“We’ve not had much opportunity to talk on this trip,” I said to the big German as the three of us found a table in the corner. “I don’t know much about you.”
“What do you want to know?” His question was more of a challenge.
The question stumped me for a moment. I actually didn’t know what I was hoping to learn from talking with him. I just wanted to open a box and rummage around inside until I found something interesting.
“Did you kill Lucius Cornutus?” Tacitus inquired.
Marcus Carolus laughed; I was relieved to know that he could. “The famous Roman wit,” he said. “Before this trip I never met Cornutus. In recent days we spoke only briefly.”
“And yet you were very solicitous about one of his slaves,” I said.
“Her mother was German. She spoke to me during one of our rest stops one day. She’s such a sweet girl. She asked Cornutus if she could ride in my wagon so I could tell her about Germany. He agreed once but changed his mind the next time she asked.” He leaned back to allow a serving girl room to put bowls of some sort of stew and cups of wine before us.
“Where are you from?” I asked. “How did you come into Roman territory?” And why did you concoct that ridiculous name for yourself? I wanted to ask.
“My family lived north of your Colonia Agrippina, on the lower part of the Rhine. My father traded with the Romans in a small way, and I built up that business. Eventually I moved to Rome itself. For fifteen years now I have been traveling the empire, trading mostly in herbs and spices.”
“You’re also carrying cloth from India, aren’t you?” Tacitus asked.
“Silk, yes. It comes originally from even farther east, from China.”
“It must bring a handsome profit,” I said.
“As handsome as Adonis. I plan to sell my business after this trip and return to Germany.”
“Haven’t you fallen under the city’s sway?” I asked. Most people who live in Rome, even for a short time, find it too exciting and alluring a place to leave. For all of us ‘The City’ means only Rome.
“No,” Marcus Carolus snorted. “I have endured that stinking sewer of humanity for far too long. Now I have done what I set out to do and I’m a rich man, so I am going home.”
Our conversation was cut short as Marcellus swept in with several slaves in his wake. Roman aristocrats don’t venture into the streets without a throng of their dependents to clear the sidewalks. Lacking dependents of free status on this trip, Marcellus was making do with his slaves. Like many aristocrats, he dressed his servants better than most free men could afford to dress themselves, as a mark of his own wealth.
“Pliny, there you are,” Marcellus said, in the tone of voice that Roman aristocrats use when addressing a servant or a shopkeeper.
“What can I do for you, Marcellus?” I said, standing at my table.
“We need to notify Cornutus’ father of his death,” Marcellus said, drawing his toga around him in his best formal stance. “Since you’ve assumed control of this matter, it seems, have you thought of that?”
“I haven’t yet taken care of it,” I said, mainly because it hadn’t even occurred to me until he mentioned it. I’d been so single-mindedly focused on the murder.
“I’ve learned there is a boat sailing for Rome tomorrow,” Marcellus said smugly. “That is, if you’ll allow it to leave. We can send word then, under your seal, I suppose. It’s most unfortunate that we have to deliver such shocking news to a man already in failing health.”
“Thank you for reminding me of this,” I said, as though we had finished our business.
Marcellus didn’t take the hint. “I also want to send a letter to Regulus, reporting on the outcome of the business I’ve been conducting for him. Do I need your permission?”
“Are you planning to send the letter by the ship’s captain?”
“Certainly not. I’ll have one of my slaves carry it. He could also carry your letter to Cornutus’ father.”
He was offering me a direct challenge. I didn’t want anyone to leave Smyrna, but it was essential to notify Cornutus’ father. If I didn’t take advantage of this boat’s sailing, it could be days before another left for Rome. The old man might be dead by then. If I refused to let one of Marcellus’ slaves leave, it would be an accusation of Marcellus. But what if one of his slaves had killed Cornutus, or helped Marcellus do it? I could be letting the culprit, or an important witness, go scot free.
