The Eyes of Aurora

by Albert A. Bell, Jr.

  Popilius took one more swallow of wine and wiped his mouth. “I’m surprised to see that fellow in your service.”

  I looked over my shoulder at the departing servants. “Which one?”

  “The one that grabbed me.”

  “Oh, Segetius isn’t exactly in my service. He’s a freedman from this house.”

  “I’ve seen him before,” Popilius said.

  “Where?”

  “At the taberna where you took Fabia.”

  “You were at the fire, weren’t you?” Aurora said.

  “Yes, missy, standing right next to you.”

  I drew his attention back to me. “I understand your reason for wanting to hamper the people who were putting out the fire—”

  “But this was before the fire. I was hiding in the woods behind the place. That fellow, that Segetius, he was talking with another fellow.”

  I couldn’t imagine whom Segetius would have known there and would have been talking to. “Did you recognize the other man?”

  “Not at first, but when we were lining up to put out the fire I heard someone call him Theodorus.”

  Tacitus and I looked at one another in consternation. What would Segetius have been talking about with Marinthus’ son?

  “Could you hear what they were saying?” Tacitus asked.

  “Only a few words. I think I heard something about a king.”

  “A king? Could they have been saying Regulus?”

  “Yes, sir, that might very well have been it. Does that mean anything?”

  XV

  In my rage I pulled Tacitus into the second garden, where Fabia had been killed, and shoved him up against the wall. His head hit harder than I intended.

  “Does it mean anything?” I said through gritted teeth. “Does it mean anything? It means we’ve been tricked, just like some rustic who falls off a turnip wagon and buys a ‘lifetime pass’ to the Circus Maximus on his first day in the city. Segetius has played us for fools. And you said his appearance was a mere coincidence. I told you from the first time I saw him that he was trailing us.”

  “Calm down,” Tacitus said. “We don’t know what they were talking about. There are lots of words that sound like reg—”

  “Name two that Segetius and Theodorus might have been using in their conversation.”

  Without saying anything, Tacitus gripped my wrists and pulled my hands off his tunic.

  I stepped back from him but continued my onslaught, waving my finger in his face. “I told you, as soon as I heard Segetius had worked in the house of a client of Regulus’, that his presence could not be a coincidence. But then you fell for that whole sob story about being beaten—”

  “You can’t deny those marks on his back,” Tacitus was quick to point out. “Whatever he’s doing now, he was brutally whipped.”

  “But how would he and Theodorus know one another?”

  Tacitus’ impatience began to show in the edge in his voice. “That’s no great stretch. Tabellius’ villa isn’t all that far from here. Given how long both men have lived around here, they could have met. Maybe they were just renewing an old acquaintance. Maybe they’d done business together.” With both hands he made a calming gesture toward me. “I know, that sounds as unlikely to me as it does to you.”

  “If they were old friends, why were they sneaking around in the woods? Why didn’t they sit down in the taberna and have a drink? That’s what old friends would do. Two men who were plotting something or exchanging information would meet out in the woods, where they didn’t expect to be seen or overheard.”

  “Gaius Pliny, I will concede everything you’ve said and whatever else you’re planning to say. Upbraiding me and demonstrating your superior wisdom serves no purpose right now. We need to talk to Popilius some more.”

  I took a deep breath and rubbed my hands over my face. “Yes, of course. But we need to keep Segetius well out of hearing range.”

  When we returned to the atrium I was relieved Segetius was nowhere to be seen. Aurora was sitting across from Popilius, now encouraging him to eat more. She slid over to make room for me to sit beside her. Tacitus found a stool and pulled it up next to our bench.

  “Clodius Popilius, do you think you could tell us what happened?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure you would believe me. How can anyone believe something so horrible? I saw it, and I don’t believe it.”

  “Let’s start the story earlier. You were coupling with your stepdaughter, weren’t you? Even when she was quite young. You’re attracted to young girls, I’ve been told.”

  “So you’ve talked to Nonnius. Well, I can’t blame him for telling you. Yoked to that cow Marcella for all these years, he’s always been jealous of me. Yes, I adored Fabia. Even after she became nubile, she always seemed so young. And, in my defense, I can remind you that she wasn’t actually my stepdaughter. She was the daughter of Crispina’s first husband by yet another woman. She wasn’t related to either one of us.”

  “Technically you may be right,” I admitted, “but she was a child being raised in Crispina’s house, so she had the status of a stepdaughter to you.”

  “Granted, sir. But she was no closer to Crispina than if they were strangers. She had never gotten on well with Crispina—”

  “Do you know why not?” Tacitus asked.

  “She blamed Crispina for her father’s death. Said she drove poor old Fabius to drink and gamble. After living with the woman for a few years, I could believe her.”

  “So when Fabia became pregnant, she threw it in Crispina’s face.”

  Popilius nodded slowly. “The girl was not judicious about that. She didn’t know what anger Crispina was capable of. The woman went into a rage. She was practically foaming at the mouth. We had to run for our lives.”

  “You got to Ostia,” I said. “Why did you stop there?”

