The Bull Slayer

CHAPTER Thirteen

The 11th day before the Kalends of November

The fifth hour of the day

Pliny rubbed his chin, which now bore a two-day stubble, and tried to think philosophical thoughts of patience and self-control. But the waiting was hard. He and Postumius Marinus, sat on camp stools in an army tent pitched outside the village, listening to Zosimus recite something to pass the time. Pliny only half paid attention; his mind was out in the deep woods with his troopers and the young men from the village as they searched in widening circles from the spot where the horses had been found. The men could move faster through this rough country without an old man like him slowing them down. He had sent back to Nicomedia yesterday to requisition Balbus’ hounds, who knew their master’s scent, and to ask his physician, Marinus, to ride up and join him. The search had gone on until nightfall yesterday and resumed at dawn. If they had no success today he was resolved to return to the city.

“Sir!” A breathless trooper ducked under the tent flap. “We’ve found something.”

“Stir your old bones, Marinus, mount up!” Pliny shouted, feeling suddenly no longer old.

Their way led upwards, farther into the hills. The rain had stopped overnight and now sunlight sifted through the branches. Overhead, squadrons of migrating storks filled the sky. Looking up, Pliny noticed for the first time that distant ridge that was said to resemble a woman’s profile. It had been shrouded in mist when they first arrived. As they rode, the forest gave way to towering outcroppings of rock cut by deep crevasses and they were forced to dismount and proceed on foot, just as Balbus and his nameless companion must have done.

If it was Balbus.

They had traveled a good half hour when they heard the baying of the dogs and smelled the sweet, pungent, gagging stench of putrefaction.

“Over here, sir. Cover your nose, it’s pretty bad.”

Suetonius held out a hand to steady him as Pliny half slid down the steep side of a bramble-choked gully. There, two soldiers leaned on their shovels, their neck cloths tied around their faces like highwaymen. The dogs jumped and strained at their leashes, scratching the ground and nearly pulling their handlers into the pit. Marinus followed him down. The body lay in a shallow grave, bloated and blackened and crawling with maggots, an obscene intrusion in that pleasant autumnal setting—but, unmistakably, Balbus.

“How long do you think he’s been here?” Pliny asked.

The physician shrugged. “He’s been missing, what, twelve days or so? Still plenty of flesh left. But it’s cooler up here in the hills and the body was covered, that makes a difference. The question is, What killed him. Get these damned dogs out of my way.” Marinus squatted beside the corpse and studied it silently while Pliny stood back, trying not to breathe.

“Hard to be sure, of course, the state he’s in, but I don’t see a wound anywhere, and I’ve looked at plenty of wounds in my time.” Marinus had begun his career as physician in the Ludus Magnus, invaluable training for a doctor. “Let’s roll him over.”

No one moved.

“Come, come,” he snapped. “It’s a body. You call yourselves soldiers?”

They turned the corpse, using their spades and Marinus bent to his work again. “Ah!” he murmured after a moment. “Come and look, Governor.” This vertebra is crushed.” He touched it with a finger where the flesh had come away. “Our friend the procurator has had his neck broken.”

Pliny led his staff away to a spot where the smell was bearable. They sat on the damp ground and talked.

“Not robbers, that’s plain,” Nymphidius said. “He’s still got his clothes and rings.”

“Then why?” demanded Pliny. “And what on earth was he doing out here in the middle of nowhere? And who rode the other horse?”

Suetonius shook his head. “Balbus was a big man, an ex-soldier. There won’t be many who could have broken his neck like that.”

“Well, it was no riding accident,” said Marinus. “The body’s a good half mile from where they left the horses. And why would his companion, whoever it was, just bury him and leave him?”

“They must have been out here looking for something,” Pliny mused. “Your men have been all over here, Aquila, is there anything?”

“There’s a bit of a path that runs along nearby. Easy to miss. The lads followed it up that way.” He pointed toward a stony hillside above them. “It just petered out. They poked around, didn’t find anything. According to the villagers, no one lives out this way.”

“Right.” Pliny stood up. “Aquila, get the body wrapped up and loaded on the wagon, we’re taking Balbus home. I particularly want to see Fabia’s face when I deliver it. And for the time being, all of you, it was a riding accident, you understand. There must be no word of murder. Aquila, I want no loose talk from the men about what they’ve seen. I hold you responsible.”

***

Pancrates bent his hawk-faced head over Calpurnia’s hand and brushed it with his lips. His dark ringlets spilled over his shoulders. “Your maid brought me your message this morning, matrona. It’s been too long since we spoke. How can I help you? You do not look well. Have you been sick?”

She pulled him down on the couch beside her. “Sick? Yes, I am sick. Here.” She touched her hand to her breast. Her voice sounded to her own ears faint and far away.

“Ah. The heart. That is the cruelest sickness of all. Tell me.” He took her hand in both of his and squeezed it.

“You told me I would meet someone new. I didn’t believe you, but I have. A man. And I love him.” Her chin trembled. “I fight against it but I’m too weak. Ione only encourages me. I have no one else to turn to. And then last night…”

“Last night you took a step that you cannot take back. I see it in your eyes.”

