Sometimes in my readings and research, I come across intriguing mysteries and bits of information which are not of a scale to justify a novel, but are fascinating nonetheless. That’s where the short stories come in.
Reading Cicero’s oration for Cluentius, I came across such a tidbit, which inspired the first Gordianus short story, ‘A Will Is a Way’. Oppianicus, Asuvius and Avillius, the case of the will, and the bribery of the commissioner Quintus Manilius all come straight out of Cicero’s speech. But, as Gordianus tells Lucius, ‘Villains like Oppianicus and the Fox eventually come to a bad end.’ Sure enough, four years after the case of the will, in 74 BC, Oppianicus was tried and convicted for numerous other crimes, and two years later he was himself murdered. (It is from Cicero’s defence of the man accused of killing Oppianicus that we know all these details, including the tiny portion of his speech which touches on the matter of Asuvius and the will.)
‘A Will Is a Way’ was the first of these stories to be written, but the first chronologically is ‘Death Wears a Mask’. It, too, was inspired by details from Cicero, specifically from his oration on behalf of the wealthy, famous comedian Quintus Roscius (one of the first show-business celebrity clients!) in a property litigation. There is some debate about the date of the murder involved (it may have been 81 rather than 80 BC); I chose to set it shortly after Roman Blood, during the annual Roman Festival in September, so as to take advantage of the theatre season and include some details of the ancient stage. (Interested readers may consult The Roman Stage by W. Beare, and the comedies of Plautus, which are fascinating for what they reveal about Roman ideas of ‘humour’.) Statilius, Roscius, Panurgus and Chaerea are all drawn directly from Cicero’s oration.
The very earliest action in the stories is of course to be found in the fable recited by Bethesda for Gordianus’ amusement, ‘The Tale of the Treasure House’. This ancient story can be found in Herodotus, Book II. I first became aware of it from Ellery Queen’s ‘Incunables’ (from the Latin incunabula, ‘swaddling-clothes’), a list of ancient literary forerunners of the modern detective story. It occurred to me that Gordianus himself might enjoy hearing a good detective story (set in the distant past, of course; Gordianus, like his creator, enjoys historical mysteries). Herodotus’s original version was recently anthologized as ‘The Thief versus King Rhampsinitus’ in Mike Ashley’s The Mammoth Book of Historical Whodunnits (Carroll & Graf, 1993). Readers may compare the differing versions, as told by Herodotus and by Bethesda.
‘Little Caesar and the Pirates’ and ‘The Alexandrian Cat’ were drawn from true stories in ancient sources that I transmuted for my own ends. Beginning in roughly 80 BC, their ranks swollen by refugees from the Roman civil war, pirates became an increasingly dangerous presence in the Mediterranean, and numerous Roman commanders were dispatched to bring them under control; it was Pompey who finally succeeded, but not until 67 BC. Julius Caesar’s abduction by pirates, as recounted by Lucius Claudius in the story, is a famous incident to be found in Plutarch and Suetonius. The kidnapping in ‘Little Caesar’ may be seen as a ‘copycat’ crime, with a ruthless and conniving perpetrator behind it.
‘The Alexandrian Cat’ was inspired by a hair-raising tale found in Diodorus Siculus. I retained the basic details but moved the incident back in time from 60 to 90 BC (when Gordianus himself was in Alexandria). Having been severely chided by certain mystery fans for the killing of a cat in one of my novels, I felt perversely compelled to do it again. (I was only being true to Diodorus Siculus!) Let me assure readers that I am a devout cat lover, with two felines in my own household named for favourite fictional detectives, Hildegarde Whiskers and Oscar Pooper. (Stuart Palmer fans, a rare breed themselves, will understand.) Please note that a cat plays a major role in the discovery of the criminal.
