Arms of Nemesis rsr-2

by Steven Saylor

  Eco was less pleased with his costume. The slave, apparently thinking him younger than he was, or else too good-looking to be seen bare-limbed about the house, had brought him a long-sleeved blue tunic that reached to his knees. It was so modest that it would have been more suitable for a boy or girl of thirteen. I told Eco he should be flattered if the old slave found him so dazzling that he should hide himself. Mummius laughed; Eco blushed and would have none of it. He refused to dress until the slave brought him a tunic that matched mine. It was not quite as good a fit, but Eco made do by tightening the black woollen belt about his waist and seemed happy to be dressed in a more manly garment that showed his arms and legs.

  Mummius guided us down long hallways where slaves bowed their heads and stepped meekly out of the way, down one flight of stairs arid up another, through rooms decorated with exquisite statues and sumptuous wall paintings, across gardens breathing the last sweet breath of summer. At last we came to a semicircular room at the northern end of the house, set above a crag of rock overlooking the bay. A slave girl announced us and then departed.

  The room was shaped like an amphitheatre. Where the stage would have been, steps led up to a colonnaded gallery. It opened onto a spectacular vista of sparkling water below and the port of Puteoli in the distance, and far away to the right an unimpeded view of Mount Vesuvius on the horizon and the towns of Herculaneum and Pompeii at its feet.

  The interior of the room was so dark and the light from outside so dazzling that I could see the woman who reclined on the terrace only as a stark silhouette. She sat with her legs extended and her back upright on a low divan beside a small table set with a ewer and cups. She stared out at the bay and made no reaction as we entered; she might have been another statue, except that a gende breeze wafted through the colonnade and caused the hanging folds of her gown to sway in the air.

  She turned towards us. I could not yet distinguish her features, but there was a warm smile in her voice. 'Marcus,' she said, extending her right arm across her body in a gesture of welcome.

  Mummius stepped onto the terrace, took her hand and bowed. 'Your guest has arrived.'

  'So I see. Two of them, in fact. You must be Gordianus, the one they call the Finder.'

  'Yes.'

  'And this one?'

  'My son, called Eco. He does not speak, but he hears.'

  She nodded and gestured for us to sit. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I began to make out the austere, rather stark features of her face — a strong jaw, high cheekbones, a high forehead — softened by the lush blackness of her eyebrows and eyelashes and the softness of her grey eyes. In deference to her widowhood, her black hair, touched with grey at the temples, was not dressed or arranged but simply brushed back from her face. From her neck to her ankles she was wrapped in a black stola loosely belted beneath her breasts and again at her waist. Her face was like the vista behind her, more lofty than lovely, animated and yet serenely detached. She spoke in even, measured tones and seemed to weigh each thought before she spoke it.

  'My name is Gelina. My father was Gaius Gelinus. My mother was of the Cornelii, distantly related to the dictator Sulla. The Gelinii came to Rome long ago from inland Campania. In recent years many died in the civil wars, fighting Cinna and Marius on behalf of Sulla. We are an old and proud family, but neither wealthy nor particularly prolific. There are not many of the Gelinii left.'

  She paused to take a sip from the silver cup on the table beside her. The wine was almost black. It gave her lips a vivid magenta stain. She gestured to the cups on the table, which had already been filled for us.

  'Having no dowry to offer,' she went on, 'I was very lucky to marry a man like Lucius Licinius. The marriage was our own choice, not a family arrangement. You must understand, this was before Sulla's dictatorship, during the wars; times were cruel and the future was very uncertain. Our families were equally impoverished and unenthusiastic about the match, but they acquiesced. I am sorry to say that in twenty years of marriage we had no children, nor was my husband as wealthy as you might think from the evidence of this house. But in our way we prospered.'

  She began idly to rearrange the folds of the gown about her knee, as if to signal a change of subject. 'You must wonder how I know of you, Gordianus. I learned of you from our mutual friend, Marcus Tullius Cicero. He speaks of you highly.'

  'Does he?'

  'He does. I myself met Cicero only last winter, when Lucius and I happened to be seated at the divan next to his at a dinner in Rome. He was a most charming man.'

  'That is a word some people use in describing Cicero,' I agreed.

