Carolus must have missed the sarcasm. Too subtle for the German mind. “Good idea! That would prove it, wouldn’t it?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” I said. “We don’t know whether he still has the poisoned wine. He could be quite willing to drink out of the wineskin if he’s gotten rid of the poison and refilled it with ordinary wine.”
“It’s also possible,” Tacitus put in, “that Cornutus was poisoned earlier in the afternoon, at the bath. The slave girl who brought us wine there is a devotee of the cult of Hecate. I learned that through my inquiries.” He was so proud of having gleaned that bit of information that he didn’t want to dismiss it, no matter how irrelevant it was.
“Half the women in Smyrna worship Hecate,” I reminded him. We’d had this discussion earlier. “That proves nothing. We know now that the witches didn’t cut his heart out. And, if they didn’t want Cornutus’ heart for some ritual, then they had no reason to poison him.” I slowed down on the last few words for emphasis.
Carolus shifted his weight and I tensed, but he was just making himself more comfortable. He put his knife away, which made me much more comfortable.
“How did you dispose of the heart?” I asked.
“I still have it,” he said as calmly as if announcing he had the man’s missing sandal. “I hid it in the chamberpot and took it back to my room.”
“The chamberpot! Just as I suspected.” I couldn’t help but congratulate myself.
“I wrapped it up and put it in a bag. It’s hidden under the floorboard in my room. There are times, in the night, when I think I can hear it pounding, the way your heart does when you’ve run hard. Or maybe it’s just my own heart I hear.”
“What do you plan to do with it?” Tacitus asked. His fascination with the grotesque had been aroused.
“I’m going to take it back to Germany and burn it on my mother’s grave.”
“I hope her soul will be comforted,” I said. It seemed a barbarous sort of homage, but I didn’t want to say so to a large man with a knife at hand. Nor did I want to venture into a discussion of whether or not the soul exists after death. A large man with a knife at hand can believe whatever he wants. If there isn’t a proverb to that effect, there ought to be.
“Now that you know, what are you going to do?” Carolus asked.
Tacitus and I exchanged a long glance. What should we do with him?
“Technically,” Tacitus said with a shrug, “you can’t be prosecuted for murder, since Cornutus was already dead when you attacked him. If you were charged, you could call on our brilliant young friend here to testify to that. But, on the other hand, the intent was there. And you did mutilate the body of a Roman citizen.”
“A body which has now been burned,” I pointed out, “so there is no evidence of that crime.”
“I’m not afraid to face the law,” Carolus said. “Don’t think I’m afraid.”
“We have no doubt of your courage, Carolus,” I said. “I myself don’t want someone else to fall victim to Roman justice. Bringing you to trial would be a touchy situation. Marcellus would manipulate Florus . . .”
“But,” Tacitus put in, “Florus has already condemned someone for Cornutus’ murder, the slave Phoebe. You can’t condemn someone and then try someone else for the same crime.”
“And Phoebe,” I said, “has already paid the price, not for Cornutus’ murder but for Florus’ stupidity. One is as great a crime as the other.”
I poured myself some more wine and offered some to Carolus, who refused. “Several innocent people,” I said, “have already suffered horribly in our search for justice under the Roman system. I see nothing to be gained by sacrificing another victim on that altar. You wanted revenge on only one person. You pose no danger to anyone else.”
“What about the two men he killed tonight?” Tacitus asked.
“Killing two cut-throats who were attacking Roman citizens is no crime,” I said. “I can’t imagine that Carolus is going to roam the streets slaughtering innocent people.”
Carolus snorted. “My only wish is to get away from you Romans. But I can’t leave until I’m sure Chryseis is safe.”
“That’s the most important thing for me, too,” I said. “To do that I think we have to find Cornutus’ killer.”
“And we have only one more day before Florus allows everyone to leave,” Tacitus reminded me.
“I do my best work under pressure,” I said.