  “We couldn’t find a ship leaving that day, nor anyone to ferry us across the Tiber. I knew if we continued to flee on horseback, Crispina’s men would catch us. It seemed the better choice to hide out in Ostia and hope for a ship the next day. But they caught us. Smashed down the door of the room we had rented and dragged us out. Nobody lifted a hand to help us. They’d told the innkeeper that I had kidnapped Fabia.”

  “And they took you to this villa.”

  “Yes. Crispina had it all planned. She knew how much I wanted to buy this house, so she was going to make it the most hateful place on earth for me.”

  “She waited at Marinthus’ taberna until everything was ready?”

  Popilius took another swallow of wine. “I guess she didn’t want Clodius to see what she was doing. After we were tied up and gagged, one of the men went to get her and the boy. Where is he? Did she—”

  I shook my head. “She left him at my house in Rome. He’s with Nonnius and Marcella now.”

  “Well, that’s fair enough. Even if he’s not my son, I do love him and want him to come to no harm. His Aunt Marcella—that’s what he calls her—dotes on him.”

  “I think he’ll be well cared for.”

  “Good. Now I suppose you want me to tell you what she did to Fabia.”

  “I think we can spare you that. From my examination of the body, I have a sufficient idea of what happened.”

  “Did you see the stab wounds in her belly?”

  “Yes. Three of them. Those were to kill her baby—your baby—weren’t they?”

  Popilius began to weep. “I couldn’t do anything to stop her. And then she…picked up that axe.”

  “Yes, we know. You don’t have to say any more.”

  “But you don’t know the worst.”

  Could there be anything worse?

  “She took the gag out of Fabia’s mouth, just so I could hear her scream. Then, after she beheaded her, she picked up her head and brought it over to me, tied to that post like I was. She rubbed it against my groin—”

  Aurora groaned as if in pain, putting her hands over her face, and I held out my hand to Popilius. �
��We really don’t need to hear the rest or see any more.” That explained the blood on his tunic. If he’d been hiding in the woods for several days, he wouldn’t have had a chance to bathe. As crazed as he was, perhaps he hadn’t wanted to wash off the blood. It was all he had left of Fabia.

  “Then she dropped the head at my feet and left. It took me several hours to work my way out of the ropes and get away.” He slumped back against the wall.

  “How does the ROTAS square fit into all of this?” Tacitus asked. “Was anyone planning to kill a king?”

  “The thought never entered my mind,” Popilius said. “We saw it on the wall at Marinthus’, and Crispina showed me the thing on a piece of papyrus just before she left the villa. I can’t read, so I had no idea what it meant. She said it was proof that I was plotting against the emperor and if I ever came anywhere near her again, she would inform on me and see that I ended up in the arena.”

  “You’ve already suffered worse than many people do in the arena,” Tacitus said.

  “At least they get to die at the end,” Popilius said.

  I rubbed my chin. “By showing us the square and how she interpreted it, Crispina threw all suspicion off herself and gave herself time to escape. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

  “No, sir, I don’t.”

  “One of her servants has been spotted in Rome, near my house. Could she be in Rome?”

  “Why would she be there, sir?”

  “That’s the question I have to answer when we get back to the city.”

  “What do you plan to do now?” Aurora asked Popilius.

  “I hadn’t given it any thought beyond this, young lady. I didn’t care if I died.”

  “But you had a hot poker ready,” I reminded him. “Wasn’t that to cauterize the wound?”

  Popilius lowered his head, as if in shame. “I’m afraid to die, but I can’t stand the thought of living when I can’t get that dreadful image out of my head.” He put his hands over his eyes. “And I was the one that did it to her, as sure as if the axe was in my hands.”

  “You can’t think that way,” Aurora said. “Crispina is a madwoman. She has deceived all of us.” She turned to me, as though she could see me. “My lord, is there anything we can do to help Popilius?”

  I had been asking myself the same question, but it seemed impertinent of her to pose it first. “We’ll take you back to Marinthus’ and let you get a bath. I’m sure we can find you some clean clothes. One of the boats that passes by should be able to take you to Ostia. From there I think you’d be wise to get as far away from here as possible.”

  “But, sir, this is all I have in the world.” He grabbed his tunic and I was afraid he was going to lift it again. “The knife isn’t even mine. I found it in the kitchen here.”

  “I’ll give you some money to travel on, enough to get to…Massilia, let’s say.” Even though I found the man reprehensible—a coward who preyed on children—I felt that, by giving his name to Regulus, I had exposed Popilius to potential danger of which he was unaware. The least I could do would be to spirit him away to relative safety. Having him far from Rome might also protect me in case Domitian, alerted by Regulus, began making inquiries.

  “A man could certainly do worse than Massilia,” Tacitus put in. “I’ll give you a letter of introduction to a friend of mine there. He’s actually a cousin of my wife.”

  Popilius’ tears began to flow again. “Sirs, I believe you could be gods in disguise.” He fell to his knees, with his face on the ground, as though he would worship us.

  “Get up,” I told him, grabbing the back of his filthy tunic and immediately regretting my action. “We’re no more gods than you are. I do think it is wise to get you away from Rome, though, in case word of your alleged plot has come to the ears of Domitian or someone close to him.”

