I could feel Melissa melting beside me. I wished I could get her into a chair before she collapsed, but a slave dared not sit before a magistrate.
“Excellency,” Melissa said weakly, “I will tell you all I know about that night. All of Cornutus’ slaves were locked up when he went to bed. We were not let out until the next morning, long after he was dead. By all that is holy, that is all I know or can tell.”
“The whip can freshen a memory,” Marcellus snarled.
I dreaded that prospect. What if Melissa admitted under torture that she had been able to get out of the window? It was an irrelevant piece of information, but just the sort of thing Marcellus would be looking for.
Florus nodded. “I think we must follow the law here. The law has always been the foundation of Rome’s greatness.” He gestured to one of the soldiers, who gave an order in Latin to the others. Two of them grabbed Melissa, who was clinging to me in terror. They dragged her to a spot where a hook jutted from the wall. A utensil of some sort normally hung there, I would guess. They tied Melissa’s hands in front of her, then raised her arms so the rope on her hands caught on the hook. She was left standing on tiptoe. One soldier gripped her gown at the neck and tore it all the way down. Her bare back and shoulders lay open. The crowd fell silent, almost holding their breath as one person.
One of the huskiest of the soldiers stepped into the center of the room and uncoiled a horse whip. When he snapped it once for practice, I felt as though it had been laid across my own back. As he drew his arm back to begin the flagellation I lunged at him and grabbed his wrist. He grunted with surprise as the force of his blow was thwarted.
“What are you doing?” Florus yelled at me.
I refused to be shaken off the man’s arm, gripping him like a rutting dog. “Excellency! Why must we do this? Melissa has told us everything she knows. Hasn’t she suffered enough? Those thugs raped her yesterday. How much more must we subject her to in the name of Roman justice?” I almost spat out the last two words.
It was Marcellus, not Florus, who replied. “Do you have one shred of evidence to support this story, other than this slave’s own word?”
I actually managed to wrestle the whip out of the soldier’s hand. Some sort of demonic ferocity seemed to have possessed me. Ignoring Marcellus, I faced Florus. “Can we not show Rome’s mercy, excellency?”
When he spoke I almost thought Marcellus was playing one of those tricks priests use to make an image of a god appear to speak. His voice was low. His lips didn’t quite seem to be moving in rhythm to the words I was hearing. “The law must be obeyed. That is my responsibility as governor of this province. If I can ignore this law, what other law could another governor abrogate? Before long we would have government by personal whim, followed by utter chaos. It’s time to put aside your personal feelings, Gaius Pliny. Cease your interference with this judicial process or I will arrest you.”
A second soldier had come up behind me. He jerked the whip from my hand and tossed it back to the man appointed to do the flogging. The soldier who had snatched it from me shoved me back into the crowd.
I couldn’t get out of the place before the lash whistled through the air and cut across Melissa’s back. Her scream followed me like a Fury as I ran away from the inn. Luke, who stayed so he could care for her, later told me that was the only sound she made during the entire ordeal.
* * * *
Not knowing or caring where I was going, I walked the streets of Smyrna for a while. I was disgusted with myself for bringing Melissa back and with Rome’s legal system for inflicting this on her. The ‘judicial process’ seemed to be just another form of the brutality I witnessed yesterday in the stadium. What purpose was served by crucifying those men? Or by flogging Melissa?
There ought to be some rational way to get at the truth rather than subjecting people to inhuman punishments, even death. Rome’s system relies on bullying the lower classes who can’t protect themselves while the upper classes talk one another to death in speeches that have more to do with the supposed character of the people in the case than with the facts. Why doesn’t anyone look at what has happened in any scientific way? Men like Florus brag about their interest in science, but they look only at trivial things that have no impact on people’s lives. They’re like Socrates in Aristophanes’ play The Clouds, measuring how far a flea can jump but having no idea how to answer a question such as, Who killed this man?
I came out from between two buildings and found myself looking over the city’s Inner Harbor, a kind of bulge in the coastline around which Smyrna is built. Only a handful of ships lay at anchor there. It was still early in the sailing season, when the threat of storms wasn’t entirely past. I may hate being on the water, but I find that standing beside it, when it’s calm and glistening under the sun, restores a sense of well-being in me, even with my sensitive eyes. My uncle’s house—now my house—at Laurentum had afforded me that serenity since I was a child. I often sat on the rocks at the edge of the terrace and found answers to my problems in what Homer so aptly called the ‘wine-dark sea’. Looking into the water for long produces a kind of intoxication, an easing of tensions.
Today, as I sat down and began to idly toss pebbles into Smyrna’s waters, I wondered if they could offer a resolution to my dilemma. Was there any way to see that justice is done in spite of the justice system? Shouldn’t something be done for those, like Melissa, who are denied all rights under our law, and not because of anything they have done?
