Rubicon rsr-7

by Steven Saylor

  "That's not true! He's sweet as honey on a cold morning and just as slow, and you know it. And what if Pompey doesn't flee, and there is a battle, Caesar's men against Pompey's? Davus would never do the sensible thing and run away. He'll feel obliged to stay and fight, for the sake of the other soldiers. It's like that for men in battle, isn't it? Comrades and loyalty, to the last drop of blood?"

  I had no answer to that. I had been in one battle in my life, fighting with Catilina at Pistoria; what she said was true.

  Diana grimaced. "Meto says you don't even feel the wounds when they happen. You just keep fighting until you can't fight anymore." She looked at me with sudden horror in her eyes. "Davus and Meto could be in the same battle, on different sides. They could kill each other!"

  Now her imagination was definitely getting the better of her. I rose from my chair and crossed my study. I laid my hands on her shoulders. She leaned back against me and I circled her with my arms.

  "Davus was trained to be a bodyguard, not a soldier. You know that, Diana. That's how Pompey will use him- to guard his person. He'll keep Davus close to him, day and night. Now I ask you, where could Davus be safer? Pompey is no fool. Look how cautious he's been so far, retreating two steps every time Caesar advances one. Davus is probably safer with Pompey than he would be in Rome."

  "But what if there is a battle, and Pompey is at the head of the charge, leading his men? Caesar does that; Meto says so. Davus would be doomed then. It's as you say, he was trained to be a bodyguard. He'll sacrifice himself rather than let Pompey be harmed. He won't even stop and think. If there's a sword aimed for Pompey's heart, he'll throw himself on it!"

  "Diana, Diana! You must stop imagining such things!" I sighed. "Listen, I want you to close your eyes. Now picture Davus. What's he doing this very instant? I'll tell you. He's standing at attention outside Pompey's tent, bored out of his mind, struggling not to yawn. There, can you see him? I can. I can even see the fly buzzing about his head. If he yawns, it may fly into his mouth!"

  "Oh, Papa!" Diana sniffled and laughed in spite of herself. I held her close.

  "What do you suppose Davus is thinking about right now?" I said quietly.

  She laughed. "His next meal, probably!"

  "No. He's thinking about you, Diana. About you and little Aulus."

  Diana sighed and snuggled against me. I congratulated myself on having successfully comforted her- prematurely, as it happened, for the next moment she trembled and burst into tears and pulled herself from my embrace.

  "Diana, what now?"

  "Oh, Papa, I can't stand to think of Davus like that, so far from home, so lonely for us! He must be utterly miserable, and there's nothing he can do about it. Papa, you must promise me that you'll get him back. You must do whatever it takes to bring him back to us!"

  "But Diana-"

  "You must find whoever killed Pompey's kinsman, and tell Pompey, and make him give back Davus!"

  I shook my head. "You don't know what you're asking, daughter."

  She gave me a puzzled, dissatisfied, desperate look. In her eyes I saw something I had never seen before. For the first time, it occurred to her that her beloved father, upon whom she had always relied as upon a rock, might simply be too old now, too far past his prime to keep his family safe. I wanted to assure her that nothing could be further from the truth, but my tongue was like lead in my mouth.

  That particular day, the first day of Martius, seemed to be my day to deal with distraught young women.

  Diana had hardly left my study when Mopsus ran in. In my irritable state of mind, it occurred to me that he and his brother never seemed to walk anywhere, indoors or out. They had only two states of being: at rest, or scampering like hounds.

  "Master, there's a visitor for you."

  "Does he have a name?"

  "It's not a he. It's a she."

  I leaned back. "Still, I imagine she has a name."

  He frowned, and I saw that between the foyer and my study he had forgotten the visitor's name. Humans are like Aesop's animals, I thought; they never change their essential nature. Davus would always be a bodyguard. My son Meto would always be a scholar and a soldier. And Mopsus, raised in a stable to look after beasts, would never make a decent door slave.

  "What sort of woman is she?" I asked. "High or low?"

  He thought. "She has bodyguards. Otherwise, it's hard to tell, from how she's dressed. All in black."

