'He told us we were fine Romans to have gone to such pains in pursuit of justice. He said that such occurrences as the one we described were very, very rare, but that indeed, lamentably, regrettably, there had been a handful of instances of men falsely proscribed. At the very earliest opportunity he would present our petition to the great Sulla himself. In the meantime, we should be patient; surely we could see that the dictator of the Republic had a thousand concerns pressing on him from all sides, not least of which was a final effort to eradicate the vestiges of the Marian conspiracy where it was festering in the Etruscan hills. Ten heads bobbed up and down like corks on a wave, and mine was one of them. And I remember thinking, though I'm ashamed to say it now, that I was glad we hadn't been allowed to see Sulla, for if being in the presence of his deputy was this intimidating, what bigger fools would we have made of ourselves dealing with the great man himself?
‘But then I cleared my throat, and somehow I found the nerve to say that if we couldn't see Sulla, at least we insisted on having some sort of clear answer before we returned to Ameria. Chrysogonus turned his blue eyes on me and raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, the way you might look at a slave who has the impertinence to interrupt a conversation with some trifle he thinks is important. And finally he nodded, and said, 'Of course, of course,' and then he told us that when he returned to Rome he himself would take a stylus and mark the name of Sextus Roscius from the proscription lists with his own hand, and see to it that the dead man's property was reconstituted and the deed restored to his son. We would have to be patient, of course, for the wheels of justice turn slowly in Rome, but never against the will of the people.
'Then he looked straight at Capito, understanding that he had come into at least some of the confiscated property, and asked him if he would agree to such justice, even at his own expense. And Capito nodded and smiled as innocently as a child, and declared he had only the spirit of Roman law at heart, and if it could be proved that his late cousin had in fact not been an enemy of the state and of the beloved Sulla, he would gladly restore his share of the estate to the rightful heir, not even charging for the improvements he had made. And that night we celebrated with wine and a roast lamb at our tavern at Volaterrae and slept well, and in the morning we returned to Amelia and went our separate ways.'
'What happened then?'
'Nothing. Sulla and his army finished their business at Volaterrae and returned to Rome.'
'There was no word from Chrysogonus?'
'None.' Titus shrugged guiltily. 'You know how it is, how you let such things languish — I'm a farmer, not a politician. I finally drafted a letter in December, and another in February. No answer. Perhaps something would have been done if Sextus Roscius himself had kept after it, but he was more secluded than ever. He and his family stayed in their little house on the estate and no one heard a word from them, as if they were prisoners, or as if Capito had made them his slaves. Well, if a man won't stand up for himself, he can't expect his neighbours to drag him to his feet.'
'How long did this go on?'
'Until April. That was when something must have happened between Capito and Sextus. In the middle of the night Sextus showed up at my doorstep with his wife and his two daughters. They were riding in a common ox cart, carrying their goods in their arms with not even a slave to drive. He asked me to take him in for the night, and of course I did. They stayed for four or five nights, I can't remember-'
'Three,' said a quiet voice. It was the boy Lucius, whose presence I had almost forgotten. He sat against the corner of the low wall with his knees pulled to his chest. He was faintly smiling, the same way he had smiled at the mention of Roscius's daughter when I met him earlier that day.
‘Well, then, three,' said Titus. 'I suppose it seemed longer. Sextus Roscius brought his gloom with him. My wife kept complaining he would bring ill luck. And of course, that young Roscia…' he began, lowering his voice. 'His elder daughter. Not exactly the best moral influence to bring into a home with young men.' He glanced at Lucius, who looked up at the moon with a convincing imitation of deafness.
'Then he left for Rome, telling me his father had had a patroness there who might have some influence with Sulla. No mention of a trial for murder. I assumed he'd got desperate enough to go and petition this Chrysogonus for himself'
'I don't suppose it would surprise you to learn that Chrysogonus himself benefited from the carving up of Sextus Roscius's estates.'
'Well, isn't that a dirty piece of business. And how do you know that?'
'A slave named Carus told me this afternoon. He answers the door at Capito's villa.'
'Then the three of them were in it from the beginning — Capito, Magnus, and Chrysogonus.'
'So it appears. Who but Chrysogonus could have illegally entered Sextus pater into the already closed proscription lists? Who wanted the old man dead, except Capito and Magnus?'
'Well, there you have it. It was those three who plotted the murder of old Sextus Roscius, conspiring all along to have him added to the proscription lists and then buy up the land after the state confiscated it. And any outsider who might try to clear the matter up comes face to face with Chrysogonus, which is like having your nose to a brick wall. What a business, even dirtier than I thought. But now this, to blame Sextus Roscius for his father's murder — surely they've gone too far even for a close friend of Sulla. It's absurd, unspeakably cruel!'
I looked up at the moon. It was already fat and white; in six days it would be full for the Ides, and Sextus Roscius would meet his fate. I lazily turned my head and peered through heavy lids at the yellow window shining from Capito's villa. Why were they still awake? Surely Magnus and Glaucia were as tired from their day of riding as I was. What were they plotting now?
'Even so,' 1 said, losing the words in a yawn, 'even so, there's still some part that's missing from the puzzle. Something that keeps it all from making sense. Even dirtier than you thought. . '
I looked at the yellow window. I shut my eyes for just an instant, and didn't open them again for many hours.
19
I woke with a blink to find myself alone in a dark room choked with heat. My mouth was dry, but I felt amazingly refreshed. I had slept without dreams. I lay on my back, and for a long moment was content simply to be still and sense the flow of life in my arms, legs, fingers, toes. Then I stirred, and realized there was a stiff penalty to pay for having ridden so hard the day before. I managed to sit up and swing my aching legs onto the floor. I was amazed again at how refreshed I felt, considering that I was waking while the world was still dark, until I glimpsed an odd flickering at the edge of the drapery that hung over the window, like a glint of white steel lit from nowhere amid the blackness. I pushed myself up from the divan and staggered stiffly to the window. I pushed the curtain aside and was consumed by hot, blinding light.
At the same instant the door to the tiny room creaked open and Lucius stuck his head inside. 'Finally,' he said, using the exasperated tone with which children mimic their parents. 'I tried to wake you twice before, but I couldn't even make you groan. Everyone else has been up for hours.'
'How late is it?'
'Exactly noon. That's why I came to see if you were up yet, because I just got back from town and noticed the sundial in the garden, and I wondered if you could still be asleep.'