The Gods Help Those

by Albert A. Bell

  “They must have known it was empty and unlocked,” Tacitus said. “Or did they break in?”

  “The lock was broken,” I said. “Since the place was empty, I hadn’t gotten around to having it fixed yet.”

  “If the baby was the bait,” Aurora said, “Berenicianus must have wanted him very badly to risk going anywhere in Rome by himself, and especially down by the docks.”

  I pointed to the deepening gloom visible through the door of the taberna. “It’s going to be completely dark soon. We’re going to be in danger ourselves. Let’s continue this conversation on our way home.”

  I left money on the table and signaled to our servants at the other table. We started out the door of the taberna into the bustling street. “I wish we had a few more people with us,” I said. “Keep an eye on anyone who seems to be getting too close.”

  Aurora tugged my arm to hold me back. “I would recognize the man, Gaius. I got a good look at him when he was glancing back over his shoulder. And he was one of those the vigiles had rounded up before you told them to let everybody go because Berenice hadn’t been hurt.”

  I gasped. “Are you serious?”

  “I tried to tell you, but you cut me off. By the time you were ready to listen to me, he was gone.”

  “That means he would recognize you.”

  “Or you.”

  When we returned from the Subura Aurora held Joshua or watched while Miriam nursed him. Miriam showed her how to pat the baby on the back now and then during his feeding, in spite of his unhappiness at being taken from the breast. My mother, who was sitting with me beside the fish pond in the center of the garden, explained that the patting causes the baby to belch and helps him to feel better.

  “Only as we grow up,” she said, “are we taught that it’s not polite to belch or make…other gaseous noises while we eat. They’re really quite natural.”

  “When Claudius was princeps,” I said, “he used to encourage people to do those things at dinner.”

  She gave me a sidelong glance. “An historical example! Did you learn that from Tacitus? Poor Claudius probably had some stomach disorder and wanted other people to help him cover it up. That’s acceptable for babies and old men, I guess.”

  “Still, I would not have wanted to be a guest at his table.”

  Later, in the middle of the night, with a single lamp flickering on the table beside my bed, Aurora put her hand on my chest and sighed deeply. It was taking me a few moments to get my breath back. Our love-making, which she had initiated, had been the most intense we’d experienced since her miscarriage. Did the fact that she now had a baby—sleeping in the room on the other side of hers with his nurse—mean that she was able to move beyond that tragedy?

  “Gaius, are you awake?” Her voice was low, even more sultry than usual.

  “Yes.” I ran my hand slowly down her bare back. If she was in the mood for—

  “I think Berenice knows something that she’s not telling us.”

  I sat up. “Is that what you’re thinking about now?”

  She propped herself on one elbow, her breasts brushing my chest, and kissed me on the cheek. “I know what you’re thinking about.” She slowly ran a hand down my chest and stomach and a bit farther.

  “Well, it’s difficult for a man to conceal—”

  “I don’t believe you men can think about this”—she began to move her hand rhythmically up and down—“and anything else at the same time.”

  I didn’t want to get bogged down in a pointless discussion. “What do you think Berenice knows?” I managed to gasp as she straddled me.

  “She knows who tried to kill her. I’m sure of it.”

  I was almost asleep when someone outside my door made a noise, as though he had stubbed a toe against something. No matter how quiet a person is trying to be, that sudden bolt of pain will provoke a reaction. I slipped on my tunic and picked up the small sword lying on the table beside my bed. Aurora stirred when I got up.

  “What is it?” she said, brushing her hair back.

  “I think someone’s prowling in the garden.”

  Aurora got into her gown and picked up her knife. I opened the door cautiously, just enough to get my head out. Aurora looked around me as best she could. The clouds were still heavy and low, so I didn’t even have moonlight to help me see. But I could make out a figure skulking from one column of the peristyle to the next. He seemed to be examining the door of each room, as though looking for a sign or mark on the lower part of the door. Finally he stopped and opened one door.

