“That’s what I call it,” Tacitus said, pouring us all some more wine and sloshing it over our cups. “All the time. Curse your curiosity, Gaius Pliny. That’s exactly what I say. It has gotten us into some serious scrapes.”
Romatius smiled weakly. “Well, just like you, Gaius, I’m too young to remember anything from that long ago. I must say, it’s a most peculiar thing to ask about.”
I waved my hand, as though dismissing some minor point. “Thinking about my father-in-law’s disappearance—his death, to be blunt about it—set me off down this path. I was just wondering if you might have heard stories, since you’ve lived here all your life. Maybe you’ve heard your father and his friends talking.”
“People disappear now and then. You know that. Slaves run away. Travelers fall victim to bandits on the road. Unhappy wives or children decide they might be happier somewhere else.” Romatius took a gulp of wine and wiped his mouth.
“Yes, I know, but—” I knew I sounded foolish.
“Why twenty years ago? Why that particular time?”
“It’s when my wife’s father disappeared. We were just talking about it and the question came up of whether anyone else had gone missing around then.”
“Not to my knowledge.” He put his hands on the table in preparation for leaving. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, a lovely filly is waiting to be mounted. Stay as long as you like. The bill has been settled. Cornelius Tacitus, it’s been a pleasure and an honor to meet you.” Romatius pushed his chair back and didn’t wait to receive our thanks for his hospitality.
“He was a very convivial fellow,” Tacitus said as Romatius disappeared into the taberna, “until you brought up the topic of missing people.”
“Or maybe he was just eager to play stud.”
“Well, I can sympathize with him on that. He did raise one interesting point. Maybe the man in your wall was a traveler who was attacked on the road and robbed. That could be why we didn’t find any clothing or jewelry with him. Somebody took advantage of a place to dump the body.”
“But who would have been traveling near my house? And why? The road that runs past my house doesn’t really go anywhere. It curves around and goes back down the other leg, as it were, of the lake. Nobody would be passing through there on their way to someplace else. And they would have to know about the wall.” Delius and his three pounds of gold kept running through my mind, but I wasn’t ready to discuss him with Tacitus yet.
“Why don’t we ask the innkeeper?” Tacitus said with a slur in his voice. “Innkeepers know everything and everyone.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” I said. “We don’t want to attract too much attention.”
But Tacitus was already waving to get the innkeeper’s attention. I realized he was a little in his cups and hoped he didn’t say anything out of place.
Lutulla turned away from a vivacious conversation with two other customers and approached our table, wiping her hands on her apron. Seen up close, she was even more youthful-looking than my first estimate. From the way she’d been flirting with the other customers, I wondered if she supplemented her income with some personal service. “What else can I get you, gentlemen? I have a lovely cake—honey and dates—fresh from the oven.”
I hoped to distract Tacitus. “That sounds like just the thing.”
But Tacitus wouldn’t be deterred. “As delightful as it does sound, we’d like to ask if you know of anyone from this area who went missing twenty years ago.”
“Well, there was that Livius who drowned and was never found.”
“Yes, yes. We know about him.”
I wondered if Tacitus was as drunk as he seemed to be, or just pretending to be so that she wouldn’t take him too seriously.
“Do you know of anyone else? Maybe somebody with black hair?”
The innkeeper glanced at the men at the other table. “From twenty years ago? No, sir, I don’t recall anyone from that long ago. I did have a helper in my kitchen once who ran off. Took a good sum of my money, too, he did. And he had black hair.”
“Was that twenty years ago?” Tacitus asked too loudly.
“Now, let me see.” The innkeeper put a hand to her chin. “No, no, come to think on it, that must have been more like fifteen years ago, not twenty.”
The two men at the other table—the only other customers by now—got up and dropped money on the table. One looked over his shoulder at us just before he left the courtyard and stepped back into the taberna.
“Well, if the cake doesn’t tempt you gentlemen,” the innkeeper said, “I’d like to clean up out here now.”
