Two For The Lions

by Lindsey Davis

  "At Pomponius' house. When the lion got loose."

  "You saw what happened then?" Helena replied quietly.

  "Oh yes. I shan't say any more; my husband would be furious. It was agreed that nothing would be said. Pomponius wanted it that way."

  "I don't understand."

  "Naturally, it was to protect her. Scilla, I mean. Pomponius was loyal, you have to give him that. When he realized he was dying, he was more insistent than ever. She had enough of a reputation without all Rome hearing about the lion incident."

  "Well, Pomponius is dead now--"

  "Stupid man!" Euphrasia snarled. "Don't ask me about it," she repeated. "But Scilla could tell you. Before you start feeling sorry for that little madam, Helena Justina, you should make her admit the truth. Ask Scilla," commanded Euphrasia resoundingly, "who really killed that lion!"

  She swept to her feet. As she did so, she must have disturbed something, a small golden creature which darted along a skirting not far from where the baby was inspecting her own pink little toes on the floor.

  "Is that a mouse?" Helena gasped.

  "No, a scorpion."

  I walked into the room, like a husband just returning from a morning on the quayside. Keeping up the charade, I let my face register all the right things: surprise at seeing Euphrasia, alarm at Helena's set white face, rapid reaction to the emergency.

  I scooped up the baby; passed her to Helena; moved Helena out of the way; pushed past Euphrasia. I seized a vase and dropped it over the scorpion. Helena had closed her eyes, rigid with shock.

  "Helena once had a bad scorpion sting," I explained tersely.

  I shepherded them all from the room then went back to deal with the scuttling thing. After I had battered it to pieces, taking revenge for what the other had done to the precious girl I loved, I sat on my haunches in private for a moment, remembering how Helena nearly died.

  I went out to find her. Holding her and Julia, hushing them, even I trembled.

  "It's all right, Marcus."

  "We'll go home."

  "No; it's all right."

  When we had settled down again, we realized that in the panic Euphrasia had taken her chance to avoid awkward questions; she had slipped away.

  We could not ask my client what Euphrasia had meant, because Scilla still failed to appear.

  Then, out of the blue next day, the elusive Scilla wrote to me. The letter was found on the doorstep in the morning, so there was no messenger to trace. It appeared she was now in Lepcis, though as usual, she was coy about her address.

  She confessed that when she arrived here (which must have been some time ago) after she failed to find me she had hired someone else. She did not specify Romanus, though I reckoned it was him. He had managed to contact the two men for her, and there were plans for a settlement. I could send a bill to the house of Pomponius Urtica in Rome to cover any expenses I myself had incurred so far. My services were no longer required.

  Paid off, eh?

  Not me, Scilla. My clients were always losing heart and backing away; it was a hazard of the job. The mud they stirred up often took them by surprise and caused a rethink. It was not worth pressurizing them once they lost the initial impetus.

  Nor, when a case had once attracted my interest was I ever in the habit of allowing myself to abandon it. I would stop work when I chose. Which meant, when I had satisfied my own curiosity.

  LVII

  THE NIGHT BEFORE the Games, Rutilius and I took a quiet walk out to the amphitheater.

  We crossed the wadi by the harbor, then hiked along the beach, alternately hopping on rocky outcrops and sinking into soft white sand.

  "This is hard going," Rutilius complained, stretching his calf muscles. "I'll arrange transport tomorrow. Will Helena want to come?"

  I picked up a piece of cuttlefish. "Yes, sir. She says she's afraid I may end up in the arena fighting somebody."

  "Is it likely?" He sounded shocked.

  "I'm not stupid." Playing at gladiators meant permanent disgrace, with legal penalties.

  All three lanistae were bound to attend the Games. I was expecting some sort of showdown: Helena Justina knew that. There was no point trying to hide it from her; she was far too sensitive. I was prepared for anything. So, therefore, was Helena.

  "The work you get involved in can be dangerous?" Rutilius asked. "So what might be in store for us tomorrow, may I ask?"

