Earlier this year she struck up a friendship with a freedwoman, Callista, from Regulus’ house and has gained her trust enough to find out some things that go on there. Apparently it doesn’t take much wine at all to loosen the woman’s tongue. I want to know who Regulus’ mole in my house is, or at least have a way to get information about what Regulus is up to. Aurora may give me my best chance of doing so.
I sat down at my table in the alcove that gives me a view of the bay. As the moon broke through the clouds I could tell that the trees at the top of the cliffs around the bay were growing leafier. Their rustling could even be heard mingled with the lapping of the waves on the shore.
I opened the letter and began to decode it. After a few moments I could read:
Aurora to her beloved lord Gaius Pliny, greetings.
I hope you are enjoying your time at Laurentum. I know it gives you the quiet you need to study and write. I remember the place fondly from the times we were there as children, especially that cave overlooking the bay. Everyone here misses you and looks forward to your return.
I’m afraid the news I have will disturb your quiet, and yet I don’t see how I can delay in sending it. It’s ironic that Narcissus will deliver the message, like Bellerophon carrying the letter to the king of Lycia telling the king to kill the bearer of the letter. Let me say at once that I’m not suggesting you kill Narcissus, but he’s not going to tell you the truth about the man who came to our door several days ago, the one you sent to ask about. I think he would if he knew the truth—he’s a decent, if unbearably pompous, man—but in this case he simply doesn’t know the truth.
Callista told me about an ‘odd little man’ who came to their door a few days ago, looking for Pliny. Someone had directed him to our street but, with Regulus’ house being close to ours and bigger, he went to the wrong one first. Callista said that, as soon as Regulus heard someone was looking for you, he had him brought in and talked with him in private for half an hour, then sent him down to our house. She doesn’t know what they talked about, but Regulus seemed elated afterwards.
She was surprised that someone who was looking for you got such a gracious reception from Regulus. His hatred of you is so deep, she tells me, she has heard him say many times that he would give half his fortune to see you ruined.
I don’t know what this man wants, or if he made some kind of arrangement with Regulus. I just wanted to warn you to be careful in dealing with him. We wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to you.
Given on the tenth day before the Kalends of April.
XIV
The next morning I was up just before sunrise, eager to dispose of Aristeas’ ashes. If he was in collusion with Regulus, then I had more reason than just a mark on his chest to want to be rid of him, absolutely and without any further doubt.
We had let the ashes cool overnight, with guards posted around the site of the pyre. While I was getting dressed, Tranio had collected the remains in an urn and sealed it with wax. Bones don’t really burn, but they become dry and brittle enough that they can be crushed into a powder, with only pieces from some of the largest bones—the ones in the legs—still recognizable.
Tacitus doesn’t get up early, so I assumed I would have to go alone. Tranio brought the urn to me on the terrace overlooking the bay. The urn is a non-descript piece, lacking decoration of any kind, that my uncle brought back from one of his campaigns, nothing like the gold urn in which Achilles placed Patroclus’ ashes in the Iliad. About a cubit in height, it has two handles and a wide mouth with a flat lid. What attracted him to it, he told me, were the hooks at the top of each handle that allowed the urn to be hung over a fire. “Makes it very useful for warming a stew on a cold night,” he said. “Or a bit of wine.”
What does a body mean, I thought, if it can be reduced to a pile of ashes that will fit into something no larger than this?
“Do you think we’ll have enough wood to build a pyre for Saturninus?” I asked Tranio as I hefted the urn.
“About that, my lord ... Macrinus took a look at the fella last night.”
I wasn’t surprised to hear that. Macrinus has a doctor’s interest in the insides of the human body, which he can see only when someone has been gashed or pierced.
“Did he learn anything we didn’t already know? I did see the man receive the wound.”
“I know, my lord. But you probably didn’t see that he’s circumcised.”
“He was a Jew?”
