Aurora left Julia and the baby and stood in front of me like a servant, with her hands folded in front of her, waiting to be told what to do.
“We’re going to see Berenice,” I said.
“Shall I come with you, my lord?”
“You’ll have to make a choice. You cannot bring that baby with you.”
“I know, my lord.” Aurora sighed and looked over her shoulder at Julia. “I think he’ll be fine with Julia. Naomi and Miriam can bring him home later. He’ll be all right.” I knew she was reassuring herself, not me.
I leaned closer to her. “No matter how you feel about him or any other child, he will be an encumbrance.”
Aurora lowered her voice to little more than a whisper. “Is that what I am, Gaius? An encumbrance? Were you secretly relieved that I lost the baby? Our precious baby?” She stepped back and raised her voice. “I’ll be ready to go whenever you are, my lord.” Turning quickly, she walked over and joined the women adoring Joshua. Several of Tacitus’ female servants had been drawn to them. They looked like the paintings one sees of women fawning over the infant Dionysus. Aurora threw her head back and laughed at something.
Tacitus’ arm settled around my shoulder as he chuckled in my ear. “That is the face of a man who is smelling what he just stepped in.”
“I don’t know what happened. I honestly don’t know.” I shook my head, genuinely befuddled. “I pointed out the simple fact that a baby makes things complicated, and she…took it as some kind of…accusation.”
“Gaius, at some point we’re going to sit down—just the two of us—and have a long talk. Perhaps I can make up for you losing your father at an early age and being raised by an uncle who never had a meaningful relationship with any woman but a slave.”
“Aurora is my slave.”
Tacitus clapped my shoulder heartily. “Oh, my friend, you didn’t just step in something. Now you’re rolling in it, like a dog in the street. You don’t believe that she’s merely a slave, do you?”
I pulled away from him. “Of course not. But this isn’t the time to talk about such things. I want to get to Berenice before someone attacks her again. I want to find out what she knows.”
Berenice had told us that she lived in an insula behind the temple of Juno Lucina, on the west side of the Esquiline and near the Portico of Livia. It didn’t take long to find it. The building was three stories high and reasonably well maintained. The plaster had recently been painted in an umber tone, so there was little graffiti visible. The building was large enough to have four or five apartments on each floor, but the stairways leading to some of them were blocked off. Workmen, moving rapidly, were installing bars on the windows on the second floor. An attendant stood on the street in front of one of the open stairways. As soon as he saw us, he put a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“We need to speak with Queen Berenice,” I said.
“She’s not receiving visitors, sir.”
“Would you tell her that Gaius Pliny and Cornelius Tacitus are here?”
The man did not leave his post but called our names to someone higher up on the stairs. After a few moments a female attendant appeared on the landing where the stairs turned to the left and gestured for us to come up. The guards permitted only Tacitus, myself, and Aurora, at my request, to pass. The rest of our attendants had to wait on the street.
The walls of the lower part of the stairwell were undecorated, but as soon as we turned on the landing it was as though we had stepped into a different part of the empire. Frescoes in the heavy Eastern style showed scenes from the life of Dionysus. We didn’t have time to study them before the servant opened the door at the head of the stairs and stood back for us to enter.
The first room we entered had an Oriental feel to it, not surprisingly since Berenice had lived most of her life in Syria and Alexandria. Such décor always feels decadent to a Roman. In addition to chairs and tables, it was furnished with large cushions strewn on the floor. I could see that what had originally been other apartments had been combined into one large residence by cutting doors from one room into the next. With the exterior doors sealed off and now with bars being installed on the windows, this entire floor of the insula was being transformed into a fortress.