  "Sir, I don't know. Nothing, maybe."

  Perhaps, but I was not alone in suspecting a crisis; this trip to reconnoiter the layout had been his idea. He looked calm, but I reckoned Rutilius Gallicus, special envoy of Vespasian, was as keyed up as me.

  He had his own troubles. He had surveyed the land between Lepcis and Oea and was ready to announce results. "I'm just the latest sucker in a traditional line," he told me as we approached the stadium. Which we came to first. "Boundaries have been a source of bitter contention for a long time. There was a famous event when Carthage and Cyrenaica were in dispute. Two pairs of brothers set out simultaneously running from Lepcis and Cyrene. Where they met was the new border; unfortunately the Greeks of Cyrene accused the two brothers from Lepcis of cheating. To prove their innocence they demanded to be buried alive."

  "Olympus! Did it happen?"

  "It did. There's a grand old commemorative arch over the roadway to this day . . . I have felt, Falco, the same fate may be waiting to ambush me!"

  "Rome, sir, will applaud your sacrifice."

  "Oh good. That will make it all worthwhile."

  I liked him. The men Vespasian chose to establish order in the Empire were of a dry, down-to-earth type. They got on with the job, fairly and quickly, undeterred by incipient unpopularity.

  "It's a good province," he said. "I'm not the first to come out to Africa Proconsularis and feel a tug. The place attracts strong loyalty."

  "It's Mediterranean. Warm; honest; cheerful. Nicely exotic, yet still smacks of home."

  "Needs a good sorting," Rutilius exclaimed.

  "Helena is compiling a set of recommendations that she wants to hand in to the Emperor."

  Really? Did he ask you to do that?" Rutilius sounded surprised again.

  I grinned. "He didn't ask. That won't stop Helena Justina ensuring he's told. And she is covering Cyrenaica where we were first. She has listed everything from restoring the amphitheater at Apollonia to rebuilding the earthquake-damaged temple in the forum at Sabratha. She likes to be comprehensive. She's tackled the fight business as well. When they open the new Flavian Amphitheater, Helena thinks it should all come under state control: everything from gladiatorial training to the import of beasts. The legions should supervise provincial collection of wild animals. Imperial agents should be in control." I happened to know Helena had had the wonderful idea of suggesting that Anacrites should be put in charge of presenting the position papers on new policy. It would be a ten-year job--and would certainly keep him away from me.

  "That all?" asked Rutilius dryly.

  "No, sir. To complete the picture, she recommends that chief men from Africa be admitted to the Senate, as has already happened with other provinces."

  "Great gods. It's all good stuff--but do you seriously expect Vespasian to accept this from a woman?"

  "No, sir. I'll sign the report. He'll think it's from me." That was no better to a man like Rutilius. I was an Aventine pleb, hardly decent material for the Emperor's inner cabinet.

  "You make suggestions like these every time you go abroad?"

  "If there seems anything to recommend."

  "And it all gets put into effect?"

  "Oh no!" I laughed, reassuring him that the world he knew was not turning upside down. "You know what happens up on the Palatine: the scroll is simply filed away. But maybe in twenty years' time or so, some of the items that Helena thought important will float to the top of an agenda in some short-of-work secretariat."

  Rutilius shook his head in disbelief.

  We had reached the stadium. It lay
parallel to the shore, swept by brisk sea breezes, one of the finest locations possible. It looked a good course, and a well-used one apparently.

  We walked slowly across the racetrack. At present the low evening sun and the sound of the sea at our backs gave the place a peaceful air, though when the whole town came out here to fill the rows of seats, the atmosphere would be totally different. "Tomorrow, in the amphitheater, at this show I have to supervise--" Rutilius paused.

  "The show you've been stuck with," I grinned.

  "Which I will be honored to preside over!" he sighed. "Under my auspices anyway, they are planning a program of paired gladiators. As far as I can see, nothing exceptional. That's preceded by a criminal execution, some halfwit blasphemer getting his due ad bestias."

