“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything lovelier,” Tacitus said. “Any more bodies floating around down there?”
“No. But one of Volconius’ servants just emptied Aristeas’ urn down on the beach. He’s mixing the ashes into the sand right at the edge of the water.”
“The waves will wash them away then, and you’re rid of the man—again.” Tacitus ran his hand over his face. “Your butcher did a good job shaving me. I do wonder, though, what else he’s used that razor on.”
“I make sure he keeps a set just for shaving.”
“Why don’t you bring Aurora when you come down here? She shaves you when you’re in Rome, doesn’t she?”
“Yes. And she does an excellent job. But my mother isn’t always kind to her—”
“Because of Aurora’s mother and your uncle. So you’ve said. That’s too bad. She must miss you, though.”
“No more than any of my servants, I assume.”
“Oh, Gaius Pliny! You pride yourself on noticing things other people miss—and rightly so—but in this case you don’t see what’s right in front of you. What did she say in that note she wrote you?”
It was time that I put a stop to Tacitus’ obsession about Aurora and me, even if it meant telling him more than I really wanted to. Since she had sent me the message about Aristeas and Regulus, I had some reason for doing so now.
“You’re the one who’s missing something,” I said. “Aurora stays in Rome because ... she is my best spy. That’s what the note was—a report from my spy.”
“A spy? That beautiful creature? A spy is supposed to be someone you don’t notice. If she’s in the room, you don’t notice anyone else.”
“Aurora has an uncanny ability to disguise herself. Since we were twelve she and I have been practicing the art of spying. In a couple of instances we were able to gain information that proved valuable for my uncle. I’ve given her freedom to come and go as she pleases. Over the past few months, while in disguise, she has struck up a friendship with a freedwoman in Regulus’ household. I’m hoping she’ll learn the identity of Regulus’ spy in my house.”
“What if Aurora is Regulus’ spy?” Tacitus asked softly.
For a moment I couldn’t form words to reply. “Aurora? Regulus’ spy? You might as well ask me to believe the sun rises in the west.”
“Think about it, Gaius Pliny. You trust her so implicitly you let her hold a razor to your throat. She has permission to come and go at any time. She tells you she’s talking with someone from Regulus’ house, but how do you know she isn’t giving information instead of getting it?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Aurora and I have been closer than brother and sister for fifteen years. I do trust her more than any other person I’ve ever known—including you, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. If you’re going to impugn her, you and I will have difficulty remaining friends.”
Tacitus chuckled. “Sorry. I thought you meant it when you said you didn’t love her.”
“Love her? What are you talking about? I don’t love her.”
“No, of course not. Obviously I misunderstood. Sorry, I won’t say any more about it.”
“Please see that you don’t.”
After dinner I promised Myrrha that we would go into Laurentum the next morning and let her take possession of the cheese shop. Chloris asked if we could take the raeda. “It’s beautiful, Mother. And everybody knows you’re a lady when you come riding into town in it.”
It seemed like a good idea to get these two women established in their new position in town and to let people know that they had the support of a wealthy family in the area.
At least they had my support. My mother had informed me that she would not buy anything that came from the hands of ‘those women.’ I made it clear to her that we would continue to buy cheese from that shop and that I was going to look into the cost of the special garum sauce she had been purchasing, along with any other food purchases that favored one particular servant.
With that argument settled—or at least silenced—I retired to my quarters, looking forward to the prospect of an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Two questions, though, continued to plague me.
First, where was Daphne? No one had seen her since late morning. I had sent a servant into town to pay her bill and collect the small bags of her belongings, with my strict instructions not to pry into them. Daphne had been pleased to get them and had gone to her room. She had requested a room on the second floor of the section of the house that overlooks the central courtyard. The request struck me as odd because those rooms have windows, although windows with shutters. That was the last anyone saw of her, and she was not in her room when a servant went to call her for dinner.
The other question nagging at me was the one Tacitus raised. What if I was utterly wrong about Aurora? For most of my life I had watched her develop what seemed to be an inborn skill. She could convince anyone that she was whatever character she was pretending to be. If she could deceive others so deftly, couldn’t she also deceive me?
No, it simply could not be. In spite of all the challenges of the last few days, I knew—absolutely knew—two things: first, Aurora was loyal to me, and, second, people’s souls do not fly out of them like birds. If I could not count on those statements as true, then I could not depend on anything I had always regarded as certain.
Can one build a life on uncertainty? The Skeptics teach that we can never know anything to be absolutely true. They reached that conclusion after studying all the differing views of Plato, Aristotle, and a host of other philosophers. They couldn’t all be right, the Skeptics decided, so none of them are right. Trying to hold that position makes me feel like I did this morning when I was flopping around in the water, unable to tell which direction I should go. I thought I had found that direction through my studies, but if Aristeas could leave his body and Daphne could change into different animals, what happened to the foundation on which I had built my life? For all I knew now, Daphne could have changed into the dolphin and guided me to shore.
