Fortune's Fool

by Albert A. Bell

  “Somebody who has some connection to that old villa. We need to find out who owns that place.”

  “It seems to me,” Aurora said, “that the ‘who’ isn’t the most important question right now. It’s the ‘where,’ and I mean where is this document that somebody wants very badly? We need to focus on finding that.”

  I looked around the library in desperation. “How can I possibly find something like that after so many years?”

  “As much as I hate to add to your distress,” Tacitus said, “if it was so important, it might not even be in the library. Your father might have hidden it somewhere more secure.”

  “I’ve already considered that, but I felt we had to start searching here. You’re right, though. He could have dug a hole anywhere and stuck it in the ground. He could have stuck it in another wall. I’ve got just three days to find it, and I don’t even know where to begin looking.”

  I propped my elbows on the table and cradled my head in my hands. Aurora put her arm around my shoulder.

  “We’ll find it, Gaius,” she said softly, “and we’ll get Livia back.”

  “What I don’t understand,” Julia said, “is why someone is going to such lengths to retrieve this document after so long a time. If it’s so important to them, why haven’t they done anything in the last twenty years?”

  “It has something to do with the body in the wall,” I said. “I can’t see any other explanation. Somebody other than my father and Livius must have been involved in whatever resulted in that man’s death. They thought it was all covered up. After Livius drowned and my father died they weren’t worried about anyone finding out about it. Then that body tumbled out of the wall.”

  “When did your father die, Gaius?” Julia asked.

  I had to think for a moment. “A little over a year after the wall was built. My mother and I were at Laurentum at the time.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I’ve been told that he went out to the stable to check on a horse that had been ill. Somehow the animal became agitated and trampled him.”

  “Was he there by himself?”

  “I think so. Barbatus found him.”

  “Perhaps we should talk to Barbatus,” Tacitus said.

  “Why? What does my father’s death have to do with Livia’s kidnapping?”

  “You just said that someone other than your father and Livius must have been involved with the body in the wall. Maybe somebody wanted to be sure your father couldn’t say anything.”

  “Are you suggesting that my father killed that man?” My mother’s comment about my father being less virtuous than I wanted to believe rang in my head. As my voice tensed Aurora took my hand.

  “No, not at all.” Tacitus shook his head. “But he might have known who did.”

  “Maybe that’s why this missing document is so important,” Aurora said. “Important enough to kidnap somebody.”

  “And to kill a man,” Julia added somberly.

  “That’s why we have to find it,” I said. “Until we do, we have no hope of getting Livia back.”

  “Gaius,” Julia said as we got up from the table, “do you realize that you never call her your wife?”

  “Probably for the same reason,” Tacitus cut in, “that we call the Furies the Eumenides—the kindly-minded ones. Push the evil away by never calling it by its real name.”

  As unkind as Tacitus’ comment was, it wasn’t far from the truth. To me the title “wife” implied a connection that I would never feel with Livia.

  I called Phineas in and, for the next several hours, all of us searched the library from top to bottom and side to side, checking the walls and floors for hiding places, looking under and behind every bookcase. We unrolled every scroll to make sure nothing had been concealed inside one of them. Because I didn’t want to provide grist for the household’s gossip mill, I put a finger to my lips to caution the others against any casual talk. Phineas has shown himself capable of keeping my confidences, but this matter was too important to take a chance.

  As we worked I tried to reassure myself that whoever was holding my wife—I forced myself to think those words—would not harm her. If they did, they would lose any bargaining power. The note did not contain a threat, just a demand. Whatever was in this document we were searching for, someone wanted it very badly. That made me think it must incriminate somebody in something—such as the murder of the person in my wall. The timing of the discovery of the body and Livia’s kidnapping could not be pure coincidence.

  * * *

  With five people looking for one document, the library felt crowded, so I decided to pursue a line of inquiry of my own. I told Gaius I would be back in a few minutes. I guess he thought I was going to the latrina because he didn’t ask any questions. But I headed for the stables.

  Barbatus had been on this estate when the body was hidden in the wall, even before then. I knew Gaius didn’t particularly like or trust the man and didn’t want to have him raise questions by interrogating him, but I thought somebody ought to see if he had any information about what had happened then. Like Gaius, I found him overly inquisitive. Maybe, though, it was time to mine that source. I thought I might have better luck, approaching him as servant to servant, horse-lover to horse-lover.

  My step quickened as soon as I heard a horse whinny. I found Barbatus grooming one of the animals, a roan mare.

  “Well, missy,” he said in his raspy voice, “what brings you back here?”

  “When we were riding yesterday, I noticed my horse was favoring his left front leg. I thought we should take a look at it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Oh, we should? Has Gaius Pliny put you in charge of the stables now?”

  I was startled by his antagonism. He was always so officious around Gaius. “No. I love horses and was just concerned about that one. He’s a fine animal.”

  Barbatus stroked his beard, which was much grayer than his brown hair and made it difficult to guess his age. “Which one?”

  “The black one with the blaze on his face.”

  “The gelding?”

  “Yes.” Not unlike my husband, I thought and then scolded myself for being unkind.