* * * *
We left Apelles’ house before dawn to return to the inn. Acrid smoke from Bar-jonah’s stable still hung low over the city. Since the streets were calm I assumed the night watchmen had contained the fire. At the time we left there last night they were beginning to demolish the buildings on either side of Bar-jonah’s to prevent the fire from spreading.
I wondered whether the bodies of Bar-jonah, Benjamin, and Simon had been removed or whether they had been left to the flames. The Jews probably have peculiar burial rituals. Everything else about them is peculiar. It saddened me to think all three men suffered the same fate. Two deserved what they got, the other probably didn’t. Simon seemed genuinely remorseful about his participation in Matthias’ schemes. I owed him a lot. He had kept Melissa alive, and he had helped us in every way he could to find Chryseis. There seemed to be a vein of goodness in the man which circumstances had prevented him from mining to the fullest. If I had been able to protect him . . . But I was proving singularly inept in my efforts to protect those who came under my care.
“These ropes are too tight,” Matthias groused. We had his hands tied behind his back and a rope around his neck with Tacitus leading him like a pack mule. Even in his complaints he used Hebrew, forcing Timothy to translate.
“That’s going to be the least of your problems,” I said.
When we arrived at the inn I sent Damon up to get Chryseis’ bag and to request that Anyte come down to meet me. As he dashed off, Chryseis called after him, “Be careful on those stairs.” Something was definitely different about her. Had I encouraged a feeling of license by inviting her to sit with me last night? Or was some innate characteristic asserting itself?
When Damon returned and handed over her bag, Chryseis scrounged through it and smiled when she held up the leather pouch with its unbroken seal.
“My lord,” Damon said, “one of her acolytes informed me that Anyte is in the stable, overseeing preparations for her return journey to Ephesus.”
“Let’s go see her then,” I said. Tacitus jerked on the rope around Matthias’ neck.
“My lord,” Chryseis said, “while you’re doing that, may I see Melissa?”
I glanced at Luke. “Is that really wise?”
“It will be hard on the girl,” he said, “but I think it would reassure both of them and aid Melissa in her recovery.”
I hoped that seeing what Florus had inflicted on a runaway slave would make Chryseis less eager to appear before him. If she waited until we returned to Rome, we could find a more trustworthy magistrate to open her document, one who wasn’t Marcellus’ puppet.
“All right, go ahead,” I said. “But, doctor, would you and Carolus please stay with her every step of the way?”
Chryseis drew her shoulders back. “My lord, I’m not going to run away.”
“I’m no longer concerned about you running away,” I said. “But I believe there is someone around here who wants to harm you. Luke and Carolus will be there for your protection.”
“My master told me this will protect me,” she said, patting her bag with the sealed document in it.
I hope he’s right, I thought. I haven’t been able to.
Chryseis and her escorts went on their way. The rest of us passed through the inn and out into the stable. Anyte and two of her women were inspecting their horses’ harness. Our arrival did not seem to interest them at all.
“Lady Anyte, I hope your trip is an easy and a safe one,” I said in greeting.
She remained unimpressed by my cordiality. “Do you need
to see me, Gaius Pliny?”
“Before you leave I’d like to again offer apologies for the profanation of your ritual. Rome tries to respect the religious practices of all its subjects. I’m sure the men responsible regret their impious act.” Tacitus nodded his head.
Only now did Anyte look up from the leather straps in her hands. “Not as much as they will by the time I get through with them.”
That response caught me completely off my guard. “Oh, I didn’t know . . . you had learned who they were. Have you . . . confronted them yet?” I hated to think some other unfortunate innocents had fallen victim to ‘justice’ wrongly meted out.
“Not yet. But they will be dealt with,” she said. “When I return to Ephesus I’m going to consult my books and put an incantation on them. It will be a powerful curse.”
Something in her eyes told me that this would be no anonymous curse. She had names in mind—and the correct ones, I was sure—to insert in the appropriate places in the formula. I could feel Tacitus shuddering. I tried to remind myself that such things are shams and could have no real power over me.
