A shift in the wind brought us the smell of fragrant smoke, only faintly tinged with the smell of incinerating flesh. "I wonder why Silva donated all that expensive wood and incense. As far as I know, he's not related to the priest and they don't seem to be particularly close friends."
"Maybe for the same reason you laid on these funeral refreshments: It is traditional for office holders and those standing for high honors to give ostentatiously. He's a duumvir of Baiae, he's very rich, and he's competing with the others for public esteem. He may have done it as a euergesia."
She used the Greek word for the obligation laid upon the wealthy to provide public works and entertainment for the people. It is the same custom that drives Roman candidates to bankrupt themselves building temples, bridges, basilicas, and porticoes, giving lavish entertainments and banquets and munera, all to win the favor of the populace and, more important, to outdo all the other great men in so providing. In Greek communities, there is no greater honor than to be known as a euergetes.
"Maybe you are right," I said to Julia, "but I am beginning to suspect everybody now."
She gave my arm a squeeze. "Isn't that always the best policy?"
That evening I visited Gelon in the villa's palaestra. This gymnasium was as large as any such public facility in Rome, and a great deal more luxurious. The sand in the wrestling pit and on the running track had been imported from the Arabian desert, all the stonework was of the finest marble, the statuary were all portrait figures set up at Olympia to celebrate champion athletes of centuries past.
Here my lictors and the young men of my party exercised and practiced when I had no need of them. I had enjoined my crew very strictly that all were to be fit and any who grew too slack would be sent home. As a holder of imperium, I could at any moment receive orders from Rome to take command of an army, and they would be obliged to follow me to war.
When I arrived at the palaestra I found Gelon and his guards in a sand pit, under the watchful eyes of my lictors, engaged in spirited sparring with six-foot staffs, apparently a Numidian combat sport. Gauls and Spaniards and Judaeans are also fond of this weapon, but this Numidian play seemed more subtle than that practiced by the others. I enjoyed this exhibition for a few minutes, then beckoned my chief lictor.
"Praetor?" he said, jogging up to me.
"How has the prisoner comported himself?"
"Quite well. He frets at confinement, but there's plenty to amuse oneself with in this place. The stables are double guarded."
"Have you locked away all the practice swords and javelins? At this juncture I'm more concerned about suicide than escape."
"We have, but I think you needn't worry. It did him a world of good when you assured him he didn't face the cross or the beasts. No real man fears a quick beheading. He seems content to wait out events."
"Good, but keep a close watch on him anyway." I dismissed the man and walked over to the sand pit. Gelon saw me and lowered his staff. "Praetor. You've returned from the funeral?"
"Yes. It was a good service and she's on her way now with all the proper rites observed."
He lowered his eyes. "I am sorry that I could not attend. When I am out of this, I'll sacrifice at her tomb."
"Commendable, but don't buy any black ewes just yet. First, we have to get you acquitted and I've yet to see any way to do that. Have any significant facts occurred to you? A man in your situation usually receives a flood of exculpatory memories."
"Just that I did not kill Gorgo, that I was at home when it happened."
"I haven't spoken with Jocasta yet. I will call on her tomorrow, after court. Are you sure there is no one else to vouch for your whereabouts?"
He shrugged. "I am sorry. There is none."
I left him, feeling unsettled. For a man facing death, he was not terribly desperate to demonstrate his innocence. Perhaps, I thought, I was too hasty in ruling out crucifixion.
I rejoined Julia in the triclinium where a late supper had been laid out, just our own party attending, no guests for once. I lay on the couch with a sigh of relief and picked up a hard-boiled egg. A slave filled my cup and I sampled the superb vintage. I was getting too used to this.
"What a strange visit this has turned out to be," Circe said. "Murder, erupting volcanoes-what next?"
"It isn't erupting," said young Marcus. "I spoke with a local naturalist today. He calls this a 'venting.' He said every few years Vesuvius lets off a bit of smoke and ash, maybe emits a little lava, then it will go back to just smoking for several years."
"It makes me nervous," Circe said.
"Thank you, Decius Caecilius," said Antonia.
"For what?" I asked.
"For making Gelon our houseguest. Now that he is no longer connected with the priest's daughter, I'll have to work on him."
"I hear there are good armorers over in Pompeii," said Marcus. "You might want to get yourself a throat protector."
"You will leave that young man strictly alone," Julia ordered. "He is a suspect in a case the praetor is trying. He is a prisoner, not a guest."
Antonia shrugged. "Prisoners, hostages-what's the difference? Two years ago my brother had that Gallic prince Vercingetorix in the house. He was a prisoner, but do you think I let that stop me?"
"A barbarian prince, even an enemy prince," Circe said, "is a far cry from the son of a Numidian slaver."
"I'm always amazed at the ability you ladies have to draw distinctions," I said.
"This is your fault," said Julia. "You never should have brought him into this house. The local lockup would have been quite good enough for him, even if he is innocent. It might have taught him a little humility."
"Lectures on humility from a Caesar!" Antonia cried, laughing. "I like them arrogant, even the wicked ones."
Julia gave up and applied herself to dinner. It seemed that patrician propriety was not to be a feature of our household for the duration.
When dinner was done, Julia and I stayed behind in the triclinium, and I called for Hermes to report. He seemed uncommonly somber when he came in, not at all his usual mischievous self.
"The altar was clean swept," he reported, "and I couldn't find where they dumped the ashes, so I went straight to the house."
"You got in and out undetected, I trust?" I asked.
"Naturally."
"Pride in burglar skills is not becoming in a free man, Hermes," Julia chided him.
"Says the poem thief," I commented. "What have you found?"
"First, this." He tossed me a little bundle of something hard that gave beneath my fingers when I caught it. It was a small bag of purple silk. Whatever was inside, the bag itself was a minor extravagance. I released the drawstrings and withdrew the contents. Julia gasped and snatched it from my fingers.
It was a necklace formed of some twenty lozenges of gold, each the size of Julia's thumb, each set with an emerald as big as the nail of that digit and carved with the image of a deity.
"This is fabulous!" Julia exclaimed. "You've never given me anything this fine."
"I've never been that rich," I reminded her. "Still, we've seen ladies around here wearing jewelry as expensive. But if Gelon gave her that, Papa must be giving him a more generous allowance than my father gave me."
"There was more going on in that girl's life than keeping the temple tidy," Julia commented, unable to stop fondling the necklace. Just what I needed. Now she would want one like it.
"All right," I said to Hermes. "This bauble didn't put that wan look on your face. What else did you find?"
"As I was leaving I thought I was alone in the place. But I heard someone crying. It didn't sound like grief for the dead woman. I traced the sound and found a lockup next to the pen for sacrificial animals."