“You have found out,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Are you the man who called at my mother’s house this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Who betrayed me? It couldn’t have been Cleto,” she whispered, glancing at the bodyguard.
“No one betrayed you. We found the tunnel this afternoon.”
“Ah! My brother had it built during the worst years of the civil war, so that we might have a way to escape in a sudden crisis. Of course, when the monster became dictator, there was no way for anyone to escape.”
“Was your brother truly an enemy of Sulla’s?”
“Not in any active way, but there were those willing to paint him as such — those who coveted all he had.”
“Furius was proscribed for no reason?”
“No reason but the bitch’s greed!” Her voice was hard and bitter. I glanced at Lucius, who was curiously silent at such an assault on Cornelia’s character.
“It was Titus whom you haunted first—”
“Only so that Cornelia would know what awaited her. Titus was a weakling, a nobody, easily frightened. Ask Cornelia; she frightened him into doing anything she wished, even if it meant destroying an innocent colleague from his younger days. It was Cornelia who convinced her dear cousin Sulla to insert my brother’s name in the proscription lists, merely to obtain our house. Because the men of our line have perished, because Furius was the last, she thought that her calumny would go unavenged forever.”
“But now it must stop, Furia. You must be content with what you have done so far.”
“No!”
“A life for a life,” I said. “Titus for Furius.”
“No, ruin for ruin! The death of Titus will not restore our house, our fortune, our good name.”
“Nor will the death of Cornelia. If you proceed now, you are sure to be caught. You must be content with half a portion of vengeance, and push the rest aside.”
“You intend to tell her, then? Now that you’ve caught me at it?”
I hesitated. “First, tell me truly, Furia, did you push Titus from his balcony?”
She looked at me unwaveringly, the moonlight making her eyes glimmer like shards of onyx. “Titus jumped from the balcony. He jumped because he thought he saw the lemur of my brother, and he could not stand his own wretchedness and guilt.”
I bowed my head. “Go,” I whispered. “Take your slave and go now, back to your mother and your niece and your brother’s widow. Never come back.”
I looked up to see tears streaming down her face. It was a strange sight, to see a lemur weep. She called to the slave, and they departed from the thicket.
We ascended the hill in silence. Lucius stopped chattering his teeth and instead began to huff and puff. Outside Cornelia’s house I drew him aside.
“Lucius, you must not tell Cornelia.”
“But how else—”
“We will tell her that we found the tunnel but that no one came, that her persecutor has been frightened off for now, but may come again, in which case she can set her own guard. Yes, let her think that the unknown threat is still at large, always plotting her destruction.”
“But surely she deserves—”
“She deserves what Furia had in store for her. Did you know Cornelia had placed Furius’s name on the lists, merely to obtain his house?”
“I—” Lucius bit his lips. “I suspected the possibility. But Gordianus, what she did was hardly unique. Everyone was doing it.”
“Not everyone. Not you, Lucius.”
“True,” he said, nodding sheepishly. “But Cornelia will fault you for not capturing the imposter. She’ll refuse to pay the full fee.”
“I don’t care about the fee.”
“I’ll make up the difference,” said Lucius.
I laid my hand on his shoulder. “What is rarer than a camel in Gaul?” Lucius wrinkled his brow. I laughed. “An honest man in Rome.”
Lucius shrugged off the compliment with typical chagrin. “I still don’t understand how you knew the identity of the imposter.”
“I told you that I visited the house on the Caelian Hill this morning. What I didn’t tell you was that the old slavewoman across the street revealed to me that Furius not only had a sister, but that this sister was the same age — his twin — and bore a striking resemblance to him.”
“Ah! They must have been close, and her slightly softer features make her look younger than Furius.”
“Who must have been quite handsome. Even through her horrid makeup...” I sighed. “Also, when I followed Furius’s widow to market, I was struck by her purchase of a quantity of calf s blood. She also gathered a spray of juniper berries, which the little girl carried for her.”
“Berries?”
“The cankers pasted on Furia’s face — juniper berries cut in half. The blood was for matting her hair and daubing on her neck. As for the rest of her appearance, her ghastly makeup and costuming, you and I can only guess at the ingenuity of a household of women united toward a single goal. Furia has been in seclusion for months, which explains the almost uncanny paleness of her flesh — and the fact that she was able to cut off her hair without anyone taking notice.”
I shook my head. “A remarkable woman. I wonder why she never married? The turmoil and confusion of the civil war, I suppose, and the death of her brothers ruined her prospects forever. Misery is like a pebble cast into a pond, sending out a wave that spreads and spreads.”
I headed home that night weary and wistful. There are days when one sees too much of the world’s wickedness, and only a long sleep in the safe seclusion of one’s home can restore an appetite for life. I thought of Bethesda and Eco, and tried to push the face of Furia from my thoughts. The last thing on my mind was the haunted soldier and his legion of lemures, and yet I was destined to encounter them all before I reached my house.
I passed by the wall of his garden, smelled the familiar tang of burning leaves, but thought no more about the soldier until I heard the little wooden door open behind me and the voice of his old retainer crying out my name.
“Thank the gods you’ve finally returned!” he whispered hoarsely. He seemed to be in the grip of a strange malady or spell, for even though the door allowed him more room to stand, he remained oddly bent, his eyes gleamed dully, and his jaw was slack. “The master has sent messenger after messenger to your door — always they are told you are out, that your return is expected at any moment. But when the lemures come, time stops. Please, come! Save the master — save us all!”
From beyond the wall I heard the sound of moaning, not from one man but from many. I heard a woman shriek, and the sound of furniture overturned. What madness was taking place within the house?
“Please, help us! The lemures, the lemures!” The old slave made a face of such horror that I started back and turned to make my escape. My house was only a few steps up the pathway. But I turned back. I reached inside my tunic and felt for the handle of my dagger before I thought how little use a dagger would be to deal with those already dead.
It took no small amount of courage to step through the little door. My heart pounded like a hammer in my chest.
The air within was dank and smoky. After the brief drizzle a clammy cold had descended upon the hills of Rome, such as holds down plumes of smoke and makes the air unwholesome and stagnant. I breathed in an acrid breath and coughed.
The soldier came running from within the house. He tripped and staggered forward on his knees, wrapped his arms around my waist and looked up at me in abject terror. “There!” He pointed back toward the house. “They pursue me! Gods have mercy — the boy without a head, the soldier with his belly cut open, all the others!”