Gordianus The Finder Omnibus (Books 1-4)

by Steven Saylor

  ‘Where is Lucullus, by the way?’ I said.

  Servilia answered. ‘My husband is out in the orchard now, eating more cherries. He’s mad for them; cherry-mad!’ She laughed – rather unpleasantly, I thought.

  Arcesislaus stared at the painting, arms crossed, brooding. ‘ “Here, in this corner,” he told me. “A cherry tree, if you please.” Never mind that it completely unbalances the composition. I’ll have to add some new element to that other corner, as well. More work for me!’

  ‘But isn’t that what you artists live for – to work?’

  He snorted. ‘That’s a misconception commonly held by those who possess no talent. Like any sane man, I prefer leisure – and pleasure – to working.’ Did he steal a look at Servilia, or simply look beyond me? ‘I sculpt and I paint because Lucullus pays me to do so, and very handsomely.’

  ‘Money matters a great deal to you?’

  He gave me a withering glance. ‘I’m no different from any other man! Except for my ability to do this.’ He scraped the blade against a daub of red wax on the palette, touched the blade to the painting, and as if by magic a cherry appeared, so glossy and plump that it made my mouth water.

  ‘Remarkable!’ I said.

  He smiled begrudgingly, pleased by the compliment. ‘There’s a trick to it – painting cherries. I could paint cherries all day long.’ He laughed, as if at some private joke. Servilia laughed as well.

  A chill ran up my spine. I looked from the face of Arcesislaus to the face of Apollo – his self-portrait, there could be no doubt, for man and god shared the same sardonic smile. I thought of how merciless, selfish, and cruel the god could be, in spite of his beauty.

  I looked at the palette of pigmented wax. Not all paints were so thick. Other techniques called for paints that were quite thin, hardly more than coloured water. With a thin liquid and a tiny horsehair brush, one could paint cherries – or paint cherries …

  I backed out of the Apollo Room, on to the terrace, then turned and ran to the cherry orchard.

  Lucullus was where I expected to find him, seated on a folding chair beneath the tree that bore the cherries called Most-Precious-of-All. As I approached, I saw him reach up, pluck a cherry, gaze at it admiringly, and then lower it towards his open mouth.

  ‘No!’ I shouted. ‘Don’t eat it!’

  He turned his head, but continued to lower the cherry towards his lips – until I knocked it from his hand.

  ‘Gordianus! What in Hades do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Saving your life, quite possibly. Or perhaps just your sanity.’

  ‘What are you talking about? This is outrageous!’

  ‘What was it you said to me about these cherries? So fragile they can be eaten only beneath the tree – which gives them a more practical advantage, that they can’t have been poisoned.’

  ‘Yes; they’re the only things I ever eat without having a taster test them first.’

  ‘And yet, they could be poisoned, here on the tree.’

  ‘But how? No one could soak them, or cut them open, or …’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t call on your services for the purpose of finding a poisoner, Gordianus. I require of you one single task, and that regards—’

  ‘They could be painted,’ I said. ‘What if someone diluted a poison, and with a brush applied the solution to the cherries while they yet hang on the branch? You might consume only a little at a time, but eventually, considering how many of these cherries you’ve eaten—’

  ‘But Gordianus, I have suffered no ill effects. My digestion is fine; my lungs are clear; my eyes are bright.’

  But your mind is deranged, I wanted to say – but how could one say such a thing to a man like Lucullus? I would have to find another way; I would have to go round about, perhaps approach Marcus and win him over, make him see that his older brother needed looking after. Yes, I thought, that was the answer, considering how famously close was the bond between the two brothers. A very public family tragedy had struck them early in life; sometimes such an event drives a wedge between siblings, but quite the opposite had occurred with the brothers Lucullus. Their father’s self-destructive behaviour had very nearly ruined them, but together they had regained the city’s respect and made a name for themselves that exceeded anything their ancestors had achieved. One might even say that Lucullus owed his success to the failure of his father – that he owed everything to his father …

  Then I saw, in a flash, that cherries had nothing to do with Lucullus’ dilemma. The will, yes – but not the cherries …

  A slave, hearing his master’s voice raised, appeared and stood at a respectful distance, a quizzical look on his face.