Of all the stories in this volume, ‘The House of the Vestals’ required the most extensive research, and yielded perhaps the greatest gratification to the author, who felt quite the sleuth after tracking down so many tantalizingly incomplete details in so many sources, some of them quite obscure. The details regarding the punishment of straying Vestals are authentic, and there was indeed a trial in 73 BC in which all the parties mentioned in ‘The House of the Vestals’ were involved. Sources include fleeting references in Cicero’s Brutus, In Toga Candida, and his third speech against Catilina; Plutarch’s Lives of Crassus and Cato the Younger; Sallust’s Conspiracy of Catilina; Asconius; and Orosius. Ironically, in his later propaganda war against Catilina, Cicero’s kinship with Fabia (and his deference to Crassus) precluded him from being able to mention the scandalous trial of 73 (except in an oblique and roundabout way).
The remaining three stories are not based on specific historical events, but rather flesh out details of Roman daily life which have intrigued me.
‘King Bee and Honey’ was largely inspired by Virgil’s Georgics, Book IV (‘I will sing of the heavenly gifts of aerial honey …’). All the bee lore is authentically Roman, including the guardian presence of Priapus at the hives. And the Romans did use the Latin word for honey (mel) as a term of endearment, much as we do.
The peculiarly Roman belief in ghosts inspired ‘The Lemures’. The story also draws on Pliny for certain pharmacological details.
‘The Disappearance of the Saturnalia Silver’ celebrates the Roman midwinter festival, certain traditions of which have survived down to the present in various cultures, as in our own Yuletide exchange of gifts. I quote from my constant companion, the 1869 edition of William Smith’s Dictionary of Greek & Roman Antiquities:
All ranks devoted themselves to feasting and mirth, presents were interchanged among friends … and crowds thronged the streets …
Many of the peculiar customs exhibited a remarkable resemblance to the sports of our own Christmas and of the Italian Carnival. Thus on the Saturnalia, public gambling was allowed by the aediles, just as in the days of our ancestors the most rigid were wont to countenance card-playing on Christmas-eve; the whole population threw off the toga, wore a loose gown … and walked about with the pileus on their heads, which reminds us of the dominoes, the peaked caps, and other disguises worn by masques and mummers … and lastly, one of the amusements in private society was the election of a mock king, which at once calls to recollection the characteristic ceremony of Twelfth-night.
Curiously, while ‘The Alexandrian Cat’ was anthologized in a topical collection called Mystery Cats 3 (Signet, 1995), and ‘The Lemures’ was anthologized in a seasonal collection called Murder for Halloween (Mysterious, 1994), my hope to see ‘The Disappearance of the Saturnalia Silver’ anthologized in a Christmas collection has so far gone unfulfilled. It is, after all, a Christmas-time murder mystery – even if it is set seventy-seven years before Christ!
A GLADIATOR
DIES ONLY ONCE
Steven Saylor
ROBINSON
London
To Rick,
who read them first
Natura inest in mentibus nostris insatiabilis quaedam cupiditas veri videndi.
(Nature has planted in our minds an insatiable longing to see the truth.)
– Marcus Tullius Cicero,
Tusculan Disputations
PREFACE
Gordianus the Finder, detective of ancient Rome, was introduced in a novel called Roman Blood, first published in 1991.
Over the course of the eight subsequent novels and eighteen short stories of the Roma Sub Rosa series, Gordianus has progressed from the age of thirty to the age of sixty-one. His concubine, Bethesda, has become his wife, and his family has expanded to include a daughter, two adopted sons (one born a slave), and four grandchildren (‘a typically Roman extended family,’ as the classicist Mary Beard commented in the Times Literary Supplement). He has rubbed elbows with the most famous men and women of his time, including Caesar, Cicero, Marc Antony, Pompey, Crassus, and Cleopatra. He has taken part (usually behind the scenes) in many of the most important events of his era, witnessing the final decades of
the Roman Republic as it disintegrates into the civil wars that ultimately will give rise to the empire of the Caesars.
Through it all, Gordianus’ adventures and investigations have been followed by readers in fifteen languages, and a fair number of these readers (thanks to the invention of e-mail) have seen fit to contact his creator with comments, questions, words of encouragement, and notification of the occasional typographical error.