“Welcome,” Berenice said, emerging from the next room beyond us. She was wearing a loose, diaphanous gown, light blue with a red filigree, and a small tiara—the sort of outfit I suppose Cleopatra wore when entertaining Caesar or Marc Antony. But Cleopatra had been thirty years younger than Berenice. This queen would have done better to concentrate on hiding what charms she had left and letting those around her create their own details. Without her veil, one could see the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth and the sagging of her chin, not just the ugly mole over her eye. In full light, without her veil and makeup, she was one of those women who has passed the prime of her allure to men but has convinced herself that she’s still attractive. That’s always a sad sight.
“Gaius Pliny,” she said, settling elegantly on a leather cushion. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I’m going to be blunt, my lady. I believe you know who tried to kill you yesterday. I believe he was the same man who killed your son. He invaded my house last night, and I’m afraid he may come after us again. I need to know who he is.”
“From what I’ve heard, your Amazon can defend herself. And perhaps you as well.” She pointed to Aurora and patted a place on the cushion beside her. Glancing at me, Aurora took a seat there.
I waved a hand in the direction of a newly barred window. “You’re obviously worried about defending yourself. You must know that the attack last night was not random. You’re afraid he’ll try again. I believe you know something about him, possibly who he is.”
Berenice motioned for Tacitus and me to sit on a large cushion facing her. “No, I don’t. I swear to you. There was something familiar about his voice, but I couldn’t place it.”
“You heard his voice?” Tacitus said. “What did he say?”
“Just one word. Whore.”
“Who would talk to a queen like that?”
“Oh, the list is long,” Berenice said. “Many people think I gained power lying on my back.” She lowered her head, looking at me from under her lashes, a coquettish gesture that might have been effective years ago. “I’m actually much better when I’m on top.” Aurora blushed, and I may have as well. Tacitus just chuckled.
I recovered my composure enough to ask, “Are you sure you can’t tell us any more?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I hope you can find this person. I won’t feel safe, even with all these precautions, until you do.”
The cushion we were sitting on wasn’t all that comfortable. I shifted my weight and said, “We think we might find a clue to the killer if we could understand why he stuffed the coins in Berenicianus’ mouth and sewed it shut.”
“It may have something to do with the war,” Berenice said, “but I don’t know what really.”
“How was your son involved?”
“At the very beginning of the war, my son, thinking the Jews might actually have a chance, joined the Sicarii. They operated in units of half a dozen. He was chosen the leader of a group.”
“He was the shepherd,” Tacitus said.
Berenice’s face showed her lack of comprehension. “I suppose you could call him that.”
“It’s an allusion to a passage from one of your prophets,” I said.
“Oh, all right. Those aren’t among my favorite authors. Too much gloom and doom. I much prefer the Song of Solomon: ‘Your two breasts are like two fawns’—that sort of thing.” She arched her back. “But my son was never a man of strong convictions, a trait that runs in our family. He quickly saw the futility of it all and, like Josephus, surrendered to the Romans. I’m sure he was regarded as a traitor.”
“But why would someone have waited this long to take vengeance?”
“In that part of the world, gentlemen, grievances are nursed like c
hildren or pets. Sometimes they span generations. Fifteen years would be no time at all.”
“Didn’t all the Sicarii die at Masada?” Tacitus asked. “Some sort of mass suicide?”
“A handful of them were still in Jerusalem when the city fell. They were captured and sold into slavery along with the inhabitants of the city who had not escaped.”
Like Naomi and Phineas. “It would be terrifying to have one of those people in your household.”
“But you couldn’t tell them apart from anyone else,” Berenice said. “That was what made them so frightening. You never knew who was a Sicarius until you felt the knife between your ribs.”
“Well, that gives us something to think about.” I stood, ready to leave. Tacitus and Aurora did the same. “Thank you for your time, my lady.”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t much help,” Berenice said, still seated like a queen on her cushion throne. “If I think of anything else, I’ll send you word.” She stood. “Now, before you go, may I ask a favor of you?”
“Of course.”
“I’d like to talk with Aurora in private for a few moments.”
Berenice’s request was so unexpected that I’m afraid I drew back too visibly.
She patted me on the arm. “Don’t worry, dear. I don’t bite—unless the man wants me to.”