“I can’t let anyone leave who hasn’t been interrogated,” I finally said. “Send me the slave you intend to dispatch to Rome, and I’ll talk with him.”
“That will have to do, I suppose,” Marcellus said, turning away. “I’ll send the fellow down shortly.”
“Before you go, Marcellus, I’d like to ask you a few more questions about Chryseis’ fall on the stairs. You said she ran into you—”
“By the gods, man! Why are you making such a fuss over that girl? She’s clumsy as a new-born colt. Everyone knows that. We all saw her stumble at lunch yesterday and drench Cornutus with the wine. Those stairs are narrow and dark. Anyone not familiar with them could easily miss a step. I barely managed to keep my own balance after she barreled into me.”
“Was there anyone with you? One of your slaves?”
“I have no more patience with your badgering. If you’re accusing me of any crime, come right out and say so.”
I ran my hand over the edge of the table. Nothing I had uncovered so far would convict Marcellus of anything. He had dinner with Cornutus and was one of the last two people to see him alive. He’d been on the stairs when Chryseis fell. He could be guilty of nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“I have a letter to write,” Marcellus finally said in disgust and led his servile entourage out of the room.
* * * *
Carolus thanked us for lunch—though I hadn’t realized I was paying—and left. As I forced myself to swallow a few bites of the stew, one of the members of our caravan approached the table. He clearly intended to speak to me, and I had to think for a moment to get all the syllables of his name in the right order. It was Orophernes, one of the two-man delegation from somewhere east of Antioch.
“My lord, pardon the intrusion during your meal.”
“It’s quite all right,” I said amicably, though I did not attempt to pronounce his name or offer him a seat.
“We were wondering, Rhascuporis and I, if you know how long we’re going to be delayed here. You see . . . well, our financial resources are somewhat limited. We hadn’t counted on a long stay in an inn.”
“I’m afraid I can’t say with any certainty. It will be six or seven days at least. Beyond that, it all depends on how quickly we can find Cornutus’ killer.”
“Oh, my! As long as that?” He appeared to be doing calculations in his head.
“You might shorten the time if you could tell us anything that would help us find the killer.”
His eyes widened, as though he thought I was accusing him. “My lord, I know nothing of this matter.”
“Have you observed any animosity between Cornutus and other members of our caravan?”
“No, my lord.” The poor fellow was fairly quaking. “Rhascuporis and I had little contact with Cornutus. He was such a brusque man, I don’t think anyone in our troupe had any love for him. But I saw no open hostility.”
“Did you notice anything unusual at dinner last night? Did anyone—of our people or of the locals in the inn—have a run-in with Cornutus, or seem abnormally interested in his activities?”
“Early in the evening, before Marcellus joined him, he was gambling with Saturninus and a few local men. Cornutus won most of the money, it appeared. The other men weren’t happy about that. But I saw nothing out of the ordinary, my lord. Nothing at all.”
“Do you know their names?”
“No, my lord. But Androcles might. Or Tiberius Saturninus over there.” He pointed across the dining room to where Saturnin
us sat hunched over a bowl of the same stew we were eating.
“All right. If you or your friend should recall anything, please let me know at once. Any little bit of information could be helpful.”
“Yes, we will, my lord. Thank you.” He made a sweeping bow in the eastern fashion, with one arm folded across his chest and his knees bent, as though I were some sort of monarch. “If I may be so bold, my lord, may I ask whether there would be any financial remuneration for such information? I know it’s the custom in Rome to reward people who provide such a service.”
“Informers, you mean. Or spies.”
“Oh, sir, such indelicate terms.” He turned his head away as though I had waved something offensive under his nose.
“But such accurate ones. Yes, I will see to it that your service is gainful.”
“Thank you, my lord.” He backed away from the table, bowing and sweeping as he went.
“So, you’ve just hired your first spy,” Tacitus said. “Or is he your first?”