  ‘Go find your master’s brother. Ask him to come here,’ I said.

  The slave looked to Lucullus, who peered at me for a long moment, then nodded. ‘Do as this man requests. Bring Marcus only – no one else.’

  While we waited, neither of us spoke. Lucullus moved his eyes here and there, never meeting my gaze.

  Marcus appeared. ‘What’s this? The slave told me he heard raised voices, an argument, and then Gordianus asked for me.’

  ‘He seems to think that my beloved cherries have been poisoned somehow,’ muttered Lucullus.

  ‘Yes, but that was a false notion,’ I said. ‘And realizing that it was false, I gave it up. If only you could do the same, Lucullus.’

  ‘This is about Motho, isn’t it?’ said Marcus, regarding his brother with a pained look.

  ‘Call him by his true name – Varius!’ cried Lucullus.

  ‘Why did you recently decide to write a will?’ I said. The two brothers both looked at me sharply, taken aback at the change of subject.

  ‘What a peculiar question to ask!’ said Lucullus.

  ‘For many years you had no will. You were far from Rome, fighting battles, accumulating a vast fortune and repeatedly putting your life at risk. Yet you saw no cause to write a will then.’

  ‘Because I thought I’d live forever! Men cling to the illusion of immortality for as long as they can,’ said Lucullus. ‘I think Archias once wrote a poem on the subject. Shall I summon him to deliver an epigram?’

  ‘ “The closer I cut to the bone, the more he laughs, denying all danger,” ’ I said, quoting Ennius. ‘How’s that for a suitable epigram?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ snapped Marcus. But the tremor in his voice gave him away; he was beginning to see the train of my thoughts.

  ‘You encouraged him to write a will. Didn’t you?’

  Marcus stared at me for a long moment, then lowered his eyes. ‘Yes. The time had come.’

  ‘Because of a change in Lucullus’ health? Because of some other threat to his life?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Marcus sighed. ‘Dear brother, he knows. There’s no use hiding the truth from him.’

  ‘He knows nothing. There is nothing to know!’ said Lucullus. ‘I have employed Gordianus for a single purpose: to prove to the world, and to you, Marcus, that I am not mistaken in what I know about Varius, or Motho, or whatever we should call him. I know what I know, and the world must be made to know it, too!’

  ‘Did your father say things like that, after he was recalled from Sicily and made to stand trial?’ I said, as gently as I could.

  Marcus drew a deep breath. ‘Similar things, yes. He had strange notions; he fixated upon impossible ideas that no one could talk him out of. His emotions became inappropriate, his logic inexplicable, his behaviour unpredictable. It began in a small way, but grew, until towards the end there was almost nothing left of the man we had known. There was only the slightest hint of the change before he left to take up the command in Sicily – so slight, no one really noticed it at the time, but only in retrospect. By the time he returned to Rome and stood trial, the change was obvious to those closest to him – our mother, our uncles. My brother and I were mere children, of course; we had no way of understanding. It was a very difficult time for everyone. We spoke of it only within the family. I
t became a source of shame to us, greater than the shame of my father’s conviction and exile.’

  ‘A family secret,’ I said. ‘Had such a thing happened before, in earlier generations?’

  ‘Don’t answer, Marcus!’ said Lucullus. ‘He has no right to ask such a question.’

  Unheeding, Marcus nodded. ‘Something similar befell our father’s father. An early dotage, a softening of the wits; we think it must be a kind of a malady that passes from father to son, a coiled serpent in the mind that waits to strike until a man is at the peak of his powers.’

  ‘All supposition!’ snapped Lucullus. ‘Just as likely, it was the harassment of his enemies that drove our father to distraction, not some affliction from within.’

  ‘As you see, Gordianus, my brother has always preferred to deny the truth of this matter,’ said Marcus. ‘He denied it concerning our father. He denies it now, when it begins to concern himself.’

  ‘And yet,’ I said, ‘he acceded to writing a will when you urged him to – now, rather than later, when his faculties may have eroded to a greater degree. That indicates to me that at some level, Lucullus knows the truth of what’s happening to him, even if he continues outwardly to deny it. Is that not so, Lucullus?’