  “That’s the room where Clymene is,” Aurora whispered. “What on earth is he looking for in there?”

  “Her, apparently,” I said as the two of them emerged from the room. The man was holding Clymene’s right hand in his left. In his right hand he held a knife with a blade about as long as the span of a large man’s hand from thumb to little finger. “He’s kidnapping her.”

  “He’s not pulling her,” Aurora said. “I think she wants to go with him.”

  As they drew closer to us I had the door open just enough for us to see but not be noticed in the dark. We could finally make out the man’s face. “Is that the man who attacked Berenice?” I asked. Aurora nodded.

  Now I could hear the man saying something…about a baby. Clymene replied, “In one of these rooms. I don’t know which one. There’ll be a nurse with him or that whore of Pliny’s.”

  The man brandished his knife. “They’ll be easy enough to deal with.”

  Aurora clutched my arm. “He’s after Joshua, too. We’ve got to stop him.”

  Clymene and the man had been brought to a halt by a noise in front of the room where Miriam and Joshua were, two doors away from us. The baby was fretting.

  “A very sign from God,” the man muttered. He let go of Clymene’s hand and reached for the door.

  “I’ll take him,” I said. “You deal with her. Now!”

  I flung the door open and Aurora and I rushed into the walkway in front of the intruders. “Get your hand off that door!” I barked, showing my sword. Aurora lunged at Clymene and knocked her up against one of the pillars.

  The man feinted with his knife, but it was too short to be effective against my sword, even as short as it was. He couldn’t strike without putting himself in range of my weapon. Instead he dodged behind the pillar where Clymene was pinned. She yelled as he passed her and ran toward the rear gate. I tried to cut him off, but he turned over a chair in my path and pushed it at me. I stumbled over it. By the time I regained my feet he was gone. I looked both ways out the gate, but there was no sign of him.

  By this time Felix had come out of the room he shares with Aurora, and my mother and Naomi were running across the garden toward us, carrying torches.

  “Gaius,” Mother called. “What’s going on?”

  “Someone broke in,” I said, “but he’s gone.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” she asked.

  “Clymene needs help,” Aurora said.

  The woman was sitting on the ground in front of the pillar, her hands on her side, blood darkening her gown. Eschewing modesty, my mother and Naomi lifted Clymene’s gown and examined her wound in the flickering light. By now a crowd of servants had gathered.

  “It’s not bad,” Mother said. “Let’s get her back in her room and stitch her up.”

  Clymene was able to stand and walk. Turning to Aurora, she grimaced and said, “He was trying to kill you, you know. He loves me. He came to rescue me.”

  I closed and locked the rear gate and posted guards for the rest of the night. When Aurora and I were standing by ourselves in front of her and Felix’s room, she said, “Clymene’s wrong. He wasn’t trying to kill me. He was definitely aiming for her.”

  When everyone was back in bed Aurora and I stood outside Clymene’s door, where I now had a guard on duty.

  “He obviously came over the wall,” I said. “He’s very agile, but how did he know which room she was in?”

  Aurora he
ld a torch close to the door. “Look, my lord, down here.” She pointed to a mark scratched on the doorpost. “That’s a Hebrew letter, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “We certainly didn’t put it there.”

  IX

  The next morning the rain let up enough that Regulus sent word that Lucullus’ funeral would be held as soon as we had finished with our clients’ business at the salutatio. I informed mine that they would be expected to accompany me, for an extra donative, of course. The walk down to the Licinian Gardens, which sit on the southeast side of the Esquiline, was not arduous. The gardens themselves, like many of the open spaces in the city, are in danger of being smothered by the buildings that are encroaching on them from all sides.

  The pyre had been erected on the eastern side of the gardens, the most open part. Since Regulus was responsible for it, it was enormous. I was glad to see there were no trees overhanging it or bushes nearby. Once it was fully engulfed in flames, it could spread to anything that would burn.

