I didn’t want to say any more about my connection with her daughter. “What was your mother’s name?”
“She was called Livilla, and she had hair as red as Chloris’.”
I scanned the room, looking for a hiding place. “Do you know where your father kept his strongbox?”
“Yes. My room is right under this one. Every night I could hear him raise a floorboard and drop money into the box. I figured he could hear me, too, so I always made some noise whenever a man was with me, just to torment him.” She suppressed a sob. “By the gods, I was so stupid.”
Under Saturninus’ bed we found a gap between two floorboards. Using one of the knives from Livilla’s tools, Myrrha pried the board up. “It’s here, sir.”
“That’s a relief. Now, is there anything in it?”
When Myrrha shook the metal box it rattled quite convincingly. It must contain a considerable sum of money. But I also heard some papyrus crackling, so I put my hand on the box.
“Be careful. It sounds like you might be damaging whatever documents are in there. Let’s take it back to my house and open it there. I’d like to get out of here before Scaevola gets any ideas about visiting the place. I don’t think we could beat him in another fight.”
Myrrha nodded. “We might not be so lucky as to have a bat on our side. I’ve never seen nothin’ like that.”
I didn’t want to be reminded that we would have lost without another eerie incident.
Before Myrrha extinguished the candles I looked over her mother’s wood-working tools. None of them had extremely sharp edges, but most of them were curved or shaped in some way that made them particularly useful for this task but not for slashing a man’s throat. I held one lightly on my own throat.
Myrrha gasped when she saw what I was doing. “Sir, you don’t think my mother—”
“She obviously didn’t kill Aristeas, but what about Licinius Macer, fifteen years ago? If she was accustomed to sit here by the window, she could have seen him leave after he attacked Chloris.”
“Did Chloris tell you about that?”
“She gave no names, but it’s pretty obviou.”
“That girl! I told her never to tell no one. Sir, I swear to you that no one in this family killed that man.”
My face must have told her I doubted her words.
“My mother said she knew who did it.”
“Who was it?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. She was afraid, if I knew, I might say somethin’. ‘A secret can’t be kept,’ she used to say, ‘by more than one person.’ ”
“Why didn’t she tell the duovirs?”
“She said they would never believe her. They might even prosecute her for bringin’ a false charge. Nothin’ would be gained by accusin’ someone. Macer had been punished for what he done. That was all that mattered.”
“But what if the person who killed Macer also killed Aristeas?”
“Do you think that’s possible, sir?”
“I didn’t see Macer’s body, but Scaevola said he was killed the same way Aristeas was.”
When we returned to the ground floor and the cheese shop, I asked Myrrha where Saturninus kept his knives.
“He only had a handful of them,” she said. “When he cut cheese he used that.” She pointed to a device lying on the counter. “My mother made the handle.”
The device she indicated was something I’d seen many times. It consisted of a U-shaped handle, about half a cubit from end to end, with a very thin piece of metal, more like a string, attached to the ends. Saturninus simply pressed down and slid the piece of metal through any chunk of cheese he wanted to cut.
“Some cheeses crumble,” Myrrha said, “when you try to slice ’em with a knife.”
“I wonder what effect this would have on a man’s throat.”
“Oh, sir, you can’t really think—”
Gripping the cheese-cutter with both hands, I stood behind her and slipped the device over her head, so the wire rested on her throat. “All I would have to do,” I said, “is pull back.”
“That’s true, sir, but it doesn’t mean that’s what happened to Aristeas.”
“All the same, I want to take this with me. And I want to look at Saturninus’ knives.”
“They’re under the counter, to the right.”
As Myrrha had said, there were only five knives, all extremely sharp.
“He kept his equipment in excellent condition,” she said.
“Is that where you learned to do that?”
“Sir?”
“The knife under the table by your bed.”
I could see her blush, even in the dim light. “A woman has to protect herself, sir.”
Getting the strongbox home proved awkward. It was too large and heavy for Myrrha to hold while she was clinging to me. While Tacitus and I were considering possibilities, Myrrha solved the problem by bringing two baskets out of the shop, tying their handles together with a short piece of rope and throwing them over the horse carrying Saturninus. She put the strongbox in one basket and enough rocks in the other basket to balance the load. I put the cheese-cutter in as well, so I could examine it in daylight for traces of blood. I thought it appropriate that Saturninus got to make his final journey with his worldly goods and his most important tool so close to him.
As we mounted our horses again, Myrrha gave me the piece of leather with the two keys on it. “Can I ask you, sir, as one of your friends, if you would keep these?”
“But you won’t be able to open the box.”
“I want to open it in your presence. I don’t want nobody to say I had a chance to tamper with whatever’s in there. I couldn’t, of course, since I can’t read, but somebody’ll come up with the idea that I might have, or that Chloris might.”
Licinius Strabo, riding between Tacitus and me now, said hardly a word on the rest of the trip, and then only in response to one of us. I pitied the man. His father had humiliated him in front of other men whom he would have to face for the rest of his life. And I suspected this wasn’t the first time it had happened.
