I laid my bandaged hand over hers. “Melissa, I promise I will do whatever it takes to protect you and Chryseis. I’ve taken on the responsibility of returning you to Cornutus’ father in Rome. That gives us some time.”
“Thank you, my lord. Is that all you need from me?” She withdrew her hands and assumed the more servile posture, with her hands clasped in her lap.
“Yes. And I thank you for your forthright answers.” I wondered if I dared to ask her if she had tried to kill me and cut Cornutus up by mistake.
“With your permission then, my lord, I will spend the night in Chryseis’ room.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea, since that’s what happened before and Chryseis has been through quite an ordeal tonight.”
* * * *
The next morning I awoke well before sunrise, as is my habit, partly learned from my uncle and partly a family trait, like big ears or red hair. My uncle was always up while it was still dark, dictating replies to letters or doing other official business. Once I remembered where I was, I walked around the house a bit. It appeared to have been enlarged several times, to judge from the way doors had been cut into walls and roofs extended here and there. I was tempted to look in on Chryseis and Melissa but decided not to bother them. They were sure to be sleeping soundly after the exhausting ordeal of the previous night.
Finally I found a spot in the larger garden, behind a bush and a column, where I could sit and reflect. I had been doing that a lot while plodding along in the wagon on this trip. Like the mules pulling the wagon, I was on a long journey, but not entirely sure where it would end. Perhaps I would be happier if, like the mules, I gave no thought to the ultimate destination and simply focused on the trip, the metaphor for my life.
What was I going to do with my life? Would I ever accomplish as much as my uncle did? In addition to his research and writing, he held a number of government posts and undoubtedly would have been rewarded with the consulship if he had lived a few more years. Could I follow in his footsteps? Could I aspire to that honor? Cicero, whom I also try to emulate, had served in the provinces and then achieved the consulship. And Cicero was not from Rome itself, but from a small Italian town, like my family. The aristocratic families of the city itself no longer seem strong enough to provide men who possess the qualities of leadership on which Rome was built. Too many of them are like Marcellus—dissolute, dissipated, interested in nothing but their own advancement. Younger, more vital, parts of the empire must pick up the slack.
In that regard I’m like the provinces, I realized. So much has been thrust on me, so young. I wish my uncle had lived at least another five years. I haven’t had time to consider what direction my life ought to take, as most Roman men do at this stage. Legally we become adults at age seventeen, but social custom allows us several years to continue our education, travel. Or just waste our lives. I’ll have to make some decision about a marriage in the next year or two. That will be difficult because I have no father or older male relatives to negotiate arrangements with another family. I am my own pater familias, far earlier in life than most Roman men.
Cornutus’ approach does have simplicity on its side: buy a woman and compel her to sleep with you. But I could never do that. Chryseis, for example. In spite of how much I want her, the thought of forcing myself on her is repugnant. Besides, in this society she could never be my legitimate wife. I would have to marry someone of my social class, someone with a sizeable fortune.
Once I’ve done that, what am I to do with my life? Make myself richer than I already am? Managing the estates my uncle left me requires much of my time and energy. I’d like to be rid of them, but I have to worry about supporting my mother. The eruption of Vesuvius shook her badly; she’s not fully recovered. She won’t set foot south of Rome. Living in Rome requires money, which must come from my country estates. But I don’t want to get sucked into the whirlpool of meaningless social engagements that make up aristocratic life in Rome—afternoons in the baths, evenings spent exchanging dinner invitations with people you don’t really like, and seasonal moves to whatever resort is currently in fashion, dragging along all the servants and freedmen attached to the family.
My uncle gave me a model of living a meaningful life, a life that adds to the sum total of human knowledge or makes the world better in some way. Government service bores me, but I feel obligated to do it. ‘If sensible men don’t do it,’ my uncle used to say, ‘it will be left to fools and men set on self-advancement.’ But being an advocate for my dependents and their families in their endless petty suits is unspeakably dull. It means insufferable hours in court, trying to out-orate the other side’s advocate.
In my uncle’s notebooks I found his ruminations on this fundamental weakness of the Roman legal system. It relies on an orator’s ability to persuade a jury. And the orator is not trying to persuade the jury alone. He speaks to the crowd standing around listening to the case. The jury often votes on the basis of the crowd’s reaction to one side or the other.
This lesson was brought home to me in one of the first cases I tried. The brother of a client of mine had been murdered. The man we were prosecuting was found practically standing over the body, with a bloody knife in his hand. But he was a client of Crispus Vibius, one of Rome’s finest orators. And Vibius persuaded the jury that his client just wasn’t the kind of person who could have committed that murder. Look at his political record. You all know what a fine young man his son is. How could this man have killed anyone?
In my prosecution of the case I tried to make a few scientific observations—such as when the murder took place, what type of weapon was used—and to ask about the defendant’s motive for committing the crime. Some members of the jury went to sleep during my speech. No one sleeps through one of Regulus’ perorations. I still regret that my ineptness in that case allowed a killer to go free. In a rational legal system, based on scientific observations and not on the advocate’s ability to manipulate the emotions of the crowd, he would have been convicted.