  Could it be Maecia, come to inquire after my progress, or lack of progress, into her son's murder? I didn't relish the idea of seeing her again… unless she had found in her house new evidence of Numerius's activities- perhaps even the documents which gave details of the plot on Caesar's life…

  "Old or young?"

  Mopsus thought. "Young. Maybe Diana's age."

  Not Maecia, then, but dressed in black, nonetheless. I frowned. Numerius had not been married. Nor had there been a sister. But perhaps…

  "Show her in," I said.

  "And her bodyguards?"

  "They must remain outside, of course."

  Mopsus grinned. "There's three of them, but I bet even three couldn't get past Scarface!" Of late, Mopsus and his brother had grown rather fond of Cicatrix. Curiously, the ugly monster seemed to return the sentiment; I often heard the three of them laughing in the foyer or outside the front door, Cicatrix's harsh bark making odd counterpoint to the boys' giggles. I remained suspicious of the fellow and would gladly have been rid of him, but I was not as afraid of him as I had been at first. He did an excellent job of guarding the front door. His demeanor to Bethesda and Diana was sullen but not threatening. He clearly preferred guarding the Great One and considered service in the household of a nonentity such as myself to be beneath him, but the two of us had worked out a begrudging means of communicating. I gave curt orders. Cicatrix scowled and grunted, but did as he was told.

  Mopsus ran from my study. I stepped into the garden, thinking it a more suitable place to greet a young woman. The weather was mild for the Kalends of Martius, with little wind and only a few high, fleecy bands of clouds streaking the cold blue sky.

  A few moments later, the visitor entered. She wore not a married woman's stola but a maiden's long tunic, all in black and covered by a heavy cloak as black as her hair, which was done up with pins and combs atop her head in a fashion too mature for her face. Her perfume seemed too mature for her, as well; I caught a whiff of jasmine and spikenard. Mopsus had estimated her to be Diana's age. She looked younger to me, no more than seventeen or eighteen. Her hands and face were as white as a dove's breast.

  She looked at me warily from beneath her dark brows. "Are you Gordianus?"

  "I am. Who are you?"

  "My name is Aemilia, the daughter of Titus Aemilius."

  I looked expectantly at the door through which she had come. "Where is your chaperone?"

  Aemilia looked uncomfortable and lowered her eyes. "I came alone."

  "A girl of your age and station, walking about Rome without a companion?"

  "I brought bodyguards."

  "Even so… Does your father know you're out?"

  "My father is away. With Pompey."

  "Of course. Your mother?"

  "We returned to Rome only a few days ago. We were at our villa on the coast, but Mother says it's probably safer here in Rome now. She's busy today visiting the shops and markets. I was supposed to go with her. I told her I felt unwell and needed to stay at home."

  "But instead you came here."

  "Yes."

  "Are you unwell? You look pale."

  She didn't answer, but looked nervously about the garden until her eyes fixed on the Minerva behind me. The sight of the goddess seemed to give her strength. It was Minerva's face she looked at while she spoke, not mine. She probably had little experience addressing a grown man directly.

  "I just came from Maecia's house. She told me about you."

  "What did Maecia say?"

  "That you were looking into…" Her
nerve seemed to falter. She lowered her eyes to the ground. "Is this where it happened?"

  I took a deep breath. "If you mean the death of Numerius Pompeius, yes, it happened in this garden."

  She shuddered and clutched the black cloak to her throat.

  "Were you kin to him?" I said.

  "No."

  "Yet you're dressed in mourning."

  She bit her lips, which looked blood red against her pale cheeks. "He was… he and I… we were to marry."

  I shook my head. "I didn't know."

  "No one did."

  "I don't understand."

  "No one knew. Pompey had plans for him to marry someone else. But I was the one he chose. Numerius chose me."

  From the way she touched herself, one hand unconsciously coming to rest above her belly, I suddenly understood. "I see."

  "Do you?" Her face registered a confusion of pride and alarm. "Maecia could tell, too. Is it that obvious?"

  I shook my head. "It doesn't show yet, if that's what you mean."

