18
'The dark-haired one,' said my host, 'yes, that would be Magnus. Yes, he limps on the left, and has for years; no one knows exactly why. He tells different stories. Sometimes says it was done to him by a crazy whore in Rome, sometimes claims it was a jealous husband, or then again, a gladiator on a drunken rampage. Always claims he killed the one who did it to him, and he probably did.'
'And the other, the big ugly blond?'
'Mallius Glaucia, I have no doubt. Magnus's ex-slave and now his right-hand man. Magnus spends a lot of time in Rome these days, while his cousin Capito is busy remaking the Roscius villa; Glaucia runs back and forth between them like a dog fetching bones.'
The world was dark and full of stars. Moonlight played over the low, rolling hills, turning them to silver. I sat with Titus Megarus on the rooftop of his house, situated so that we had a wide view to the south and west. On the horizon ran a line of high hills that marked the farther edge of the valley; somewhere beyond lay the course of the Tiber. Close by, a few scattered lights and moonlit roofs marked the sleeping town of Ameria, and to the left, obscured by the intervening trees, I could just make out the upper storey, no bigger than my thumbnail, of the house where Capito and Magnus and Mallius Glaucia were all gathered for the night. A single window was lit, sending out a pale ochre light.
Titus Megarus was not a worldly man, but he was an excellent host. He met me himself at his door and immediately saw that Vespa was given a place in his stables. He declined to converse about anything controversial at his dinner table, saying it caused indigestion. Instead, over the course of the meal, each of his five children took turns singing a song. The food was plentiful and fresh; the wine was excellent. Slowly I relaxed and shed my fear until I found myself half-reclining on a divan on the roof garden of his house. In the open peristyle below, the women and children of the house were gathered. One of Titus's daughters sang while another played the lyre. The sound rose sweet and low on the warm evening air with a vague echo, as if it came from a well. At his father's invitation the boy Lucius sat near us, listening but not speaking.
I was so weary and saddle sore I could hardly move, and so comfortable I didn't want to. I lay on the divan with a cup of warm wine in one hand, struggling against sleep, gazing out over the utter peacefulness of the valley and wondering at the murderous secrets hidden there.
'It was this Mallius Glaucia who came to my house last night,' I said, 'along with some other assassin. I'm sure of it — the claw marks leave no doubt. The same man who rode like a demon all night to get the news of Sextus Roscius's murder to Capito here in Ameria. Surely he was sent on both errands by the same master.'
'Glaucia does nothing without a command from Magnus; he's like one of those shadow puppets at carnivals.'
Titus stared up at the stars. I closed my eyes and imagined Bethesda beside me on the divan, warmer than the evening breeze, softer than the pale, translucent clouds that scudded across the waxing moon. There was a burst of feminine laughter from the peristyle below, and I thought how naturally she would fit in with the simple manners of the countryside.
Titus sipped his wine. 'So Sextus has gone and got himself charged with the old man's murder. That's news to me; I suppose I should go to trade gossip at the tavern in Narnia more often. And you're here to sniff out the truth. Good luck. You'll need it.' He shook his head and leaned forwards, scrutinizing the lights from his new neighbour's villa. 'Capito and Magnus want him out of the way for good. They won't rest until the man is dead.'
I glanced towards Capito's villa, then upward at the stars. All
I wanted was sleep. But who could say if my host would be in such a talkative mood in the morning?
'Tell me, Titus Megarus. ’ Between the wine and weariness my voice deserted me.
'Tell you what, Gordianus of Rome?' His speech was slurred. He seemed such a naturally sober man, so moderate in all other things, that I thought he must be the sort that indulged in wine only when there was company to entertain.
'Tell me everything. All you know about the death of old Sextus Roscius, and his feud with Capito and Magnus, and all that came after.'
'All a rotten scandal,' he scowled. 'Everyone knows there's something smelly about the whole business, but no one does anything about it. I tried, but it got me nowhere.'
'Begin at the beginning. This feud between the late Sextus Roscius and his cousins Magnus and Capito — how far back does it go?'
'It was a feud they inherited at birth. All three had the same grandfather; Sextus's father was the oldest of three sons, Capito and Magnus were sons of the younger sons. When the grandfather died, virtually all the estate went to the oldest son, naturally — to the father of old Sextus Roscius. Well, you know how that goes, sometimes there's a gracious settlement with the rest of the family, sometimes there's an ugly break. Who knows all the petty details? All I know is that it carried into the cousins of the second generation, with Capito and Magnus always against old Sextus, always conniving for some way to get a bigger share of the family fortune. Somehow or other they've succeeded. A few gullible souls in Ameria think they were simply blessed by Fortune. Anyone with a brain in his head can see they must have got blood on their hands, though they've been clever enough to wash it off.'
'Very well; the father of the elder Sextus Roscius inherits the family estates, leaving the rest with a pittance. The elder Sextus is his prime heir — I assume he was the oldest son in the family?'
'The only male child; the Roscii are not prolific breeders.'
'Very well, the elder Sextus inherits, much to the ongoing chagrin of his impoverished cousins Capito and Magnus. How impoverished were they?'
'Capito's father always held on to one of the farms down by the Nar, enough for a modest living. It was Magnus who had the worst of it. His father lost the one farm he inherited and finally killed himself That's why Magnus left for the city, to make his way there.'
'Bitter men. And if Magnus went to Rome to learn about life, murder is a lesson easily picked up. Now correct me if my memory fails: old Sextus marries twice. The first union produces Sextus filius. The wife dies, and Sextus pater remarries. A second son is born, Gaius, and the beloved young wife dies in childbirth. Young Sextus gets the run of the farms, while his father and Gaius go off to Rome. But then, three years ago, on the eve of Sulla's triumph, young Sextus summons his father and brother home to Ameria, and while they're here Gaius dies from something he ate. Tell me, Titus, what did the gossips in Ameria say about that?'
He shrugged and sipped more wine. 'Gaius wasn't known much hereabouts, though you'd find everyone agreed he was certainly a handsome young man. Personally, I found him too airy and cultivated; I suppose that was the way his father raised him, with tutors and fancy dinner parties. Not the boy's fault.'
'But his death — it was accepted as accidental?'
'There was never any question.'
'Suppose it wasn't an accident Might Capito and Magnus have had something to do with it?'
'It seems far-fetched. What would they have gained, except to spite his father? If they wanted to kill someone, why not the old man, or the whole family? Certainly, Capito is a violent man. He's stabbed and beaten more than one slave to death, and they say once down in Rome he threw a total stranger into the Tiber, just because the man wouldn't step aside on the bridge, and then dived in after him, trying to make certain he drowned. I suppose he and Magnus might have murdered Gaius from pure cruelty, but I don't think it's likely.'