What is exciting about investigating Cornutus’ murder is that unless rational principles are applied, the murderer (or murderers) will never be found. No amount of rhetoric could convince a jury that Marcellus killed Cornutus. Finding out what poison was administered and how it was done could convict him. I also have to find out who cut out Cornutus’ heart and what connection, if any, that ‘murder’ had to the poisoning. And I must do it quickly to protect Chryseis.
The first harsh, cutting rays of the sun slashed over the top of the roof. I averted my sensitive eyes to avoid the pain which bright light often causes them. Others would soon be up and about the day’s business. In fact, I could hear people moving past me in the garden and gathering in a room nearby. It struck me as an odd time for a group of people to be assembling in someone’s house. Through the shrubbery which concealed me I glimpsed several of them, a little knot of five.
One of them was my own slave, Damon! Another was Tiberius Saturninus. I recognized that bald pate shining out through his thin, dark hair. What on earth was going on? How dare Damon sneak away to some sort of clandestine gathering? And why was Saturninus talking to him as though they were equals?
Roman law forbids unlicensed gatherings because they might hatch a criminal plot. I was obligated to find out whatever I could and report it. The shrubbery in the garden allowed me to move under cover until I was almost outside the room where they had gathered. The door had been left open. They were singing something in Greek, and I crouched down to listen. The group had divided themselves, as the chorus in a play will sometimes do, to sing antiphonally. The men sang one line, the women the next. The song was something about Jesus the Christ, the son of God.
I had stumbled onto a nest of Christians! And my own Damon was one of them!
A deep breath calmed me and I willed myself to act like a Roman. I needed to keep myself under control so I could gather accurate information for the governor.
After the song concluded, some
one began to read, in a nice, clear voice, from what he called the songs of someone named David. The piece contained some bucolic imagery. David compared his god to a shepherd leading his flock into green pastures and beside still waters. Then it abruptly shifted metaphors. The god seemed to be anointing the singer and preparing a table for him. I had difficulty seeing the connection between the two parts. The same speaker then addressed a prayer to the god, with the others joining in at certain points.
After a moment of silence another man began to speak, but, with his softer voice, I couldn’t hear him as clearly as I had the first man. As he warmed to his theme and increased his volume a bit, I began to pick up more of what he said. It was something about a table.
Then it struck me—the speaker was Luke.
I strained to catch every word. Luke, a Christian! But, of course. When we were examining Cornutus’ body and I said something about their rituals, he defended them and admitted he knew some of them. Knew them! That was putting it mildly. He must be a leader in the conspiracy. But what was its objective? What about the letters Luke was carrying? Who was this man Paul? Was there some revolution brewing? I shifted as close to the door as I dared.
“And now,” I heard Luke say, “as we prepare to gather around this table, let us recall the words of our Lord Jesus, when he said, ‘This is my body, take it and eat. This is my blood, take it and drink. Do this in remembrance of me.’”
By the gods! I was trapped in a den of cannibals! Whose body were they eating? Whose blood were they drinking? If they found me out here, it was likely to be mine.
I broke into a nervous sweat as I backed away from the door. This is how Odysseus must have felt when he watched the Cyclops wolf down a couple of his crew members for dinner. I made for the passageway which opened off the other side of this garden and led into the rearmost garden. Tacitus’ room was down that way. Was he still alive, I wondered?
His slow response to my knock on the door did nothing to ease my mind.
“What’s the matter?” he asked groggily, scratching his head and leaning against the door.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” I said in a hissing whisper. “At once.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” He had to lean his head back to look at me through eyes which wouldn’t open more than halfway.
I shouldered my way past him into the room. Some things I could not say while standing in the open. He had apparently spent the night alone, an unusual event for him, but I was too upset to tease him about it.
“These people are Christians. I’ve just overheard one of their meetings.”
“Why are you so upset?”
“Because the rumors we’ve heard are true. They are cannibals. And Luke is one of them. So is Damon. And Tiberius Saturninus.”
“By the gods! You can’t mean it!” Now he was awake.
“I’m telling you what I saw and heard. We’ve got to get Chryseis and Melissa and get out of here at once.”
“Yes, of course.” Tacitus slipped on his sandals. “Let’s go!”
Fortunately there was no one outside when we stepped out of his room. I pictured the entire household in that room off the main garden with gore smeared all over their mouths, and I shuddered. Chryseis’ room was at the very rear of the house, close to a service entrance that was used only during the day. Melissa had asked for a room there so it would be quiet.
There was no answer when I knocked. That frightened me. I knocked louder and called as loudly as I dared, “Melissa! Chryseis!”
Still no answer. Tacitus and I looked at each other with a sense of foreboding. I opened the door. The room was empty.
XI
“YOU DO HAVE TROUBLE keeping track of this girl,” Tacitus said as we stared into the empty room in amazement.
I turned on him as I never had in the month that I’d known him. “This is no time for jokes! I’m sure the Christians have her. There’s no telling what unspeakable things they’ve done to her. Damn Luke! Damn all of them!”
