“There was a nasty bruise on her belly,” she said. “She must’ve been hit harder than anybody realized during that scuffle in the cave.”
It was the third hour when she finally gave me permission to see Aurora. I sat on the edge of her bed and took her hand. She looked drained, her hair loose and uncombed. She gripped my hand tightly. “How are you feeling?” I asked.
“I’m all right.” She fought back tears.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were carrying my child?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to make me get married?” She couldn’t stop the tears any longer. She let go of my hand and put both of her hands over her face. “Oh, Gaius, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I put a hand on her shaking shoulder. “Sorry for what? You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I couldn’t figure out…how to tell you. I knew Livia…would hate me even more, and it would make things…so complicated for you, for us.”
“But we would work it out. And, if I’d known you were pregnant, I would never have brought you along.”
“And you would never have found Livia without my tracking skills.”
She had me there. “Well, I know you’re not going any farther with us. Nicera says you need to rest for a couple of days. When Eustachius returns with the wagon, he’ll take you to our house.”
“Could you send a note to Julia and ask her to come with him? I think she would be a great comfort to me because of what she’s gone through.”
“I’ve already done that. Does she know…everything?”
Aurora nodded. “I didn’t tell her. She suspected and asked me. We were in the latrina and she was having her monthly. She asked me when my last one was.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You women actually talk about that sort of thing?”
“Would you prefer that we compare our lovers’ faults? When I hesitated to answer, she knew immediately. I needed to tell somebody. I didn’t know how to. She swore she wouldn’t tell anybody, not even Tacitus.”
“Of course. I’ll have to tell him. I sent the messenger before this happened. I just told Julia that you were injured in the struggle to save Livia, and I told her to bring Felix.”
“Oh, yes, my husband. I’d forgotten about him. It would look better to have him by my side, wouldn’t it?”
“But let’s not spread the news any further.” I leaned over to hug her. “Now you rest. And listen to Nicera.”
Aurora pulled the blanket up to her chin. “It’s very sad. She’s lost two babies like this herself.”
* * *
While Tacitus and I packed a couple of spare tunics which we had purchased from Nicera, I told him what had happened. His reaction wasn’t what I expected.
“It’s a tragedy, yes, Gaius, but you should also be relieved. Think what a huge problem it would be if Aurora did have your child. Of course, if she has another, you can remind everyone that she’s married now.”
I sat down on the bed. “I know. Livia would bring the house down on my head. But I’m never going to have a child by her. If Aurora bore me a child, I could emancipate her and adopt the boy, make him my son legally.”
“Some children are girls, you know. May the gods be thanked.”
“Well, of course—”
Tacitus clapped me on my shoulder. “Aurora’s in good hands. Right now you can’t do anything about that situation, and we need to talk to Lutulla, so let’s get on with it.”
We put manacles on Doricles—Nicera said they had more use for them than she liked—hoisted him onto a horse and set out for Comum. By the time we rode into town the sun was setting. We managed to find a magistrate who would lock Doricles up for the time being. Then we turned to finding a room. The crowd in Lutulla’s taberna was so large and noisy we knew we would never get a chance to talk with her or find rooms there.
“I guess it will have to wait until morning,” I said as we found lodging at an inn a block away from her establishment.
* * *
I cursed when the racket from the street below awakened me. My house on the Esquiline has no windows, so I never have to put up with this. People were shouting and seemed to be running in one direction. Then I smelled smoke.
“Tacitus, wake up!” I reached over to the other bed and shook my friend.
“What? What?” He is a sound sleeper.
“Something’s on fire. We’ve got to get out.”
There was no sign of a fire as we ran down the stairs and into the street. We looked in the direction the people were moving and I realized that flames were rising from Lutulla’s taberna.
“Come on!” I yelled. “We’ve got to help her.”
“She’s probably not the only person in there,” Tacitus said. “I’m sure people are trying to help all of them.”
“I hope so. Then we can concentrate on Lutulla.”
The vigiles were organizing lines for people to fill buckets at the fountain on the corner and pass the water along, but the building was large and the fire already had a good start. I approached the man giving orders and said, “There’s a fountain in the courtyard. Why aren’t people getting water there, too?”
He studied my equestrian stripe and decided he had to answer me. “Because the only entrance to the courtyard is through the taberna, sir. I wish we could get to it, but I can’t send people into a burning building.”
I made certain others could see my equestrian stripe and began shouting, “Where’s Lutulla? Has anyone seen Lutulla?”
No one could answer my questions. I went into one of the neighboring buildings which overlooked Lutulla’s courtyard and ran up the stairs. Barging into someone’s apartment, I looked out the window until I saw her. Lutulla was at a window on the upper floor of her building, but she was motionless, leaning on the window as though she had passed out, with one arm draped over the sill.
I ran back downstairs. “I see her,” I told the captain of the vigiles. “She’s at a window. We need to get her out.”
He was a sturdy man, with scars on his face and arms that testified to his devotion to his work. “Sir, my first responsibility is to keep the fire from spreading. It’s too risky to send somebody in there.”
