“Is that blood, my lord?” Archidamos peered over my shoulder. “It’s not red.”
Unless they work in the kitchen, servants in an urban household don’t see as much bloodshed as do those on a rural estate. If they see games in the arena—which I discourage in my household—the blood they see is fresh and red. “Blood turns brown when it dries,” Aurora said as she knelt beside me. I hoped everyone assumed she was addressing Archidamos.
I moved the lamp along the base of the building. “There’s a line of blood here. There must have been quite a bit for it to have left this much when the rain washed it off the paving stones.” I surveyed the passageway, assuring myself. “This is where Julius Berenicianus was killed.”
“And then someone carried him into the warehouse, my lord,” Aurora said, “and stitched up his mouth?”
“I believe so. That must have taken a little time, so they would have needed a place where no one would see them.” We stepped into the warehouse, with the other servants following us.
Aurora walked over to the spot where we had found Berenicianus. “And they must have brought the coins, the needle, and the thread with them, my lord.”
I nodded. “That wasn’t something they would decide to do on the spur of the moment.”
“But why, my lord? It’s so bizarre.”
“The fact that it is so bizarre might be the best clue we have. It’s not something that just anyone would do.”
We spent over an hour sorting through the debris but found nothing except a sandal which might have belonged to one of the dead men. Archidamos moved the largest pieces of the beams that had fallen to the floor. The other servants helped him toss them into the river.
“My lord,” Archidamos said as he took a moment to rest. “I believe somebody has already been in here.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The way some of this stuff is stacked, my lord. It couldn’t have fallen like that.” He pointed to a pile of stones near the bank of the Tiber.
“This is pointless then,” I finally said. “If there was anything here, someone has already taken it.” I sighed and took one last look around the ruins. “Let’s go home.”
I had just stepped out the door when I met a woman coming toward me, accompanied by half a dozen men dressed in Eastern fashion, with embroidered robes and headgear. I couldn’t tell at a glance whether they were slaves or retainers. “Are you Gaius Pliny?” she asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“I inquired at your home and was told that I might find you here.” She raised her head slightly. “I’m Julia Berenice.”
VII
I had no idea what to say, so I just sputtered, “Julia…Ber…Berenice?”
“Yes.”
“The mother of—”
“The mother of the man who, I understand, was found dead in your warehouse.”
The woman standing before me appeared to be about fifty and quite impressive. She was above average height and wore a green stola and a white cloak with a green fringe. Her hair and the lower half of her face were covered by a light veil, but she countered that bit of modesty with a gold necklace and several gold bracelets. The only thing amiss about her was the small mole above the corner of her left eye, just below her eyebrow. Her dress was not quite that of a grieving mother, but her demeanor was subdued, in spite of an arrogance that seemed to be the result of a long habit. Tacitus had called her striking instead of beautiful. Given how little of her face I could see, I could neither concur with nor dispute his assessment.
“What can I do for you, my lady?” I asked when I recovered from my surprise.
“My friend Sempronia tells me you have a knack for ferreting out the truth.”
My friend Sempronia? Those three words instantly put me on alert. Anyone who counts Regulus’ wife among her friends is someone to be wary of. Just then Aurora stepped through the door and stood slightly behind me. Berenice cocked her head but kept her eyes focused on me.
“What sort of truth do you want me to ferret out?” I asked.
Berenice wrapped her cloak more closely around her as a breeze picked up off the river. “I’m sure you can understand that I want to know who killed my son. Since he was found in your warehouse, I assume you have an interest in finding his killer as well before the blame falls on you.”
I knew I was innocent, but in Rome that doesn’t count for much. To prove my innocence I had to prove someone else guilty. “I certainly do want to find his killer, but I’m not sure how to go about it. We’ve just been through the building again, and we have no clues.”
“What about the coins you found in his mouth?” She spoke matter-of-factly, without any break in her voice or other signs of the grief I would expect a mother to display when talking about the recent and violent death of her son. “They would seem to be a most salient clue.”
“How do you know about the coins?”
Berenice reached out and patted my arm. “Why, Gaius Pliny, Sempronia’s tentacles reach far and deep.”
“And all this time I thought it was Regulus I needed to be concerned about.”
Berenice laughed softly. “Sempronia’s spies even spy on Regulus’ spies. And, because they’re women, you men never notice them.” Her voice turned somber again. “Can you help me? Will you help me?”
“I hope we can help each other. Neither of us can solve this alone. Let’s find a place where we can talk. Would you like to come to my house? We would be more comfortable there.”
Berenice shook her head. “I would be seen by too many people and you would have to explain who I am.” She adjusted the veil so that I could see only the bridge of her nose, her eyes and her forehead. “The Portico of Octavia isn’t far from here. We have enough servants with us that we should be able to find a quiet corner.”
Augustus built a portico to honor his sister, next to the theater named for her son Marcellus. During our short walk there Berenice told me that she was living on the Caelian Hill, in an insula owned by Sempronia. She and her household occupied the entire second floor. “It’s no palace, but it’s comfortable enough.”
“I had the impression,” I said, “that you…left Rome.”
