When we reached the taberna we let Carolus go in first. Then Tacitus entered and sat at a separate table. We wanted someone inside in case there was another exit Matthias might use. Otherwise Tacitus was to come out of the taberna after Carolus had paid the ransom and point Matthias out to us. We had no way of identifying the man except by a scar on his left cheek. And that in itself was not a particularly distinguishing mark in this district.
Damon and I milled around on the street, pretending to examine goods at a neighboring shop. Androcles had told us our Greek would suffice with the merchants of that quarter, indeed with most of its populace. Jews have their own language, but those who live outside Judaea have long since had to learn Greek to survive. By all means, he warned us, avoid using Latin.
Finally Tacitus emerged from the taberna. Trying to remain inconspicuous, he gestured toward a man walking a few paces in front of him. I was sure I hadn’t seen this man enter. He must have arrived before us. I was on his left side and could see the scar, a rather nasty one. He also wore a cloth wrapped around his head. The more recent Jewish immigrants, I gathered, clung to this native style of clothing. Those who had lived in Smyrna longer had given it up in favor of the Greek style of dress. Matthias wasn’t the only man in the street right then wearing a head-covering, but it did make it easier to keep him in view.
We followed him for two blocks. Then he turned a corner. By the time we could elbow our way through the crowd and reach that corner, he was no longer in sight. We saw only two men in head-coverings. Both were walking toward us. Neither bore a scar.
Tacitus caught up with us and we searched up and down the street, to no avail. There was an alley on either side of the street. A cart, loaded with a cloth merchant’s wares, emerged from one of them and turned away from us. Its driver wore no head-covering. The horse looked as if it might not make it to the end of the block.
I slapped my forehead in frustration. “He could be anywhere! He could have slipped through one of these alleys. Someone could be hiding him in one of the shops.”
“My money’s on the brothel at the next corner,” Tacitus said. “Do you want me to check it out?”
I would have liked to search each building on the block thoroughly, but Damon tugged on my—actually his—tunic and said, “My lord, I think the crowd is growing suspicious of us. We’d better go.”
He was right. People did suddenly seem to be finding our Greek incomprehensible. Their noses were crinkling at us as though we were fish that had gone bad. Without the stripe on my tunic I was unable to compel any kind of obedience from them. Is that slender line of color all that Rome’s power rests on?
We rejoined Carolus at the taberna. I apologized to him for letting Matthias slip away, and with him perhaps our last chance of getting Chryseis back.
“Before we give up hope entirely,” he said, “let’s see how my men did.”
“Your men? What . . . what do you mean?”
“I had two of my slaves watching for him, too. They came over here in the crowd along with us, though you didn’t see them.”
“Why?” Tacitus asked.
“I didn’t really think two noble lads like you could track a man in all this confusion.”
Was that contempt or pity I saw in Carolus’ eyes? I felt my ears redden.
“Uh-oh,” Carolus said. “Here they come, and empty-handed.”
A very small part of me was gratified, for just an instant, by that news.
* * * *
We returned to the inn and gathered what we needed for a late bath. Damon and one of Tacitus’ slaves carried fresh tunics for us, complete with the stripe. At the entrance to the baths we ran into Florus and Marcellus. If I could have avoided any two people in Smyrna, it would have been these two. Their faces registered their surprise at our appearance.
“Cornelius Tacitus, Gaius Pliny,” Marcellus said, “have the censors reached all the way to Smyrna to demote you from the equestrian ranks?”
“We’ll be restored to the order shortly,” I said, pointing to the tunics our slaves were carrying. I didn’t offer any explanation for our appearance.
“You’ll also be back on your way to Rome in a day or so,” Florus said.
“I thought you were keeping everyone here until you found Cornutus’ killer.”
“He’s done that,” Marcellus said proudly. “By following traditional procedures.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
Florus looked very satisfied with himself. One corner of his mouth even turned up in a modest smile. “Under torture the slave Gyges confessed that Phoebe had talked about how much she hated Cornutus, even expressed her desire to kill him.”
“And that makes you think she actually did it?”
Marcellus jumped in. “We are satisfied with the results of the investigation.”
“I’m sure you are,” I said to Marcellus. Then I faced Florus. “What are you going to do to her?”
“There’s nothing more I can do. She died as a result of her bumpy little ride on the horse.”
He would have expressed more feeling, I think, if he’d been talking about the death of his favorite race horse in the Circus Maximus. But this was an innocent human being, whom he had killed as surely as if he had plunged a knife into her heart.
“Excellency, you still don’t know for certain that she killed Cornutus.” Of course, he didn’t know Cornutus had been poisoned. “She never confessed. No one saw her go into his room. You haven’t found the knife that was used. Or Cornutus’ heart.”
Florus held up his hand to silence me. “She was able to get out of the room where she was supposedly locked up. She had expressed her desire to kill him. Those minor details you mention don’t matter. I consider my inquiry closed. You and the members of your caravan can have tomorrow to pack and be on your way the next day.”