“I think we’re getting booted out,” Tacitus said, standing unsteadily.
“It’s not that, sir.” The innkeeper wiped her hands rapidly on her apron. “I just need—”
“What is it that bothers people around here,” Tacitus said, “when we ask about someone who might have disappeared a long time ago?”
“Well, sir, every town has…things that people…don’t like to talk about.”
“You mean dirty little secrets?” Tacitus said. The volume of his voice, even more than the slur, told me he wasn’t pretending. He had in fact had too much to drink.
“Sometimes very dirty, sir, and maybe not so little.” She turned away from us and disappeared into the kitchen.
“What do you suppose she meant by that?” Tacitus said, slurring his words again.
“Let’s think about it while we go get a bath.” I put my hand on his back to start him moving toward the building. Even if we didn’t need a bath, I wanted him to be sober enough to sit on a horse.
“Don’t push me.”
Nereus and Tacitus’ servant, Marullus, joined us at the front door of the taberna. While Marullus was steadying his master, Nereus and I got a few steps ahead of them.
“My lord,” Nereus said in a low voice, “I think I should tell you that Marullus was trying to impress the kitchen girl and told her about the skeleton. He even claimed he’d touched it.”
“Damn him! Just like his master,” I muttered.
We spent less than an hour in the bath, which was small and crowded, but the frigidarium in particular did seem to have a salubrious effect on Tacitus. By the time we got back to our horses, he was in good enough condition to ride. We could have stayed another night, but I was anxious to get home, even though we would be late arriving.
At least the trip had been worthwhile. I had learned more about Marcus Delius, my illegitimate cousin, and ruled him out as the person in the wall. If I could get Leucippe away from Nereus, I would see what else she could tell me about Delius and anything that had happened at the time the person in the wall was killed. But it was a long time ago. Would anyone even remember?
We hadn’t gone more than a mile when we drew our horses to a stop and stared at the bizarre sight ahead of us.
“Is that what it appears to be,” Tacitus asked, “or am I still drunk?”
“It certainly wasn’t there yesterday.” I edged my horse ahead a few paces and stopped under the branches of a tree which hung over the road. Mounted on a broken branch was a human skull. Beneath it was tied a piece of parchment with a message on it in a large but fine hand: let what was hidden remain unknown. The document bore a seal—a skull—pressed into a blob of wax.
VII
A shoe that is too large is apt to trip one, and when too small, to pinch the feet. So it is with those whose fortune does not suit them.
—Horace
I returned the bones we had found in the wall to the chest where Gaius had deposited them, careful to place the skull on top. Now I had to find Julia and tell her what I had noticed. When I came out into the garden, though, the first voice I heard was Livia’s, so I stepped back far enough into the doorway to be out of sight but still able to hear and see when I peeked around the doorframe.
“I’ll be back in a couple of days, Mother. I just can’t take this place—and some of these people—anymore right now.”
<
br /> I assumed she meant me. I hoped she did.
“But Tertia isn’t expecting you.”
“She’s my cousin. She has to entertain me. Her house is only an hour from here, and it’s not as though my entire household is descending on her. I’m just taking a few servants and a driver.”
Pompeia raised her hands in surrender. “All right. Do what you want. You always do anyway. Give me a few moments to write a note to my brother.”
“Well, hurry up. I’m ready to go.” Livia headed for the front of the house with two of her servant women trailing after her.
I stepped out of the room and into the sun. Livia gone overnight and maybe longer! That was the best news I had heard in two days. Now I was even more eager to talk to Julia, but she was walking across the garden with Gaius’ mother and Naomi. I picked up a cup and towel that someone had left on a table outside the door and started toward the kitchen. Any servant in a large house quickly learns that, as long as you’re carrying something and look like you know where you’re going, the masters will assume you’re working.