“I hope it will mollify you—and the goddess—somewhat if I give you the man who killed your sacred hound and raped Melissa in the precincts of the tri-form goddess’ temple.”
At first she was dubious. She looked Matthias over, as though I had claimed my horse was Pegasus and she wanted to see where his wings were glued on. “How can I be certain this is the right man?”
“One of his accomplices identified him last night, before this man killed him. And here’s the conclusive proof.” I turned Matthias around and showed Anyte the bite marks on his arms. I didn’t even mind that I had to twist them a bit.
Anyte took the lead rope from Tacitus and jerked Matthias toward her wagons. He began screaming, in Greek no less, “You can’t do this! Have mercy!” Two of the women tied him to a wheel.
Timothy took a step after him, then turned to me. “Gaius Pliny, must you? How can you so callously turn that man over to such a horrible fate? What gives you the right?”
“What gives any of us the right to rule over the fate of another? And yet we do it all the time.”
“But to put him in the hands of those witches? Couldn’t you turn him over to the proper authorities?”
“Florus wouldn’t do anything about him. His crimes weren’t against Roman citizens. He’d just be turned over to the boularchs. They would have a hard time proving anything against him, with all his accomplices dead. Remember, he stabbed Simon in the back. He killed at least one man in Antioch. Who knows how much more blood he has on his hands? This way he’ll be dealt with in something like the fashion he deserves. Or would you have him go free?”
Timothy shook his head. “I know he’s done horrible things. But to set yourself up as the sole arbiter of his life is a weighty matter. In the book that Luke gave you, you can read where Jesus said, ‘Do not pass judgment and you will not be judged. Do not condemn and you will not be condemned.’ And our teacher, Paul, said in a letter to the church in Rome, ‘You who sit in judgment have no defense. By judging other men you condemn yourselves.’”
“You Christians are a strange lot. If no one will pass judgment, then we hand our world over to the criminals. Matthias brought this on himself by his own actions.”
Matthias cried out, “I have friends in Ephesus! They’ll get—”
One of the acolytes gagged him.
Anyte approached me and, with a gleam in her eye, whispered, “Don’t worry. He won’t get to Ephesus.”
I couldn’t meet Timothy’s gaze.
* * * *
We went back into the inn and made our way to Melissa’s room. As we passed the dining room I heard Marcellus and Florus talking. Carolus and the two guards stood outside the door of Melissa’s room. Just as we arrived, the door opened and Luke and Chryseis emerged. I sighed in relief at the sight of her. She was wiping tears from her eyes.
“Why did they do that to her? Was it because she tried to get me away? Am I to blame for what she suffered?”
Luke put an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t take it on yourself, child. Everything that happens to us is part of a plan. We just have to find the meaning behind it.”
He sounded like a second-rate Stoic philosopher. “Do you still want to see the governor?” I asked Chryseis.
“I have to do what my master told me, don’t I?”
It was hard to argue with a slave who was so insistent on obeying her master, even after his death.
“We’ll go with you,” I said. “And I swear I will not let anyone hurt you. If there is even the first sign of danger, we’ll run and not worry about the consequences. Are we all agreed on that?”
Carolus, Tacitus, and Damon nodded. Timothy made no sign.
“I’m too old to do much running,” Luke said, “but I could offer myself as an obstacle in the path of anyone who might be pursuing you.”
“Damon,” I said, “do you have your sling?”
“Yes, my lord. But it’s of little use at close range.”
“And Carolus, are you armed?”
“Always, my friend.”
“Then I guess we’re ready. Chryseis, please don’t speak until I tell you to.”
Shielding Chryseis in the center of our group, we entered the dining room and stood before the table where Marcellus and Florus appeared to be finishing a light meal. Several slaves stood around in attendance. The only one I recognized was the big-eared fellow, Phrixus. I was glad to see that at least one of Cornutus’ slaves had survived Florus’ inquisition.
