Thief of Corinth

by Tessa Afshar

  I closed my eyes, feeling a sting of despair.

  Priscilla touched me softly on the arm, as though sensing my anguish. “I will pray for you.”

  I opened my eyes and found her watching me. It was not a paltry offer, I sensed, the prayers of this woman. I could only imagine the power unleashed when she prayed. I gave her a weak smile of thanks.

  “There is a group of us who gather here in the evenings for fellowship. You are most welcome to join us. Come early and eat with us.”

  I thanked her and promised to return soon. For now, we had much to prepare. Should I survive the coming adventure and escape imprisonment or worse, I could think of no place where I would rather spend my time.

  Papirius returned to our home the following day. Justus insisted on being present with me. “I will not leave you alone with that viper.”

  Our problem was eating into him. Under layers of burning rage lay a fear so deep he did not dare acknowledge it even to himself. I blamed myself for his pain. If I had not gone to Grato’s house that night, if I had listened to my father and Theo, if I had trusted my future to God long before this . . . if . . . if . . . if. I was tormented by the ifs of my life. Tormented by the price Justus had to pay for them.

  I knew it would be unwise to have him present in the same chamber as Papirius.

  “Let him think me alone and friendless,” I said. “You are well known in Corinth and have many connections that may yet prove useful to us. It is best that Papirius not discover our association. The more powerful he feels, the more likely he is to grow careless.”

  My proposition irked Justus. He had a charioteer’s heart. Bold, brave, decisive in the face of danger. Hiding in the shadows went against his grain. But in the end, he saw the wisdom of my words. He concealed himself in a nearby alcove, ready to spring to my aid should I have need.

  “What are your plans? When will you strike?” Papirius said as soon as I sat down.

  “We need more time.” My voice sounded strangely cool in my own ears. A calm sea in spite of gathering storms. “It is not a simple theft. I must find the location of the chest before I even attempt breaking into the house. This enterprise requires patience.”

  “How much time?”

  I gave him a hard look. “As long as it takes. I need to befriend him. Or his wife. This is no easy matter.”

  I did not think it possible, but the thin lips grew thinner. “I want his box, not his heart.”

  “By the sound of it, his heart is in his box. The closer I can draw to him, the better my chance of finding it.”

  Papirius exhaled a breath. He had the air of a caged animal, desperate to break free, wild with need. Leaning forward, I gentled my voice. “Tell me this. Is he attempting to extort money from you?”

  Papirius’s jaw slackened. The narrow eyes turned bleak. For a moment, I pitied him. He wiped his face clean of expression. “That is none of your affair,” he spat. But I had seen what I needed.

  I sent Claudia the Elder a complimentary basket filled with Father’s best soaps and included a flowery letter overflowing with nauseating admiration for her superior taste. The basket contained perfume and oils that matched the scent of the soaps and was worth a small fortune. Three days later, she invited me for lunch.

  “This soap you sent me for my hair—is it a new product from Rome?”

  Although Corinth was the zenith of trade, Rome remained the capital of everything fashionable. “Romans imported the thing in the first place, of course,” I said, forbearing to mention that it came from the barbarian Germans and Gauls. “With the addition of new perfumes, we hope it will grow in popularity throughout the empire. Since you are one of the foremost fashionable women of Corinth, I was interested in your opinion. Did you like it, Claudia?”

  “It was not bad. The scent you used is a little coarse. Not fine enough for Rome.” She shrugged a purple-clad shoulder. “I suppose it will do in the provinces.”

  “Yes, that is our hope. A small beginning. In time, Rome. Who knows? Perhaps even the imperial household.”

  Her eyes flashed interest. “You think the Augusta will wish to use this soap?”

  I knew as much about Agrippina and her tastes as I did about the moon. “That is our hope. She is an exceptionally elegant woman.”

  “You can dream, I suppose.”

  “We are doing more than dreaming. Our first shipment will leave Corinth next month. We think men as well as women will want to use it. You may have noticed that it feels much cleaner than oil on the hair. Do you think Spurius Felonius might enjoy some? We have soaps that appeal to masculine tastes.”

  Claudia’s expression shuttered. “Who knows what Felonius enjoys?”

  “I brought a basket especially for him.”

  “He is not at home.”

  “May I leave the basket in his tablinum?”

  “Gods, no! Felonius does not allow anyone near that place.”

  “How odd. My father leaves his door open to visitors all day long.”

  “Mine does the same. Felonius has different habits.”

  “Surely, as his wife, he would not mind you going inside? Just for a moment. Long enough to leave a basket. A surprise gift is always welcome from a bride.”

  Something flitted across the violet eyes. I had been watching Claudia carefully, or I would have missed it. Terror. An odd thing to find in the eyes of a woman newly married.

  “You may leave it with me,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I will see that he receives it. Don’t pin your hopes on his good opinion. He is not interested in such things.” The old superior manner replaced the momentary vulnerability. But now I knew it for what it was. A cover, a shield to hide behind. A shield I intended to crack. I pressed my advantage by poking her considerable pride.

