The Bull Slayer

CHAPTER Thirty-one

Pliny and his coachman ran from room to room. In the dining room plates of uneaten food sat on the table. In the bedrooms the floors were strewn with clothing. In all the house there was not a soul. Pliny cursed himself for allowing Aulus to go home alone. Of course Fabia had made the boy confess what he had told him about her and Argyrus. And now she was on the run. Could there be any clearer proof of her guilt?

Pliny ran back out into the courtyard—and collided with the stableman.

“Where is everyone?”

“Left last evening about dinner time, sir. The mistress and the boy and Lurco.”

“Who?”

“The big brute, her factotum. She called us all together—slaves, freedmen, everyone. She looked something awful, like all the Furies of Hades were after her. And the boy, he just stood there like he always does, looking like he’d been hit between the eyes with a plank. She told us to take whatever we liked from the house and run away. But I couldn’t leave the horses, sir, with no one to feed and water ’em—”

“Which way did they go, man?”

“Well, sir, they all got in one coach. I had to hitch the horse up for them. And I saw them turn north out the gate, toward the city.”

“Toward the city?”

“Not the direction I’d go if I were trying to hide.”

“Quite. And she didn’t say anything?”

The stableman shook his head.

***

Calpurnia felt like a deer surrounded by baying hounds. The wives had cornered her in her studio, demanding to know what she could not tell them.

“Does Gaius Plinius really think she killed him, then?” asked Fannia, Caelianus’ wife, with a tremor in her little girl’s voice.

“He hopes not, he—”

But she was drowned out by Faustilla’s angry bray: “Of course she killed him, or paid someone to. The woman’s a monster. Haven’t we all thought so? With all her airs and pretensions, a savage at heart.”

There were vigorous nods of assent from Laelia, Cassia, and Gabinia.

“But why?” said Atilia. “She had everything to lose.”

Faustilla looked fierce, “Jealously! The oldest reason in the world. Balbus was sticking it where it didn’t belong and she caught him at it. Jealousy will drive us to anything, man or woman, doesn’t matter. Don’t you agree, Calpurnia dear?”

“You seem to relish the thought, Faustilla. I think it’s sad, if it’s true. And we don’t know if it’s true.” Calpurnia made an effort to speak mildly but she could hardly trust her voice.

“But, of course, you wouldn’t know about jealousy, would you, Calpurnia, married to a paragon like Pliny.”

“Where could she have run to?” asked Laelia.

“She’ll never get away,” said Cassia. “The governor’s turning the province inside out, my husband says.”

But Calpurnia was no longer listening to them. Her flesh had gone cold. Jealousy, she thought. Could it drive even her husband to a murderous rage? Even Pliny? What would he do to her if he knew? No, she told herself, he isn’t capable of that, he isn’t some raving, half-barbarian woman. He’s a civilized man. But he is a man…