Romans pride themselves on handling their legal matters in the public eye, but might they sometimes be better handled out of the public eye? In the private eye, one might say, if there were such a phrase in the Latin language. The wealthy in Rome have long supported lower-class people, whom we call clients. The word literally means someone who leans on you for support. We often take on as clients those who we think might eventually add to our own prestige or offer us some benefit. I inherited a pack of clients from my uncle and would pass them on to my son someday, if the fates allowed me that privilege.
But now I resolved to take on a different kind of client, ones who needed to rely on me because they had nowhere else to turn. Melissa and Chryseis would be the first. No longer would I assist Florus or expect help from him. In a sense I would be working apart from the government, against it if that became necessary.
“I figured you’d eventually end up by the water,” Tacitus said behind me. “It’s over. Florus finally stopped it.”
I didn’t look up. I was angry at him because he could stand to watch but thankful he had brought me the news. “Do you know how she’s doing?”
“She’s alive. Barely. Luke’s taking care of her.” He sat down next to me, squinting into the glare off the water.
“If she dies, I will hold Marcellus and Florus personally responsible,” I said. “I swear it.”
He looked at me as though I had cursed the emperor’s guardian spirit. “You can’t talk like that. Florus was just doing what the law requires, and Marcellus was reminding him of his duty.”
“How does flogging an innocent woman help us to find out who killed Cornutus?”
“What makes you so sure she’s innocent?” He flicked a rock into the water. “She resents being a slave. She wants Chryseis to be free. It seems to me she had some reason to kill Cornutus. And ample reason to kill you—the son of the man who sacked her village—if she thought you were in that room. And we know she wasn’t actually locked up all night.”
Shading my eyes with my hand, I looked over the bay toward the west and the open sea. I hated to admit it, but Tacitus was raising questions about Melissa that I couldn’t entirely dismiss. Just as this bay led to the boundless sea, those questions might lead to totally unexpected conclusions.
“You’re right,” I said. “Something about her story does bother me. Marcellus—damn his eyes—raised what might be a legitimate question: the only information we have about the attack by the three unknown men is Melissa’s word.
”
“What if she’s making up the whole story to throw us off the trail, to delay us while Chryseis gets farther away? You said that her hands were loosely tied. She could have done that herself. She might even have killed the dog.”
“No, actually, that dead dog is the best witness on Melissa’s behalf.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The monster had blood on his teeth. He had bitten somebody, pretty viciously. And Melissa had no bite marks on her hands or arms. There was somebody else in the basement of that temple. Someone who fought with that dog and killed it.”
“Chryseis was there. How do you know she doesn’t have bite marks on her?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Can you seriously suggest that she could have fought and killed the dog? I believe Melissa’s story about the three men is true.”
“That means somebody has now stolen Chryseis from whoever stole her in the first place.” Tacitus started enumerating points on his fingers. “It’s getting very complicated, like keeping track of all the imperial marriages, divorces, and remarriages. And why is a slave girl —granting her extraordinary beauty—of such interest to everyone?”
“I think somebody besides us strongly suspects she’s Cornutus’ daughter. And whoever killed Cornutus—and it’s the poisoning I’m talking about—seems to want Chryseis out of the way, too. That suggests some kind of legacy-hunting s cheme.”
“And that leads you to Regulus, I know,” Tacitus said tiredly, “the source of all the crime and evil in Rome.”
“I wouldn’t give him that much credit. But this sort of thing is his specialty. And that leads us back to the two men here with any connection to Regulus, namely Marcellus and Saturninus.”
“And you have not a shred of proof against either of them, may I point out.”
I got to my feet. “Nor will I find any sitting here.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“I’m going to see if I can talk to Melissa. Meanwhile, could you see if you can find out where I might locate a couple of gamblers?” I described the men who had threatened Saturninus over the crooked dice. “I pity him if he’s fallen into their clutches, but at least he won’t be hunting for Chryseis if they have him.”
* * * *
By the time I returned to the inn it was about the fifth hour of the day, as nearly as I could judge. Having made a commitment to myself to do whatever I could, with my resources or my intellect, to protect those who were at the mercy of our laws, I felt a sense of renewal. I glanced into the dining room to see if I could play any further role in the proceedings, but the room had been returned to its original function. A few people were already drifting in for an early lunch. They all cast wary glances at the hook where Melissa had been strung up. I thought I could detect a few streaks of blood on the wall. Androcles had probably left them—or daubed them there himself—as a lure to draw customers.
I was crossing the main room of the inn, on my way to the stairs, when Luke hailed me.
“Gaius Pliny,” he called. “I’ve been looking for you. I’ve gotten permission to care for Melissa. Would you like to accompany me?”
I followed him to the same room in the brothel section of the inn where Chryseis had been placed. Now two sturdy Roman soldiers stood guard in front of the door. Luke showed one of them a piece of papyrus with a seal stamped on it, and they stepped aside and allowed us to enter.
“Florus won’t allow anyone in here without permission,” Luke said, as he pulled some vials and other tools of his trade out of his bag. “He’s determined she won’t disappear again. I don’t know where he thinks she could go in this condition. She couldn’t walk across this room right now.”