  “As his beloved wife, I am certain he would welcome your intrusion upon his sanctuary. After all, it is not as if you would be infringing upon his time. He is not even there. Why, even Claudius, Caesar though he may be, welcomes Agrippina into his august presence. How much more will Felonius be amenable to your sweet imposition?” I stood, grabbing my basket. “Let us go now, before his arrival.”

  The look of terror returned. Claudia snapped to her feet. “We should not go there! We should not.”

  What happened next, I cannot explain. It was like a breach, a tearing asunder in how I saw the world. Time slowed. I saw through the guile and artifice that covered us both. My manipulative attempts at forcing her to reveal her secrets seemed suddenly distasteful. I was ashamed of my own behavior. I remembered Paul’s letter urging me to stand firm in the faith and to do everything in love. This was not the work of faith. It bore no resemblance to love.

  I gazed at Claudia and what I saw was a woman in distress. A woman alone and fearful, hiding behind the tatters of her pride. Her riches were dust. I saw . . . more than mere eyes can see. I saw the truth.

  “He blackmailed you into marrying him,” I said. It was not a question. I knew it as surely as I knew my name. God himself had pressed that knowledge into my breast.

  CHAPTER 29

  I THOUGHT SHE WOULD DENY my assertion. Prevaricate. Grow angry. But I had underestimated her loneliness. God had known, of course. She began to weep. Not pretty, fetching tears, but gulping, messy wails that tore at your insides. She was no friend of mine. Until that moment. It is impossible to see suffering so deep and not feel compassion.

  Love is kind. When the Love that established the universe starts moving within you, I suppose you lean toward kindness too. I held Claudia, awkwardly at first, and then with the comforting tenderness of a sister as the storm of grief swept through her.

  Finally, she quieted and pulled out of my arms with a self-conscious jerk. “How did you know?” Her native shrewdness was starting to reassert itself. “Is he holding you under his thumb also?”

  Trust is like a marriage vow. It should only be spoken in wisdom as well as love. I could not trust Claudia with my whole secret. “I am not indebted to your hu
sband in any way. But I know a man who is. I would like to set him free. You also, if you will allow me to help you.”

  She sneered. “I have lived in the same house as that monster for months and I have not found where he keeps his treasure trove. What makes you think you can do better?”

  “I think I know where he keeps his scrolls. I know what the box looks like, at least, and I know where he hides it.”

  She hesitated. I could sense hope and skepticism wrestling within her. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Let us say that Providence smiled upon me.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In a secret alcove in his tablinum. No doubt that is why he forbids you to enter within.”

  Her face turned stony. “You can forget getting your hands on that box if it is in his tablinum. The place is always guarded.”

  “Let us suppose that we find a way inside. Will you be free of him if you find this box?”

  “If I have the letter he holds against me . . . and another against my father. Yes. I could leave him then. There would be no impediment to a divorce. He would keep my dowry, of course. A price I am willing to pay if I can be rid of him.”

  That explained why Claudia’s father had been furious with her when Felonius threw her out. He, too, was a victim of the man’s extortion and feared the consequences of his anger. How many people had fallen into Felonius’s clutches?

  “Suppose I find the box. Will you give me the scroll belonging to the man I mentioned?”

  Claudia waved a hand. “This is all a dream. You will never get the better of him. You do not understand how wily that man is.”

  I squeezed her arm. “Do not lose hope. I have a plan.”

  “A plan for what?” a voice said from the door. In the flesh, Felonius himself, smiling a hyena’s smile, had appeared as if by magic. How had he come so silently that we had not heard the whisper of his feet on the marble floors? How much of our conversation had he overheard?

  Claudia had turned into a pillar of rock, rigid and cold. If she did not gather herself together, Felonius would suspect her guilty of some plot. I sprang into action. Grabbing the basket, I jumped in front of Claudia, giving her time to collect herself.

  “Felonius, the very man I hoped to see today. I have brought you a present from my honored father, Galenos. We are starting a new trade—in soap. My plan is to share it with the fashionable people of Corinth, like your beautiful wife and yourself, of course. If we win your honest praise, then our success is secure.”

  He sauntered in, his steps light and athletic for a man well in his middle years. I could smell wine on his breath as he drew closer. “A trade in what?”

  I pulled out a ball scented with rosemary and sandalwood. “Soap. It cleanses hair.” I studied the thinning fringe of gray that edged his forehead and quickly amended my explanation. “Hair and the body, without the use of a strigil. I hoped you would be willing to try it.”

  He sniffed at the ball and threw it on the table. Taking a seat on the couch, he invited me to join him. Claudia said, “I will call for wine,” and left the room.

  “I heard your father was left with an enormous debt after the sinking of his ship some years ago. The Paralus, was it?”

  I almost admired him. He had swiped at me with his claw, drawing first blood without even batting an eyelash. He had struck fast, reminding me of a misfortune I had thought private. How had he found out about Father’s debts? He must have unusual resources. But he did not know everything. It dawned on me that he meant to leave me unsteady. Easy prey for his prodding. I gave him a wide smile.

  “At the time, it was a hard blow for our family.” I twirled my palm with a careless gesture. “My father has many friends. With their help, we have recovered. Do you think you might enjoy using this new product?”