  Someone like Regulus, to whom I had revealed everything. For all I knew, he had gone straight to Domitian and the Praetorians were scouring the streets of Rome right now for a man named Clodius Popilius.

  “When you write that letter of introduction,” I said to Tacitus, “it might be a good opportunity to have Popilius adopt a new name.”

  “How would you feel about that?” Tacitus asked Popilius, who was still on his knees in front of us.

  “I am ready for Popilius to die,” the wretch said.

  *

  We took our little troop back to Marinthus’ taberna. While Popilius got himself cleaned up, I called Segetius into a corner of the main room and invited him to sit down with Tacitus and me. During the ride back from the villa, I had come up with an idea that solved two problems at once.

  “You say you want to do something to repay my kindness to you,” I began.

  “Yes, sir, I am most eager to do so.” Segetius’ head bobbed up and down.

  “I need someone to accompany Popilius to Massilia.”

  “Uh, but—”

  “You’ll have to leave right away, this afternoon, to be able to catch a ship in Ostia tomorrow morning, if one is available. Our first thought was to put you on a boat if one passed by here, but we’ve hired a raeda from Justus, across the way. He’ll drive you there. It’s the fastest and surest means.”

  “But, sir, if I sail to Massilia now, I won’t be able to get a return ship. The sailing season ends in a few days. I’ll be stuck there until spring.”

  Which was precisely my intention. “That will be inconvenient for you, I know, but I’ll give you money to hold you over and Tacitus is going to write a letter to a friend of his there, who will supply you with whatever you need.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Is there anything that prevents you from going?” Tacitus asked. “Do you have pressing business in Rome?”

  Segetius rocked from side to side, like a man presented with a dilemma, neither side of which appealed to him. “No, sir, of course not. Rufinus will wonder what’s become of me, though. We’ve been friends since we were boys. We’ve always stood by one another. You may have noticed he’s a bit simple.”

  “We’ll take care of him,” I said, “and let him know of your assignment. And please think of it in those terms. The only way Popilius’ safety can be insured is to get him as far away from here as possible. And I’d like to send a guard with him.”

  “But, sir, what if that crazy bitch comes after him? You saw what she can do—what she will do.”

  “I’m convinced she has done all the harm she intends to Popilius. Her purpose was to leave him on the edge of madness. By now she must know that we are aware of what she did and that she needs to get far away from Rome. I don’t suppose we’ll ever catch her, but we will try. I just want to get Popilius out of her reach.” I placed a fistful of coins on the table, mostly denarii. “Now, see what kind of supplies you can purchase. You may need to wait until you reach Ostia to buy a change of clothes and other essentials.”

  Segetius scraped up the pile of money unhappily.

  Tacitus handed him a sealed letter. “This will introduce you and Popilius—although his name isn’t going to be Popilius anymore—to my wife’s cousin, Julius Fortunatus. His house is on the northeast side of the city. I’ve asked him to give you whatever you need and promised that I will repay it.”

  “You’re most generous, sir.”

  “Oh, here comes Popilius now,” I said, like an actor introducing another character in a Greek play, as he entered the taberna, fresh from the baths. “I guess we can call him that until he walks out this door and gets in the raeda. Then he becomes Clodius Rufinus.”

  “We thought it would be easier for you to call him that, so you don’t give him away,” Tacitus said.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

  “Now, we need for you to leave us alone with Popilius for a moment.”

  Segetius left and Popilius took a seat at the table. After explaining what we were doing for him, I leaned over the table and lowered my voice. “I find you one of the vilest men I’ve ever met. There’s a part
of me that wants to finish what you couldn’t do at Tabellius’ villa, then slit your throat and dump your body in the Tiber.” I leaned back as Popilius slumped in his chair. “But, sadly, you haven’t done anything that’s against our law. You’ve just violated every law of decency that I know of.”

  We signaled for Segetius to rejoin us and explained all that we were doing so that both men understood what was expected of them.

  “When you return in the spring,” I promised Segetius, “there will be a handsome sum waiting for you, but you’ll need to bring a letter from Julius Fortunatus assuring us that Popilius is well and telling Tacitus how much he owes.”

  I hoped that gave Segetius the incentive to carry out this task and not just kill Popilius and dump him into the Tiber for the relatively small amount of money he would be carrying. I really did feel some sympathy for Popilius and wanted to give him a chance to escape the horror of his life here and start over. One day, perhaps, he might wake up in the morning and think of something other than Fabia on that wheel. Tacitus’ letter, which I had helped write, explained Popilius’ real character.

  I was also happy to have Segetius out of my way for several months. Regulus, like a bloated spider at the center of his web, would wonder why there was no vibration—no information—coming from that part of the web where Segetius was supposed to be.

  As we watched the raeda start for Ostia, Tacitus said, “That takes care of a couple of problems.”

  “But we still have to be wary of Theodorus and probably Rufinus when I get home. A man who appears to be simple may not be.”

  “You’re right. They say the princeps Claudius preserved his life by pretending to be a simpleton when others of Augustus’ male relatives were being eliminated on all sides.”