  He gazed at me angrily, than his features gradually softened. His eyes glistened. A tear ran down one cheek. ‘I have led an honourable life. I have served Rome to the very best of my ability. I have been generous to my friends, forgiving to my enemies. I love life dearly. At last, I am about to have a child! Why must this shameful fate befall me? If the child is a son, will it befall him as well? My body is still strong; I may live many years yet. What’s to become of me in the time I have left, if I lose my senses? Have the gods no mercy?’

  I looked upon Lucullus and shivered. I saw a man surrounded by opulence beyond measure, at the summit of his career, adored by the multitude, beloved by his friends – yet utterly alone. Lucullus possessed everything and nothing, because he had no future.

  ‘The gods have much to answer for,’ I said quietly. ‘But while you still can, you must struggle against your delusions, especially those which pose a danger to others. Renounce this idea you have about Motho, Lucullus. Say it aloud, so that Marcus can hear.’

  His face became a tragedy mask. The struggle within him was so great that he trembled. Marcus, weeping more openly than his brother, gripped his arm to steady him.

  ‘Motho … is not Varius. There, I’ve said it! Though every fibre of my being tells me it’s a lie, I’ll say it again: Motho is not Varius.’

  ‘Say that you won’t harm him,’ I whispered.

  Lucullus shut his eyes tightly and clenched his fists. ‘I shall not harm him!’

  I turned and left the brothers alone, to find what comfort they could beneath the branches of the cherry tree called Most-Precious-of-All.

  So I came to taste my first cherry; so I made the acquaintance of Lucullus, to whom I never spoke again.

  The months that followed marked the pinnacle of a life which, to any outsider, must have appeared especially blessed by the gods. Lucullus celebrated a magnificent triumph (at which the rebel general Varius did not appear). Also, a son was born to him, healthy and whole. Lucullus named the boy Marcus, and was said to dote upon him shamelessly. His marriage to Servilia was less happy; he eventually accused her of adultery and divorced her. Whether the charge was true, or the result of a delusion, I never knew.

  Those months brought other changes, some very sad. Our conversation about Lucullus was one of my last encounters with my dear friend, Lucius Claudius, who fell dead one autumn afternoon in the Forum, clutching his chest. To my astonishment, Lucius did make me heir to his Etruscan farm – he had not been jesting that day in his garden. At about the same time, Cicero defeated Catilina and won his campaign for the consulship, making him a New Man among the nobility – the first of his family to attain Rome’s highest office. Of my move to the Etruscan countryside, and of the great and tragic events of Cicero’s consulship, I have written elsewhere.

  An era of enormous tumult was beginning. Steadfast Republicans like Cicero and Cato desperately looked to Lucullus, with his immense wealth and prestige, to rise up as a bulwark against the looming ambitions of warlords like Caesar and Pompey. Lucullus failed to meet their expectations. Instead he withdrew more and more from public life into an existence of sensual pleasure and seclusion. People said Lucullus had lost his ambition. Conventional wisdom presumed he had been corrupted by Greek philosophy and Asian luxury. Few knew that his mind had begun rapidly to fail, for Lucullus and Marcus did everything possible to hide that fact for as long as they could.

  By the time of his death, several years after I met him, Lucullus was as helpless as a baby, completely under the care of his brother. A curious rumour attended his demise: one of his beloved cherry trees had died, and Lucullus, denied the delicacy he most desired, had lost the will to live.

  Lucullus had faded from the scene, but the people of Rome recalled his glory days and reacted strongly to his death. Great funeral games were held, with gladiatorial contests and re-enactments on a massive scale of some of his more famous victories. During the period of public mourning, his gardens were opened to the public. I braved the crowds for the chance to see them again. If anything, the exotic flowers were more beautiful and the foliage more luxuriant than I remembered.

  Escaping from the crowd to walk down a secluded pathway, I came upon a gardener on all fours, tending to a rose bush. The slave heard my approach and glanced up at me with his single eye. I smiled, recognizing Motho. I thought he might recognize me in return, but he said nothing, and with hardly a pause he went back to what he was doing.