Gaius gave his consent and Berenice led me into the next room of her apartment. She motioned for a servant woman to draw a heavy drapery over the opening and then leave us. In unfamiliar surroundings I always try to take a quick survey of the place, but Berenice didn’t give me time to do more than notice the bright mosaic floor with a theme of Venus and Adonis in the center.
“Now, it’s just the two of us,” she said, “and I want to see where you keep that knife.”
“My lady, I—”
“Don’t deny it.” Her voice turned sharp. “I don’t have time to waste. Someone is trying to kill me, and I want to have some way to protect myself. I’m not interested in getting you or Gaius Pliny in any trouble. Just show me where you wear the knife.”
When I didn’t move she grabbed my gown and began pulling it up. I wanted to slap her hands, but she was a queen and I was a slave. What choice did I have but to obey her?
“I’ll…I’ll do it, my lady.” I pulled my gown away from her and lifted it on the right side until she could see the knife in its sheath strapped to my thigh.
“Hmm. So it’s quite simple really,” she said. “You keep the sheath on the inside of your leg and it’s really not even noticeable. How do you get to it when you need it?”
“I’ve sewed a slit in my gowns with a flap over it and practiced drawing the knife.” I showed her how I’ve learned to draw the knife in one smooth motion.
“Very effective. I wonder why other women haven’t taken up the idea. May I see the blade?”
I handed her the knife.
“This seal on the handle, is that Gaius Pliny’s mark?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And you’ve actually killed a man with this, I’m told.” She ran a finger up and down the blade and traced the dolphin on the seal.
“My lady, please—”
She waved a hand and gave the knife back to me. “Don’t worry, dear. Your secret is safe with me.”
Why do I always worry when someone says that?
Berenice threw back the drapery covering the doorway and we re-entered the room where Gaius and Tacitus were waiting. “That was most enlightening,” she said. “If you ever decide to sell her, Gaius Pliny, please let me make the first offer.”
Gaius must have been too shocked to think. I’ve heard other people make a similar offer. Gaius has a standard reply, but maybe he thought it too indelicate to say to a woman. That didn’t stop Tacitus, though. “My lady, with all due respect, Gaius Pliny would sell you one of his balls before he would part with Aurora. And he would cut it off himself.”
“Well, I know where he could find a knife,” Berenice said with a wink, “but balls—well, I have a large enough collection of those.”
Tacitus, Aurora, and I descended the stairs from Berenice’s apartment in silence and rejoined our servants for the walk home. We did not speak until we were well away from the insula, and then we kept our voices low and switched to Greek. “What did she want?” I asked Aurora.
“She wanted to see where I wear my knife.”
I gasped. “You’re not even supposed to admit that you have it, much less show—”
“She was going to rip my clothes off,” Aurora said. “She’s frightened and wanted a way to protect herself. What choice did I have?”
Tacitus held up a hand to calm us. “It’s done, Gaius. It’s done. What I want to know is why you didn’t ask her about the baby.”
“Because I think most of what she told us was a lie. I didn’t want to hear more lies about the baby. It would just confuse the issue.”
“His name is Joshua,” Aurora said. “And he’s not an encumbrance. He may be the most important element in this whole puzzle. We need to find out who he belongs to.”
We were approaching the Marketplace of Livia, which Augustus had dedicated to his wife. His Livia, I had read somewhere, was “the only woman he ever loved.” Somehow I couldn’t appreciate the irony. The late-morning crowd was growing heavier as people did their buying before the shops closed, so we were forced to slow our pace. Our servants were having a hard time keeping the press of the crowd off us.
Suddenly Aurora screamed, “Watch out!”
I felt myself being shoved to one side. A searing pain flashed across my lower back. I fell to one knee. Aurora knelt over me. “Gaius! My lord!” She stood up and began pushing against the crowd. “He’s been stabbed. Get out of the way, damn you!”