I had no authority here to order anyone to go into the building.
“Gaius, there’s nothing we can do,” Tacitus said.
I pulled him far enough away so that others couldn’t overhear us. “We have to save her,” I snapped. “She knows something about this skull business, something that somebody doesn’t want us to know.”
“But how—”
I turned away from him and ran to the fountain on the corner. One of the people filling buckets was a woman who had wrapped a cloak over her stola.
“I need this,” I said. “I’ll buy you a new one.” Before she could agree I pulled the cloak off her and submerged it in the fountain. Then I threw myself into the water, making sure my tunic and my hair were thoroughly soaked.
With the cloak wrapped around me and pulled up over my mouth and nose, I ran back to the door of Lutulla’s taberna. As I entered the building I heard Tacitus shouting, “Gaius, no!”
Smoke was heavy and acrid in the dining room, but I could make out two sets of stone stairs on the far side, one directly at the back of the building, the other several yards to the right. Which one led to the part of the upper floor where Lutulla was, I could only guess. Through the thickening smoke I could see that each set of stairs led to a landing, but I couldn’t be sure which way they turned after that. My wet clothes weren’t going to protect me against the smoke and heat for long. I could hear the roar of the fire in the kitchen.
I took the set of stairs on the left and choked out a sigh of relief when I got to the landing and saw that it turned to the left. That should take me toward the exterior wall of the building, which was where I thought I would find Lutulla. I hoped I could find her soon. The floorboards were already warm enough for me to feel them through my sandals, like walking on the floor of t
he caldarium in a bath. From somewhere I thought I heard voices, but it could just have been the creaking and whistling of the fire.
I had to keep wiping my face with the wet cloak to reduce the sting of the smoke in my eyes. The set of stairs I had chosen led to three rooms opening off a landing on the upper floor. Unless I had completely lost my sense of direction in the smoke, the middle door, straight ahead of me, should open into a room with a window overlooking the courtyard of the taberna. That was where I would find Lutulla.
The door stuck at first and I was afraid it was locked. One more good shove, though, forced it open and I saw Lutulla hunched over by the window. I called her name, but she did not respond. What if she was already dead? I thought. I might be risking my life for nothing. The way the smoke was filling the room, I knew I had to get her—and myself—out of there at once.
When I got to her and put my hand on her shoulder, she stirred slightly. A wave of relief passed over me. At least she was alive, but her face was bruised and battered. Someone had beaten her badly. She wasn’t conscious enough to stand up and walk with me. All I could do was wrap the wet cloak around her and hoist her over my shoulder.
I reached the foot of the stairs and stopped to shift Lutulla’s weight before I made a dash for the door. I had just taken a step toward the front of the taberna when part of the wooden floor of the upper story collapsed in flames in front of me. All I could see was the burning furniture from a bedroom. One body, in flames, rolled out of what had been the bed, and writhed on the floor, screaming. Another burning body lay still. The stench of burning flesh filled the dining room. If I couldn’t get out of there in a moment or two, Lutulla and I would suffer the same fate.
But there was another door, the one that led out to the courtyard where Tacitus and I had eaten lunch with Romatius. Where was it? The smoke was so thick by now that my eyes were burning and I could hardly draw a breath. Lutulla seemed to be getting heavier. With that burden over my shoulder I needed to breathe or I was going to pass out.
Turning in the opposite direction from the collapsed and burning floor, I staggered a few steps and came to a wall. Feeling my way along it, I found the door.
It was locked, not just with a bar but with a key. And the only person who knew where that key was hidden was unconscious and draped over my shoulder.
XIII
Fortune…can bring about great changes in a situation through very slight forces.
—Julius Caesar
In desperation—and futility, I feared—I pounded my fist against the door. Damn it! I had survived the eruption of Vesuvius, escaped being buried in ash with my mother. Was it my fate now to die in this flaming hovel? I clutched the Tyche ring and the image of Aurora’s face flashed into my mind.
As I was forced to my knees by the smoke and Lutulla’s weight, I pounded the door again and called out as loudly as I could. Surely someone—
A deep thud sounded against the door. Then another and several more in rapid succession. I blinked, trying to clear my eyes enough to see what was happening. The blade of an axe split the door near the lock. With another blow I could see light flickering through the growing crack. Someone on the other side must be holding a torch.
“Gaius Pliny!” It was Tacitus!
“I’m here! How did—”
“Climbed the wall. Get away from the door!”
With another blow the door caved in enough for me to see my friend and several other men with axes and large hammers. Others behind them were holding torches to light their work. Two more resounding blows brought the door crashing down. I lunged toward the opening and fell at Tacitus’ feet. He and the other men lifted Lutulla off me.
“Be careful,” I said. “She’s alive, but she’s been beaten.”
“Get them away from here!” Tacitus ordered. “This place isn’t going to last much longer.”
* * *
A light, steady rain set in just before dawn. It doused the fire from Lutulla’s taberna and prevented it from spreading to the surrounding buildings, but it also kept the smoke from dissipating. When a building that large burns and collapses, the smoldering ashes can cast a pall that lingers for several days.