  Barbatus went to the corral where the other horses were penned and gave two sharp whistles. The black gelding perked up his ears and trotted over to the fence. Barbatus scratched him between the ears. “Missy here thinks there might be something wrong with you,” he said. “I haven’t noticed you limping, but I’m sure she knows better. Let’s take a look.”

  “Do you have a different whistle for each horse?” I asked.

  “They don’t understand names, but they can learn to respond to their own whistle.” He stepped through the rails of the corral and lifted the horse’s left front hoof. “I don’t see anything lodged in the hoof.”

  “Maybe he bruised it on a rock. It could be better by now. I know he was favoring it yesterday.”

  Barbatus let go of the horse’s hoof and stepped back through the rails of the fence. “Or it could be that you just made up an excuse to come out here.” He stroked his beard slowly, menacingly. “What do you really want?”

  There was no point in trying to keep up the pretense. “I was wondering what you might know about the body we found in the wall. You were here when that wall was built. Has anybody asked you what you know?”

  “Nothing.” He spat, barely missing my feet. “That’s what I know about that body. Nothing. Why do you think I would know anything?”

  “I’m not saying you had anything to do with his death. Not at all. I was just wondering if you recalled anything unusual that happened about then.”

  “That was when that scoundrel Delius tried to get my daughter to run off with him.”

  “Your daughter?” A name popped into my head. “Is Leucippe your daughter?” She was one of the older women servants on the estate. A woman with “horse” as part of her name had to be the daughter of a man who loved horses as much as Barbatus did.

 
He smiled. “Yes. You’re a clever one, missy. She used to go to the market in Comum with my lady Plinia. That’s where she met Delius. He was a freedman. He worked for a goldsmith there. He came out here a few times to see her. I hated him the first time I saw him. They thought they had their plans. He was going to buy her freedom, I’m betting with stolen money. But I wasn’t about to let her run off with the likes of him.”

  “How did you stop him?”

  “I didn’t kill him and stuff him in that wall, if that’s what you’re thinking. He came to get her one day. My lord Caecilius was here with me and told me to deal with him however I saw fit. I gave him the beating he deserved—even knocked out a couple of his teeth—and sent him running off with his tail between his legs.”

  “Did somebody see him leave?”

  “Yes, just ask Leucippe. She was screaming for me to stop.”

  “Leucippe is married to—”

  “Nereus. He’d always fancied her, so I married her to him. He’s a solid, reliable fellow. They’ve given me two grandchildren.”

  And I’ll bet Leucippe is deliriously happy, I thought.

  “May I ask about a couple of other things?”

  “You may. That doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

  “You found Caecilius’ body, didn’t you?”

  “After he was trampled by a horse, yes.”

  “Did he often come into the stable?”

  “Not often. One of the horses was ill. My lord Caecilius wanted to see about him.” He shook his head slowly. “He never was as good with the animals as he thought he was.”

  “Did you see anything that might have made you think he had not been killed by the horse?”

  “Do you mean, did somebody kill him and leave his body in the stall?” He twisted his mouth before he answered. “I was surprised. That particular horse had always been gentle. But he was standing right over the body.”

  “Was there any blood on the horse?”

  “On one of his hoofs, yes. I remember wiping it off.”

  “All right. One more thing, if I may. Do you know anything about an old deserted villa a few miles south of here, back in the woods?”

  “The Fox’s Den? I’ve heard of it, but not in a long time.”

  “Why do you call it the Fox’s Den?”

  “That’s what people used to call it. I guess because there’s all sorts of animals that have taken it over, mostly a family of foxes. Nobody pays it any mind these days. I haven’t heard anybody mention it in years.”

  “Do you know who owns it?”

  Barbatus shook his head. “Like I said, didn’t even know it was still standing. Now, missy, unlike you, I have work to do.”

  When I returned to the library, Julia raised her eyebrows in a question.

  “Sorry I took so long,” I said. “I’ve been talking to Barbatus.”

  * * *

  We stopped looking through my father’s papers to listen to Aurora’s report of her conversation with Barbatus. When she finished I sent Phineas to talk to the older servants in the house to see if any of them knew anything about the old villa.

  “It seems to me,” I said, “that there are several points that we need to connect. Livia was kidnapped near her uncle’s villa. At least one of the servant women was taken to the old villa, the Fox’s Den, if you will, before she was brought here. Tacitus and I were in Comum, and unfortunately, the story of the body in the wall got spread around there. Someone from Comum must have put that skull and the warning in the tree.”

  “They might even have been watching,” Tacitus said, “to make sure we got it and nobody else did.”

  “That would mean somebody from Comum put it there, don’t you think?”

  “And not long before we got to the spot.”

  I slapped my hand on the table. “But because we don’t know who heard about it in Lutulla’s taberna and how far the story spread from there, we have no idea where to start looking. That’s what makes me feel like one of those poor wretches who’s thrown into the arena with a blindfold over his face and forced to fight enemies he can’t see. What hope does he have?”

  “But Livia’s kidnapping,” Aurora put in, “didn’t happen anywhere near Comum. It happened when she was returning from Pompeius’ villa, and Pompeius is still alive.” She turned to me.

