Pliny realized his legs were trembling. His stomach rebelled and acid rose in his throat. Marinus, who was inured to death, saw how pale he looked and put out a hand to steady him.
“Who could have done this, Marinus?”
“Mustn’t leap to conclusions. Could be nothing more than a case of bad shellfish. What did they dine on?”
“I’ve already asked,” replied Pliny. “Roast lamb and vegetables. No oysters, nothing like that. Have we got a murder on our hands?”
Marinus looked thoughtful. “Poison? Not something I know much about. I’ve heard that sandraca, some call it arsenikon, can be ingested in food or drink and kill you a few hours later, depending on the dose. Makes sense that the man died last. He’s a big fellow, isn’t he? You saw the shoulders on him. Took longer for the poison to work its way through him.”
“But the old woman?”
“Old women don’t eat much. I’ll stay with her, if you like. If she pulls through, we may have an answer.”
“Please.” Pliny shook his head wearily. “The city’s on the verge of panic already, and now this. We must do whatever we can. I’ll leave you in charge, then. Send for me at once if she revives.” He paused in the doorway. “Is this arsenikon hard to get hold of?”
“I wouldn’t think so. It has various uses. I believe painters use it for a red pigment.”
As he left the house, the sun was just rising over the housetops and already a curious crowd of early-risers had gathered outside in the street. In another hour the whole city would be abuzz with news of the atrocity.
***
Pliny returned to the palace to find Pancrates waiting for him outside his office.
“I told you never to come here unasked,” Pliny glowered at him. “I warn you I’m in no mood-”
“Please, Governor,” the prophet looked pained. “I only want to prove my usefulness. I came as soon as I heard.”
“About?”
“Why, Glaucon, of course. What else?”
Pliny took him inside and shut the door. “What do you know about this?”
“About his death, nothing. The family is well-to-do. They have crop land and orchards and do a bit of trading on the side-Glaucon’s brother, that is-he’s the brains of the family. Glaucon, himself, I fear, was a bit slow-witted. But what a wrestler in his day! Oh, he was famous. In the all-out he would break arms and legs. Nobody could stand up to him.”
“Is that all you have to say? I could have learned this from anyone.”
“Tch, tch, such a temper, Governor. Well, you’re under a lot of strain, aren’t you? As a matter of fact, that isn’t all. What I was about to say, is that poor Glaucon consulted us not too long ago. Whenever the prophet said ‘us’, he meant himself and the god. ‘Will I be punished for slaying the lion?’ was his question. Well, we couldn’t imagine what he meant, there haven’t been lions in these parts for a hundred years.”
“‘Slaying the lion.’ And when did he consult you?”
“A few days after the procurator’s disappearance.”
“And what answer did you give him?”
“We told him ‘yes’ to see what would happen.”
“And what happened is that he was murdered.”
“So it would seem.”
Calpurnia had seen him enter. She was waiting for him out of sight. As Pancrates trotted down the palace steps, she rushed at him and seized his hand. “Please! I wrote Agathon a letter. He hasn’t answered! What shall I do?”
He pushed her away roughly. “I thought I was the filthy, Greek spy,” he snarled. “I’ve been warned away from you, madam. Your husband and I have an understanding. I can do nothing for you.”
***
Late the next day, word came from Marinus that Glaucon’s mother was conscious and able to speak. Pliny went there at once. He was met at the door by none other than Diocles.
“A terrible business,” murmured the orator. “I’m a friend of the family, you know. They appreciate your concern, don’t you, Theron?”-he nodded toward a man whom Pliny assumed was the brother-“but this is a matter for the civic authorities, not your office.”
Did anything happen in this city, Pliny wondered, that Diocles did not instantly involve himself in?
“If it’s a question of adulterated food,” Diocles hurried on, “the magistrates will see to it that the merchant is found and punished.”
“And if it’s poison?” said Pliny.
“Great gods! Why would you suspect such a thing?” The orator adopted an expression of horror.
“If it’s poison,” Pliny continued, “that affects the public order. My business. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to question the mother.”
“Only family members are permitted in the gynekeion-”
But Pliny had already pushed past him. Marinus met him at her bedroom door. “They ordered me to leave,” the physician said. “I politely refused.”
“Probably not so politely,” Pliny smiled ruefully. Postumius Marinus did not suffer fools lightly.
“She is very weak, though. Don’t tire her. Her name’s Berenice, by the way. And she doesn’t know yet that the others are dead.”
Berenice lay in bed, a veined and fragile dry leaf of a woman, her white hair spread out on the pillow, a coverlet pulled up to her chin.
“Berenice,” Pliny leaned over her and spoke softly in her ear, “I am the governor. Can you tell me what happened to you?”
“She looked up with watery, unfocused eyes. “Who are you?”
“The governor. I’m here to help. Tell me about dinner last night. Did you eat anything out of the ordinary? Anything not made in your own kitchen?”
She was quiet for so long he was afraid she was past understanding. Then she whispered, “Yes.” Her story came out in wheezing phrases, broken by pauses when her eyes fluttered and her mind seemed to wander. Pliny put his ear to her lips to catch her words. They had just finished dinner when someone came to the door carrying a covered tray of dates stuffed with pine nuts. The man handed the tray to her son and she heard what he said: A gift from the Persian to the bridegroom. Pliny made her repeat this. She was certain those were the words: Perses and nymphios. She asked her son what the man had meant, but he wouldn’t answer her and he seemed suddenly in a bad mood. Nevertheless, they passed the dates around, they were very large and sweet, and everyone had some. Glaucon ate the most. She only had one, though, not being very hungry.
“Did you recognize the man who brought the dates?”
“No.”
“A Persian, he said? Did-does your son know any Persians?”
“I don’t know, I don’t think so.”
“And he isn’t a bridegroom is he? He’s been married for years.”
“No. No. He’ll tell you himself.” Suddenly her eyes widened and she tried to raise her head. “Where is he? Where is my son, my daughter-in-law? Why aren’t they here? Who are you?”
Pliny told her as gently as he could. She turned her face to the wall and began to weep soundlessly.
“I’d give her a sleeping draught,” said Marinus, “but in her condition it could kill her.”
“That might be a mercy,” Pliny answered.
The two men stole quietly out of the room and returned to the megaron where Diocles and Theron were waiting.
“Well-?” Diocles began.
Pliny ignored him and turned to the brother. The man appeared to be deep in shock, sitting speechless with his head in his hands. “Theron, your brother and his family were murdered. I’m sorry, I know it’s a heavy blow, I don’t say it lightly. I will do everything in my power to find out who did this-”