I wanted to grab his tunic and shake him. The fool! Cornutus’ killer was standing right beside him. He’d just taken a bath with him. May the gods in whom I do not believe grant that I never be in a position where I must inquire into a crime using Rome’s traditional legal methods! The ‘minor details’ I’d mentioned were the heart of the matter.
Florus and Marcellus brushed past us. Marcellus even gave me a surreptitious shove with his elbow.
* * * *
After the quickest bath I’d ever taken I dashed back to the inn, only to be accosted by that fool Orophernes. He had more ‘vital information’ about Lysimachus’ doings. I left Tacitus to deal with him and continued on my mission, starting with another conversation with Melissa. Luke and Timothy were already in the dining room. I explained the new urgency with which we were faced due to Florus’ inane decision. “We now have two nights and the intervening day to uncover the killer and to find Chryseis,” I concluded.
“You’ve had no luck so far,” Timothy said. “You’ve lost the girl twice. What do you propose to do differently now?”
“We’re missing something vital,” I said. “It’s there, but we just haven’t seen it yet. I want to talk to Melissa again. She’s our only link to Chryseis right now.”
“What more do you think she can tell you?” Luke asked.
“I won’t know until I ask.”
When we entered Melissa’s room Luke lit a lamp. I would have preferred the room remain dark so I wouldn’t have to look at her disfigured back. But I also needed to be able to read her face.
Melissa still lay on her stomach, her head cradled on her arms. Her face was to the wall when Luke and I entered her room. She raised her head slowly and turned it to face me.
“Forgive me if I don’t rise, my lord,” she said. She might as well have laid the lash across my back.
I sat on the stool that Luke kept by her bed and tried to keep my eyes on her face. “Melissa, I need to clarify some of what you told me before about the men who attacked you. It shouldn’t take long. I don’t want to tax your strength.”
“I don’t know what else I can add, my lord. I tol
d you everything I heard them say.”
“What you heard is exactly what I have to ask you about. You see, Carolus says the men he hired spoke Greek poorly. They used it because it was the only language they and Carolus had in common. These men preferred their native dialect, which Carolus couldn’t identify. You reported a lot of their conversation. I don’t imagine they were speaking Greek under the circumstances. How did you understand what was said?”
Something about the way she paused told me I was about to get the entire truth. I just hoped it wasn’t too late to help me save Chryseis.
“They were speaking Hebrew, my lord. My native tongue.”
“Did they realize you could understand them?”
“I don’t think so. When they spoke directly to me, they spoke in Greek—two of them poorly, the other somewhat better. Among themselves they spoke Hebrew.”
“So, what else did you hear them talk about? Did they mention a place where they were going to take Chryseis?”
“No, my lord. But the leader, Matthias, called her a pretty filly and said he’d find a comfortable stall for her.”
I pondered that odd comment for a moment. “Could he be hiding her in a stable?”
“That was my guess, my lord.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I hoped I could get word to Anyte and she could rescue Chryseis and get her away from Roman territory. No matter what happens to me, I want Chryseis to be free. But I’m so closely guarded that none of Anyte’s acolytes can get to me.”
I jumped up in anger. “Confound it, woman! You’re still scheming behind my back.”
She was unmoved by my outburst. “I felt I had to do what was best for Chryseis, my lord. Rome isn’t going to take care of her. The only man who could look after her is dead. What could I do?”
I sat back down and put my face close to hers. “Melissa, you promised to put yourself completely in my hands. I’ve done everything I can to protect you.”
“Oh, yes, my lord. I appreciate your protection.” She turned her head back to the wall. That little movement caused her to moan.
* * * *
I bolted out of Melissa’s room yelling for Androcles. The guards at her door jumped to attention.
“He was in the dining room a few moments ago,” Timothy said.
He and Luke stayed a step or two behind me, probably out of fear. I was as angry and agitated as I could ever remember being. The innkeeper came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his tunic.
“Yes, my lord? Do you need something?”
“I need a stable. Are there a lot of them in Smyrna?”
“Well, yes, there are. Most of them are attached to inns, like mine.”
“Are there are many in the Jewish quarter?”
“Several.”
That was unfortunate. But I guess Jews need horses and pack animals like the rest of us.
I lowered my voice and put my hand on his shoulder, as if taking him into my confidence. “If a man had some unsavory business to do in that part of town, which of the stable-owners there do you think would be most likely to cooperate with him?”
“I don’t know them personally,” Androcles said. “Only by reputation. But, on that basis, I think Bar-Jonah is the man you’re looking for.”
“Could I ask your slave to guide me to his place?”
“Certainly, for all the good it’ll do you.”
“What do you mean?” I snapped at him. I had no time for riddles.
“He doesn’t like to deal with . . . non-Jews. What do they call us?”
“Gentiles,” Timothy said.
“Yes! He doesn’t like to deal with Gentiles. He speaks only Hebrew. He’s still bitter over Rome’s destruction of the Jews’ temple.”
“I’ll go with you,” Timothy said. “I speak Hebrew. My mother was Jewish,” he added before I could ask for an explanation.
“You’ll need to be very careful,” Androcles cautioned. “And armed. There are rumors that he harbors refugees and potential rebels. He’s a dangerous man.”