Pompeia returned from her room with a note, folded and sealed. “Give this to my daughter,” she told one of our servants. Then she joined Julia and Plinia, who had taken seats under an arbor at the back of the garden, with Naomi sitting behind them. I was going to pass them on my way to the kitchen. I would have to talk to Julia later.
“Oh, Aurora,” Julia said, raising a hand to stop me. “There you are. Please bring us something to drink.”
I was almost offended by her request, until I reminded myself that we weren’t really friends, no matter how friendly we might have been over the last few days. I was a slave, who could be ordered to do anything Julia wanted. I went to the kitchen and brought out a tray with cups and pitchers of wine and water. Placing them on a small table in front of the women, I bowed my head and started to leave.
“Wait,” Julia said. “Ladies, would it be all right if she stayed, in case we want anything else while we talk?” She hadn’t used my name. I was feeling resentful about that. Did she think slaves should just have numbers, like Trimalchio’s slaves in the Satyricon? Why couldn’t Naomi wait on them?
Both of the older women nodded, barely looking up from filling their cups, mixing wine and water to their own tastes.
“Pull up a stool back here,” Julia said, giving me a wink that Pompeia and Plinia couldn’t see. I realized she was trying to downplay my presence and was actually making it possible for me to listen to the conversation in the only way a slave could, by becoming part of the scenery. I found a stool near the fountain and situated myself behind Julia, hoping I would soon disappear from Pompeia’s and Plinia’s awareness.
“Livia certainly has her own mind,” Julia said, pouring herself some wine. “Was her father like that?”
Pompeia sighed. “That girl is like her father in every respect. Marcus Livius was a squat, dumpy man with black hair. As I recall, he wasn’t any taller than Gaius. Just imagine Livia in a toga and you’ll have the perfect picture of him.”
Julia and I exchanged a glance. When we had all the bones of the skeleton in place and Gaius lay down beside it, it was just about the same size he was.
Pompeia seemed to be warming to her topic. She leaned back on the bench. “His brother Quintus—my second husband—was taller, more graceful, and far better in bed. I used to think Marcus might have been happier if I’d been a man.” She and Plinia chuckled. Naomi blushed. “I’m reminded of him every time I look at Livilla. She and Gaius could have had such beautiful children. I wish I understood what made Livilla change her mind about marrying him.”
Did she glance over her shoulder at me, or was I just imagining it?
Julia got her back on track, like a driver in a chariot race tugging on the reins. “What happened the night Livius died? I’ve heard bits and pieces, but I don’t know the whole story.”
“No one does.” Pompeia looked at the ground for a moment, then seemed to gather the strength to tell the story. “He had sailed across the lake that morning.”
“What was he doing over there?” Julia said.
“He and Caecilius and my brother and Romatius had some sort of business arrangement,” Pompeia said. “They never did tell us anything more specific than that.”
Plinia nodded. “They were very vague about it. All Caecilius would tell me was that they had gotten involved in some sort of investment and needed to see someone in that village near the old town of Comum now and then.”
“Livius told me,” Pompeia said, “that it was all more complicated than I could understand. He never did think I had a head for business. I just wish he could see what I’ve made from the estates he left me.”
Julia poured herself some wine. “So he was sailing by himself? That’s dangerous.”
“Yes,” Plinia said. “But he was a good sailor. He grew up around here. Caecilius, too, of course. He sailed boats from the time he was a boy. I wish Gaius took after his father in that regard.”
Pompeia nodded. “Livius was certainly comfortable in a boat.”
I whispered in Julia’s ear and she asked, “Did he take any cargo on the boat?”
“Not as far as I know,” Pompeia said. “I don’t think he ever did. He just sailed over there, saw someone, and came back. Whatever their business was, Livius was the one who went back and forth across the lake.”
Julia sipped her wine and added a bit more water. “So Livius sailed across the lake that morning and was coming back in the evening?”