“’Pears so, my lord. Born to’em, at least. In all the years I’ve known him, though, I never heard he was livin’ like one of’em.”
That would explain why he had been so careful to wrap a towel around himself before he spoke to Tacitus and me in the bath, and why he was bathing at a time when the place was all but deserted. Some Jewish men who want to fit into public life find themselves embarrassed in the baths. My uncle had read somewhere that Jewish men who wanted to look non-Jewish even underwent a painful procedure to reverse the circumcision inflicted on them as babies.
I waited for Tranio to say more. “What does his being Jewish ... Oh, wait, they don’t burn their dead, do they?”
“No, my lord. I was thinking we could save ourselves a lot of work—and wood—if we asked Naomi how we ought to proceed.”
The man was making another decision, almost on his own. Perhaps there was hope for him. “I’ll do that as soon as I get back from disposing of this thing. It’s heavier than I would have thought.”
“I weighted it down good, my lord. I know you don’t want it bobbing around in the water.”
“No, I want it on the bottom of the bay, out of sight and out of mind forever.”
As I was descending the steps down the cliff I decided to look in the cave where Aurora and I had played as children. Would it be a suitable place to lay Saturninus? We could cover the mouth of it to keep animals out. Naomi said the Jews let the body decay for a year, then collected the bones and placed them in a stone coffin. Even if he had abandoned Judaism, Saturninus couldn’t know or care if we treated his remains that way, and it would be a lot easier on my servants. I should also ask Myrrha. Did she know her father was Jewish?
The mouth of the cave was small. Aurora and I used to lie down there, side by side, and watch fishermen on the bay and the dolphins that seemed to enjoy the place. It was high enough above the water that it stayed dry. I did not see any evidence that anyone was visiting it, not even an infernal bat. My servants had reported stories about a bear in the neighborhood recently, but I saw no indications the creature was using this cave as a lair. With a few large rocks to cover the mouth, it should make a safe burial site for a year, if Myrrha approved.
With the urn under my arm I got down the cliff to where my uncle kept a small boat in a shed. I set the urn down in the sand and went into the shed to drag the boat out. When I got the nose of it into the water and turned around to get the urn, I was startled to see Daphne standing over it. I hadn’t heard a sound.
“Are those my father’s ashes?”
“Yes. How ... how did you get here? I didn’t see you or hear you when I came down. I did ask you to give me some warning.”
“Sorry. Force of habit. I like to be by the water early in the morning, before the sun gets too bright for me to endure it. Being down in this cove, at the bottom of the cliff, lets me enjoy the light without actually being directly in it.”
I looked around at the sand along the cove. “Where did you come from? I don’t see any footprints.” This was the second time in as many days that she had sneaked up on me like this.
“They’ve been washed away by now, I guess. I was walking right on the edge of the water.” She drew her cloak around her. “I like to get my feet in the water. You’re about to dispose of my father’s ashes, I take it.”
“Yes, if I can get this boat launched.”
“Let me help you.”
Together we pushed the boat farther into the water. I was fumbling with the oars when Daphne pi
cked up the urn. “It’s heavier than I thought it would be.”
“Tranio added weight so it would sink.”
Daphne brought it to me. “Would you like for me to come with you? This boat looks like it could be hard for just one person to handle.”
A voice in my head said, The empusa wants to get you alone in a boat out on the water. Don’t be a fool!
“I would appreciate the help,” I said. The empusa loses her powers in daylight, I reminded the voice.
Daphne placed the urn in the boat. I helped her step in, pushed the boat a few paces farther into the water, and jumped in myself. Picking up the oars, I rowed us out into the middle of the bay. It’s a narrow inlet, with steep cliffs on each side, lined with houses.
“Do you know how deep it is?” Daphne asked, peering over the side.
“No, I don’t. I’ve seen some fairly large fishing boats come in close to shore.” I looked into the water, which was clear and calm. “I can still see the bottom. I want to get far enough out so someone won’t notice the urn and think they’ve found a treasure. People do dive here for pearls. My neighbor, Lucius Volconius, spends a lot of time on this bay.” I pointed to Volconius’ villa, two houses to the north of mine.