  "Not here." She looked down and touched her belly. "But it must show on my face. And why not? I should have been his widow. The baby should have been born with his name. But now…"

  "Why did you come here, Aemilia? To see the place where he died?"

  She grimaced. "No. I don't like to think about that."

  "Then why are you here? What do you want from me?" Her eyes met mine for an instant, then she looked beyond me, to Minerva, as she struggled to put her thoughts into words. I raised my hand. "Never mind. I know already. You want from me what everyone else wants- Pompey, Maecia, even Diana…" I shook my head. "Why was I able to tell at once with you, and yet with my own daughter, I practically had to be struck by lightning before I saw the obvious? And people think Gordianus is so clever, able to see what others don't!"

  Aemilia looked at me, mystified. I sighed. "How long have you known?"

  "About the baby? I knew before Mother and I left Rome. I wasn't certain, but I knew. Since then, the moon waxed and waned, and waxes again, and now there's no doubt. I can feel it inside me! I know it's too early for that, but I swear I feel it sometimes."

  "His child…" I said. Like Aemilia imagining she felt the new life inside her, I seemed to sense another, very different kind of presence in the garden. What stronger lure than his unborn child might serve to call back the lemur of a murdered man to the spot where he was killed? I turned about and gave a start, almost certain I saw a shadow move behind the statue of Minerva. It was only a trick of the light.

  "Did he know? Did you tell Numerius?"

  She nodded. "The last time I saw him… the day before he died. We had a secret place to meet." She lowered her eyes. "We… afterward… I told him. I was afraid he'd be angry. But he wasn't. He was happy. I'd never seen him so happy. He said, 'Now Pompey will have to give up his plans for me and let us marry. I'll tell him tonight.' The next day Numerius was supposed to meet me again, to tell me what Pompey said, but he never came." She bit her lip. "That was the day everyone thought Caesar was coming, and Pompey decided to leave Rome, and my father decided to send Mother and me to the villa, and we spent the whole night madly packing our things and I didn't sleep at all…"

  She took a breath, lifted her eyes, and stared hard at the face of Minerva. "The next morning we were in our wagon, lined up with all the other wagons to leave through the Capena Gate. A friend of Mother's came over. They talked about whether Caesar was really coming, and who was taking sides, and then- it was just another bit of gossip to her- the woman said, 'Did you hear? Numerius Pompeius was murdered yesterday! Strangled…' She said it so quickly, then moved on to something else so fast, I thought I must have imagined it. But I knew I hadn't. I knew it was true. I felt something sharp in my chest, like a jagged stone. I think I must have fainted. The next thing I knew we were out on the Appian Way. For an instant I thought I'd dreamed it, but I knew better. The stone was still in my chest. It hurt to breathe."

  "Who else knows about the baby?"

  "I kept it from my mother as long as I could. She knew something was wrong, but she thought I was only worried for Father, and upset by all that was going on. But once we started back to Rome, I couldn't keep it from her. She wasn't as angry as I thought she'd be."

  "Then your father doesn't know?"

  She lowered her face. "Mother says he must never know."

  "But how can that be? Even if Pompey leaves Italy and takes your father with him, they may return before you come to term. And when you have the child, someone will talk; someone always does. You can hardly expect-" Then I fell silent, because I understood what she had told me.

  "This morning, when I went to see her, I told Maecia everything- about Numerius and me, about the baby. We wept together. She says I mustn't get rid of it. She says it's all that's left of her little boy, her son. But it's not her choice to make. It's not my choice, either. Mother says I must get rid of it."

  My mouth was dry. "It's not your mother but your father who has legal power over you and the baby inside you."

  "If Father knew, he could put me to death! That would be legal and proper, wouldn't it?"

  "Surely he'd never do that! What if he's gone for a year and comes back to find you and the child-"

  "He might still get rid of the baby- expose it on a hill outside the city to let it starve or be eaten by jackals. Then he'd put me away somewhere, the way you hide a cracked vessel at the back of a cabinet." She swallowed hard. "No, Mother is right. If Father were here, he'd demand that I get rid of the baby while I can. They may yet be able to find a husband for me, don't you see? Mother says it wouldn't be right, anyway, to bring a child without a father into such a world…"

  She began to weep.

