The Bull Slayer

CHAPTER Thirty-nine

The 6th day before the Kalends of December

Suetonius had promised himself that he would have no more to do with Sophronia, a woman too wily and amoral even for his jaded tastes. But her note had been urgent. And so he found himself again in her private office in the Elysium together with a weeping girl who would have been pretty but for a broken nose and swollen jaw.

“I don’t like it when people beat my girls,” Sophronia said. “This one is terrified, but I got the story out of her—all but the man’s name. You won’t like what you hear. What you do about it is up to you. I promise you she will tell no one else, nor will I.”

“At what price, madam?”

“That was uncalled for, my dear.” She looked at him reproachfully.

Minutes later, he was making his way back toward the palace, his features grim, his head in a whirl. He had devoted years of his life to chronicling, with sardonic wit, the moral lapses of the great and powerful. He had believed himself unshockable. He was wrong.

At the door to Pliny’s office, temporarily his own, he was met by a sentry who reported that Didymus’ wife and son were waiting on him. “They beg to have a visit with the prisoner, sir. They’ve brought him a change of clothing, some personal things.”

The wife, a stout woman shaped like a flour sack, the son, a younger version of his father, stood in the corner with downcast eyes. A bundle of what looked like rags sat on the floor at their feet.

If Suetonius had been less preoccupied he might have been more cautious. Instead, he waved them away. “Quarter of an hour, no more,” he told the sentry.

He sat down at Pliny’s desk and remained for a long time with his head in his hands. Finally, he fetched a long sigh, rose, and strode out. He would send a messenger after Pliny of course. But first, he would talk to Calpurnia. For the first time since joining Pliny’s staff he devoutly wished himself back in Italy.

But the lady was not in her apartment, or anywhere in the palace, and even Ione claimed to have no idea where she was.

***

A wintry sun winked through the lattice of naked branches above her head and lit the chuckling water of the river that ran beside the path. The forest floor was covered deep with pine needles and matted leaves so that her horse’s hooves made no sound. She breathed in deep lungfuls of the bracing air and shivered inside her heavy cloak—shivers of excitement, of the thrill of danger, of anticipation of the hours ahead with her lover. Not since she was a girl, roaming in her native north Italian hills, had she felt so free. In her whole adult life she had scarcely ever gone out without a train of maids and servants. Now she was that girl again and her heart sang with joy. She had been very careful, saying nothing to Ione and going before dawn to the stables, rousing the boy from his sleep, and giving him a silver denarius to buy his silence. And she wasn’t afraid of wild animals or brigands for she knew in her heart that Aphrodite, sweet goddess of passion, was watching over her. And now she saw the red cloth that he had tied to the branch to mark the trail for her. She turned her horse’s head and urged it up the steep track toward the distant ridge that people said resembled a reclining woman.

At the clearing she dismounted, spread her blanket roll on the ground and sat down to wait. It was early still. She hadn’t expected him to be here before her, he had once told her he liked to sleep late in the mornings. She had wrapped up a loaf of bread with some cheese and olives and a flask of wine. She was hungry and couldn’t wait. She took a bite, a sip. Another. He would bring more food. What a love feast they would have!

She waited.

The sun crept across the sky.

Where was he? Why didn’t he come? Her nerves were stretched as tight as harp strings.

Ah, gods, had he lied to her? Was he so cruel? Wait—there was a sound, the cracking of a twig. She ran to it. Nothing. Some animal. She shivered again: this time with cold, with fear. With anger. She had humbled herself, a Roman governor’s wife, and he didn’t care! It was over then. A wail rose in her throat. Stop it! She beat hers sides with her fists. Stop it. Fate has saved you from yourself. What were you thinking? But, not to see him! Where is he? Who is he with? Is he with a girl, some whore? Are they laughing? Is he telling her about me, the governor’s wife, his slave? The vulgar, lying little seducer! I’ll tell Gaius, confess everything to him, and he’ll crush this wicked boy, torture him, make him wish his mother had never borne him. “No! No!, she cried aloud, “What am I saying? I love him. Juno help me, I love him!”

Weeping, she began to gather her things.

Another sound—the snorting of a horse—and then there he was! She ran to him, threw herself against him. “Where have you been?”

“Sorry, couldn’t get away sooner. Had to tour the farm, listen to a lot of boring talk.” He unwound her arms from around his neck. “Anyway, I’m here now. Famished actually, let’s eat.”

“No, make love to me.”

“On an empty stomach? I couldn’t really. Here, I’ve brought some venison. Killed it myself, much to everyone’s surprise.”

They ate. And they made love, rolling and laughing in the crackling leaves. And again he made her feel things that she had never felt with her husband. And she thought she had never been so happy in all her life. Afterwards they lay on their backs under a blanket and Agathon said, “Are you a good climber? I’ll take you up to the top of that hill.

“I’m a country girl,” she laughed, and jumped up, and started to run. And when they reached the top, panting, their cheeks flushed red, they looked back and they could see the white walls and red roofs of the city, and, tiny as toys, the palace and the temples and beyond them the grey sea.

“What a sight,” she said. “I wish I had my charcoal and parchment.”

“There are caves all over here,” Agathon said. “One just up there. When I was a kid I used to go exploring.”

“Let’s find one and make love in it,” she said, “like Dido and Aeneas.”

“Friends of yours?”

“You ignorant boy,” she laughed.

But her laughter was cut short by a man’s shout. An optio and two soldiers were scrambling up the rocky path behind them. They had spent weeks combing these hills, searching for the cave of Mithras. They had spotted the red rag tied to the tree branch and thought it might lead to something.

“They’ve seen us!” Calpurnia cried.

“Quick!” He pulled her after him around a thorn bush that tore at her clothing and into the dark mouth of a cave, stooping under its overhanging eave.

“Stop there, you!” the officer called.

“Agathon, we’re trapped!”

“Follow me.” He plunged deeper into the cave, dragging her behind him.

“I can’t see anything!”

“Follow the wall.”

The floor of the cave sloped downward. Calpurnia slid on loose stones, fell to her knees, tearing them, struggled up again, reached out and felt for the cold stone, slid again. The soldiers had lit a torch. Its light and their echoing shouts pursued them.

“Agathon, where does it lead?”

“I don’t know!”

The passage bent to the left, like the leg of a dog, then turned again, and grew lower and narrower until Calpurnia could stretch out her arms and touch both sides. And then suddenly it ended in a wall made of dressed stone blocks. She and Agathon shrank against it, their chests heaving. In another moment the soldiers caught up with them. The officer held out his sputtering pine branch and peered at them. “Lady Calpurnia?” he said.

Authority was her only weapon. “What d’you mean by chasing us? I’ll see that you’re disciplined for this. My friend is an artist, we came out to sketch. Now leave us in peace.”

“But—” He took a step back.

“Look here, would you.” One of the soldiers was on his knees, running his hands over the stone wall. There’s a ring set into it.” He pulled on it. “It’s moving, lend a hand.” The other knelt beside him and they pulled together. With a screech of stone on stone a part of the wall swung out. The optio shouldered them aside and, holding his torch in front of him, crept through the opening. There was a long moment of silence and then a whoop.

“Boys,” he shouted, “we’ve found it!”