  'I asked him about his career in the law courts — men are always happy to talk about their careers,' said Gelina. 'Usually I only half listen, but something in his manner compelled me to pay attention.'

  'They say he is a most compelling speaker.'

  'Oh, he is, most certainly. Surely you've heard him yourself, speaking from the Rostra in the Forum?'

  'Often enough.'

  Gelina narrowed her eyes in recollection, as serene as the profile of Vesuvius just above her head. 'I found myself quite enthralled by his tale of Sextus Roscius, a wealthy farmer accused of murdering his own father, who called upon Cicero for legal counsel when no one else in Rome would come to his aid. It was Cicero's first murder case; I understand it made his reputation.* Cicero told me he was assisted by a man named Gordianus, called the Finder. You were absolutely invaluable to him — as brave as an eagle and as stubborn as a mule, he said.'

  'Did he? Yes, well, that was eight years ago. I was still a young man, and Cicero was even younger.'

  'Since then he has ascended like a comet. The most talked-about advocate in Rome — quite a feat, for a man from such an obscure family. I understand that he has called upon your services a number of tunes.'

  * Roman Blood (Robinson 1997).

  I nodded. 'There was, of course, the matter of the woman of Arretium, only shortly after the trial of Sextus Roscius, while Sulla was still alive. And various murder trials, cases of extortion, and property disagreements over the years, not to mention a few private affairs concerning which I cannot mention names.'

  'It must be very rewarding to work for such a man.'

  Sometimes I wish I were mute like Eco, so that I would not have to bite my tongue. I have fallen out and made up with Cicero so many times I am weary of it. Is he an honest man or a crass opportunist? A principled man of the people or an apologist for the rich nobility? If he were clearly one thing or the other, like most men, I would know what to think of him. Instead, he is the most exasperating man in Rome. His conceit and superior attitude, no matter how well deserved, do nothing to endear him to me; neither does his propensity for telling only half the truth, even when his purpose may be honourable. Cicero gives me a headache.

  Gelina sipped her wine. 'When this matter arose and I asked myself on whom I could call — someone trustworthy and discreet, someone from beyond the Cup, a man who would be dogged in pursuit of the truth and unafraid — brave as an eagle, as Cicero said…'

  'And stubborn as a mule.'

  'And clever. Above all, clever…' Gelina sighed and looked out at the water. She seemed to be gathering strength. 'You have seen the body of my husband?'

  'Yes.'

  'He was murdered.' 'Yes.'

  'Brutally murdered. It happened five days ago, on the Nones of September — although his body was not discovered until the next morning…' Her serenity suddenly departed; her voice quavered and she looked away.

  Mummius moved closer to her and took her hand. 'Strength,' he whispered to her. Gelina nodded and caught her breath. She gripped his hand tightly, then released him.

  'If I am to help you,' I said quietly, 'I must know everything.'

  For a long moment Gelina studied the view. When she looked back at me, her face had recomposed itself, as if she were able to absorb the serene detachment of the panorama by gazing upon it. Her voice was steady and calm as she continued.,
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  'He was discovered, as I said, early the next morning.' 'Discovered where? By whom?'

  'In the front atrium, not far from where his body lies at this moment. It was one of the slaves who found him — Meto, the little boy who carries messages and wakes the other slaves to begin their morning duties. It was still dark; not a cock had crowed, the boy said, and the whole world seemed as still as death.'

  'What was the exact disposition of the body? Perhaps we should summon this Meto-'

  'No, I can tell you myself. Meto came to fetch me right away, and nothing was touched before I arrived. Lucius lay on his back, his eyes still open.'

  'Flat on his back?'

  'Yes.'

  'And his arms and legs, were they crumpled about his body? Was he clutching his head?'

  'No. His legs were straight, and his arms were above his head.'

  'Like Atlas, holding up the world?'

  'I suppose.'

  'And the weapon that was used to kill him, was it nearby?' 'It was never found.'

  'No? Surely there was a stone with blood on it, or a piece of metal. If not in the house, then perhaps in the courtyard.'

  'No. But there was a piece of cloth.' She shuddered. Mummius sat up in his chair; this was apparently a detail that was new to him.

  'Cloth?' I said.