By the fourth hour, when the rain had let up, Tacitus and I were standing on the balcony of the room in an inn where we had taken Lutulla. Being on the third floor, we could see over the intervening buildings and had a clear view of the ruins of Lutulla’s place.
At dawn I had sent a messenger to my friend Romatius at his villa outside of town, asking for any help he might give us, especially in the care of Lutulla. He had responded by sending the freedman who served as a doctor for his household—a Greek trained at the temple of Asclepius on the island of Kos—who assured us that Romatius himself would be in town later. The doctor was treating her now in the room behind us.
“There were two other men in one of the rooms on the upper floor,” Tacitus said. “They didn’t get out.”
“I know.” I suppressed a shudder at the memory.
“They could have been us, if we had gotten rooms there.”
I groaned and shook my head. “I wish I could have—”
“By the gods, Gaius! You can’t save the whole world. You risked your life and saved one woman. You couldn’t have done any more.”
“Do you agree now that Lutulla knows something important about this mystery?”
Tacitus nodded vigorously. “Something crucial, I think.”
I motioned for the doctor to come out where we could talk to him. “How is she?” Tacitus asked the doctor.
“She’s not doing very well, sir,” the man said. He had the worst teeth I’ve ever seen in a doctor—two missing and several discolored. “She’s in pain from some broken ribs and a broken arm. I’ve patched those up. I believe she has some injuries inside. That’s why she’s coughing up blood. She needs to sleep.” He held up a small vial. “I wanted to give her syrup from the poppy to make her do that, but she insists that she has to talk to you first.”
“Let’s hear what she has to say.” I entered the room and Tacitus followed me. I gave the doctor money to get something to eat and hoped he would not have his ear pressed to the door while we talked. Hippocrates’ oath says doctors should never disclose anything they hear their patients say, but I preferred to put this fellow where he couldn’t hear anything to begin with.
When the door was closed Tacitus stood against it, to block any unexpected visitors. I sat in the chair beside Lutulla’s bed that the doctor had used. Lutulla grabbed my hand and kissed it.
“They tell me you saved my miserable hide, kind sir.”
“I couldn’t let the secret of your chicken recipe perish,” I said.
She chuckled, and the pain in her ribs made her regret it.
“The doctor said you wanted to talk to me. I also have some questions for you.”
“Well, sir, you have the right to ask me anything. Go ahead, and then I have some things to tell you.”
I took a moment to organize my thoughts, as I would if I were presenting a case in court. From the brief contact I’d had with her, Lutulla seemed wary, so I decided to throw her off balance from the beginning. “We captured two men who kidnapped my wife. The survivor says you gave them the job.”
Lutulla’s eyes widened in fear. “No, sir. I did no such thing.”
“You didn’t hire them?” I don’t know why I had expected to get the truth out of a villain like Doricles. He would say anything to save his life.
“No, sir. I didn’t hire them myself. You see, once in a while I get a message offering jobs to men who…aren’t too particular about how they earn their money.”
“Who offers such jobs?”
“I don’t know, sir. By the gods, I don’t know. A message will be left outside the door of my room, along with a small bag of gold coins. The message tells me how many men are wanted and where they are to go to receive further instructions. I’m to keep some of the money and give them the rest. They’ll be paid
the full sum when the job is done.”
“What kind of job?” Tacitus asked.
“Jobs no honest man would do, I’m sure, sir. There’s just jobs that have to be done, though.”
“Like kidnapping someone’s wife,” I said.
Lutulla tried to sit up but collapsed back on the bed from the pain in her ribs and arm. “Please, sir, you’ve got to believe me—”
“And they killed the driver of our raeda.”
“Oh, sir! By the gods, I knew nothing about that.” She held up her good arm as if to swear. Her tears began to flow. “It had to be that bastard Publius Aurelius.”
“That’s what we’ve been told. You don’t think Doricles would do it?”
“No, sir. Doricles is a bit simple. He needed the money and Publius Aurelius vouched for him.”
“Have you ever asked the men what they do?” Tacitus put in.
“That I have, sir, but they won’t tell me. They’ve had such a fear put into them.”
“Do you always recruit the same men?”
“Mostly, sir. But some of the men refuse the second time. Aurelius, though, he never refused.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Oh, ten, maybe twelve years, sir.”
“How often do these messages appear?” I asked.
“Sometimes twice in a month. Other times, it’ll be some months between them. I never know.”
“What do the messages look like?”
“They’re written on parchment and they have a seal on them, a seal of a skull.”
Tacitus and I exchanged a glance. “If you think these men are being recruited for criminal activity, why do you participate?”
“I don’t know exactly what they’re being asked to do, sir, and I’m not a rich woman.”
“But you owned the taberna.”
“No, sir. Your father built it and owned it. He left it to you when he died, on the condition that I would continue to live there and run the place.”
I jumped up from the chair. “What? I know nothing about this!”
“I’ll explain it to you in a bit, when you’re finished with your questions. I am not rich, by any means, and the men I pick for the work are even poorer than I am.”
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