Daphne cradled the urn. “Why are you so obsessed with destroying every last remnant of my father’s body?”
“I haven’t destroyed every last remnant. There’s still the question of what happened to his blood.”
“Do you really think someone has an amphora full of Aristeas’ blood stashed away somewhere?”
I didn’t have to answer just then because a dolphin broke the surface of the water. As my uncle had described, the creature swam beside the boat, making a noise like the chattering of a bird. Daphne reached over and ran her hand over its head, as though she were petting a dog. The dolphin bobbed its head up and down excitedly. After a few moments it sprayed water out of the hole on its head, making Daphne squeal, then dove beneath us.
“They’re amazing creatures,” Daphne said, brushing water off her cloak.
“I can show you what my uncle wrote about them, if you’re interested. He never published his observations.”
“I would like to see that.” She winced and pulled her cloak up over her head as the sun came over the top of the cliff. “Sir, if we could get finished and get back to shore, I would appreciate it. It doesn’t take much sunlight at all to cause my skin to burn.”
“All right. I guess the water is deep enough here. Let me get my bearings, in case I ever need to find the spot again.” I glanced at the shore on the north side of the narrow bay, trying to locate a feature that I would remember.
“Sir, do you see that man?” Daphne pointed to the shore opposite from where I was looking. “I think he’s watching us.”
My gaze followed her arm to a point at the top of the cliff. A man stood in the trees, obviously interested in what we were doing. I couldn’t recognize him from this distance, but I didn’t want to drop the urn overboard as long as he was watching. “Let’s wait a moment and see if he goes away.”
But, instead of turning away, the man stepped to the edge of the cliff, picked up a large rock, hoisted it over his head, and hurled it in our direction, like the Cyclops pitching a boulder at Odysseus’ boat.
“Sir, watch out!” Daphne cried.
I was fumbling to get a good grip on the oars when the rock struck the rear of the boat, barely a hand’s breadth from where I was sitting. That end of the boat sank and Daphne and I were thrown out. As the boat flipped on top of us, my head struck something.
I went underwater, dazed but conscious enough to know I had to get myself back up. But which way was up? Forcing my eyes open, I sensed light and tried to move in that direction, thankful once again that my uncle had insisted I learn how to swim. My face broke through the surface of the water and I gulped air greedily. Kicking to keep myself afloat, I turned in several directions. Which way was shore? Could I make it? My aching head wasn’t sure.
I was struggling to stay afloat when I felt something pushing me up. I grabbed for it, expecting to feel Daphne’s cloak. Instead I felt the slick skin of a dolphin. Putting an arm over its back, I let myself be pulled toward shore. It even seemed to know which part of the beach I needed to get to. Stroking with my free arm, I tried to look up at the cliff where the rock had come from. Would the man throw another one?
Something warm in my eyes—blood, I suspected—blurred my vision. Where was Daphne? Looking around as best I could, I saw no sign of her. No cloak floating on the surface of the water. Nothing. Had she drowned? I was too dizzy to go back and search for her.
The boat was gone. That must mean the urn had sunk, too, thanks to the rocks Tranio had added to it. At least that much had been accomplished. I just wish I had actually seen it go down, so I would know for certain.
The dolphin stopped swimming and I found I could stand in the water, though it was still up to my chest. Letting go of my rescuer, I staggered onto the beach. He chattered at me. I fancied he was wishing me well, so I thanked him, and then he turned back into the bay. I almost expected to see Daphne dismounting from her own dolphin, but there was still no sign of her. When I was far enough on the shore to be sure I was out of the water, I collapsed onto the sand.
I have no idea how long I had been lying there when I heard voices around me. I opened my eyes to see Tacitus, Daphne, my mother, and several others standing over me. Some of them I could not identify.