“You mean that Titus sent me away.”
“Well, yes.” I was trying to be diplomatic, but she was so forthright, almost brusque, that she made it difficult.
“He made a show of it, and I added buckets of tears, but ‘away’ wasn’t very far. I moved into the quarters where I am now, behind the Temple of Juno Lucina, with a dozen servants so that we could remain close. Titus came to see me, at night and in disguise. Now I fill my time writing my memoirs. That seems to be what royal women do in their old age.”
The Temple of Juno Lucina sits on the Esquiline, only a short walk from my house. “You must feel like an exile. How are your needs being met?”
“I’ve always had considerable means. Titus gave me even more before he died, a return on what I gave him and Vespasian when they were fighting for power. There is a small bath house on the ground floor of the building, and enough tabernas and shops of various kinds nearby. With Sempronia’s help I’m able to remain out of public view. At this point in my life that’s all I want.”
We had reached the Portico of Octavia. Its colonnaded walls surround a generous open space with two modest temples—one to Jupiter Stator and one to Juno Regina—in the center. In the year after the eruption of Vesuvius the structure was damaged by a fire, another supposed omen of the gods’ displeasure with Titus due to his relationship with Berenice. He who had been called “the darling of the gods” presided over more disasters in his short time in power than many long-lived rulers.
Titus died soon after that fire, and Domitian repaired the damage to the portico, rededicating it as though he was a descendant of Augustus. From the day they seized power, Vespasian and his sons have been keenly aware of their lack of a connection to our first princeps. They’ve added “Caesar” to their names but cannot infuse his bloo
d into their veins. That hasn’t stopped them from adopting various ruses to create the impression that they belong. Titus buried Vespasian in the mausoleum Augustus built for himself and his family. Domitian took his current wife, Domitia Longina, from another man because she is a fifth-generation direct descendant of Augustus. That will give his children at least a dollop of Augustus’ blood.
The portico has two entrances, on its north and south sides, each featuring six columns in the Corinthian style. The interior walls are decorated with frescoes which my uncle described in some detail in his Natural History. As is always true of any space like this in the city, the portico sheltered knots of people here and there. For some of them, I knew, this was home. Food vendors and prostitutes moved from group to group, offering their various wares, some of which were being enjoyed right on the spot.
We found a bench in an unoccupied corner and our servants established a cordon around us. With the solid wall behind us, I felt reasonably secure from prying eyes and ears. Still, Berenice and I lowered our voices, and she kept her face veiled.
A particularly stubborn sausage seller was hawking his wares under my servants’ noses. I motioned to Archidamos, who was carrying my money pouch. “Get everyone something to eat and then send that fellow packing.”
While Archidamos took care of that task I resolved to establish some basic facts. It would have been helpful to have Tacitus here to make notes, as he often does, or help me remember what we heard. Even his sometimes sardonic questions could illuminate a point I might have missed. “Your son was wearing a tunic with an equestrian stripe on it when we found him.” I decided not to mention that the killer had torn the stripe into shreds. “Was he an equestrian?”
Berenice nodded. “Titus gave him that honor, at my request. It’s amazing what a man will grant you when you’re…well, I’ll leave that to your imagination.”
I decided to ignore the provocation in her eyes. The mole, which might once have been considered a beauty mark, now served more as a distraction. “How old was your son?”
“Let’s see. He was born when I was sixteen. That would make him thirty-five. And don’t you dare do the sums in your head.”
“I’ve never been good at mathematics.” That made her eyes twinkle. “Did your son live with you?”
“Only recently.” She adjusted the folds in her gown. “He had been living in Chalcis, where he was born and where his father’s family live.”
“Chalcis? That’s north of Judaea, isn’t it?” I vaguely recalled the name from the year I served as a tribune in Syria. It was a patch of sand, indistinguishable from all the other patches of sand in that desolate part of the empire.
“Yes. And, before you have to ask, his father is my late uncle, to whom I was married at the time.” She looked down and then back up at me. “We haven’t been the only ones, you know. Claudius married his niece, Agrippina, and Domitian is having an affair with his brother’s daughter. It’s a kind of royal prerogative, I guess.”
“The princeps is not our king.”
She patted my knee. “You just keep telling yourself that, dear. Besides, a king with his niece isn’t the same as a man having an affair with one of his slaves.”
She glanced at Aurora, who was standing next to the wall, at the end of our protective line of servants, finishing the sausage Archidamos had purchased and wiping her fingers on her gown. Even I had to admit she did not look her loveliest at that moment. I couldn’t tell if Berenice was smiling behind her veil, but it sounded like she was, if one can hear a smile.
“Are you implying something?” I asked.
“I don’t have to imply, do I? She’s the only female in the group of servants you brought with you, your beautiful ‘goddess of the dawn.’ That implies that she has…some standing in your eyes.”
The fact that she knew who Aurora was made me extremely uncomfortable. Someone was talking about us. Someone in my household? A spy of Regulus? Of Sempronia? I shifted in my seat to block her view. “Let’s stick to the question of your son’s murder. You said he had been living with you only recently.”
