. Clodius was what gave her power over Popilius, in spite of his interest in Fabia.”
“By now,” I said, “I’m sure, Popilius knows the child isn’t his. Fabia will have told him. That’s why she left him here. What use would he be to her if Popilius knows he isn’t his son?”
“Ga—” Aurora caught herself. “My lord—”
Tacitus reached over and patted her knee. “Call him Gaius, my dear. We’ll keep it among ourselves.”
Aurora blushed. She has a way of looking to one side when she blushes. I don’t know whether to call it charming or endearing. Regardless of the term, it melts my heart. “Thank you, my lord… Gaius, please don’t talk so callously about a child. He’s not just a pawn, a bargaining chip.”
I squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry if it sounded like I was dismissing him that way. I’m glad he’s safe and we’ve been able to reunite him with people who care about him. What puzzles me, though, is why Popilius and Fabia didn’t make their escape while they could. They must have reached Ostia before Crispina and her servants got there. Did they just wait?”
“Perhaps there was no vessel ready to leave,” Tacitus said. “Even an overnight delay would have given Crispina time to catch up with them. Their farm is only about six miles south of Ostia.”
“I wonder,” Aurora said, “if Popilius was trying to figure a way to take the boy away from Crispina.”
“Would he have taken that great a risk just for the sake of a boy who wasn’t his?”
“The poor child has no one who really cares for him,” Aurora said. “But at least now we understand why Crispina decided to do this horrible business at that villa. She knew Popilius and Fabia wanted to be there together, and she couldn’t abide the thought. She turned Popilius’ dream into a nightmare that will haunt him as long as he lives.”
“This reminds me of Ovid’s story of Callisto. After Jupiter raped her, she couldn’t stand to be in places that she had loved before, because of what had happened there.”
“I think you’re right,” Tacitus said. “Crispina had visited the place before, when they were trying to buy it, and must have seen that accursed wheel. Someone might even have told her what it was used for.”
“I’m surprised his sons or someone at the villa hadn’t removed it,” I said, “or at least stored it out of sight. It’s not a strong selling point.”
“It might serve as a reminder to his other servants,” Tacitus said.
“Or as an incitement to rise up against their master,” Aurora said bitterly.
My eyes met hers. It’s a strange feeling to look into someone’s eyes and know that all she sees is darkness.
“So,” Tacitus said, “where are we now?”
“Right back where we were when we left Marinthus’ taberna,” I said. “We don’t know any more now than we did then. The only difference is that we’ve brought Regulus into the whole business, when apparently there was no need to.”
“Do you think we need to investigate any further?” Tacitus asked. “Are we dealing with anything more than a madwoman who’s intent on taking vengeance on her husband—a modern Medea? You don’t think there’s any real danger to Domitian, do you?”
“Medea killed King Creon, my lord,” Aurora pointed out.
“Well, one can carry mythological analogies too far,” Tacitus said with a bit of annoyance in his voice.
“You brought it up, my lord,” Aurora said.
“That’s enough, you two,” I said. “We do need to carry our investigation to a conclusion. If Crispina did in fact murder Fabia, with the connivance of some of her servants, they all need to be brought to justice.”
“Where do you propose we begin?” Tacitus asked.
“This whole business started at Sextus Tabellius’ villa. I want to go back out there and take another look at it. Given what we know now, we might find something we overlooked when we were there before. I’ll hire the horses this afternoon so we can be ready to go at the first hour tomorrow. That will give us the entire day to examine the house and the grounds.”
“We should take Segetius and Rufinus with us,” Aurora said. “They told us what the whipping
post and the wheel were for. Tabellius may have had other nasty little secrets that wouldn’t be obvious to us.”
I turned to her in surprise “ ‘Us’? Surely you aren’t suggesting that you’ll go.”
“Don’t you think it’s possible that someone who’s part of this mystery might be at the villa?” Aurora asked. “Maybe even Popilius. He can’t go back to his home, and that villa holds special meaning for him. Or he might be at Marinthus’ taberna.”
“True, but—”
“You heard what Marcella said about Popilius’ voice. It’s the only thing that distinguishes him from a hundred other men. I’ve heard it. You haven’t.”
“But, Aurora, how do you think you can ride a horse? You’re…you’re—”
“Yes, I’m blind, Gaius.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Make sure you hire a strong horse so I can ride behind you. You didn’t seem to object to that arrangement on our way out to Martial’s farm.”
Tacitus didn’t have to hide his smile from her. I was glad she couldn’t see my look of annoyance.
“I’m sorry, Gaius,” she said. “I don’t have to see your face to know you think I’m being presumptuous. I do think I could be of use to you, but I will abide by your decision.”
“You’ve made some convincing arguments,” I had to admit. “I can’t think of any reason why you shouldn’t go with us.” And I certainly couldn’t object to another opportunity to have her clinging tightly to me for a couple of hours, except that we wouldn’t be able to go any farther than that.
“Well, if we’re going tomorrow, I need to get home,” Tacitus said. “Julia isn’t always happy about the time I spend away from her. She’s a bit jealous of you, Gaius Pliny.”
When Aurora wasn’t around, I would have to ask him just who was dancing to a woman’s tune. We were walking toward the front of the house when Demetrius met us. “My lord, there is a messenger here to see you.”
“A messenger from whom?”
“He says he was sent by a man named Titus Lentulus. Do you know such a person?” One of Demetrius’ responsibilities is to know everyone I know so he can decide who gets into my house and who is turned away. It wasn’t surprising that Demetrius didn’t know Lentulus. He was the owner of the villa next to Tabellius’.
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