“I have it safe, my dear Crassus, I assure you.”
“Then where is it? I have brought the money with me now.” Lucrio heard the crunch of a sack of money being thrown down. “You see? There can be no excuses. Now let’s make the exchange and have done with it.”
There was a long pause and then another sound of coins jangling as Tiberius picked up the sack and weighed it appraisingly in his hand.
“It’s all there,” Crassus asserted bullishly.
“Oh I have no doubt,” agreed Tiberius. “The thing is, how do I put this without sounding indelicate? My price has gone up.”
“What?” gasped Crassus.
“Well, there were added inconveniences as you know. The dead girl for a start. I don’t know if you have ever attempted to smuggle a corpse through the forum in the dead of night, my dear Crassus, but believe me, it takes an extraordinary amount of ingenuity. One has to find a vehicle at short notice, transport the body to some secluded bend of the river, all without being seen of course.”
“I never asked you to commit murder! That was never part of our arrangement.”
“Well what would you have me do when the silly girl walked in at the most inopportune moment?” complained Tiberius. “Believe me, I found it as distasteful as you do. Well, distasteful may not be quite the right word … there was a certain frisson I admit. You look pained, Crassus. I take it your tastes don’t run in that direction? My apologies. I didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.”
“I don’t want to hear any more about it!” said Crassus shrilly. “We made a deal, Tiberius!”
“Yes we did and I have every intention of fulfilling my end of it. Another hundred thousand should do the trick.”
“A hundred thousand?” Crassus shouted. Lucrio could hear Tiberius tutting.
“Ssh, Crassus. You wouldn’t want my guests next door to hear. They’re not moralists, but they would be shocked you know.”
“I want what I paid for!”
“I know you do. After all, your needs are quite pressing, are they not?” By the silence that followed, Lucrio guessed that Crassus was struggling with his emotions.
“I’ll give you another fifty thousand.”
“How kind. But I believe the figure I mentioned was a hundred.”
“Sixty – and that’s my final offer.”
There was a long silence. Lucrio heard a heavy tread as Tiberius walked over to the amphora of wine, followed by the sound of liquid glugging into a cup. Then he spoke in a tone which Lucrio remembered all too well.
“You need to ask yourself something, my dear Crassus. You need to ask yourself, can I really afford to bargain?”
After what seemed like several minutes, Crassus’s barely audible reply came. “Have it your way. I’ll get it to you tomorrow. You have my word.”
“Splendid. You musn’t think me greedy, my dear fellow.” Tiberius’s manner had reverted instantly to the urbane. “But the nature of the task merits generous compensation and I think you would agree that I have already proved my worth in handling Albinus for you. I will show you that your continuing good faith is not misplaced.”
A key clicked in a lock, shortly followed by a rustling sound and a relieved sigh from Crassus.
“Thank the gods. Yes, that’s the right document. You’re sure no one saw you going in?” pressed Crassus.
“Thanks to a connection of mine on the inside, perfectly sure. Aside from the girl of course.” There was a pause and the sound of papyrus rustling against fabric. “Aren’t you going to destroy that?” asked Tiberius. “It’s rather incriminating if it’s found in your possession.”
“I will when we’re sure of the outcome. If we run into any problems, we may need to put it back.”
“So little faith. Still, it’s your show, as they say. I take it you have dealt with our stubborn friend in the Subura?”
“Bloody leech. Trying to screw more money out of me. He got what was coming to him.”
A chair creaked as someone settled into it.
“Have you spoken to Hortensius again?”
A raucous shout of laughter from the room next door drowned out Tiberius’s answer. Lucrio instinctively flattened himself against the wall as he saw a man suddenly poking his head of the window of the dining room next door and vomiting copiously on to the plants beneath. As soon as the man had disappeared again, Lucrio put his ear closer to the window, straining for all he was worth to hear what Tiberius and Crassus were saying.