  I walked on, surrounded by the smell of roses.

  THE LIFE AND TIMES OF GORDIANUS THE FINDER: A PARTIAL CHRONOLOGY

  This list places all the short stories and the novels (published so far) of the Roma Sub Rosa series in chronological order, along with certain seminal events, such as births and deaths. Seasons, months, or (where it is possible to know) specific dates of occurrence are given in parentheses. The short stories previously collected in The House of the Vestals are followed by a double-dagger (‡); the stories that appear in the present volume are followed by an asterisk (*).

  B.C.

  110

  Gordianus born at Rome

  108

  Catilina born

  106

  Cicero born near Arpinum (3 January); Bethesda born at Alexandria

  100

  Julius Caesar born (traditional date)

  90

  Events of ‘The Alexandrian Cat’‡ Gordianus meets the philosopher Dio and Bethesda in Alexandria Eco born at Rome

  84

  Catullus born near Verona

  82–80

  Dictatorship of Sulla

  80

  Roman Blood (May); the trial of Sextus Roscius, with Cicero defending

  ‘Death Wears a Mask’‡ (15–16 September)

  Bethesda tells Gordianus ‘The Tale of the Treasure House’‡ (summer)

  79

  Meto born

  78

  Sulla dies

  ‘A Will Is a Way’‡ (18–28 May); Gordianus meets Lucius Claudius ‘The Lemures’‡ (October) Julius Caesar captured by pirates (winter)

  77

  ‘Little Caesar and the Pirates’‡ (spring/August); Gordianus meets Belbo

  ‘The Consul’s Wife’*

  ‘If a Cyclops Could Vanish in the Blink of an Eye’*

  ‘The Disappearance of the Saturnalia Silver’‡ (December)

  76

  ‘King Bee and Honey’‡ (late April)

  ‘The White Fawn’* (summer–autumn)

  75

  ‘Something Fishy in Pompeii’*

  ‘Archimedes’ Tomb’*

  ‘Death by Eros’*

  74

  Oppianicus is tried and convicted on numerous charges

  Gordianus tells Lucius Claudius the story of ‘The A
lexandrian Cat’‡ (summer)

  73

  ‘The House of the Vestals’‡ (spring)

  ‘A Gladiator Dies Only Once’* (June and after)

  Spartacus slave revolt begins (September)

  72

  Oppianicus is murdered

  Arms of Nemesis (September); the murder of Lucius Licinius at Baiae

  71

  Final defeat of Spartacus (March)

  70

  Gordiana (Diana) born to Gordianus and Bethesda at Rome (August)

  ‘Poppy and the Poisoned Cake’*

  Virgil born

  67

  Pompey clears the seas of piracy

  64

  ‘The Cherries of Lucullus’* (spring)

  Gordianus moves to the Etruscan farm (autumn)

  63

  Catilina’s Riddle (story begins 1

  June 63, epilogue ends August 58); the consulship of Cicero and the conspiracy of Catilina

  60

  Titus and Titania (the Twins) born to Eco and Menenia at Rome (spring)

  Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus form the First Triumvirate

  56

  The Venus Throw (January to 5 April); the murder of the philosopher Dio

  55

  Pompey builds the first permanent theatre in Rome

  52

  A Murder on the Appian Way (18

  January to April); the murder of

  Clodius and the burning of the Senate House

  Aulus born to Diana and Davus at Rome (October)

  49

  Rubicon (January to March); Caesar crosses the Rubicon River and civil war begins

  Last Seen in Massilia (late summer to autumn); Trebonius, under Caesar’s command, lays siege to Massilia

  48

  A Mist of Prophecies (story begins 9 August); Gordianus investigates the death of the woman known as Cassandra

  Caesar defeats Pompey at Pharsalus (9 August) and pursues him to Egypt

  The Judgement of Caesar (story begins 27 September); Gordianus travels to Egypt; Caesar arrives in Alexandria where he confronts the royal siblings, Cleopatra and Ptolemy

  47

  Bethesda is born to Diana and Davus at Rome