I stood on the terrace outside my quarters, watching the moon reflect off the water below. In my somewhat addled state of mind, a more mundane question occurred to me: would I ever be able to eat fish out that bay again? Would I be consuming bits of Aristeas’ ashes? But what about all the people who had died in shipwrecks? Weren’t their remains somehow absorbed into ocean, consumed by underwater creatures?
I sensed more than felt someone moving along the terrace. Chloris came around the curve of the building. In the moonlight her red hair looked like burnished gold.
“Good evening, sir. Can you not sleep?”
“I do have ... a lot on my mind.”
Standing beside me, with her shoulder touching mine, Chloris looked out over the bay. She was too close for me to turn my head and look directly at her, but I couldn’t stop studying her out of the corner of my eye. Aurora was a beautiful woman, but I could admit her face was a trifle long and narrow. Try as I might, I could not find a flaw in Chloris. Who was her father? I wondered. Children sometimes look more like one parent than the other. Chloris certainly did not resemble Myrrha. The red hair may have come from her grandmother, but what did the man look like whose seed had blossomed into such beauty?
“You must have a lot to think about as well,” I said. “Tomorrow you start a new phase of your life—owning your own shop. You’ll have a new status in Laurentum now.”
“Those people will never think of me as anything but a whore,” she said softly. “Myrrha—I mean, Mother—and I are thinking about selling the place and moving to Ostia so we can start over.”
I felt disappointment mingled with my arousal at being so close to her. “If that’s what you think is best, I’ll give you whatever help you need.”
“Yes, sir, I know. You’ve been incredibly kind.” She leaned over and kissed me, first on the cheek, then on the mouth.
In spite of the urgings from some parts of my body, I pulled away from
her. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t owe me anything.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with owing somebody.” She put a hand on my shoulder and kneaded it. Her voice dropped to a pitch that melted any resistance I might have tried to muster. “For the first time I can couple with a man because I want to, without being paid for it. All my life people have called me a whore. I started believing them, and I became one. But not any more. This won’t be my first time, but I want you to be the first man I’ve gone to bed with because I wanted to.”
XVI
Chloris and I were awakened out of a deep sleep by a pounding on the main door of my quarters. Because I often don’t sleep well, I’ve given my servants strict orders not to disturb me unless the house is on fire.
“My lord!” Tranio shouted. “Forgive me, my lord, but you’re needed!”
I slipped on my tunic and answered the door while Chloris fumbled for her gown.
“Where’s the fire?” I asked. “You know what my orders are.”
“But there is a fire, my lord.”
“What—?”
“Not here, my lord. Fella’s come from Laurentum. He says Saturninus’ shop is on fire.”
“Oh, by the gods, no!” Chloris cried as she came up to stand behind me. A quick glance told me that she had not put on her gown. She had just grabbed it and was holding it in front of her, more or less.
“Where is the man?” I asked.
“In the atrium, my lord.” Tranio was craning to see over me.
“Who is he?” Chloris asked over my shoulder.
“I don’t know ... lady.” Tranio clearly didn’t know what to make of a naked whore turned business-owner sharing my bed. “Tall fella, goin’ bald in front. Kinda beady eyes.”
“That’s The Long of It,” Chloris said, pulling her gown on over her head, much to Tranio’s delight. “His name is Naevius. He’s actually a decent sort.”
We hurried into the atrium and found Tacitus, my mother, and a small throng of servants surrounding Naevius. My mother was clearly unhappy to see me come in with Chloris on my heels, still fastening one of the brooches that held her gown at the shoulder. Tacitus just smiled.
“Oh, sir,” Myrrha said. “It’s terrible. The shop is on fire.”She and Chloris embraced.
“Is this true?” I asked Naevius.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who’s taking charge?”
“Well, I guess you’d say Scaevola is, but all he’s doing is keeping people away.”
“He’s not trying to put the fire out?”
“No, sir. He won’t let anybody near the place. Says it’s too dangerous. The building’s old and might collapse any instant.”
“Oh, sir,” Myrrha wailed, “can’t you do somethin’?”
The role of miracle worker was beginning to wear on me, but I had to try. If Myrrha and Chloris lost the shop, they’d have no choice but to go back to prostitution, and the burden would fall on Chloris.
“We have six horses,” I said. “We’ll ride two on a horse, carrying as many buckets as we can find.”
In just a few moments we were mounted and making a dash for Laurentum. Chloris clung to me, while Myrrha rode behind Tacitus. Naevius took one of my servants behind him.
“There’s a column of smoke,” Tacitus said. “It’s hard to see in the dark.”
“There aren’t no flames in it, my lord,” Tranio said. “I think that’s a good sign.”
The column of smoke appeared grayish-white in the moonlight, like a fish washed up on the shore. But it brought back images of the column of smoke that had belched out of Vesuvius on the day of that catastrophe. I had been twenty miles away then, but had barely survived. My breathing grew shallower as we approached the edge of the village.
When we rode into the center of the village we found the main street blocked by a wagon. Scaevola and several of his servants stood between it and another wagon blocking the street at the other end of the block. Our horses pranced nervously.
“Stay back!” Scaevola ordered. “It’s too dangerous for anyone to get closer. The building may collapse at any moment.”