  'A man's cloak, soaked with blood. It was found only yesterday, not in the courtyard, but about half a mile up the road that heads northwards, toward Cumae and Puteoli. One of the slaves going to market happened to see it among the brush and brought it to me.'

  'Was it your husband's cloak?'

  Gelina frowned. 'I don't know. It's hard to tell what it must have looked like; you would hardly know it was a cloak at all without examining it — all rumpled and stiff with blood, you understand?' She took a deep breath. 'It's simple wool, dyed a dark brown, almost black. It might have belonged to Lucius; he owned many cloaks. It could be anyone's.'

  'Surely not. Was it the cloak of a rich man, or a slave? Was it new or old, well made or tawdry?'

  Gelina shrugged. 'I can't say.'

  'I'll need to see it.'

  'Of course. Ask Meto, later; I couldn't bear to look at it now.'

  'I understand. But tell me this: was there much blood on the floor, beneath the wound? Or was there little blood?'

  'I think — only a little. Yes, I remember wondering how such a terrible wound could have bled so little.'

  'Then perhaps we can assume that the blood on this cloak came from Lucius Licinius. What else can you tell me?'

  Gelina paused for a long moment. I could see she was faced with a disagreeable but unavoidable declaration. 'On the morning that Lucius was found dead, there were two slaves missing from the household. They've been missing ever since. But I cannot believe that either of them could possibly have murdered Lucius.'

  'Who are these slaves?'

  'Their names are Zeno and Alexandros. Zeno is — was — my husband's accountant and secretary. He wrote letters, balanced accounts, managed this and that. He had been with Lucius for almost six years, ever since Crassus began to favour us and our fortunes changed. An educated Greek slave, quiet and soft-spoken, very gende, with a white beard and a frail body. I had always hoped, if we ever had a son, that Zeno could be his first tutor. It is simply not conceivable that he could have murdered Lucius. The idea that he could murder anyone is preposterous.'

  'And the other slave?'

  'A young Thracian called Alexandros. We bought him four months ago at the market in Puteoli, to work in the stables. He has a marvellous way with horses. He could read and do simple sums, as well. Zeno used him sometimes in my husband's library, to add figures or copy letters. Alexandros is very quick to learn, very clever. He never showed any signs of discontent. On the contrary, it seemed to me that he was one of the happiest slaves in the household. I can't believe that he murdered Lucius.'

  'And yet both these slaves disappeared on the night your husband was murdered?'

  'Yes. I can't explain it.'

  Mummius, who until then had been silent, cleared his throat. 'There is more to the story. The most damning evidence of all.' Gelina looked away, then nodded in resignation. She gestured for him to continue. 'On the floor at Lucius's feet, someone used a knife to carve out six letters. They're crude and shallow, hastily done, but you can read them clearly enough.'

  'What do they spell?' I asked.

  'The name of a famous village in Greece,' said Mummius grimly. 'Although someone as clever as you might presume that whoever did the scrawling simply didn't have the time to finish the job.'

  'What village? I don't understand.'

  Mummius dipped his finger into his goblet and wrote the letters in blood-red wine on the marble table, all straight lines and sharp points:

  SPARTA

  'Yes, I see,' I said. 'A village in Greece.' Either that, or a hurried, interrupted homage to the king of runaway slaves, the murderer of Roman slave owners, the escaped Thracian gladiator: Spartacus.

  VI

  'That night no one heard anything, saw anything?' 'No,' said Gelina.

  'And yet, if the name Spartacus was left incomplete, that would seem to indicate that whoever carved it was disturbed and fled; very odd.'

  'Perhaps they simply panicked,' said Mummius.

  'Perhaps. The next morning, what else was discovered missing from the household, besides the two slaves?'

  Gelina thought for a moment, then shook her head. 'Nothing.'

  'Nothing? No coins? No weapons? Knives from the kitchen? I should think that escaping slaves would loot the house for silver and weapons.'

  'Unless, as you say, they were disturbed,' said Mummius. 'What about horses?'

  'Yes,' said Gelina, 'two horses were gone the next morning, but in the confusion no one even noticed until they both came wandering back that afternoon.'

  'Without horses they couldn't have gone far,' I muttered.

  Gelina shook her head. 'You're already assuming what everyone else assumes — that Zeno and Alexandros murdered Lucius and set out to join Spartacus.'