We quickly gathered a few of my slaves and Tacitus and his slaves. Tacitus and I switched back to our slaves’ tunics. I wanted to get underway before Carolus found out what we were up to. I knew he would insist on going, and his size and blond hair would make this Bar-jonah clam up immediately.
We walked rapidly, roughing out a plan as we went. The rest of our people would take up positions around the stable as quietly as possible. Timothy and I would try to talk to Bar-jonah.
“Just say ‘Shalom’ when we go in,” Timothy instructed me. “Then leave the rest to me.”
“What will I be saying?”
“It means ‘peace’. It’s a traditional Jewish greeting.”
I practiced the word several times. It had a funny feeling on my tongue, like some of the exotic foods I had eaten in Syria.
“We’ll have to be extremely careful,” Timothy said. “The Passover, the great festival of the Jews, ended just a few days ago. It commemorates the Jews’ deliverance from bondage in Egypt. Since the war it has become a time when feelings about the destruction of the temple run high.”
Even though it was already dark, the streets were not entirely deserted when we arrived at Bar-jonah’s stable. The door to what looked like the owner’s living quarters was closed, but light could be seen under it. Timothy knocked. A squat, broad man with a curly beard which was going gray opened the door. He and Timothy exchanged Shaloms and I added mine. Then he and Timothy began to converse in Hebrew. Timothy and I had rehearsed what he would say, but only later did he relate the conversation to Tacitus and me so we could make a record of it.
“Greetings, Bar-jonah,” Timothy said.
The bearded man nodded but said nothing.
“I’m looking to make a purchase,” Timothy said. “To be exact, a young filly that has never been ridden. I understand you might be able to supply something in that line.”
“And where did you get that notion?” Bar-jonah said.
Timothy nudged me. That was our signal for me to show some money. I reached into the neck of my tunic for my money pouch, which was tied to a strip of cloth around my chest. My knife also snuggled in that same strip of cloth.
Bar-jonah took the coins I offered and grunted. He put the coins in his own money bag. However deep his resentment of Rome, it must not have extended to our money.
“I don’t deal with Gentiles,” he said. He began to close the door.
Timothy pushed against the door. “I bear the mark of circumcision,” he said.
Bar-jonah stopped, the door half-open. “It’s easy to make that claim.”
Since I didn’t know what was being said at the time, I was shocked when Timothy lifted the front of his tunic. Bar-jonah glanced, then nodded his approval. “What about him?” he asked, waving his hand at me.
“I vouch for him,” Timothy said. “Now, do you have that young filly?”
“I don’t, but I know someone who does,” Bar-jonah said. “If you don’t mind waiting just a bit, I’ll send a slave to fetch him.”
Timothy and I stepped into what was little more than a peasant’s hut with a stone floor. As soon as Bar-jonah closed the door I felt trapped. We had reinforcements outside, but I didn’t know who was inside or whether our people could even get in. Bar-jonah said something through a doorway at the back of the room and a young man slid past us and out the front door.
“Would you like something to drink?” Bar-jonah asked.
“Thank you,” Timothy replied. He took a seat on a cushion on the floor and I imitated him. A slave brought some well-watered wine and some sort of stale, tasteless bread.
“My associate should be here very soon,” Bar-jonah said. “He’s at the taberna on the corner. You’re strangers to Smyrna, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Timothy said. “We’ve recently arrived from Ephesus.”
“And how did you hear of me?”
Before Timothy had to answe
r that question the door opened and three men entered. The scar on his cheek identified the first as Matthias. It took me an instant to recognize the second as the driver of the cart who passed us when we were searching for Matthias. Of course! He had ducked into the alley and hidden himself under the cloth. He had his escape planned all along.
The second man pointed at me and said (as Timothy reconstructed it later), “He’s one of them. In the street today.”
Matthias locked the door, then pulled a knife, I think through a slit in the outer cloak he was wearing. “Bar-jonah, you old fool! They’re Romans! They’re with Carolus.”
He lunged at me as the second man and Bar-jonah drew their knives. Because of the way I was sitting all I could do was roll backwards, causing Matthias to miss with his knife thrust and roll over me. I did manage to land a solid jab of my knee to a sensitive part of his body.
Timothy and I struggled to our feet. With two men guarding the locked front door, escape by that route seemed unlikely. I drew my knife and brandished it at Bar-jonah while Timothy and I backed through the inner doorway into the next room. The odor of a stable led me to a door on the other side of that room. Bar-jonah’s slaves offered no resistance, other than being obstacles that we had to avoid tripping over.
We broke into the stable and I began to yell. “Tacitus! Damon! Help!”
Bar-jonah, Matthias, and the other two had regrouped and were right behind us. Matthias was still hunched over. Bar-jonah lit a lamp by the door. The small flame showed us our enemies but did not reach far enough to help me assess our surroundings. Matthias and the second man looked like formidable foes. The third man’s sad eyes showed little stomach for a fight. I wondered if he was the one who persuaded the other two not to kill Melissa. Bar-jonah’s eyes, on the other hand, glinted as eagerly as his knife blade for Roman blood.
All Roads Lead to Murder Page 24