“That’s right. I hadn’t seen him in five years and then he turned up here in Rome about a month ago.”
“Do you know why he came to Rome at this time?”
“He said it wasn’t safe for him to live in Chalcis any longer.”
“Why not?”
“He wouldn’t tell me. The more I knew, he said, the more dangerous it would be for me.”
We left through the south entrance of the portico and were skirting the south side of the Palatine on our way home. Domitian’s construction project on the top of the hill loomed over us just as he himself threatens to overwhelm everything below and around him. He has already pushed everyone else off the top of the hill, but he just keeps building.
“Why didn’t you ask her about Joshua?” I asked Gaius in Greek.
“I was waiting to see if she mentioned him,” Gaius said. “When she didn’t, I felt like something was off, the way you get that first whiff of what might be bad meat and you have to decide whether it’s the meat or your nose. So I decided to keep it to myself, as a kind of test.”
“But she must know about the baby. She knew about the coins in her son’s mouth.”
“If he was her son.”
I looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Are we certain that was Berenice I was talking to? She was veiled the entire time. All I saw were her eyes and the bridge of her nose.”
“And that mole.” I shuddered. “You couldn’t miss that.”
Gaius chuckled. “I think that was once considered a beauty spot. But when it’s the only thing you can see, it doesn’t have quite that effect, does it? I just wonder, do we really know who she was? Anybody in Rome that you’ve never seen before can walk up to you and say ‘I’m So-and-So.’ How do we prove it?”
“By a signet ring?”
“Pssht.” Gaius waved a dismissive hand. “Anybody can buy a ring. Or steal one.”
“Whoever she was, she knew about the coins. She must have heard that from someone in our house.”
Gaius put his face close to my ear. “And she knows who you are, my goddess of the dawn.”
I blushed. “I must admit I rather liked that.”
“But did she hear it from someone in our house?”
“For all we know, she could have heard it from Livia, or someone that Livia talked to.”
“Livia’s not supposed to say anything about us or against you. That was our agreement.”
I snorted. “Hah! Do you really expect Livia to—”
“I’ll deal with Livia,” Gaius snapped. “She’s not the problem right now. What we need to figure out is why Berenice—and for now I’ll assume that’s who she was—did not say anything about that baby. You’re right. If she knew about the coins, she has to have known about the baby.”
Just talking about Joshua made me ache to get home and hold him again. I tried to walk a little faster, but the crowd was too heavy. “She said her son came to Rome about a month ago, didn’t she? And Joshua was born about a month ago. That would mean Berenicianus and the boy’s mother traveled a long distance just before he was born. That would have been dangerous for the mother and the baby.”
Gaius nodded. “But what if she and Berenicianus came to Rome much earlier and he didn’t reveal himself to his mother until a month ago?”
“Why wait?”
“So he could make arrangements for the child and his mother—insure their safety.”
“But he couldn’t insure his own safety. And we don’t know what has happened to the mother.”
Gaius fell silent as we started up the Esquiline. Halfway up the hill, as we passed the Iseum, he said, “We’ve been assuming he was Berenicianus’ son, but that may not be the case.”
“Then whose child could he be?” If he wasn’t Berenice’s grandson, there was a chance he might stay in Gaius’ house, a chance that he might be mine. My
heart leapt.
“I’m just trying to look at the question from all angles.” Gaius gestured as though pointing to different places. “I suppose there has to be a connection to Berenicianus. A circumcised male infant is found a few feet away from a circumcised adult male—how could there not be a connection? I just don’t know what it is.”
“You mentioned how difficult it is to identify a person. It’s even harder to know who a child belongs to. There might be some resemblance to a parent—big ears, hair color—but they’re not irrefutable proof. People with brown eyes can have a child with blue ones.”
“And circumcision is certainly not something a boy inherits from his parents,” Gaius said.
“And there are so many other factors to consider,” I said. “Stabbing someone in the back—literally or metaphorically—isn’t so unusual in Rome. But why the coins stuffed in his mouth? That took a lot of planning, and it must have some significance.”
“But for whom?” Gaius slapped his hands on his knees in frustration. “Berenice said she didn’t know what it means.”
“Or she just doesn’t want you to know what it means,” I said.
“She asked for my help. I can’t help her if she won’t tell me what’s going on.”
I brushed Gaius’ hand. It’s so frustrating not to be able to touch him in public. “That woman frightens me. I wish you didn’t have to get involved in this business. You heard her say she’s a friend of Sempronia’s.”
Gaius squeezed my hand and quickly released it. “And knowing that makes me extremely cautious about dealing with her. But a dead man was found in my warehouse. Regulus could spin that single fact into a web of lies that might convict me in court.”
Tacitus popped another grape into his mouth and swirled some well-watered wine in his cup. He was still a little bleary-eyed after his wife’s dinner party the previous evening. Domitian’s lover (and niece) enjoyed her wine, he said, and expected those dining with her to share her enthusiasm. Though not a queen or princess, she lorded it over everyone around her.
“I guess most of us would act like that,” I said, “if our face had appeared on a coin, and on the front of the coin, no less.”
The Gods Help Those Page 11