The first nine short stories about Gordianus (all of which take place in the eight-year period between the first two novels, Roman Blood and Arms of Nemesis) were assembled in a collection titled The House of the Vestals. Since that book was published, nine more short stories have been written; readers will find them collected in these pages. Like the stories in The House of the Vestals, all these tales take place early in Gordianus’ career. Often at his side, rapidly growing up, is Eco, the mute boy he met in Roman Blood. Also here is Bethesda, Gordianus’ Jewish-Egyptian concubine, who eventually becomes his wife. Frequently conferring with Gordianus is his good friend and patron, Lucius Claudius. Cicero, the great lion of the Roman law courts, makes several appearances. Sertorius, the rebel general who set up a rival Roman state in Spain, casts a shadow across the book’s beginning and end, and makes an appearance in ‘The White Fawn.’ Two towering figures of the late Republic who have figured very little in the novels, Lucullus and Cato, appear in the collection’s final story.
One of the joys of writing the Gordianus short stories is the chance to explore various aspects of Roman life and history which simply have not come up in the novels. In these pages, readers will learn about gladiator combats, chariot racing, and the role of the Roman censor, as well as some curious facts regarding food – the making of garum (the fish-pickle sauce essential to Roman cuisine), the origin of Cicero’s famous epigram about a piece of cake, and the first appearance of cherries in Rome. (Regarding this last, somewhat touchy subject, see more details in the historical notes at the end of the book.)
The setting of most of the stories is the teeming, beautiful, endlessly fascinating, endlessly wicked city of Rome, but Gordianus’ investigations also take him to Spain, Sicily, the Bay of Naples, and across the breadth of Italy.
The stories are presented in chronological order. At the back of the book, readers will find a detailed chronology, which incorporates all the short stories and novels, along with some notes on historical sources.
THE CONSUL’S WIFE
‘Honestly,’ muttered Lucius Claudius, his nose buried in a scroll, ‘if you go by these accounts in the Daily Acts, you’d think Sertorius was a naughty schoolboy, and his rebellion in Spain a harmless prank. When will the consuls realize the gravity of the situation? When will they take action?’
I cleared my throat.
Lucius Claudius lowered the little scroll and raised his bushy red eyebrows. ‘Gordianus! By Hercules, you got here in a hurry! Take a seat.’
I looked about for a chair, then remembered where I was. In the garden of Lucius Claudius, visitors did not fetch furniture. Visitors sat, and a chair would be slipped beneath them. I stepped into the spot of sunlight where Lucius sat basking, and folded my knees. Sure enough, a chair caught my weight. I never even saw the attendant slave.
‘Something to drink, Gordianus? I myself am enjoying a cup of hot broth. Too early in the day for wine, even watered.’
‘Noon is hardly early, Lucius. Not for those of us who’ve been up since dawn.’
‘Since dawn?’ Lucius grimaced at such a distasteful notion. ‘A cup of wine for you, then? And some nibbles?’
I raised my hand to wave away the offer, and found it filled with a silver cup, into which a pretty slavegirl poured a stream of Falernian wine. A little tripod table appeared at my left hand, bearing a silver platter embossed with images of dancing nymphs and strewn with olives, dates and almonds.
‘Care for a bit of the Daily? I’m finished with the sporting news.’ Lucius nodded towards a clutter of little scrolls on the table beside him. ‘They say the Whites have finally got their act together this season. New chariots, new horses. Should give the Reds a run for the prizes in tomorrow’s races.’
I laughed out loud. ‘What a life you lead, Lucius Claudius. Up at noon, then lolling about your garden reading your own private copy of the Daily Acts.’
Lucius raised an eyebrow. ‘Merely sensible, if you ask me. Who wants to elbow through a crowd in the Forum, squinting and peering past strangers to read the Daily on the posting boards? Or worse, listen to some clown read the items out loud, inserting his own witty comments.’
‘But that’s the whole point of the Daily,’ I argued. ‘It’s a social activity. People take a break from the hustle and bustle of the Forum, gather round the posting boards and discuss whatever items interest them most – war news, marriages and births, chariot races, curious omens. It’s the highlight of many a man’s day, perusing the Daily and arguing politics or horses with fellow citizens. One of the cosmopolitan pleasures of city life.’
