The Eyes of Aurora

by Albert A. Bell, Jr.

  “So he wasn’t really marrying you—”

  “No, he just wanted Fabia.”

  “But you must have wanted something.”

  “His land. And after we got married I had him sign it over to me. Of course, he didn’t know what he was signing because he couldn’t read. I told him it was a will and he made his mark, with my steward as witness.” She jerked her head back toward the man huddled over the chest.

  “But, if you wanted him to take up with Fabia,” Tacitus asked from behind us, where he was still holding his sword on the steward, “why did you get so angry when it happened?”

  “He was supposed to lose interest when she started her monthlies. That’s how it was with any other girls he had. And then she saw me padding myself, pretending that I was going to have Popilius’ child. She stayed small, childlike. She got the upper hand on me. No one had ever done that before.”

  “And then she got pregnant.”

  “Yes, and she threw that up to me. She had taken Popilius away from me, right in my own house. I had no choice but to kill her.”

  “Why didn’t you just kill Popilius too?” Tacitus asked.

  “I wanted him to suffer, to live in fear for as long as he lived. I’ve never seen a man so terrified by even the thought of pain.”

  That would explain why he couldn’t bring himself to carry out his own castration, I thought.

  “The very idea that he might be arrested and tortured for conspiring to kill Domitian”—Crispina laughed—“I knew he would never get another decent night’s sleep. It’s hard to sleep when you’re always looking over your shoulder.”

  “But there never was any plot—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Crispina spat the words out. “Did you really think—Gaius Pliny, how could you be so stupid?”

  I couldn’t explain to her how people in my rank of Roman society have to be sensitive to the slightest hint of a threat to the princeps. If he gets wind of even the suspicion of a plot, it could endanger all of us.

  I looked at Aurora. She had been right when she said she felt we were being deliberately thrown off the scent. I had made a mistake that would haunt me, I was sure, when I had gone to Regulus to enlist his help.

  “Where is Popilius, by the way?” Crispina asked, trying to sound casual.

  “You don’t really expect me to tell you, do you?”

  She tugged at the rope binding her hands, causing Livilla to tighten her grip on my sword. “What could I do to him now?”

  “If you don’t know where he is, I don’t have to worry about that.”

  Crispina shifted her weight to her other foot. “So, what are you going to do, Gaius Pliny?” she said with a sneer. “You can’t arrest me. You have no authority. There are no witnesses to anything I might have done.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Your man Eustasius is tied up out front. He’s so remorseful about what you did to Fabia and what you made him do that he will testify against you, I’m sure, especially if he’s promised a pardon.”

  “The little bastard ran too fast,” Crispina said with a demented chuckle. “I got the other two, but Eustasius just ran too fast and got to the wagon.” She heaved a great sigh. “So I guess it will be the arena for me, eh?”

  “I’ll make every effort to be sure you end up there,” I said. “I don’t go to the games, but I will make an exception on the day they drag you—”

  “I’ll save you the trouble,” Crispina said. Pushing herself away from the post with surprising force, she threw herself onto the sword Livilla was holding. Livilla closed her eyes and turned her head at the impact.

  Grinning at me, Crispina gasped, “You insufferable…prig.” Then she slumped against Livilla, falling to the ground with the smaller woman under her and impaling herself on the sword all the way up to the hilt.

  XVIII

  The aftermath of a battle could not have been much more grisly than the scene in the garden, with a corpse, the steward crying, Livilla screaming, and Crispina groaning out her life as blood gushed from the wound in her stomach. Even after we got Livilla out from under Crispina, she would not stop screaming, and I could understand why. Crispina had bled profusely over her. Livilla kept tearing at her gown, as though it were on fire. “Get it off me, Gaius! Get it off me!”

  With Tacitus standing guard over the steward and watching over Crispina’s death throes, I set Aurora on a bench, shivering and wrapped in her torn gown, and tried to think of some way to calm Livilla. I had to get her into another garment without exposing her. The only person in the garden whose clothes weren’t bloodstained was Crispina’s steward.