“Yes, he is. And I have very mixed feelings about doing it. In order to fight Marcellus, do I have to become like Marcellus?”
“Our army couldn’t adapt to fighting the Germans, and look what happened to Varus and his legions. Wiped out to the last man. If Marcellus is as dangerous and devious as you claim, you’ll need all the help you can muster.”
I shook my head. “I doubt this fellow’s going to find out anything really useful, but he seems to need the money. Who knows? He may glean one key piece of information. At the least, he’ll be a pair of eyes in places where we aren’t.”
We had barely resumed our meal when Luke and the man traveling with him came into the dining room. Luke approached our table. The other man hung back.
“Doctor,” I said eagerly, “how is Chryseis?”
“She’s still asleep. I can find no sign of internal bleeding, no discoloration or puffiness. The young are more flexible. They usually survive something like this much better than someone my age. Your slave is guarding the door faithfully. I’ll check on her later.” He hesitated.
“Is there something else?” I asked.
“I thought I should tell you that she has a mark on her left buttock, a brand.”
“Yes, she told us. A ram’s horn.”
Luke nodded. “I found it peculiar and didn’t know what to make of it.”
“How large is it?” Tacitus asked. I wasn’t sure whether he was asking about the brand or her buttock.
“Slightly smaller than my thumb,” Luke replied, holding up his right hand with that digit extended, “but quite distinct. I’ve never seen a slave marked in such fashion.”
“Unfortunately,” I said, “Cornutus is the only one who could explain what he intended by it. Are you gentlemen ready for some lunch?” I wanted to change the subject. There were too many ears around and we were conversing in Greek.
“We’re on our way to the house of Apelles,” Luke said, “to pay our respects to his family and to extend condolences on behalf of friends from Ephesus. This is my friend, Timothy.” He beckoned for the other man to step up beside him. Timothy did so reluctantly and acknowledged Luke’s introductions of Tacitus and me. He was a tall, slender man, with a slightly nervous air about him, like a man who knows it’s just a matter of time before he’s called to account for something he’s done.
“When is the funeral?” I asked.
“Tomorrow morning,” Timothy said.
“I suppose we ought to attend,” I said, “as representatives of Rome. The man was a magistrate of one of our provincial cities.” Tacitus nodded without enthusiasm. Standing through a funeral eulogy is bad enough if you know the deceased and if the eulogy is being given by a competent orator. A stranger’s eulogy delivered by some provincial youngster was not an enticing prospect.
“I’m sure the family would be honored,” Timothy said somewhat sourly.
He and Luke turned to leave but were stopped by the sound of a dish crashing to the floor on the other side of the dining room. A man’s voice bellowed, “It’s swill! Your own pigs wouldn’t eat it.”
We turned to see Tiberius Saturninus getting up from a corner table. A serving girl was scooping up his bowl and the remains of his meal.
“I’ll get Androcles,” the girl said.
“Don’t bother,” Saturninus said with a scowl.
“It’s no bother,” Androcles said, hustling up to block Saturninus’ exit from the dining room. “What is a nuisance is your constant complaints about our food and service.”
“I have every right to complain. This is one of the filthiest inns I’ve ever stayed in, and this lunch today was rotten. Literally rotten.”
“That didn’t stop you from eating over half of it.” Androcles stood chest-to-chest with Saturninus.
“It took me that long to dig under all the sauce and find out how bad the meat really was.” He tried to step around Androcles, but the little innkeeper sidled along with him.
“You have not yet paid so much as a sestertius on your bill, sir. Everyone else in your party has paid something.”
“I can’t tend to that right now,” Saturninus said. “That meal is making me sick.” His cheeks swelled up like a man about to vomit, and he pushed Androcles aside and ran out of the dining room.
“You’ll find the full charge for this meal on your bill!” Androcles yelled after him. “And I want something paid on the account by tonight.”