“… what does he think he’s playing at? You showed him one of the letters, we can expose him any time we choose. His reputation would be ruined!”
“I rather think he’s having an attack of conscience.”
Lucrio could hear someone pacing around the room.
“Hang him. We’ll do it without him if we have to.”
“That may not be so easy. It might mean he has to meet the same fate as Albinus.”
“So be it if it comes to that,” said Crassus, after a long pause. His voice had become constricted. “We need to talk about what comes next in any case.”
“Yes,” agreed Tiberius promptly. “About that. I’m going to need another five hundred thousand if you want me to keep helping you.”
The pitch of Crassus’s voice escalated sharply. “I just promised you another hundred!”
“Yes. Expenses, you know.”
There was a loud thud as Crassus’s hand hit a table.
“You can wipe that self-satisfied grin off your face Tiberius. You’re not going to treat me as some kind of rich uncle you can fleece at will! It was thanks to me that Metellus Pius was willing to declare the girl’s death a suicide! I can implicate you! – and in Albinus’s death too!”
“And I could make the obvious reply but what would be the use? You’re going to give me the money, because you don’t have a choice. If I am dragged down to Hades, my dear Crassus, then we both know who’s coming with me to pay the ferryman. Don’t we?”
Crassus’s breathing became louder, but he said nothing.
“Another five hundred. Have a little think about it if you need to,” crooned Tiberius softly. “I am in no hurry, you see.”
Crassus’s sandal squeaked on the marble floor as he turned on his heel and marched out of the room without another word. Lucrio heard him bark something at someone as he marched through the atrium and out of Tiberius’s front door into the night. A few moments later, there was the sound of a drawer opening and the money pouch being placed inside it. Then the pool of light around Lucrio’s feet disappeared and he heard Tiberius returning to his party next door.
XVII
FOR A LONG TIME, LUCRIO DID NOT MOVE. THEN, RISING TO HIS FEET, he padded stealthily back along the portico. He stopped several times, feeling the desire for vengeance pulling him back toward the villa, but he made himself keep going, reasoning that he had waited this long and another night was not too high a price to pay for loyalty. He would not have had this chance if it weren’t for Hortensia and her father.
There was an oak tree in one corner of the garden, whose branches clambered over the roof of the colonnade. Putting his dagger between his teeth, Lucrio set one foot on the trunk and began to pull himself up. Too late, he realized his mistake. The inner boughs of the tree were full of wind-chimes, the same little phallic baubles he had almost knocked into earlier. As soon as the lowest branch sank under Lucrio’s weight, the air was filled with a high-pitched cacophony of colliding bells, the likes of which could never have been caused by a sudden breeze.
Lucrio had only a few seconds to think. A warning shout had been taken up inside Tiberius’s villa and he could see shadows rapidly approaching along the painted corridor. He took hold of the dagger and wondered for a wild moment if he would be able to get to Tiberius before force of numbers overwhelmed him. But at the last moment, some instinct prompted him to throw his weapon over the portico wall. He heard it land with a thud in the neighboring garden and had just enough time to reg
ret it before three burly slaves emerged from the lighted corridor and bore down on him. The breath was knocked from his body as they charged at him and pinned him to the ground, so that his bad knee was agonizingly twisted. He felt a fist connect with the flesh covering his ribs. Another began raining blows down on his head. Lucrio curled himself into a ball and withstood their assault as best he could. The onslaught continued until the left side of his face was shiny and swollen and he could barely breath for coughing.
“All right, all right, let him up.”
The shaven-headed slave who had led the attack gave Lucrio one final kick and stepped back, spitting phlegm through his chipped teeth. Tiberius Dolabella was standing overhead, holding up a lit torch. Some of his dinner guests were gathered behind him, several still holding their silver wine goblets and giving slurred encouragement to the brawling slaves. The torch was held up to Lucrio’s face, the heat of it almost scorching his skin.
“Well, my friend. That was a little clumsy of you, was it not? I fear you may have chosen the wrong house – and the wrong man – to steal from.”