  “You,” I said, “take off your tunic.”

  “What—”

  “You heard him. Do it!” The point of Tacitus’ sword under the man’s chin secured his immediate compliance.

  I took the tunic and slipped it over Livilla’s head, hoping she didn’t notice the wet spot near the bottom. “Now, my dear,” I said, “unpin your shoulder brooch and, as I let this tunic down, you drop yours.”

  She fumbled with the brooch but got it loose and we managed to get her clothed in a relatively clean, blood-free garment.

  I tossed Livilla’s garment to the steward. “You can put that on or not. Suit yourself.”

  The man slipped the gown over his head, with the bloodstains turned to the back.

  I embraced Livilla, looking over the top of her head at Aurora, who nodded and smiled faintly.

  “How do we sort this out?” Tacitus asked. “We’ve got two more dead men out there somewhere.”

  “Let’s start by getting Eustasius in here,” I said.

  Tacitus pulled my sword out of Crispina’s chest. Her body jerked and settled as the sword came out. Tacitus leaned over and spoke to her corpse. “Nero’s last line was better, when he threw himself on a sword that someone was holding. He said, ‘Alas, how great an artist is dying.’ I guess he had more time to prepare it, though.”

  He handed the sword to Aurora to guard the steward. She pointed the blade at the man. “It’s ready when you are,” she told him. He held up his hands and drew back, flattening himself against the wall. He would have gone through it or under it if he could have.

  Tacitus returned from the front of the house at a trot. “Eustasius is gone.”

  “Gone? I know I tied him—”

  “Those pieces of cloth were too flimsy, I guess. He’s gone and so is one of our horses.”

  “I wonder how much he might have seen or heard before he left.” I looked around, not expecting to see anyone but deeply concerned about someone seeing us. “Well, we’ll deal with that problem after we clean up here.”

  “We won’t have to worry about the two men Crispina killed. The wolves are already fighting over them. That must have given Eustasius some incentive.”

  I took my sword from Aurora and stood over Crispina’s steward, with the bloody weapon waving in his face. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Macarios, sir,” he said, his voice shaking.

  “What was your role in this business?”

  “I had none, sir. None at all. My lady Crispina told me to handle the sale of her property while she was away. I had no idea what she was doing. She told me to meet her here with the raeda. I just arrived this morning.”

  “So you took no part in the murder of Fabia or the kidnapping of this woman?” I pointed to Aurora, leaving a trail of drops of blood.

  “No, sir. I swear by all the gods that I did not.”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Aurora said, “at least part of it. He was here when they brought me in. He did not kidnap me and did not do me any harm.”

  “Well, Macarios,” I said, “today you are indeed as blessed as your name suggests because I believe her. We still have to decide what to do with you, though.”

  “Aurora,” Livilla broke in, “why don’t you come with me? I don’t want to witness any more of this. Let’s see if we can find some clothes.” The two women headed f
or the front of the house, arm-in-arm, the way my mother and Naomi support each other.

  I turned back to Macarios, who whimpered like a beaten dog and drew his head down between his shoulders.

  “Stop sniveling, man,” Tacitus said.

  “You don’t appear to have harmed anyone,” I said. “Are you a slave or a freedman?”

  “Freedman, sir. I have my manumission right here.” He held up a bag whose contents jingled and crinkled—coins and documents. “I brought everything I valued with me because I knew I wasn’t going back to Crispina’s house.”

  “That does simplify things, doesn’t it?” Tacitus said.

  I could see that he was thinking the same way I was. “Yes. He can go wherever he likes. How much money is in that chest?”

  Macarios fished a key out of his bag, opened the chest, and turned it so Tacitus and I could see the contents.

  “Impressive,” I said, running my hand through the pile of coins, most of them silver but with a healthy sprinkling of gold. “How much did you skim off for yourself?” I pointed to his bag.