“Good morning, Gaius Pliny,” Florus said. “I hope you’re here to eat, but the size of your clientela and the serious expression on your face suggest otherwise.”
“Excellency, there is a matter that needs your attention.”
Annoyance spread over his face. “Can it not wait? I prefer to begin business at the second hour.”
“I think this can be disposed of quickly, sir.”
He sighed. “All right, then. Proceed.”
I pulled Chryseis up to stand beside me. “Excellency, this is Chryseis, the missing slave of Cornutus.”
Florus laughed. “I’ve seldom seen a slave with such an ill-fitting name. There’s nothing ‘golden’ about her.”
Marcellus was by no means amused. He slapped his open hand on the table.
“Are you troubled by something?” Florus asked.
“Forgive me, excellency. I hired a man to search for this girl. I’m just sorry someone else has the satisfaction of bringing her back to face justice.”
“Yes,” Florus said. “I suppose she’ll have to be dealt with.” I could see from his face that he was looking forward to inflicting some kind of torment on her. Carolus’ arm bumped me as he put his hand on his chest, ready to reach inside his tunic for his knife.
“Excellency,” I said, launching into the speech I had been improvising, “this girl is no criminal. Surely you can’t—”
Chryseis interrupted me. “My lord, are you a Roman magistrate?”
Florus looked down his nose at her. She did look more like a street urchin than a goddess, with her hair whacked off and clumsily dyed and her white skin showing around the edges of her gown where the dye on her skin hadn’t penetrated. “Of course I am, child. I’m the proconsul of this province.”
“My master, Lucius Manilius Cornutus, told me if anything ever happened to him, I should give this to a Roman magistrate and have him open it.” She reached into her bag and drew out the pouch sealed with Cornutus’ seal.
The governor took the object dubiously, a slight sneer on his lips.
“You’ll notice, excellency,” I said, “that the seal is unbroken.”
“True. But how do I know it’s genuine?”
“There are still some of Cornutus’ slaves around, aren’t there?”
“Yes,” Florus said. “In fact the fellow with the big ears. I’ve been keeping him around just because those ears amuse me . . .
Where is he?”
Phrixus stepped forward out of the shadows in the corner of the room. “I’m here, my lord.”
“Take a look at this.” Florus handed him the leather pouch. “Is that Cornutus’ seal?”
“Yes, my lord. There’s no doubt.”
“All right, then. Let’s see what’s in it.” Florus took the pouch back, broke the seal and extracted a sheet of papyrus, also sealed with the same symbol. Breaking the seal on that, he unrolled it and began to read aloud:
This is the will of Lucius Manilius Cornutus. It supersedes any and all other wills I have made.
Marcellus let out a yelp. “What? It can’t be!”
“Why can’t it be?” I asked. I could see that Marcellus and I were going to fight this battle through Florus. I hoped I could provide the governor with enough spine to keep him standing until the end.
“Why would a slave be carrying a Roman nobleman’s will in her dress bag?” Marcellus asked.
Florus looked uncertainly at the document in his hand. “That does seem odd.”
“It bore Cornutus’ seal, excellency,” I reminded him. “You authenticated that. It was sealed twice. At least read it and see what it says.”
“I don’t suppose we’ve anything to lose,” Florus said. He resumed reading:
First, and most importantly, I hereby manumit my slave Chryseis, whom I marked on her left buttock with my brand of a ram’s horn when she was eleven years old.
Florus looked at Chryseis in disbelief. “Is this that child?”
“Yes, excellency,” Luke said. “I examined her a few days ago when she fell and injured herself. She does bear the brand described in that document.”
“This just gets more and more curious,” Florus said. “Let’s see what’s next.”
I acknowledge her as my daughter by a slave woman, Helga, and hereby adopt her as my lawful child. To her I leave all my possessions, whether money, land, slaves, or livestock, and all my houses and the furnishings therein.
“By the gods, no!” Marcellus wailed.
Florus looked at him as though he were going mad. Then he continued reading:
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