Lucrio spat out blood from between his teeth, thinking fast while he tried to recover his breath. “I was not trying to steal from you …domine.”
“Really? My apologies. Most people come in by the front door.”
“I was …visiting a girl.”
“A girl?” Tiberius repeated incredulously.
“A maidservant. She belongs to the household of your neighbors. I was making my escape over the rooftops and I lost my footing. I apologize, domine.”
Lucrio forced himself to sound contrite though it cost him everything he had to do so. Tiberius Dolabella held the fire closer to Lucrio’s face, illuminating his own in the process, the copper-colored eyes, skin ridged and puckered. A resiny perfume lingered about him, blending with the smoke from the flames and making Lucrio feel nauseous.
“You’re not from around here, are you? You look as though you come from some barbarian outpost in the west. Hispania?”
Lucrio looked him in the eye. “Lusitania, domine,” Even though he knew it was impossible that Tiberius would identify the eleven-year-old peasant boy whom he had sold into slavery fourteen years before, he searched his interrogator’s scarred face almost hopefully for any hint of recognition, some flash of memory. But Tiberius simply straightened up.
“I see. So you were out on a nighttime adventure, you say? A man after my own heart. Tell me – I am fairly well-acquainted with most of the doxies on this street. What was this very forward maidservant’s name?”
“I don’t know,” improvised Lucrio, shrugging as though it were a matter of no consequence. “I met her in the forum. She told me where she lived and how to reach the house unseen. Like you say, she was very forward.”
Tiberius chuckled. “Either you are astonishingly stupid, my friend, or you think I am. Which is it? Do you believe I cannot very quickly find out if this story of yours is true?”
Suddenly one of the men in the circle behind Tiberius spoke.
“Wait a minute. I knew I had seen him somewhere before.”
Squinting around the light of the torch hovering above his face, Lucrio could just make out the aquiline features of Publius Dolabella looming above him, bending down to get a closer look.
“It’s you. From the law court,” said Publius slowly, more surprised than suspicious.
Tiberius eyed his nephew keenly. “You always manage to surprise me, Publius, by either knowing a little less or a little more than you should. Is this barbarian a friend of yours then?”
Publius straightened up and shot his uncle a covert look of dislike. “He belongs to the household of Servilius Caepio. More specifically to his wife.” His tone was offhand.
“His wife … aha.” Comprehension spread across Tiberius’s face. “Now I know why your powers of recognition were so keen on this occasion. Well, well. This does put things in a different light.”
Tiberius turned to one of his slaves. “You will take a message to the Palatine in the morning. The villa of Servilius Caepio. Make sure you deliver it personally to the lady of the house. Since I have her property in my possession, she may come and fetch it at her convenience.”
“That’s all you’re going to do?” asked Publius aggressively. “You said you didn’t believe his story.”
“My dear Publius. You’re the one so obsessed with poor form. I cannot possibly serve punishment on another man’s slave, now that I know his provenance. Besides, I should very much enjoy meeting Hortensius Hortalus’s daughter again.”
He issued a curt command to the shaven-headed slave, who had now hauled Lucrio up from the ground.
“Lock him in the cellar. If you choose to tenderize him a little more first, that is your affair.”
The shaven-headed slave gave a toothy grin and Lucrio was dragged away to a chorus of encouraging cheers from Tiberius’s guests. With arms outstretched, their host began to usher them back toward the dining room. Only Publius stayed where he was, staring sullenly down at the patch of grass recently vacated by Lucrio. As his uncle stooped to pick up a wine cup that someone had dropped in the grass, Publius suddenly fired a question at him.
“What did Crassus want?”
Tiberius paused before slowly uncoiling himself back to his full height and staring haughtily at his nephew. Publius’s jaw was set at a challenging tilt. “You were gone some time. I came to see what was keeping you from your guests. The intelligence that you were closeted with the consul intrigued me, I admit.”