  He tried to look offended. “Sir, I—”

  “We’re not going to make you give it back,” Tacitus said.

  “No.” I nodded in agreement. “Working for Crispina must not have been easy. I’m sure you deserve something. Take what you have and get out of here.”

  Macarios scrambled to his feet.

  “There’s a horse out front,” I said. “He won’t be any faster than walking, but you won’t get as tired. We’ll give him to you in exchange for the raeda and your life. Does that seem fair?”

  Macarios’ eyes widened. “Oh, more than fair, sir. Most generous.”

  “Our advice,” Tacitus said, “would be to get as far away from here as you can. I hear Sicily is nice this time of year.”

  “That’s too close, sir. I have family on Cyprus.”

  “Even better,” Tacitus said. “And don’t come back.”

  As Macarios picked up his bag and turned toward the front of the house, Aurora and Livilla walked back into the garden, each wearing a serviceable, if less than fashionable, gown. Livilla carried Macarios’ tunic over her arm.

  “You may have this back,” she said, tossing the garment to him. “Thank you for the use of it, even if it was a little damp in one spot.”

  “Thank you, my lady. My apologies,” Macarios said, bowing and scraping like the subject of an eastern despot. “And thank you, my lords.” He ran for the front of the house, shedding Livilla’s blood-soaked gown along the way.

  * * *

  I wish I could stop shaking so I could take in all that’s happened today. When those men tied me to that post and cut off my tunic, I was sure I was going to die. Crispina, standing there, brandishing that axe—I couldn’t understand why she didn’t go ahead and kill me. What was she waiting for? And then, in walked Livilla.

  That little girl was so poised, so apparently unafraid. For a moment I believed she was behind it all, that she wanted to see me dead. And then she started pleading with Crispina, trying to persuade her not to kill me. I wasn’t the reason she had ended her engagement to Gaius, she said. And the way she threw herself at Crispina! She saved my life.

  Now she talks to me like a sister, puts her arm through mine. When we were out of Gaius’ sight we held one another and had a good cry. How will I ever repay her?

  * * *

  “That takes care of the living,” I said. “What do we do with these two?” I waved my sword from Crispina to her servant.

  I was surprised to hear Livilla say, “Leave them for the rats. This place is full of them.”

  “We can’t do that. People at the taberna saw us coming out here. Eustasius may have said something to them. If anybody finds two corpses in this place, they’ll make serious trouble for us.”

  “Is there a well we could dump them down?” Aurora asked.

  “That would still leave the possibility that somebody would find them and connect them to us. We’ve got to get them out of here and dispose of them completely.”

  “Perhaps Lentulus, next door, would help us,” Tacitus said, “if we promise to help him persuade Tabellius’ sons to sell this place to him.”

  Livilla shuddered. “I can’t believe anyone would want to own this house of horrors.”

  “He wants to tear it down and enlarge his vineyards,” I said.

  Livilla rubbed her hands together. “Then let’s do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

  While Tacitus stayed with the women—who sat and talked like the best of friends—I walked over to Lentulus’ house. His jaw dropped and his eyes bulged as I took him aside and explained the situation in Tabellius’ villa and offered my help in exchange for his. I would even give him some money so he could make an extremely generous offer to Tabellius’ sons. We agreed that he would get some large pieces of cloth and some sewing implements and accompany me back to Tabellius’.

  “It certainly is a right bloody mess,” he said when we entered the rear garden.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Livilla asked, nodding at what we were carrying.

  “We’re going to sew these two up in shrouds so no one can see who they are,” I said. “We’ll take them over to Lentulus’ house, and he will see that the bodies are burned, along with anything else that might connect us to this place.”

  “My servants are already building a pyre,” Lentulus said.

  “That sounds like a reasonable plan,” Livilla said.

  “I’m glad it meets your approval,” I said. Somehow this newfound confidence of hers made me uncomfortable.