  "A capital crime? Doesn't that need the approval of the governor, sir?"

  "The case caused a bit of a crisis. I got drawn in, and it was expedient to say I hold the governor's remit while I'm here. It all blew up this morning, and on top of the land survey it was set to cause a riot. We already have too many people from the rival cities in town at present--things could get ugly tomorrow."

  "So what's the capital case?"

  "Totally unacceptable. Some lout passing through drank himself into a stupor, then woke up in the forum and started insulting the local gods. Terribly embarrassing. Attempts were made to restrain him, but he just started bollocking Hannibal and all his descendants at the top of his voice. He was whacked on the head, rescued from the mob, and dragged before the nearest person in authority--I found myself in that unfortunate role. It was an issue, of course: Rome's attitude to the Punic element. I had no choice. So tomorrow there's dinner for the lions."

  "Has a beast been provided?"

  "Saturninus just happened to have one," replied Rutilius.

  "I had better warn Helena."

  "Not keen? Neither am I. Ask her to shut her eyes and endure it, if she will. She'll be sitting in my party, right in full view; things have to look good. They say it's a fierce animal; the business should be swift."

  We had now come to a covered walkway that linked the stadium to the arena. The light was fading but we took a chance and marched briskly through a tall, arched corridor. It was probably just intended for pedestrians, though it offered possibilities for joint presentations using both venues. The scope and placing of their auditoria suggested the people of Lepcis had a sophisticated love of being entertained, and demanded a high standard.

  Emerging into the amphitheater, a gracious ellipse cut into a hillside, we found workers hard at it, consolidating and raking the white sand on the arena floor. Tomorrow the pristine results of their careful labors would be violently scuffed up and blood-soaked. After a look, I consulted Rutilius, then we set out to climb the rows of seats. Somebody on the top level called my name.

  "Who's that, Falco?"

  "Wonderful! It's Camillus Justinus, Helena's younger brother. He has been looking for the Gardens of the Hesperides to impress his ladylove--I had hoped he might catch up with us."

  "I've heard of him," said Rutilius, puffing as we speeded up our climb. "Didn't he cause some trouble, running off with a young woman?"

  "He might have got away with stealing the girl, sir--but he ran off with her money too, and there was a lot of it. I'm taking him home to be spanked."

  "Quite right."

  Having formally assumed a proper attitude, the envoy joined me in greeting Justinus with great friendliness.

  We found a way we could return to town along the top of the dunes, to avoid the beach. The first unfamiliar African stars winked overhead as we marched along, exchanging news.

  "Everything all right with Claudia?"

  "Why shouldn't it be?" Justinus had the grace to grin. "I've seen Famia's horse transport in the lagoon today, Marcus, though no sign of him."

  "He'll be in a wine shop. Well, it sounds as though we're all set to sail home then."

  Briefly I toyed with the idea of forgetting the Games, finding Famia, and slipping off straightaway. I was ready to see Rome again. Julia's first birthday ought to be celebrated at home. And anyway, why should we stay? I had no client employing me.

  Justinus provided the answer: "Have you heard the rumor running wild? There's a needle-match planned for tomorrow's Games. Saturninus, Calliopus, and Hanno have agreed to arrange a special three-sided bout."

  "What! How's that?"

  "It's all rather mysterious, but I heard that each is putting up a gladiator for a fight to the death. It will be the final event--something to make the rival groups from the different towns really yell their heads off."

  The tingle I had felt all day increased. "Hades! That sounds as if this could degenerate into an occasion when the amphitheater erupts."

  "You haven't heard the best. The part that will interest you, Marcus, is that this bout is supposed to settle a legal claim. There's an unusual twist--whichever lanista owns the last man left alive has agreed to pay compensation to a certain Scilla in a suit she has against them all."

  "Io! That means they'll want to lose, surely?"

  Justinus laughed. "All three of them are supposed to be putting up some complete no-hoper so it turns into a comedy. The fighters won't want to die--but for once their lanistae will be trying to persuade them to go down."

  "Oh very colorful."