Then he noticed us watching the little drama. “You see, gentlemen, what an honest businessman has to endure. Deadbeats like that take advantage of us, smash up our crockery. I’ve a good mind to turn him out on the street this very day.”
Luke reached into his purse and took out three coins, tetradrachmas from what I could see as he slipped them into Androcles’ dirty hand. “That should cover his expenses for a few days at least.”
Androcles’ hand quickly snapped shut around the coins, like a trap on an animal’s foot, and he bowed slightly. “Thank you kindly, sir. That’s most generous.”
“Not at all,” Luke said. “I’m sure Saturninus will pay me back.”
“Hah!” Androcles snorted. “He’s borrowed money from almost everybody who comes in here. He acts like a beggar on the street, with his hand always out. Then he gambles every bit of it away.”
Timothy and Luke exchanged a look and Timothy rolled his eyes upward.
V
BEFORE EVERYONE SETTLED DOWN for the midday rest I called all of Cornutus’ slaves together in the small dining room. Besides Chryseis, the group consisted of five men and two women. I told them they were not to leave the inn under any circumstances. I would take them under my protection and wouldn’t allow anything to happen to them.
In return they would have to accept my authority for the time being. They agreed and seemed relieved to have someone in control again. I don’t believe, like Aristotle, that some people are servile by nature, but I have observed that people who’ve been slaves for a long time are uncomfortable when they don’t know who’s responsible for them. Some of the slaves whom my uncle freed to celebrate his fiftieth birthday were reluctant to accept the gift. Like many emancipated slaves, they remained in their former master’s household as freedmen, doing the same tasks.
Dismissing the rest of the slaves, I asked the big-eared fellow and Melissa, Cornutus’ favorite bedmate, to remain behind. The woman seemed to regard me with a hint of hatred or contempt in her eye. I knew no cause for her to have such feelings about me. Big-ears was named Phrixus. Tacitus didn’t have any papyrus handy, but our two memories together would suffice, I thought. Tacitus sat at the table while I stood beside it.
“You helped Marcellus carry Cornutus upstairs last night, didn’t you?” I asked Phrixus.
“Yes, my lord. It’s my responsibility as my master’s personal attendant.” He appeared very nervous. I hoped that would make him more talkative. I paced back and forth in front of him, stopping now and then and fixing him with a hard stare. My uncle o
ften used that tactic to unnerve a slave or soldier who was being dressed down.
“How was he feeling when you put him to bed?”
Phrixus looked at the floor and rubbed his hands together anxiously. “I was worried, my lord. I had never seen my master so completely drunk. He’s a large man and holds his wine pretty well. Last night he was having trouble moving his legs and couldn’t talk clearly.”
“He was trying to talk? Could you make out any of it?”
“He said something about being cold.”
“In this weather?”
“I thought it odd, too, my lord. I wanted to stay with him, but Marcellus said he would be all right. The wine they’d been drinking—the stuff Marcellus brought—was particularly strong, he said. Let him sleep and he would be fine in the morning.”
This bit of information raised my eyebrows. “They were drinking wine that Marcellus brought with him?”
“They drank the inn’s wine for a while, my lord, but then Marcellus sent one of his servants to get a special wineskin from his own stores. He said he wanted to toast his new friend with an especially fine vintage.”
“A wineskin, you say? Not an amphora?”
“That’s right, my lord. A wineskin with Marcellus’ seal on it. He said he sealed it up to keep his slaves from getting into it.”
“Now think carefully, Phrixus. What did Marcellus do when he got this wineskin?”
The man looked at me quizzically, unable to see where my line of questioning was leading. “Just what you’d expect, my lord. He broke the seal, poured some for himself and my master, and they drank.”
“You’re certain that they both drank?” That wasn’t what I’d expected to hear. If Marcellus poisoned Cornutus with the wine, how could he have drunk it himself? “How much?”
“My master drank two cups, Marcellus only one, I believe.”
All Roads Lead to Murder Page 7