  Lucullus’ body was carried in by some of his servants and propped up in front of the pyre. I’ve always considered that practice an odd part of our funeral rituals. It’s as though the dead man is going to watch the proceedings. Could he stop them if he wasn’t satisfied? He was wrapped in embroidered linen. A wax mask had been placed over his face, painted to look as lifelike as possible.

  Sempronia and her female clientela played the part of the mourners one reads about in Greek plays and sees depicted on Greek pottery. Some tore their garments, exposing their breasts, which they beat rhythmically. Others scratched their cheeks until they bled. None of this was typical of a Roman funeral. One might have thought Achilles or Agamemnon was going to be lying on top of the pyre.

  Lucullus’ wife showed more proper deportment, covering her head and holding her two small children by their hands, one on each side of her, one a girl, the other a younger boy. All three looked sad, but I saw no tears.

  “I don’t see anyone who looks like the older daughter by Lucullus’ first wife,” I said to Aurora.

  “She may have suspected what this spectacle would look like if Regulus and Sempronia were staging it and had enough sense to stay away. The second wife looks like she’d just as soon be somewhere else.”

  Sacrifices were offered—ten sheep and five oxen—and Lucullus’ body was lifted onto the top of the pyre. Regulus mounted a dais to deliver his eulogy. His toga was what any member of the senatorial class would wear, but the cloak wrapped around it was a deep blue with gold leaves sewn onto it. He looked down modestly and waited for the crowd to fall silent.

  Since Lucullus had no career to brag of, Regulus stressed his glorious ancestors—a few consuls and some mediocre generals—and then launched into a lament over how tragic it was that Lucullus had been cut down before he was able to enjoy the greatest honor that Rome had to offer: a consulship with the princeps as his colleague.

  Regulus didn’t say it, but we all knew that Domitian would have done what he had done before. He would hold the office on the first day of the year, so that the year would forever be named “the year when Domitian and Lucullus were consuls,” then he would resign and appoint some non-entity as a suffect consul. That man and Lucullus would hold the office for about six months, as long as they didn’t annoy Domitian. Then they would have to step aside to allow the appointment of two more suffect consuls to finish out the year. Rome needs ex-consuls because holding a consulship is a requirement for filling certain provincial offices, and this is the only way to insure an adequate supply. Lucullus would at least have had the honor of being a consul ordinarius, one whose name was on the year, and alongside Domitian’s at that. His family could boast of having a vir consularis in their ranks.

  “I wonder why Regulus is making such a spectacle of this,” Aurora said. “The man was Sempronia’s cousin, not his. From what I’ve heard, Regulus doesn’t do anything to gratify her.”

  “I’ve wondered about that, too. And how did he get Domitian to go along with this charade?”

  Regulus actually shed a few tears at the end of his eulogy. I think he may have had something in his handkerchief to induce them. Then, mercifully, it was over. Torches were applied to the pyre, which had been soaking for a couple of days in olive oil and pitch, so that not even the misty rain which began falling was likely to dampen it.

  “I wish I could have examined the body,” I said.

  “Why?” She looked at me like she smelled something unpleasant. “Sometimes I think you’re becoming as ghoulish as Tacitus says you are.”

  “It’s not a matter of ghoulish curiosity. Berenicianus was stabbed. Lucullus was stabbed. I’d just like to see if there were any similarities.”

  “My lord, I imagine there are dozens of people stabbed in Rome every day. It’s the most common way people have of injuring or killing one another in this city.”

  Our conversation broke off when I realized that Regulus was walking toward us. Aurora moved back so that she was standing behind me.

  Regulus extended his hand, which I clasped. “Gaius Pliny, thank you for being here today, and with a considerable number of your people. It made for an impressive turnout.”

  “I always honor my promises, Marcus Regulus. Very fine eulogy.”

  “Thank you. It’s always a bit difficult when one doesn’t really know the deceased very well. I had met him only a couple of times.”

  “I was wondering about that. Why did you promote him to Domitian then?”