“And it felt—I can’t tell you. But now…”

“You’ve never done something like this before?”

She shook her head.

“You’re a woman of rare virtue.”

“I thought I was. I always imagined that one day they would inscribe univira on my tombstone as they did my mother’s. But no more.”

“And now what? Do you imagine a future with this man?”

“That is madness.”

“But love is a kind of madness, as the poets tell us. I see a handsome man. Older perhaps…?”

“No, young. So very young.”

“Just as I thought.”

“And he looks like a young god, and he’s an artist and sweet-natured and he makes me laugh and…” She looked away.

“But what could be more natural? A beautiful woman like yourself deserves to be loved passionately. You have no reason to reproach yourself. Of course, you honor your husband, but he’s preoccupied with high affairs of state, is he not? Look how he has dragged you from your home, your friends, and family to this alien place and then he neglects you. You have a right to feel as you do. We are all creatures of temptation. And your husband suspects nothing?”

“He sees only what he wants to see. He’s so clever in some ways and so innocent in others. Sometimes I’m furious at him for being so blind.” She began to cry. “What am I to do? It can’t live like this. You are a seer—what do you see?”

“Spit in your hand.”

“What?”

“Do as I say.”

She spat and Pancrates touched her palm with his finger and put it on his tongue. He frowned. “I see what has been done to you. You are the victim of magic, lady.”

“What, you mean a love potion? No, he would never—”

“The signs are unmistakable. Do you doubt such things exist?”

“No, but—”

“And do you want to be restored to your senses, to the love of your husband, that good man?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Louder. You must mean it.”

“Yes!”

“I can devise a spell against it. But I must know your lover’s name.”

“His name? No, I couldn’t…” She snatched her hand away from his.

“If you’re going to keep secrets from me, lady…” He made to stand up.

“No, don’t, please. Don’t go. His name is Agathon.”

“There are many with that name.”

“Son of Protarchus, grandson of Neocles.”

“Well, well. I don’t know the young man but I know the family. Very prominent, very rich.” He reached for her hand again. “Now calm yourself, Calpurnia. I tell you again, you’ve done nothing wrong. I can cure you, and your husband need never know a thing. I gather he is away at the moment?”

She nodded. “First it was the assizes and now this business with the procurator. They’re out in the countryside now looking for him.”

Pancrates black eyebrows shot up. “Are they indeed? And does your husband confide in you about his business when you’re together?”

“He always has.”

“And quite right too. You’re a woman of good sense.” He leaned closer, his deep-sunk eyes seemed to bore into her. “If he tells you about this missing procurator I want you to tell me, you understand? We must have no secrets if I am to help you. You have already trusted me with your lover’s name. I wonder how the father would react to knowing of his son’s adventures.”

She recoiled from him. “What do you mean? You wouldn’t…”

“Well, of course, I wouldn’t like to.”

Her eyes widened in sudden fear. “Why do you care about the procurator? It doesn’t concern you.”

“Everything concerns me.” The voice was like silk and like steel all at once.

She leapt up, her bruised knee nearly buckling under her. He tried to hold her back but she tore away from him. She saw the chasm opening at her feet. “Filthy Greek spy! Get out!”

He stood slowly and smoothed his spotless white gown with his long-fingered hands. “As you wish. We’ll talk again.”

“We will not!” she screamed at his back. Then she fell weeping on the couch.

In an instant Ione was beside her. “I saw him leave, ’Purnia. He looked at me with a murderer’s eyes! What happened?”

“Ione, I’ve done a terrible thing. I’ve put myself in that man’s power. And Agathon, and my husband too. I want to die!”

“Darling, don’t say that.”

“I mean it. But first I will tell Gaius everything, everything, the minute he returns. I swear I will.”

Ione turned a stricken face to her. Old Baucis’ words came back to her in a rush. This could all come crashing down on your head. She sank to the floor and grasped Calpurnia’s knees, a supplicant. “Everything? And what about me? Your husband may forgive you but he won’t forgive me.”

“But I won’t—”

“He’ll get it out of you. He’ll know you couldn’t have done it alone. He’ll throw me into the street to starve, and Zosimus too, and the child. He must. Everything I did, I did for your happiness, mistress. Will you betray me too?”

***

“Mehercule, it feels good to be home again. I was never one for camping out.”

They reclined at dinner: Pliny and Calpurnia, Suetonius, Nymphidius, Marinus, and Zosimus. The meal was finished and the wives, except for Calpurnia, had been excused. Pliny would keep no secrets from her. He grimaced. “What a business this is!”

“Have you written to the emperor yet?” Suetonius asked.

“As soon as we got back. One copy to go by sea, the other overland. It could be a month before he gets either one of them, if then. Rough seas in the Aegean, an early snow in the mountain passes of Illyricum—I ’ve often thought that our empire effectively ceases to exist between October and May. I’ve written him four times since we arrived and haven’t had a reply yet. We’re on our own here, my friend, and must make the best of it.”

“And the body?” Calpurnia asked.

“Is here in the palace. An army carpenter’s knocking together a box for it and tomorrow I’m taking it to Fabia.”

“Gaius, I’m frightened for you. You must wear a cuirass under your tunic and carry a dagger.”

“’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.