  I resisted the urge to comfort her. I stiffened my arms and clenched my fists. I glanced over my shoulder, and it seemed to me that Minerva regarded me with a mocking smile. "Aemilia, why have you come to me?"

  "I don't know… except that Maecia said you were the last to see him… and that everything depends on you now."

  "But Aemilia, there's nothing I can do to help you."

  "You can at least find out who killed him- who killed… my baby." She saw the confusion on my face. "Don't you see? If Numerius hadn't been murdered, he would have found a way to marry me. I'm certain of it. I could have had our child! Then, even if Numerius was taken from me, killed in battle or lost at sea, I would have had the baby, and the baby would have had his name. But now… now there'll be no baby. Don't you see? Whoever murdered Numerius might as well have stuck a knife in my womb!"

  Her grief erupted in a long, keening wail that carried all the way to the front of the house. I heard banging noises and a scuffle, and a few heartbeats later her three bodyguards rushed into the garden one by one, their swords drawn. Cicatrix followed after them, bellowing furiously, brandishing his own sword. The scar across his face was livid, like a fresh brand. He circled the bodyguards and ran to my side, where he assumed a defensive crouch, his arms extended and his knees bent to spring. The three armed men approached us with wild looks in their eyes.

  Aemilia spun about, dazed, and realized what was happening. She stifled her sobs and held up her arms, calling her bodyguards to heel. They drew back and surrounded her. One of them exchanged whispers with her, then with his companions. The threat of bloodshed lingered in the air, like a raw, pungent smell.

  Aemilia stepped toward me, her face lowered. Her bodyguards advanced with her, swords drawn, eying me warily.

  "Forgive me," she whispered. "I never meant…"

  I nodded.

  "I'll go now. I don't know why I came. I only thought… I hoped you might… I don't know." She turned away. Her bodyguards withdrew with her, the hindmost walking backward and keeping his eyes on Cicatrix and me.

  "Wait!" I said.

  She stopped and looked over her shoulder. I stepped toward her, getting as close as I dared. It was too close for Cicatrix, who gripped my arm to hold me back.

&nb
sp; "Aemilia, you said something about a secret meeting place."

  Her face, already flushed, grew even redder. "Yes."

  "Did this place belong to Numerius?"

  "It belonged to his family. They own a lot of property in the Carinae district."

  "And this place- where is it?"

  She stepped toward me and motioned for her bodyguards to stand back. I gestured for Cicatrix to move away.

  "It was a tenement building," said Aemilia, keeping her voice low. "An awful, smelly place. But there was a vacant apartment on the uppermost floor. From the window you could see a bit of the Capitoline Hill…" She gazed into space, her eyes glittering with tears.

  "And only you and Numerius knew about this meeting place?"

  "I don't know. I think he inherited the building from his father, but his uncle Maecius had a say in running it."

  "But the room- it was Numerius's secret place?"

  "Yes. He kept a few things there. A lamp, some clothing… some poems I gave him."

  "Poems?"

  "Greek love poems I copied out for him. We used to read them to one another…"

  I nodded. "So this was a place where he might have kept… other secret things?"

  "I don't know. Why do you ask?"

  "Some documents may be there."

  She shook her head. "I don't think so. There was no scroll cabinet. Not even a chest for keeping papers. He had to keep my poems beneath the bed."

  "Even so, I need to see this place."

  She bit her lip, then shook her head.

  "Please, Aemilia. It may be very important. I may find the documents that were responsible for Numerius's death."

  She looked at Minerva, then at me. Her gaze was steady. "The building is at the corner of the Street of the Basketmakers and a little alley that runs off it to the north. It's covered in a red wash, but the red is starting to wear off to show a yellow wash beneath. The room is on the fourth floor, in the southwest corner. The door has a lock, but the key is under a loose floorboard with a deep scratch across it, three paces up the hall."

  I nodded. "I'll find it."