  Regulus looked at the ground, then glanced around before he said, “Since he’s dead, I suppose there’s no harm in saying this. He told me he knew a secret that would make me very rich. Of course, I’m already very rich, but there’s no harm in being very much richer, is there?” He laughed in a way that turned my stomach.

  “How was he going to do that, if I may ask?”

  “You may ask, but I can’t tell you because I don’t know. He was murdered before he supplied any details.”

  We had to take a few steps away from the pyre as the heat grew more intense. Lucullus’ body began to sizzle and pop.

  “Are you sure there were details?”

  “Very astute observation, Gaius Pliny. I’ve thought about that, about the possibility that he was merely leading me on. But, as one who has played that game many times, I thought I recognized a vein of truth in what he was saying. He did give me one hint: it concerns a hidden box, something the Jews have kept secret for centuries. He wanted a consulship in exchange for revealing the rest of what he knew. He was probably wise to withhold that until he had his prize. Now I guess I’ll never know.”

  “Could his death have had anything to do with this hidden box?”

  Regulus looked at me in surprise. “Do you mean could someone have killed him to prevent him from telling? I hadn’t considered that. I thought he was killed by a disgruntled slave. The gods know that we all have a few of those in our households.” He looked Aurora up and down. “But fortunately we have some very ‘gruntled’ ones, too, don’t we?” He patted me on my shoulder. “Thanks again, Gaius Pliny.”

  “Certainly. Give my condolences to your wife.” He could think I meant condolences on the death of her cousin. I meant condolences on being his wife.

  I dismissed my clients with thanks and the money I had promised them. A few of them accompanied Aurora and me as we returned to my house in order to talk with me some more.

  When I was finished with my clients’ business, I told Aurora, “We need to go see Tacitus.”

  “Let’s take Joshua with us,” she said. “I’m sure Julia would enjoy seeing him.”

  “No, taking the baby would require taking Miriam with us, in case he got hungry. And taking her would require taking someone who could speak Hebrew, namely Naomi. And that would require an even larger entourage of servants for protection. It is simply too much trouble.” I concluded my argument as forcefully as I might in a court case which I knew I could not lose.

  We arrived as the last of T
acitus’ clients was leaving. Joshua had slept in Aurora’s arms during the whole trip to the Aventine Hill and Julia was delighted to see him.

  “Aren’t you just the most precious thing?” She took the baby from Aurora. “I was thinking about coming over to see you.”

  Joshua bestirred himself long enough to yawn and make a sucking motion with his mouth. Aurora gave me a look that said much more than it needed to.

  “He looks good,” Julia said.

  “He’s eating well.” Aurora patted Miriam on the arm. She said two or three words in a language I assumed was Hebrew. Miriam nodded and smiled.

  As the women made the little cooing and oohing noises that women always make over babies, Tacitus finished his conversation with his very last client. I sat on a bench and looked around the atrium. It had been several months since I’d been here. The decoration reflected more of Julia’s taste than Tacitus’, I suspected. It gave one the impression of being in a garden, with plants, birds, and trellises. Soft colors—mostly blues and greens—dominated. The house is smaller than mine, but Tacitus doesn’t have his mother and her entourage living with him. Sadly, both of his parents are dead. Julia’s parents have property in southern Gaul and a villa north of Rome, where Agricola can keep his veterans close enough to the city to give Domitian second thoughts about any rash moves.

  Tacitus paid homage to Joshua because Julia practically shoved the child under his nose. Then he turned his attention to me. “This is a pleasure. May I offer you something to eat or drink?”

  “No, thank you. I’m here because I think we should go talk to Berenice again.”

  “Why? She said she couldn’t tell us any more.”

  “Aurora is convinced that she knows who tried to kill her. I think we should press her on that point.”

  Tacitus rubbed his chin. “You’re probably right. Aurora has excellent instincts in such things. I need to give my steward some instructions. I’ll be ready to go in just a few moments.” He walked away to tend to those domestic matters and to gather a few servants and a cloak.