  'What else can I assume? The head of the household is found murdered in the atrium of his home; two slaves are missing, having evidendy escaped on horseback. And one of the slaves is a young Thracian, like Spartacus — so proud of his infamous countryman he's insolently carved the name at his dead master's feet. You hardly need my skills to figure it out for yourself. It's a story that's been repeated all over Italy with many variations in the past months. What do you need me for? As I told Faustus Fabius earlier today, I don't track down escaped slaves. I regret the absurd efforts that were squandered on my coming here, but I cannot imagine what you want from me.'

  'The truth!' said Gelina desperately. 'Cicero said you have a nose for it, like a boar for truffles.'

  'Ah, now I understand why Cicero has treated me so shabbily over the years. I'm a menagerie, not a man!'

  Gelina's eyes flashed. Mummius scowled darkly, and from the corner of my eye I saw Eco give a twitch. Unseen beneath the table I gave his foot a tap with mine to let him know that all was under control; he glanced at me and gave a conspiratorial sigh of relief. I have been through many interviews with wealthy clients, under many circumstances. Even those who most need and sincerely want my help are often maddeningly slow to come to the point. I much prefer conferring with common merchants or simple shopkeepers, men who will say right out what they want from you. The rich seem to think I should surmise their needs without being told. Sometimes abruptness or a feigned bit of rudeness will speed them along.

  'You don't understand,' said Gelina hopelessly.

  'No, I do not. What is it you want from me? Why did you have me brought here so mysteriously, and in such an extravagant manner? What is this strange game, Gelina?'

  The animation left her face. Like a pliable mask, her serenity changed to simple resignation, dulled by a bit too much red wine. 'I've said all I can say. I don't have the strength to explain it all to you. But u
nless someone can uncover the truth-' She stopped short and bit her lip. 'They will all die, every one of them,' she whispered hoarsely. 'The suffering, the waste — I cannot bear it…'

  'What do you mean? Who will die?'

  'The slaves,' said Mummius. 'Every slave in the household.'

  I felt a sudden chill. Eco shuddered, and I saw that he felt it as well, even though the air was mild and calm. 'Explain, Marcus Mummius.'

  He drew himself up stiffly, like a commander briefing his lieutenant. 'You know that Marcus Licinius Crassus is the actual owner of this household?'

  'So I gathered.'

  'Very well. It so happens that on the night of the murder, Crassus and his retinue, including Fabius and myself, had just come down from Rome. We were busy setting up camp on the plain beside Lake Lucrinus, only a few miles up the road, along with our recruits.'

  'Recruits?'

  'Soldiers, many of them veterans who served under Crassus in the civil wars.'

  'How many soldiers?' 'Six hundred.' 'A whole cohort?'

  Mummius looked at me dubiously. 'You might as well know. Certain events are transpiring in Rome; Marcus Crassus has begun to lobby for a special commission from the Senate that will allow him to raise his own army and march against Spartacus.'

  'But that's the job of praetors and consuls, elected officials-'

  'The elected officials have failed, disgracefully. Crassus has the military skill and the financial means to dispose of the rebels once and for all. He came down from Rome to muster recruits and to consolidate his political and financial support here on the Cup. When he's ready, he'll prod the Senate in Rome to vote him the special commission.'

  'Just what the Republic needs,' I said, 'another warlord with his own private army.'

  'Exactly what Rome needs!' said Mummius. 'Or would you rather have slaves marauding across the countryside?'

  'And what does this have to do with the murder of Crassus's cousin, or with my being here?'

  'I'll tell you. On the night that Lucius Licinius was killed, we were camped at Lake Lucrinus. The next morning Crassus assembled his staff and we headed for Baiae. We arrived here at the villa only hours after Lucius had been found dead. Crassus was outraged, naturally. I myself organized teams of men to search for the missing slaves; in my absence the hunt has continued, but the escaped slaves are still missing.' He sighed. 'And now we come to the crux of the problem. The funeral of Lucius Licinius will take place on the seventh day of mourning — that's the day after tomorrow. On the day after that, Crassus has decreed there will be funeral games with gladiators, in keeping with ancient tradition. That will be the Ides of September, the date of the full moon; a propitious date for sacred games.'