Plinia took over the story. “Yes. Caecilius said he tried to persuade Livius not to go that day. Caecilius was concerned about the weather. Livius wasn’t. He always was a bit reckless. It doesn’t take more than half an hour to sail across the lake. But the storm caught Livius out there and the boat capsized. Caecilius said he became worried when the storm blew up, so he went down to the shore and he saw the boat overturned and sinking.”
“Did he see Livius in the water?”
Plinia shook her head slowly. “He said he didn’t.”
“Has anyone ever tried to find the boat?” Julia asked.
“The lake is much deeper than you might suspect,” Pompeia said.
“And that’s all either of you know?” Julia asked.
Plinia nodded. “After Caecilius told Pompeia what happened, he refused to talk about it anymore. He said he couldn’t bear to be reminded.”
* * *
As we neared the villa I saw three wagons on the road ahead of us, laden with quarried stone and pulled by oxen. Handing Tacitus the bag containing our bath supplies and the skull and the note from the roadside, I urged a bit more speed out of my horse and caught up with the little caravan. Felix was riding at the front.
“This looks like a good start,” I said as I drew up alongside him.
“Greetings, my lord. I certainly didn’t expect to see you here. Yes, I was pleased to get this amount on short notice. They should have this much more ready for us by the time these wagons get back there.”
“There’s not as much urgency about it as I thought,” I said. Motioning for Felix to ride with me, I took him far enough up the road that I could explain what we had found in the wall while he was gone, without the drivers of the wagons overhearing us. I ended by cautioning him to avoid spreading the story. “Apparently we’ve already upset someone just by asking a few vague questions.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice keeping quiet about things, my lord.”
“A skill much to be prized.” Especially in a servant. I waved to Tacitus and our servants to catch up with me. “I don’t want to make the rest of the trip at an ox’s pace,” I told Felix. “Have the men unload at the work site. Given how late it’s getting and the way the clouds are thickening up, we should feed them and give them a place to sleep tonight.”
“I was going to ask that, my lord.”
When we rode up to the stable and dismounted, I noticed that one of Pompeia’s raedas was missing. “Has someone
gone out for a ride?” I asked. “It’s getting late, and I don’t like the looks of those clouds.”
“The lady Livia went to visit her cousin down the road, my lord,” Barbatus said. “I believe she’ll be away for a couple of days.”
“Did she take anyone with her, a guard?”
“The driver and another man, that tall blond fellow you brought up here.”
“Brennus?” I cursed silently. I had brought the man up here because of his skill in wine-making. He was too valuable to waste on guard duty. “You say she’ll be gone for a couple of days?”
“That was her plan, my lord.”
I had to turn my back to him to keep him from seeing my broad smile, but I couldn’t hide it from Tacitus.
“The day suddenly seems brighter, doesn’t it?” he said. “In spite of the clouds and in spite of skulls popping out of walls and dangling from trees.”
“It’s a lovely day,” I said, turning my face up to the first few drops of rain. “A lovely day. Only one thing could make it better.”
Tacitus put a firm hand on my shoulder. “You have to talk to her, Gaius, and soon. The longer you wait, the more difficult it gets.”
* * *
It was actually a day that I was glad to see coming to an end—dragging interminably, it seemed, to an end. Conversation at dinner was desultory, the food no more noteworthy. Even Julia’s wit seemed diminished by the rain and the events of the day. I knew Tacitus would fill her in on our conversation with Romatius and our discovery on the road back from Comum.
What made me, more than anything, want this day to pass into history, so it could be forgotten like most days, was the lack of Aurora. The girl waiting on me was adequate, but she wasn’t the one I wanted. As soon as I could decently do so, I bid good night to Pompeia and my mother and went to my room.
I knew Tacitus was right. This estrangement, which was my fault, had gone on too long. Any longer and the damage might be irreparable. Tomorrow morning, I resolved, I would take Aurora aside and plead, grovel, or do whatever was necessary to make things right. At least I could do it without Livia being around.
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