Scaevola seemed to have no respect—not to mention affection—for his son. He had even given him a cognomen which drew attention to an unfortunate accident of his birth. Most men dote on the son who will carry on the family name and inherit their property.
As much as I hated Regulus, I had to concede that he could play the proud father as well as anyone. As in everything else, though, he carried it beyond all moderation, showering extravagant gifts on his infant son and expecting his clients and anyone who wanted a favor from him to treat the boy as though he was the first child ever born, some miracle that only Regulus could work.
Although my uncle’s official duties had sometimes taken him away for long periods, I knew he loved me, and I always looked forward to his homecoming. I wondered if Strabo even looked forward to his father walking into the same room with him.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to keep you as a hostage for a few days,” I told him, “just until I can sort out some things. Please, consider yourself my guest.”
“You heard my father. He doesn’t care if I ever come back. And right now it doesn’t matter to me either.”
Even though it was quite dark when we got home, everyone was up and eager to hear what had happened. Myrrha slid off the horse and I followed her. My mother grieved genuinely when she saw Saturninus.
“He was such a fine man, modest and decent.”
“Yes, he was,” I said. She didn’t need to know he had driven his only child out and blamed himself for making her and her daughter prostitutes. “That’s why I was glad to receive him among my friends just before he died.”
“Well, that was a lovely gesture, dear.”
“It was more than a gesture, Mother. This is his daughter.” I put my hand on Myrrha’s arm and pulled her closer to me.
Mother drew back in shock. “The whore?”
I pointed my finger at my mother and spoke in the sharpest tone I ha
d ever used with her. “You will never again say that word to her or about her—or Chloris. They are the owners of a cheese shop, and they are among our friends.”
“But ... but I thought she killed a man.”
“No, she didn’t. And I’m going to prove it.”
“Well, this is ... a lot to take in at one time,” Mother said, glancing at Naomi.
“Where is Apollodoros?” Naomi asked. “Did something happen to him?” She was trying to keep the expectation out of her voice.
“He ran off,” Tacitus said, “just as the fighting started, like a man who was late for dinner. Stole a horse and a sword in the process.”
“Humph,” Mother said. “His sort would do that, I suppose.”
Tacitus lowered his head and sighed. “I suppose so, my lady. It has been an exhausting day. I’d like to go to bed.”
“Of course,” Mother said. “Take the room with the fresco of Chiron and Achilles. It’s the second one off the courtyard, on your left.”
“And Myrrha needs to see Chloris,” I said. “In private. Where is she?”
“She was on the terrace the last time I saw her,” Naomi said, “about half an hour ago.”
I pointed to my left and Myrrha started off with a much lighter step than I would have expected from a woman who had endured all that she had in the last two days. She even forgot the strongbox.
My mother, Naomi, and the rest of the onlookers began to douse their lamps and return to the house. I supervised as Tranio and a couple of other servants moved Saturninus into the stall where we had kept Aristeas.
“I don’t think he’s going anywhere,” I told Tranio, “but post a guard anyway.”
He nodded his approval. “It’s good to have someone with him, my lord. If you don’t keep ’em company, the dead gets lonely and angry.”
Would I always be surrounded by such fools? “Find out which room Myrrha will be staying in,” I told him, “and take the strongbox there.”
“Certainly, my lord. The funeral pyre is just about burned down. We should be able to gather the ashes in the morning.”
“Post a couple of guards on the pyre throughout the night. And put the ashes in something that won’t break.”
“Not an amphora, then, my lord?”
“No. Use that brass urn in the library, and seal the top as tightly as you can.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And put something heavy in the bottom, to make sure it will sink.”
“Sink, my lord?”
“Just do it.”
“Yes, my lord. And I guess we’d better start building another pyre tomorrow.”
“Do we have enough dry wood?”
“That could be a problem, my lord. I’ll send around to the neighbors and see what we can gather up.”
“Before you do that, why don’t you talk to my mother and Naomi. There might be an alternative.”
“My lord?”
“Just ask them. I’m too tired to explain. Was there any of the roast pig left?”
“Yes, my lord. And it was quite good.”
“Fine, I’ll get some on my way to bed. Good night, Tranio.”
I stood in the dark, watching the last embers of Aristeas’ pyre glow like a sunset against a cloud-streaked sky.
“Thank you for taking such good care of my father,” Daphne suddenly said from behind me. I had no warning of her approach.
I jerked around, my hand on my chest. “How do you sneak up on people like that?”
“I’m sorry to have frightened you. I learned how as a child. When people don’t want you around, you learn to move quietly and quickly, so they don’t notice you.”
My breathing slowed down. “You didn’t frighten me. You ... surprised me. I’m not one of those people you need to hide from. Just make a little noise when you approach me—a cough, anything. As for taking care of your father, I’m glad to do it.”
“Even though you don’t believe that the soul exists after death?”
This struck me as a strange turn to the conversation, but everything about Daphne seemed strange.
“Yes,” I said, “even though. I allow Naomi to practice her rituals, although I see no point in them. People should be able to find comfort in dark moments of their lives, I suppose.” I certainly wished I could have found some in the darkest moment of my life, when Vesuvius was erupting and I thought the world was ending.