Tiberius’s response was softly-spoken and deliberate.
“I remember mentioning to your dear father once, when I caught you in your infancy, trying to steal my finest stilus, that there was a snooping streak in you which should be snuffed out at the earliest opportunity. A shame he never took my advice. Perhaps I shall have to do it for him one of these days.”
He left Publius shrouded in darkness.
XVIII
HORTENSIA WAS READING A LETTER FROM DRUSILLA THE NEXT MORNING when Tiberius Dolabella’s messenger arrived. Her mind was not much engaged with the words in front of her, glad though she was that Drusilla sounded happy and full of optimism for the new rural life she was planning with her mother and her children in Campania. Lucrio’s continued absence, and the connection it seemed to have with Tiberius Dolabella, continued to trouble her. On top of that, she was wrestling with the problem placed before her by the Chief Vestal. Although she was still inclined to think there was an element of hysteria to the priestess’s qualms about Helena’s death, she could not dismiss the scrawled reference to Pompey so lightly. There was no logical explanation for it. Had it definitely appeared on the night of Helena’s death? Could the younger Vestal Fabia have written it herself? But why would she do so?
Eucherius knocked on the door of her salon, disturbing her troubled thoughts. “Domina, there is a messenger outside. He asked me to give you this and wait for an answer.” Hortensia took the note offered to her. She did not recognize the seal – an impression of a dog’s head – and broke it open without much interest.
“Madam. I have something that belongs to you. He is not very communicative so I will have to rely on you to supply a name for him. You are free to collect him – in person – at your earliest convenience. Tiberius Dolabella, Alban Street, Caelian Hill.”
Hortensia’s eyes widened, her emotions veering wildly between incredulity and fear. She read the letter again and then, making sure that she did not betray the extreme agitation she felt to Eucherius, said, “Tell the messenger who brought this that he may inform his master that I have received his letter. He may expect a visit from me shortly.”
Eucherius nodded and shortly she heard him passing on her response to the waiting slave.
It took Hortensia a few minutes to decide what she should do. Caepio was hosting clients in his study as usual. Knowing he would have prevented her from going and may even have stormed up to the Caelian Hill himself to confront Tibe
rius, Hortensia decided with a pang that once more she would have to act without her husband’s knowledge. He would probably find out later, but for now what mattered was getting Lucrio back without further muddying the murky waters in which she already stood. For both propriety’s and safety’s sake, however, she decided to take Elpidia with her. It would be scandalous for her to visit the house of a man unrelated to her unaccompanied, and she felt uneasy in any case at the prospect of going alone, remembering how Tiberius had looked at her at the games. Elpidia was highly suspicious at hearing the news that she was to accompany her mistress on an errand which they had to depart on immediately and which involved a visit to the Caelian Hill where, as far as she knew, her charge was unacquainted with anyone. She was even more shocked at being informed she was to wait in the litter outside. But Hortensia told her old nurse haughtily that it was not her place to question orders and Elpidia lapsed into offended silence.
The door-keeper on duty at Tiberius’s villa bowed Hortensia into the study. The first thing she noticed on entering the room was a smiling Tiberius Dolabella himself, seated in a high-backed chair with a drinking cup in his hand. The second thing was how different the room was to her father and Caepio’s private sanctums. Where theirs were light, comfortable and full of rolls of literature banked up on shelves and in cabinets, this one was dark, sparsely-furnished and smelled heavily of some bitter perfume that made her wrinkle up her nose. Tiberius Dolabella smiled at his visitor and rose lazily to his feet. But Hortensia had been rehearsing her lines in the litter and before her host could utter a greeting, addressed him in her clearest, most imperious speaking voice.
“Thank you for your letter. I should like to know first of all, if you please, just how a member of my household came to be detained in your house. I demand his immediate release and a full explanation. If my husband were not away on business this morning then he should have accompanied me here and I have no doubt he would express himself far more strongly than I can.”
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