  "From what I heard in the marketplace, there is a curious interest in the deadbeats."

  "Do they have names?" asked Rutilius, just beating me to it.

  "None that I heard. All sorts of rumors are flying--freaks with two heads each are the favorite suggestion. Fascinating, eh?"

  "Sounds enough to crank up interest," I said.

  "It's high," Justinus confirmed. "Large bets being taken, perfectly openly."

  "This is it then," I said. I was speaking to no one in particular, though both of my companions must have known just what I meant.

  Somewhere in Lepcis that night menagerie keepers would be starving a lion.

  Somewhere too, gladiators of various qualities were enjoying the traditional lavish eve-of-fight meal. It was their privilege--and could be their curse. It was often the clincher when the following day dawned; they would be tempted to enjoy all they could, since it might be their last chance. But indulge too much, and that would count against them in the ring.

  On the way back through town Justinus and I did make a feeble attempt to get into the main local training school--the Saturninus spread--with a view to inspecting the men at their feast. Members of the public were being barred. We thought it best not to make an issue. For one thing, I reckoned any special combatants would be shut away somewhere secret.

  I spent an uneasy night. To save Helena worrying, I pretended to sleep perfectly peacefully. All the time, thoughts churned in my head. I was damned sure whatever happened, this special bout the three lanistae had planned was not intended to be fair. Each of them would be going into it with his own evil plans.

  From the president's box it would be impossible to intervene in any emergency. Justinus and I had racked our brains wondering how we could overcome that. The only useful place to be was out in the ring--but I had had to promise Helena I would not in any circumstances go out there to fight.

  LVIII

  A BLAZE OF SUNLIGHT swathed the arena from the first hour. Slowly the stone seats and the brilliant white sand on the arena floor began to warm up. As the crowd started to assemble, the sound of the ocean was lost, though we could still smell the ocean on the salty air that dried our faces and made our hair stiff and lank.

  Justinus and I had gone early. Rutilius would arrive much later, ceremonially. We thought we were prompt yet other people had beaten us to it, though the atmosphere remained relaxed. Even at that stage, however, the holiday mood had extra tension caused by the presence of contingents from Oea and Sabratha.

  Admission was free, but the ticketmen were in place, ready to hand out the tokens which assigned places in the various tiers and wedges of seats. Cu
shions for the front row seats were being unladen from mules. Smoke rose lazily from fires on the beach where hot tidbits were being cooked by food sellers. Wineskins and amphorae had been brought in large quantities. Snack sellers were hoping for a lucrative day.

  Country dwellers, drawn by the spectacle and the chance of making sales of their produce and crafts, had turned up on horses and the occasional camel, and were squatting on the beach. Some had even pitched long, dark, desert tents. And keen folk from town were meandering up the shore and along other paths even as we ourselves arrived, looking for friends to greet or betting touts to haggle with. Playbills appeared; we got hold of one, but apart from the professional fighters who were listed by name and fighting style, the special bout was only described as a "combat of three novices."

  After the first arrivals had strolled up, some still eating their breakfasts, the influx suddenly increased and the atmosphere pulsated. The citizens of Lepcis were now pouring forth, some dressed in white in the formal Roman manner (as we were), others robed in brilliant colors. Women in their best finery, bejeweled, incredibly coiffed, saucily veiled or lurking under parasols, were carried here in litters or forced to walk by frugal husbands. Children scampered free or clung shyly to parents. Men wandered about making contacts, perhaps with male business acquaintances, perhaps even with forward women who ought not to have been available. Ushers finally appeared--far too late to make much impact, though no one seemed to care.

  The rows of seats were filling fast. Cheeks, foreheads, and bald pates were already shining up and reddening in the sun. Bare-armed beauties would look like lobsters this evening. An elderly man was carried off on a stretcher, overcome before the event even started. A fine haze of unguents, perspiration, fried squid, and garlic gently assaulted our nostrils.

  The hum of noise rose, then fell off expectantly. Rutilius Gallicus arrived.