In the general pandemonium that ensued after the attack my servants were able to pick me up and get me home. As we hurried through the streets Tacitus tore a piece off his cloak and pressed it against my wound to slow the bleeding. Once we were home he took a closer look at it.
“It’s a slash, not a puncture,” he said. “Aurora pushed you just as the man thrust his knife, so it slid along your skin instead of going into you. Think of it more as a scratch—a big, ugly scratch, granted—but not really serious. We’ll get you sewed up and you should be all right. I would tell you to rest for a few days, but I know what a waste of words that would be.”
“Where is Aurora?” I was afraid someone had stabbed her, too.
Tacitus patted my shoulder. “You thought she’d be standing over you, didn’t you? She’s fine. She was here until we were sure you were all right. Right now she’s a bit encumbered. Julia and the others brought Joshua back. They’re all out in the garden.”
“I guess that tells me where I stand.” I raised myself to a sitting position. Tacitus pressed a bandage over my wound. “Did anyone see who did it?”
“Aurora said it was the same man who attacked Berenice. She would have gone after him, but the crowd was too thick. Whoever he is, he has a real knack for melting into a crowd.”
Someone knocked on the door and Tacitus opened it. My mother came in, carrying a basket of sewing materials. “How are you, Gaius?”
“I guess I’m all right,” I assured her, although I was beginning to feel a little light-headed. Something wasn’t quite right.
“I’m going to sew up your wound,” Mother said. “I seem to be doing that a lot these days. It will hurt, but it has to be done. Let me see it.”
I turned onto my left side. I wasn’t wearing a tunic; the lower part of my body was covered by a blanket. On my estates outside of Rome one of the servants who handle the animals would have done this job because of his experience with tending to their injuries. Here we have no animals. The only sewing is done by the women. They keep thin strips of animal sinew handy for times such as this. My mother cleaned the wound with some wine, patted it dry, and inserted a needle. I moaned through my clenched teeth.
“This won’t take long,” Mother said. �
��And it’s nothing like the pain I endured when I gave birth to you, dear boy.” She worked quickly, tied off one last knot, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Now you get some rest.” She packed up her gear and left us.
“You’re not going to pay any more attention to her than you would to me, are you?” Tacitus said.
“I think I will. I don’t feel good at all.” I lay back on the bed, beginning to sweat. “Just until the pain subsides.”
It’s the second day since Gaius was injured. He’s been feverish, vomiting. I’ve stayed with him the entire time. I’m afraid we didn’t get the wound cleaned out well enough. We’ve been trying to keep him cool, but nothing seems to help. His mother sent for a doctor this morning. I’ve been relegated to the garden. I swear, by any god who cares to listen, if Gaius dies, I will find the bastard who did this and…
The doctor and Plinia came out of Gaius’ room. Naomi, who’d been sitting in the chair beside the door, stood up to join them. As they talked, Plinia put her hand to her mouth and Naomi began to cry.
I waited until the doctor was gone before I approached Plinia. “Excuse me, my lady. Can you tell me what the doctor said?”
Plinia sat in the chair Naomi had been using and put her face in her hands. She looked up at me and said, “He thinks Gaius has been poisoned.”
“Poisoned? How?”
“It must have been on the blade of the knife.”
I fell to my knees in front of her. “Is he going to die, my lady?”
Plinia shook her head and clasped my hands between hers. “The doctor thinks, because he was just scratched, he will survive, but he’s going to be awfully sick, probably for another day or two, until that bit of poison passes out of his body.”
“May I continue to tend to him, my lady?”
“Yes, dear. Please do. The whole time I was in there, the only thing he said that I could understand was your name.”
“Shouldn’t we notify his wife?” Naomi asked.
“If anyone does,” Plinia said in her usual calm voice, “I’ll cut their tongue out.”
When I returned to the stool at Gaius’ bedside, he was breathing more heavily and writhing from side to side.
The Gods Help Those Page 15