“Now, calm down,” Tacitus said, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. “You’re making a very big leap there. I thought you like to approach problems rationally.”
“But this isn’t just an intellectual problem.” This was a matter of protecting this beautiful, innocent girl. And those horrible words were still ringing in my ears: ‘My body . . . eat; my blood . . . drink.’ This wasn’t a time for cogitation; it was a time for panic.
Tacitus pressed me against the wall, his hand on my chest, as one might try to get the attention of an unruly child or an obstreperous slave. “First, Pliny, consider this. Have you seen any evidence that Luke is anything but a pleasant old gentleman and a knowledgeable doctor? Do you really think he could hide such a monstrous character under that unassuming facade?”
That slowed me down. I realized I was rushing out of control, like a wagon careening down a mountainside. I needed a steady hand on the drag. “You’re right. It hardly seems likely. The evil in a man is always going to ooze out at the edges, no matter how he tries to bottle it up. Like Marcellus. By the gods, yes! Marcellus must have her.”
Tacitus threw his hands up in disgust. “There you go with Marcellus again! Before you convict and execute the man, consider this. Has Chryseis ever run away before?”
The drag took hold. “Yes, of course she has.”
“And the last time she did, you examined her room carefully. Why not do that now?”
We quickly searched the sparsely furnished room, but found no trace of any of Chryseis’ possessions. Or of anything that might have belonged to Melissa. Melissa was carrying a bag when we walked over here last night. That I distinctly remembered now, though I thought nothing of it at the time. “She said there were some things she would need to tend to Chryseis, didn’t she? She must have been planning this all along.”
Tacitus nodded in agreement. “If anyone took these women to do harm to them, they would not likely have tidied up the room this way, as you pointed out to me when Chryseis disappeared the first time. I don’t think these beds have even been slept in.”
So he was capable of learning! “Exactly. If anyone had tried to harm Chryseis or take her away, there would be evidence of a struggle, probably even Melissa’s dead body on the floor. So let’s work on the more logical assumption that she has run away again.”
“But why would Melissa have run away with her?”
“For two reasons. She’s a proud woman who resents her enslavement, and she’s determined to do anything necessary to protect Chryseis. Even lie to me to put me off-guard. But I’m glad she did run away. It means Chryseis will be safer, and two people are easier to track than one.”
“Then we ought to start looking for them at once,” Tacitus said. “They obviously left during the night and have had time to put some distance behind them or find a safe place to hide. Let’s alert Kallisto and her son and get the search started.”
I grabbed the front of his tunic as he turned away. “Wait! How are we supposed to act around these people, now that we know they’re Christians?”
“They don’t know that we know, so just act like you did yesterday, starting now.” He nodded his head to his left. I followed the gesture over my shoulder to see Kallisto coming across the garden, accompanied by a slave girl carrying a tray with bread, cheese, and water on it.
“Good morning, my friends,” she said. “I brought a little something to eat for the women. There’s more in the dining room, if you’re inclined to eat in the mornings.”
“I’m afraid you’re too late for that,” I said. “It appears they’ve run away.” I watched her face closely to gauge her reaction. Her surprise appeared genuine. A simple soul such as herself hardly seemed capable of dissimulation.
“Run away? Why would they do that?” She motioned for the slave to set her tray on a three-legged table by the door of a neighboring room. The girl peered over her mistress’ shoulder as Kallisto glanced into the room. A hint of suspicion crossed her eyes. Did she thi
nk we had done something with them?
“We don’t know what happened to them,” I said. “But, as you can see, the room is empty.”
“But where could they have gone?” Kallisto asked.
“The first thing I want to do is determine if they really are gone,” I said. “I’d like permission to search your house, to see if they’re hiding somewhere else in it.” Or if you and your cannibalistic friends have their remains hidden somewhere, I was thinking.
That permission was quickly given, and Tacitus and I spent over an hour going through the house. Luke joined us, though I wished he hadn’t. His presence unnerved me, and I didn’t want him to misdirect us if he was somehow involved in the disappearance of the two women. But he let us search everywhere without any sort of objection.
Our search turned up nothing and finally brought us back to the room which Melissa and Chryseis had shared.
“If they’re not here,” I said, “they most likely left through this door.”
Tacitus opened the rear door, just outside Chryseis’ room, which let out onto a narrow street, hardly more than an alley, running between two blocks of houses. It was for the convenience of tradesmen and service people, such as those who emptied the latrines in the houses of the wealthy. On the outside of the door we found painted a pentagram, the sign of Hecate. The sign on the witches’ wagon and in Artemis’ temple. Kallisto’s slavegirl squealed in fright. I felt like joining her.
“Heaven help us,” Luke muttered. “They’re in the hands of that witch.”
As unsettling as that news was, I was relieved on two counts—the Christians hadn’t eaten her and Marcellus hadn’t kidnapped her.
“Did they leave of their own volition, I wonder?” Tacitus said.
“They must have,” I replied. “The door locks from the inside, and it hasn’t been forced open, so the women had to open it. They wouldn’t have opened it for anyone they didn’t trust.”
All Roads Lead to Murder Page 16