“Take it easy,” Tacitus said. “You’ve got a pretty bad gash on your head.”
Another job for Macrinus and his needles. “Daphne, you’re all right?”
“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”
“She got us and told us what happened,” Tacitus said.
“But I didn’t see you—”
“I got to shore ahead of you, sir. I saw the dolphin and figured he could help you more than I could, with my cloak on. And now I must get out of this sunlight.” She turned and ran toward the cliff.
Mother knelt beside me. “Gaius, dear, your head looks awful. We have to get you up to the house right away.”
I sat up for a moment. Once I was sure I could do that, I stood up with help from Tacitus.
I shook my head and immediately regretted it. I had to lean heavily on Tacitus. “We saw a man on the top of the cliff, over there.” I pointed in what I thought was the right direction. “But I couldn’t see who it was.”
“Could it have been Apollodoros?”
“It could have been anybody. Why do you mention Apollodoros?”
“Because the horse he stole was back in the paddock this morning.”
Macrinus decided, with obvious disappointment, that my scalp would need only minor stitching. I think he wanted the chance to poke around inside my head. He had to settle for shaving the spot and sewing it up with some pieces from inside an animal.
“I clean and save such things, cut ’em into strips no thicker than a piece of thread, just for cases like this,” he said, picking out a small needle.
We dismissed the women from the arcade, and I drank a large quantity of unmixed wine. Not enough, it turned out, to deaden all the pain.
“Sorry we don’t have any poppy syrup.” Macrinus poured wine into the cut, which caused more pain, not less. “That’s the best thing there is for gettin’ rid of pain. Or at least makin’ you not care that you’re hurtin’.”
Tacitus patted me on the shoulder and took a seat across the way from me. I kept a tight grip on the arms of the chair I was sitting in. At least Macrinus worked fast.
“The scar will hardly show at all, my lord, once the hair grows back,” he said as he patted the rest of my hair into place.
With a salve on the cut and a large bandage wrapped around my head, the ordeal was finished. I slumped back in the chair, more exhausted than I had been when I washed up on shore. Mother and Naomi—I thought of that as one name, I realized—rushed back in as soon as they were allowed. Myrrha and Chloris followed the
m, keeping a respectful distance. Daphne, once again, was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t feel the need to lock her up, but I wanted to know where she was.
“I’m fine,” I announced with a slight slur. “Just a scratch. Really, just a scratch.”
Standing in front of me, my mother raised her voice at me, something she rarely did. And this was the worst time she could have chosen to do it. My head still hurt, although it had been several hours since Macrinus had stitched up the gash in my head and I had slept off the effects of the wine. Even worse, I felt dizzy, uncertain about exactly where I was. I was sitting in the alcove in my suite of rooms, looking out over the bay, trying to reconstruct the events of the morning.
“Do you really intend to let those … those women stay in this house?” She had come to my quarters when she heard Blandina relaying my orders for rooms to Tranio.
“Mother, I’m sure you’ve heard by now that Myrrha has lost her father and Chloris her grandfather. They need time to mourn and they need someone to protect them from … something I don’t quite understand yet. You’d better be civil to them, if you expect to keep buying cheese from them.”
She drew herself up. “Humph! As if I’d put anything in my mouth that came from their hands.”
“I told you—”
“I didn’t call them whores. You told me not to call them whores.”
I got up and held on to my chair to steady myself. “Mother, I know you’re a kinder person than this. Myrrha’s father died in her arms. I’m only asking that you show her some compassion for a day or two. Licinius Strabo is also going to be here. Perhaps you can ask him if he sings or plays the lyre.”
She folded her arms and scowled at me. “You’re not going to let me forget how badly I misjudged Apollodoros, are you?”
I patted her shoulder. “That’s the last time I’ll mention it, provided this is the last time you say anything unkind about our friends Myrrha and Chloris.”
“Are they going to eat lunch with us today?”
The Corpus Conundrum Page 22