“Where do you find comfort, sir?”
I didn’t hesitate. “In knowing the truth.”
Daphne nodded, as though weighing my answer. “Can you always know the truth?”
“Perhaps not always, but if I know I’ve tried as hard as I can to find it, I’m satisfied.”
“Have you found the truth about Aristeas yet?”
“No, nor have I found the truth about Apollodoros, or about you.” Scaevola’s question—whether there actually was a bottom to whatever was going on—kept nagging at me, but I didn’t want to expose any more of my uncertainty to Daphne. “I’m glad to see that you got a chance to bathe and change clothes.”
She looked down at herself. “Your woman Naomi found a linen gown for me. It’s the only type of material I can stand to have touching my skin. I was also given some make-up.”
She had applied the make-up more heavily than any woman I’d ever known. “How is your shoulder?”
“The wound is healing.” She touched the spot. “It needs no further attention.”
I was still curious about one thing. “How were you traveling without any supplies? A woman traveling is usually as heavily laden as a soldier.”
She laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I travel lighter than most, more like a scout than a legionary. My things are in a room in an inn in Laurentum. I hope to get back there and pay my bill before the innkeeper sells it all.”
“I’ll send someone in the morning to settle up and get your belongings.”
“Thank you. Will there be a guard on my door tonight?”
“No. Come and go as you please.”
She drew her cloak around her in a way that made me shudder. “Thank you, sir. I will.”
Once I was in my quarters, with the door securely fastened behind me, I pulled out the leather tube with Aurora’s note in it, still hanging around my neck along with the keys Myrrha had given me for safekeeping. Contrary to all of Tacitus’ lurid speculation, the note was not a love letter. Aurora and I had grown up together since she arrived in our house, fifteen years ago. When children are seven, the distinction between slave and free doesn’t much matter. As children, we played together, with the children of our other servants. Being the daughter of my uncle’s mistress, Aurora always enjoyed a privileged status in our familia.
But Aurora and I discovered that we both had an interest in observing people around us. And we weren’t the only ones. Rome has always been rife with spies, delatores, hoping to profit from catching someone in a misstep and reporting them to the authorities for a large reward. Under Nero, Regulus made a fortune by ruining people in that way. When Vespasian came to power, Regulus made a show of defending people in court. Now he was back to his role as the bloated spider whose web extended into every noble house in Rome. He sat at the center, waiting for the slightest jiggling of that web.
Perhaps we Romans have a natural bent for spying on one another. From the time Aurora and I were twelve we made a game of sitting on street corners, trying to remain inconspicuous, and learning as much as we could about what people were talking about and what they were up to. It’s amazing what people will reveal about themselves when they’re not aware they’re being observed, and children are the last to be suspected as spies. The only drawback to our game was Aurora’s beauty. Even at that age, she had to learn to disguise herself, like Odysseus covering his heroic demeanor and making himself look like a beggar. At least he had Athena’s help.
I held the letter to my nose. It bore the scent of Aurora’s favorite perfume, a fragrance subtle yet unmistakable, like t
he woman who wears it. I think she deliberately puts a drop or two on her letters to me when I’m away. I’m grateful for the reminder of her.
I suspect Aurora has feelings for me that go well beyond friendship or the respect a servant should have for a master. But I cannot let myself feel anything of the sort for her. I don’t believe a master should take advantage of his power over a servant in that way. As far as I know, my uncle didn’t force himself on Monica, Aurora’s mother, but that sort of relationship is frowned upon in our circles, in spite of how common it is. With no fear of hypocrisy, even emperors have had slave women as mistresses.
Aurora tends to my personal needs, almost as a wife would, and seems to relish doing so. It would be easier to have a relationship with her if I freed her, but what if I’m mistaken? If she doesn’t love me—and she has never said she does—she might go off with another man once she was freed. And if she did that ...
Before I broke the seal I made sure it bore the print of her thumb. In her letters Aurora uses one of two circular codes. In one she substitutes B for A, C for B, and so on, what we call the primary code. In the other she substitutes A for B, B for C and so on, or the secondary code. We learned the simple trick when we were reading Julius Caesar. My uncle recognized Aurora’s keen mind early on and wanted her to be schooled. He felt she could provide me with a rival to make me work harder. When she seals her notes to me, if she is using the primary code, she puts her thumb print in the wax. If the letter is written in the secondary code, she puts the print of her little finger.
One of the first things I did when I assumed my role as master of the house after my uncle’s death was to give Aurora permission to be out of the house any time she wanted, without answering to my steward or my doorkeeper—or to me. I did so because she has continued our spying game from childhood, but she takes it more seriously these days. Every household, she says, needs a pair of eyes and ears in places where the master cannot go. She disguises herself as a workman’s wife and goes into parts of town where she can listen to people talk unguardedly. When she shaves me each morning—which she has done since we were sixteen—it gives us a private time to discuss what she has learned.
The Corpus Conundrum Page 21