  “Tallow and ash from Germania? Hardly.”

  It sank into my spinning mind that his initial ignorance had been a pretense. The man could leave you breathless. He played his game consummately. How could I match wits with him and win?

  A wayward thought tiptoed into my mind. For all his shrewd insight, Felonius was no match for God. The knot in my belly started to loosen.

  “In the right hands, even ashes can turn into a crown of beauty,” I said, thinking of a verse Dionysius had once quoted from a prophet.

  He gave me a quizzical look. “I should think the opposite more likely. Crowns are so easy to crush and destroy, leaving behind nothing but ashes.”

  No doubt he was speaking from experience. How many “crowns” had he destroyed, I wondered? How many people’s victories and achievements had burned to ashes in his hands? “You are too wise for me,” I said, forcing myself to sound deferential.

  From the corner of my eye, I caught a cithara sitting prominently on a golden stand. “What a stunning instrument. Do you play?”

  His gaze caressed the instrument like a lover. “That cithara is too beautiful for any but the most skillful musician to touch. The music of the heavens flows out of those seven strings.” He turned over his shoulder. “What is keeping my wife?”

  I rose to my feet. “I shall inconvenience you no longer.” I collected the basket he had not wanted.

  Claudia met with me at the front gate. “He knows nothing,” I whispered in her ear as I bent to kiss her cheek. “Do not be fearful. Send for me when you are ready.”

  That night, Justus joined Father, Dionysius, and me for supper. As I described my conversation with Claudia, they gaped at me, forgetting their food.

  “He blackmailed that young woman into marriage?” Father’s jaw grew slack.

  “All the scrolls in the box Claudia saw must contain incriminating information about different people.” Justus’s spoon clattered on his plate. “A blackmailer’s fortune. Exchanging people’s sins and errors for riches. If Papirius gets his hands on those scrolls, he will not be content to merely win his own freedom. He will slip into Felonius’s shoes, using the documents to line his own pockets. Those poor wretches! They will go from one fire into another.”

  “We cannot give him that,” I said. “We cannot dispossess Felonius only to empower Papirius. This evil must stop.”

  “You have a plan?” Dionysius said.

  “I have a seedling of an idea. It rides on Claudia the Elder. What she is willing to risk.”

  “This is too perilous,” Justus said, pushing his plate away. “You cannot endanger yourself. That man is a snake. He will coil around you.”

  I lowered my head. “Danger coils about me whether I come against Felonius or not. This way, I may do some good for others.”

  Dionysius studied me, wide brown eyes pensive. “What if God has heard the cries of the many who are being pressed and trampled under Felonius’s feet, and is using our predicament as a means of releasing them?” He did not say it, but we all knew that Father and I would likely emerge from this battle ruined.

  “Does anyone know an expert cithara player? A female?” I pasted a reckless smile on my face.

  “As it happens, I do,” Father said. “Stephanas’s eldest daughter is renowned for her skills with that instrument.”

  “She needs to be pretty.”

  “I think you will find her satisfactory. Chara turns heads in sackcloth and ashes.”

  “Do you know if she would lend us a hand?”

  “I will ask Stephanas to pray on it.”

  I received another invitation to lunch with Claudia at her home. Felonius’s disquieting intrusion into our initial conversation had demonstrated that their villa was not a safe place to plan. For all I knew, he had spies in the household listening to our every word.

  I curtailed my conversation, sticking to the latest gossip, the weather, our favorite market stalls, and a variety of incurable illnesses. Neither one of us mentioned a word about Felonius’s infamous box.

  “You have been generous with your hospitality,” I said as I rose to leave. “Would you honor me with a visit at our house next time?” Ex
tending this simple invitation had been the sole reason for sitting through three torturous hours.

  “My husband would prefer that my friends visit me here.”

  So she was a prisoner in her home. Unless Felonius himself accompanied her to some event, showing her off like a new bauble, he was not willing that she leave her gilded cage.

  “Of course,” I said. “Your house is much larger and more comfortable than ours, in any case. Would he mind if we attend the public baths first? We can try my father’s soap together.”

  The Roman custom of bathing had become an integral part of life in Corinth. No doubt Spurius Felonius’s villa boasted its own private baths. In Corinth, ablutions were merely a small portion of the reason crowds attended the public baths, however. We socialized in the baths. Caught up on the news. Met with people we might not normally have the opportunity to converse with.

  And we showed off. With our slaves in tow and our riches on display, we proclaimed our importance to the world. I hoped this might induce Felonius to allow his wife some freedom. He liked displaying Claudia’s beauty and patrician heritage, hinting at his growing importance by association.

  “I will ask,” she said.

  That evening, I received a message from her. My husband is the most affable of men. He must have been reading over her shoulder as she wrote it. He has agreed that I may attend the baths with you. I shall meet you at the public baths near the temple of Poseidon tomorrow. The city of Corinth enjoyed the services of several public baths. The most expensive of these, decorated with marble and semiprecious slabs of stone from Laconia, was the one she had selected.

  I shall bring my slaves. I assume you will do likewise, she wrote. By which she meant she would be guarded by more than one spy. I sighed. Why was life never simple?