  I sat back in surprise. “Are you suggesting that Livia’s uncle could have kidnapped her?”

  “Why not?” Julia said. “Men have been known to sell their children into slavery. What’s a little kidnapping, especially if you didn’t intend for anyone to get hurt.”

  “At this point,” Aurora said diffidently, “I think we have to ask all sorts of questions, even the ones that make us most uncomfortable. If anyone knew about the true nature of your marriage, Gaius, they might think you were behind it.”

  “How can you suggest such a thing?” Julia asked.

  Aurora leaned forward, as if to insist on her point. “The two girls who went with Livia could have said something. I’ve seen servants come into a house with a visiting master and try to impress everyone with a story. You have no idea what the conversation in the kitchen is like while you…you people are chatting in the garden.”

  “So someone in that house could have heard about the discovery within hours after it happened. We’ll have to talk to Rhoda.” I put my hand on Aurora’s. “Would you find her and bring her here, please?”

  As Aurora left the library, Tacitus gave a dismissive snort. “Pompeius can’t be involved. He’s in his sixties, at least. I can’t see him riding around in a skull mask. And Rhoda said there were three men. They were strong enough to kill the driver and overpower Brennus and three women.”

  As much to defend Aurora as to keep the topic open, I said, “You’re right. At his age Pompeius isn’t likely to take an active part, so I agree that there are others involved—servants or hired thugs. Which just makes it that much more troubling. Not only do we have to ask whom we’re dealing with but also how many. My father and Livius are dead, and yet someone is threatening us. We have to conclude that someone else is involved.”

  “But who?”

  “We talked to Romatius’ son and were met with the skull and a note on our way home. Livia visited her cousin Tertia—in the house of her father, Pompeius—and was kidnapped on her way home.”

  Tacitus sat up straighter. “Are you suggesting that Romatius and Pompeius have some connection to this business?”

  “Not the younger Romatius, but I think his father might.”

  “Then it seems the next step is to talk to Pompeius,” Julia said.

  “I plan to do that as soon as I can get there. But first I want to talk to Rhoda.”

  “I hope she’s calmed down enough now to answer your questions,” Julia said. “Be gentle with her, Gaius. She was badly shaken by what happened.”

  While we waited for Aurora to return with Rhoda, we looked at the note again. “This was written by its author, don’t you think, not dictated to a scribe.”

  Julia peered more closely at the parchment, running a finger over the letters. “What makes you say that?”

  “To begin with, the ink was not evenly mixed. Notice the little lumps here and there.” I picked up a letter off the table where my father’s papers were scattered. “By comparison, look at how smooth the ink is on this letter. Scribes know how to make ink and to apply it evenly as they write.”

  Julia looked from one document to the other. “The letters in this note aren’t the same size, and the spacing between them is uneven. Could the difference have something to do with the difference between papyrus and parchment?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “The note is written the way I sometimes jot things down myself, if I don’t have a scribe at hand.”

  “It’s not exactly the sort of thing one would dictate to a scribe,” Tacitus said.

  “Unless the scribe was in on the plot.”

  A knock on the door was followed by Aurora escorting Rhoda
into the room. The girl stopped just inside the door, with Aurora standing close to her. She had changed into a fresh gown and washed her face. There was no place for her to sit except for a stool in one corner. Aurora saw it and pulled it out, then stood behind me, since she couldn’t sit beside me in the presence of another servant.

  “How are you feeling now, Rhoda?” I asked.

  “Better, my lord. My lady Pompeia has told me to rest for today.”

  “Good. This won’t take long. I’d just like to ask you a few questions about your visit to Pompeius’ house and the lady Tertia.”

  “Yes, my lord. I’ll tell you anything I can, if it will help get my lady back.” She rubbed at her eyes with a cloth, making them as red as her name.

  “Did you or Procne say anything to anyone at that house about the body that was found in our wall?”

  “Oh, no, my lord.” Her eyes widened. “You told all of us not to say anything, and we didn’t.”

  “That’s good to know.” If it’s true.

  “But, my lord…”

  “Yes, is there something else?”

  “It was my lady Livia, my lord.” She wrung her hands. “She couldn’t stop talking about it, about how awful it was.”

  “Who was she talking to?”

  “First to her cousin, my lord, the lady Tertia.”

  “‘First’? That implies someone else was second.”

  “Her uncle, Pompeius, came into the garden while they were talking, my lord. Then my lady Livia told the story all over again.”

  I tried not to show my surprise and anger. “How did Pompeius react? Did he say anything?”

  “No, my lord. He listened for a bit. He seemed troubled, as anyone would, I guess, then he went back into the house.”

  “Why did my wife cut her visit short? You said there was some kind of argument.”

  “Yes, my lord. The lady Tertia told her she was tired of hearing about the skeleton, but my lady Livia kept coming back to it, or comparing things to it, especially when she saw the mosaic on the floor of the triclinium.”

  “What was so special about that?”

  “It’s a skeleton, my lord, a big skeleton.”

  Julia leaned toward the girl. “Is there anything else we should know?” I realized she was signaling for an end to the questioning.