  Tacitus, Lentulus, and I wrapped the bodies in the cloth and began trying to sew up the edges. That proved harder than it looks when I see my servants sewing.

  Livilla pushed me aside and took the needle from me. “We’ll be here all night if we wait for you men to do this.” Aurora joined her and they made quick work of the task while Tacitus and I scared away the rats that were being drawn by the smell of blood. Lentulus returned to his villa to oversee preparations for the pyre.

  “Let’s get them into the raeda,” I said, “and haul them over to Lentulus’ place.”

  In short order we had the two bodies, the two women’s discarded clothing, and the money chest loaded. I drove while the others made themselves as comfortable as they could in the back, considering their traveling companions.

  *

  After delivering our “cargo,” we stopped at Marinthus’ taberna to get supper and to allow darkness to fall by the time we got back to Rome. That way we could drive the raeda on the city’s streets. The money chest was too heavy to carry. Only three of my servants had managed to find horses and get out here. I was glad for at least that much of an escort, considering the large sum of money now in our possession.

  Livilla took Aurora behind the counter to clean the blood from her ear and fashion a bandage for it. When they returned to our table, Tacitus and I had placed an order and were beginning to discuss in low voices what we should do next.

  “What do you plan to do with the money?” Tacitus asked. “If you admit that you have it, you’ll have to explain how you got it.”

  “Only the three of us know where it is or what happened to its previous owner,” I said.

  “Don’t forget Macarios,” Livilla reminded me.

  “I think Macarios considers himself fortunate to have his life and whatever sum he escaped with. We won’t hear from him again.”

  “He would have no claim on the money in any case,” Tacitus pointed out.

  “Exactly. The money in that chest, like its owner, is going to simply disappear.” I poured us some wine. “When I get home, I’ll count it, just to have a record of what I’m starting with. Then I’ll invest it and send the interest each year to Nonnius and Marcella for the upkeep of young Clodius. When he reaches maturity, I’ll turn the principal over to him.”

  We fell silent as Theodorus, exuding all the charm of the gods’ gift, brought
the food to our table. “Is all well with you, sir?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

  “It struck me as curious that you two came through here earlier, by yourselves, riding two horses, and now you’re driving a raeda, wearing bloodstained tunics, and accompanied by two ladies. Two lovely ladies, if I may say so.”

  “We made a trade, ran into a little trouble, and picked up some passengers,” Tacitus said.

  “I see.”

  “But we’re not accompanied by Eustasius, are we? I think you know more about that than we do.”

  “Sir? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I grabbed his tunic and pulled his face down close to mine. Other conversations in the room came to a halt. “I’m talking about you being an informer for Marcus Aquilius Regulus.”

  Theodorus lowered his voice and put a snarl into it. “I am no man’s informer.”

  “Then how did Regulus know about…certain things that happened the last time I was here?”

  He pulled away from my grasp and straightened his tunic. “You had servants with you then. Servants from noble houses, I’m told, are a garrulous bunch.”

  “But you were overheard having a conversation in the dark with Segetius, who is one of Regulus’ informers,” Tacitus said.

  “And I’ll bet you know something about a knife with a dolphin emblem on the handle,” Aurora put in.

  “Sir,” Theodorus said, “may I be so bold as to buy you some better wine and join you for a few moments? There are several things you obviously don’t understand.”

  I wanted to tell him that I hadn’t understood much of what I had been involved in for the last few days. If he could clear any of it up, I was willing to listen.

  Theodorus went behind the counter and returned with a jug of wine. Taking a seat at our table, he broke the seal and poured each of us some. We each added water to suit our tastes from the pitcher on the table.

  “I’ll begin with an apology,” he said, “about the knife. The first time Aurora came here, with Crispina, I was…attracted to her, but she snubbed me.” He shrugged. “That’s how some women play the game, so I didn’t think much of it. But when she came back, with you, and I realized she was a slave, I resented her treatment of me.”