I finally got up the courage to look at Melissa. She lay on a bed on her stomach, nude. She turned her head to acknowledge our entrance. Even in the dim light from two small lamps I could see that her back was a mass of bloody welts. She would be scarred for life. I was amazed again at her strength. Slaves have been known to tell the most outrageous lies to escape torture when they didn’t know anything. Melissa could have saved herself a beating and disfigurement by telling Florus something. Anything. But she didn’t. Rome’s whole system of justice seemed to be based on faulty premises. Can you hope to reach the right answer when you’re asking the wrong questions?
I took her hand and wept. I admit that without shame. “I am so sorry, Melissa. This is my fault. If I had foreseen it, I would never have come looking for you.”
“But you weren’t looking for me.” Her words throbbed with her pain. “You were looking for Chryseis . . . as you should have been. If you hadn’t found me . . . the rats would have eaten me alive. Is this any worse a fate?”
She winced and groaned as Luke gently cleaned her wounds with wine and soothed them with oil.
“Take your mind off the pain,” I encouraged her. “Tell me again about the men finding you and Chryseis.”
She told the same story she had told Timothy and me earlier. I didn’t notice any difference in the way she told it or any details added or omitted. The whip hadn’t gotten anything else out of her. I had to assume she was telling the truth. I just wished I were more certain about her reliability.
* * * *
It was now about midday, and I was feeling the need to eat something. I returned to my room first, washed off, put on a clean tunic, and made certain my slaves were all accounted for. There wasn’t much I could give them to do under the circumstances. Being a slave owner is, in its own way, a kind of burden, though I doubt our slaves would have any sympathy for us. We must always be wondering what a certain number of people are doing, finding tasks for them, seeing that the tasks are done satisfactorily. Even if we appoint an overseer, we still have to oversee the overseer. My overseer on this trip, Trophimus, at least knew where his charges were, even if they weren’t doing anything constructive.
I hoped to sneak out of the inn and get something to eat at a taberna. Florus was likely to eat in the inn, and I didn’t want to encounter him after my performance at the inquiry. I was lucky he hadn’t arrested me on the spot.
I could hear voices in the dining room and was almost out the front door when Tacitus spotted me from where he was sitting. He jumped up and came to the door of the dining room.
“Pliny, wait,” he called.
I stopped, expecting that he had some news about Saturninus’ whereabouts.
“No, no one’s seen him,” he said in response to my query. “Those two men you described, Ariston and Miltiades, I located them.” The pleasure his success gave him showed on his face, like a schoolboy who’s managed to recite his arma virumque for the first time. “They frequent a taberna down by the docks. They knew nothing of Saturninus. Oh, Ariston said he’d be around today to collect his ten tetradrachmas. Whatever that means.”
“Thanks for checking on that. I was hoping we’d find Saturninus hunched over his dice somewhere. Instead I suspect he’s tracking down Chryseis, another of Regulus’ hounds. He may already have her.” I continued toward the door.
“Come have some lunch,” Tacitus called. “Florus is here.”
I stepped back toward him so I wouldn’t have to speak so loudly. “That’s why I’m going somewhere else.”
Tacitus lowered his voice. “You really need to apologize to him about this morning. If you don’t make amends right away, Marcellus is going to turn him completely against you. Florus has influence to make trouble for you back in Rome as well as frustrate everything you’re trying to do here.”
He took my arm and escorted me into the dining room. Because I knew he was right I didn’t resist. In the normal course of a political and legal career I would make enough enemies. If I could reduce the number by one at the beginning, I should take the opportunity.
Florus sat with two other men—an older and a younger—who looked vaguely familiar for some reason. He eyed me warily as Tacitus dragged me toward him. We stopped a few feet in front of his table. At least Marcellus
was nowhere to be seen.
“Excellency,” I said, “I want to apologize for my outrageous behavior at the inquiry this morning. I’m afraid I let my personal feelings run riot.”
Florus considered his reply for a moment, studying me from under his foppish eyelids. I felt like a slave guilty of some infraction and uncertain whether my master was feeling kind or cruel at that particular instant.
“It was quite a display,” he finally said. “But I’m inclined to applaud your conviction and idealism. It’s reassuring to see such qualities in one so young. Experience, however, eventually teaches us that the old ways are best. That’s why they’ve lasted long enough to become the old ways. Don’t you agree?”
I fought down the urge to tell him what I really thought. “I can’t argue with that line of reasoning, excellency.”
“So you won’t be distressed to learn that Cornutus’ other slaves are now being tortured?” The question, delivered with his head cocked to one side, was a challenge. We Romans can be a perplexing mix of erudition, civility and cruelty.
“I’m not surprised to hear it. I certainly won’t attempt to interfere.”
“Good. So far all we’ve learned is that the two women, Melissa and Phoebe, actually got out of the room they were supposedly locked in. We’re continuing to question Phoebe. I hope we’ll learn something more useful, but if not, then they’ll all be put to death. At least we’ll have the satisfaction of knowing we have observed the law. No one can challenge us on that score.”
All Roads Lead to Murder Page 21