Through the shuttered windows I could see that the fire was on the second floor. It had not yet burned through the roof and the main floor seemed intact. “Why are you doing this?” I asked. “We should be trying to put the fire out.”
“Once again, Gaius Pliny, you’re trying to keep a magistrate from doing his duty,” Scaevola said, stepping out from behind the wagon and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve got a crew coming to knock the building down before the fire spreads.”
“But there are only two other buildings on this side of the street.”
“My point exactly. If we don’t get this under control, the whole town could be destroyed.”
I was beginning to think that might not be such a great loss.
“Turn around,” I ordered my people. “We won’t interfere with the magistrate.”
“But, sir ...” Chloris said over my shoulder.
I lowered my voice. “Hush. We’re not leaving.”
We cantered down the street to the bath, where I turned into a side street. “Everybody dismount,” I said.
“What’s the plan?” Tacitus asked.
“We’ve got to get some water on that fire. It’s still small enough that I think we can put it out.”
“But Scaevola’s blocking the fountain across the street from the building.”
“He’s not blocking the aqueduct behind the building, though. Chloris and Myrrha, you stay with the horses. The rest of you, come with me.”
“No, sir,” Myrrha said. “You don’t know what’s back there. Naevius and I do. Have one of your servants stay with Chloris and the horses.” She realized she was assuming too much. “If that’s agreeable to you, sir.”
I couldn’t dispute her point. She should know the area behind the bath and Saturninus’ building intimately.
This bath was the southernmost of the three in Laurentum. Its west side was overgrown with bushes and small trees. It might once have boasted an attractive garden, but now it was as decrepit as the rest of the town.
“Oh, no,” Myrrha gasped as we came into the open space behind the bath. Ahead to our left we could see Saturninus’ building. Smoke was coming under the door of the windowless rooms where Myrrha and Chloris lived.
“It’s odd how certain parts of the building are on fire,” Tacitus said, “and others aren’t.”
“That’s what I would expect if someone set the fire,” I said.
“But why would somebody set fire to our place?” Myrrha moaned.
“Let’s get the fire out and then ask that question.”
Since this bath was at the end of the aqueduct, it was fed by a small spur of the larger aqueduct that supplied the town and the other two baths. The arches of the aqueduct were so low at the point where it ran into the bath that we had to stoop to get under them. The thing leaked so badly I felt like I was walking in the rain.
“This ground is like a marsh,” Tacitus said as his foot sank in the muck. “How do they keep the bath filled when they’re losing this much water?”
Someone—possibly the duovirs—had recognized the problem. Instead of fixing the leaks, though, they had cut a drainage ditch that led into the woods beyond the bath. It was too shallow for us to dip our buckets in.
“We need to get a couple of men up there,” I said, pointing to the top of the aqueduct.
“What good will that do?”Tacitus asked.
“I hope to find some way to knock a hole in the channel and use the water to douse the fire.”
“I don’t think you can just punch a hole in an aqueduct with your fist,” Tacitus said, “not even one as run-down as this one. An empusa might be able to.”
“In that shed back there,” Myrrha said, pointing to a small structure behind the building on the other side of Saturninus’. “There’s an axe. Our neighbor picks up extra money splitting wood for th
e bath.”
One of my servants ran to get the axe while I looked over the arches supporting the aqueduct. In its crumbling condition it provided a number of toe-holds and places to grab on for anyone trying to climb it.
“Are you seriously considering having one of your servants climb this thing?” Tacitus asked. “This stone might give way under too much pressure.” He broke off a corner of a stone with his fingers.
“No, as the smallest man here, I’m going to climb it myself.”
“Holding an axe in your third hand?”
In my haste I had not put on a belt, but one of my servants gave me his. I used it to strap the axe onto myself and, with a boost from Tacitus and a servant, grabbed the most secure spot I could find on the column supporting one of the arches. Stopping every few steps to try to clear my head of the dizziness, I worked my way to the top of the aqueduct and straddled it like a fat horse. Then I scooted forward until I was opposite Saturninus’ building.
Now that I could see into the windows of the upper floor, I knew I had to hurry. Someone had piled clothing and blankets in the middle of the floor and set fire to them. With that start, the flames were spreading. Livilla’s wooden bowls and utensils, tossed on the top of the pile, had started to burn. Fortunately the wooden floor was so thick it had so far only been charred in spots.
Straddling the aqueduct, I pulled the axe out of my belt and swung the hardest blow I could. The axe bounced off the stone. I had to duck to avoid being hit in the face. When I jerked to one side I shifted my balance so quickly that I felt myself starting to fall. Myrrha screamed. I barely managed to grab hold of the side of the aqueduct and pull myself back up.
Myrrha’s scream brought men running from the street.
“What are you doing?” Scaevola yelled.
“I’m trying to put out a fire for one of my friends and save her property.” I landed another blow on the aqueduct and saw a large crack appear in the aging stone.
“Get down from there!” Scaevola ordered.
“You’ll have to come up and get me.”
The Corpus Conundrum Page 25