“’Purnia, I’ll do nothing of the sort. We can’t go around looking like we fear for our lives here. You know what will leap to people’s minds.”
Every Roman schoolboy knew. The slaughter of eighty thousand Romans, most of them hated tax farmers, together with their families in a single night in all the cities of Bithynia and Asia by order King Mithridates of Pontus. It had taken twenty years of war to avenge that atrocity. And two centuries had not dimmed the memory of it; the natives still named their children after that monster.
“And that’s why we must maintain that Balbus’ death was an accident until we get to the bottom this. So, not a word about this to the wives, my dear. I can trust you can’t I?”
“What?” She felt the blood drain from her face.
“I said, can I trust you, my dear.”
“Oh. Yes, yes, Gaius, of course you can trust me.”
He moved closer to her on the dining couch and covered her hand with his. “Quite enough gloomy talk for one night. I noticed you limping, have you hurt yourself?”
“It’s nothing. I slipped in the bath.”
He stretched and stifled a yawn. “I’ve spent three nights sleeping on the cold ground, missing you, my dear. And I see you haven’t slept well either-such dark circles under your eyes. Oh, I know I’ve neglected you. I’m truly sorry. But with all this…I will make it up to you, I promise. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us. We’re off to bed.” He gave her a wink.
***
Zosimus put his arm around his wife and fumbled for a kiss. She turned away.
“What’s the matter? You haven’t been yourself all evening.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“Leave me alone, can’t you? Go to sleep.”
And the poor young man lay awake in the dark, wondering what he had done.
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning
The 10th day before the Kalends of November
Aulus crouches behind the curtain of the little storeroom, hardly breathing. A ray of dusty light falls through the small, high window, but it doesn’t find him in his corner. If he looks, he sees each single dust mote drifting in it like an atom in the void-his senses are keyed up to that pitch. His nerves vibrate like harp strings. He clutches his body, shaken by seismic shudders, his thin shoulders working up and down. His spine is taut, bent like an archer’s bow, ready to break. He wrings his hands. Did he groan? Did he make a sound? He clenches his jaw until his teeth hurt. He has been in an agony of fear since that day, knowing they would come for him. And now they have, that man who was here before, who saw him-the governor. He knows.
“My condolences, lady,” the governor is saying. “There’s no doubt it’s him, I have his signet ring here. I shouldn’t want to view the corpse if I were you, it’s, well, not a pleasant sight. We discovered him in the woods, miles from the city, near the spot where a couple of villagers found his horse. No, I do not intend to crucify them! It seems he fell from his horse and broke his neck. A tragic accident.”
An accident. Aulus lets his breath out slowly. Is it possible?
The governor is sitting in their atrium, his face composed in a somber expression, the corners of his mouth pulled down, but the eyes alert, moving here and there, fixing again on his mother, who stands before him immovable as a statue. Aulus, in the little side-chamber, can almost reach out and touch them.
And now the governor is puzzled, he shakes his head and pulls at his chin. “What was your husband doing out there?” he asks. “You don’t know? Come now, that’s not good enough. You must have some idea, he must have said something, some word. A man doesn’t ride out in the middle of nowhere for no reason. And he wasn’t alone. There was another horse, a chestnut. I’ve brought the horses along, if you’d care to look. None of yours are missing? You’re quite sure? It would be pointless, I suppose, to question your stableman again.” The governor sighs in exasperation.
Oh, mother, thank the gods for your strength!
And now the governor is saying, “You may have heard something about the disappearance of Silvanus, your husband’s chief accountant. We’re keeping it quiet but these things have a way of getting out. He was stealing from the treasury and he’s gotten away clean. Did Balbus ever mention a problem with him? Had his suspicions, you say? Talked about sacking him? Indeed he was a sullen, ill-favored character. And a sneak and a liar to boot? Well, very interesting.” The governor stands up now. “Back to the sad matter at hand. A private funeral would be best, don’t you think? No need to make too large an occasion of it. Eulogies, of course, from his colleagues and any close friends. I’ll handle the arrangements. Of course, I’ve notified the emperor. Well, then, I’ll just have them bring the casket in.”
And now four men are carrying in the box. It drops to the floor, making a noise in Aulus’ over-stretched ears as loud as a thunderclap, as reverberant as an earthquake. Breathe, breathe! he tells himself. But he sees the horror inside as though his eyes could pierce those wooden planks. The box sits like a huge, brutal, accusing fact. If it had a tongue what would it say? And now a kaleidoscope of images whirls through Aulus’ brain-jagged sparks and fiery red circles. There is a roaring in his ears, his throat constricts, saliva runs down his chin, his bowels unloose. He wants to run away but there is no place to run. His muscles jerk and contract until he thinks his bones will break. Don’t fall, don’t fall! But he feels himself rolling over on his side, limp as a bag of stones, his head poking through the curtain. And the last thing he sees is the governor’s shocked face hovering over him.
***
The Sun-Runner to the Father, greetings:
This is a catastrophe. The Lion is dead. The Romans have found the body and, though they claim it was an accident, I fear the worst. We may all be in danger. With your consent, Father, we must suspend our gatherings until such time as we know more. The risk is too great. Nama Mithras.
Chapter Fifteen
That afternoon, Pliny convened his staff again. They ate a light lunch while they discussed the case.
Suetonius, carefully peeling a hardboiled egg, asked, “Are we keeping the murder a secret from Diocles?”
“Especially from him,” Pliny answered firmly. “But I don’t delude myself that our story will hold up long. Someone, a trooper or one of the dog handlers, will talk. And when it becomes known that the second highest Roman official in the province has been murdered we must be seen to take decisive action. This is a disaster, gentlemen, and we must deal with it swiftly. And we can’t do it by just sitting here. The tip about the saddle was a gift from the gods, but we can’t expect more like that. The answer to this puzzle is not going to walk in through the front door. We must go out and find it, and we haven’t much time.”
“And just how do we do that, Sir?” Aquila growled.
“We’re in a better place than we were before, Centurion. When Balbus had simply vanished we had nothing to go on. Now we do. We know that someone hated him enough or feared him enough to kill him. Either Silvanus out of fear or someone else for reasons we can’t even guess. And, mind you, the motive must have been irresistible to take such a risk. Every crime has a logic to it, if we can discover it. It is always the final act in a long train of events.”
“Like following the clew.”
“What’s that, my boy?”
Zosimus, aware of his humble station, seldom spoke at these meetings. When he did, it was to the point. “Theseus and the Minotaur, Patrone. You know the story. How Theseus had to follow a clew of thread that led him back from the Minotaur’s lair through the Labyrinth? It’s like that. We have hold of one end of the thread and we must walk it back to the other end. Following the clew.”