Lucius shuddered. ‘No thank you! My way is better. I send a couple of slaves down to the Forum an hour before posting time. As soon as the Daily goes up, one of them reads it aloud from beginning to end and the other takes dictation with a stylus on wax tablets. Then they hurry home, transcribe the words to parchment, and by the time I’m up and about, my private copy of the Daily is here waiting for me in the garden, the ink still drying in the sun. A comfy chair, a sunny spot, a hearty cup of broth, and my own copy of the Daily Acts – I tell you, Gordianus, there’s no more civilized way to start the day.’
I popped an almond into my mouth. ‘It all seems rather antisocial to me, not to mention extravagant. The cost of parchment alone!’
‘Squinting at wax tablets gives me eyestrain.’ Lucius sipped his broth. ‘Anyway, I didn’t ask you here to critique my personal pleasures, Gordianus. There’s something in the Daily that I want you to see.’
‘What, the news about that rebellious Roman general terrorizing Spain?’
‘Quintus Sertorius!’ Lucius shifted his considerable bulk. ‘He’ll soon have the whole Iberian Peninsula under his control. The natives there hate Rome, but they adore Sertorius. What can our two consuls be thinking, failing to bring military assistance to the provincial government? Decimus Brutus, much as I love the old bookworm, is no fighter, I’ll grant you; hard to imagine him leading an expedition. But his fellow consul Lepidus is a military veteran; fought for Sulla in the Civil War. How can those two sit idly on their behinds while Sertorius creates a private kingdom for himself in Spain?’
‘All that’s in the Daily Acts?’ I asked.
‘Of course not!’ Lucius snorted. ‘Nothing but the official government line: situation under control, no cause for alarm. You’ll find more details about the obscene earnings of charioteers than you’ll find about Spain. What else can you expect? The Daily is a state organ put out by the government. Deci probably dictates every word of the war news himself.’
‘Deci?’
‘Decimus Brutus, of course; the consul.’ With his ancient patrician connections, Lucius tended to be on a first-name basis, sometimes on a pet-name basis, with just about everybody in power. ‘But you distract me, Gordianus. I didn’t ask you here to talk about Sertorius. Decimus Brutus, yes; Sertorius, no. Here, have a look at this.’ His bejewelled hand flitted over the pile and plucked a scroll for me to read.
‘Society gossip?’ I scanned the items. ‘A’s son engaged to B’s daughter … C plays host to D at his country villa … E shares her famous family recipe for egg custard dating back to the days when Romulus suckled the she-wolf.’ I grunted. ‘All very interesting, but I don’t see—’
Lucius leaned forwards and tapped at the scroll. ‘Read that part. Aloud.’
‘ “The bookworm pokes his head outside tomorrow. Easy prey for the sparrow, but partridges go hungry. Bright-eyed Sappho says: Be suspicious! A dagger strikes faster than lightning. Better yet: an arrow. Let Venus conquer all!” ’
Lucius sat back and crossed his fleshy arms. ‘What do you make of it?’
‘I believe it’s called a blind item; a bit of gossip conveyed in code. No proper names, only clues that are meaningless to the uninitiated. Given the mention of Venus, I imagine this particular item is about some illicit love affair. I doubt I’d know the names involved even if they were clearly spelled out. You’d be more likely than I to know what all this means, Lucius.’
‘Indeed. I’m afraid I do know, at least in part. That’s why I called you here today, Gordianus. I have a dear friend who needs your help.’
I raised an eyebrow. Lucius’ rich and powerful connections had yielded me lucrative work before; they had also put me in great danger. ‘What friend would that be, Lucius?’
He raised a finger. The slaves around us silently withdrew into the house. ‘Discretion, Gordianus. Discretion! Read the item again.’
‘ “The bookworm—” ’
‘And whom did I call a bookworm only a moment ago?’
I blinked. ‘Decimus Brutus, the consul.’
Lucius nodded. ‘Read on.’
‘ “The bookworm pokes his head outside tomorrow …” ’
‘Deci will venture to the Circus Maximus tomorrow, to watch the races from the consular box.’
‘ “Easy prey for the sparrow …” ’
‘Draw your own conclusion from that – especially with the mention of daggers and arrows later on!’
Gordianus The Finder Omnibus (Books 1-4) Page 75