The House of the Vestals rsr-6

by Steven Saylor

  "If you don't do as I ask," I went on, "and something happens to the boy, consider how Quintus Fabius will react. Well? Cleon and his men will be here any moment. What do you say?"

  Marcus muttered what I took to be his assent, then turned as one of his gladiators trotted up to us. "Four men and a wagon, sir, coming this way!"

  Marcus raised his arm. His men disappeared into the shadows of the warehouse. There was a tap on my shoulder.

  "What about me?" asked Belbo. "Shall I try to follow again, like I did this morning?"

  I shook my head and looked nervously at the open door of the warehouse.

  "But you'll be in danger," said Belbo. "A man needs a bodyguard. Make the pirates take both of us."

  "Hush, Belbo! Go hide with the others. Now!" I pushed him with both hands, and realized I would probably have better luck pushing over a yew tree. At last he gave way and lumbered off, looking unhappy.

  A moment later Cleon appeared at the open door, followed by the wagon with its driver and two other young men. Like Cleon, they looked Greek to me.

  I showed him the chests of gold and opened the lid of each one in turn. Even in the dim light, the glitter seemed to dazzle him. He grinned and looked a little embarrassed. "So much! I wondered what it would look like, but I couldn't picture it. I kept trying to imagine ten thousand golden minnows…"

  He shook his head as if to clear it and set to work with his companions loading the heavy chests into the wagon. A group of bloodthirsty pirates might be expected to dance a gleeful jig at the proximity of so much booty, but they went about their work in a somber, almost fretful manner.

  The labor done, Cleon wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow and indicated a long, narrow space between the trunks in the bed of the wagon. "Room enough for you to lie down, I think. He looked uneasily into the shadows of the warehouse and raised his voice. "And I'll say it again: No one had better follow us. We have watchers posted along the way. They'll know if anyone comes after us. If anything happens to arouse our suspicions, anything at all, I can't be responsible for the outcome. Understood?" He posed the question to the empty air as much as to me.

  "Understood," I said. As I stepped into the wagon I gripped his forearm to steady myself and spoke in his ear so the others couldn't hear. "Cleon, you wouldn't really hurt the boy, would you?"

  He gave me a strangely plaintive look, like a man long misunderstood who suddenly finds a sympathetic ear. Then he hardened his face and swallowed. "He won't be hurt, as long as nothing goes wrong," he said hoarsely. I settled myself in the gap between the trunks. The sail cloth was thrown over the wagon bed. The wagon lurched into motion, moving ponderously under its heavy load.

  From this point, I thought, there was no reason for anything to go wrong with the ransoming. Marcus had agreed not to follow. Cleon had the gold. Soon I would have Spurius. Even if my assumption about the kidnapping was wrong, there would be no reason for his captors to harm the boy or myself; our deaths could profit them nothing. As long as nothing went wrong…

  Perhaps it was the cramped, suffocating darkness that set my thoughts spinning into the awful void. I had taken Marcus's muttering as an agreement to postpone his pursuit, but had I read him rightly? His men might be following us even now, clumsily showing themselves, alerting the watchers and sending them into a panic. Someone would cry out, there would be an assault on the wagon, swords would clash and clang! A blade would rip through the sail cloth, heading straight for my heart-

  The fantasy seemed so real that I gave a jerk as if waking from a nightmare. But my eyes were wide open.

  I took a breath to steady myself, but found my thoughts spinning even more recklessly out of control. What if I had completely misjudged Cleon? What if his soulful green eyes and uncertain manner were a crafty deception, a deliberate disguise for a hardened killer? The petulant, beautiful boy I had seen that morning might already be dead, his bravado cut short along with his throat. The wagon would return to the stable where they had murdered him, and as soon as the pirates were sure that no one had followed, they would pull me from the wagon, stuff a gag into my mouth, tie me up and lug me off to their ship, laughing raucously and dancing the jig they had suppressed while they loaded their booty. Cilician pirates, the crudest men ever born! I would be taken off to sea, kicking and screaming into my gag. By the light of the moon they would set my clothes afire and use me for a torch, and when they were tired of hearing me scream they would toss me overboard. I could almost smell the stench of my own burning flesh, hear the hiss of the flames expiring as the hard water burst open and then slapped shut above me, taste the stinging salt in my nostrils. What would be left after the fishes made a feast of me?

  In the cramped space I managed to wipe my sweaty forehead on a bit of my red tunic. Such morbid fantasies were nonsense, I told myself. I had to trust my own judgment, and my judgment decreed that Cleon was not the sort of fellow who could murder anyone, at least not in cold blood. Not even Roscius the actor could mime such innocence. A strange sort of pirate, indeed!

  Then a new fear struck me, more chilling than all the rest. Belbo had said that Quintus Fabius wanted the pirates to be slaughtered. We're not to kill the boy in the process, of course-but was he only inferring this? He could hardly be expected to know every secret order that his master had given to Marcus. Spurius was not of his own blood; Quintus Fabius spoke of him with contempt. What if he actually wanted his stepson dead? He had sent the ransom, yes, but he could hardly have refused to do that, if only to placate Valeria and to save face in public. But if in the end the boy were to be murdered by the pirates, or if it could be made to look that way…

  It was even possible that Quintus Fabius himself had arranged to have his stepson kidnapped-a clever way to get rid of Spurius without drawing suspicion to himself. The idea was monstrous, but I had known men devious enough to concoct such a scheme. But if that were the case, why had he engaged my services? To demonstrate his conscientious concern by calling in an outsider, perhaps. To prove to Valeria and the rest of the world that he was quite serious about rescuing his kidnapped stepson. In which case, part of his plan for getting rid of Spurius would have to include the unfortunate death of the Finder sent to handle the tragically botched ransom…

  The journey seemed to go on forever. The road became rockier and rougher. The wagon rattled and lurched. My extravagant fantasies of treachery and death suddenly paled beside the imminent danger of being crushed if one of the heavy trunks should be pitched onto me. By Hercules, the wagon bed was hot! By the time the wheels ground to a halt, my tunic was as soaked as if I had taken a dip in the sea.

  The sail cloth was thrown back. I was chilled by a salty breeze.

  I had expected that we would return to the stable where I had seen Spurius. Instead, we were on a strip of sandy beach beneath low hills somewhere outside the city. The tiny cove terminated in boulders at both ends. A small relay boat was drawn up in the shallows. A larger vessel was anchored out in the deeper water. I sprang from the wagon, glad to breathe fresh air again.

  Cleon and his three companions hurriedly began to move the trunks from the wagon into the relay boat. "Damned heavy!" grunted one of them. "We'll never be able to move it all in one trip. It'll take at least two-"

  "Where's the boy?" I demanded, grabbing Cleon's arm.

  "Here I am."

  I turned and saw Spurius approaching from a group of sheltering boulders at the end of the little beach. In the heat of the day he had stripped off his tunic and was wearing only a loin-cloth. It was all he usually wore, if he wore even that; his lean, chiseled torso and long limbs were deeply and evenly bronzed by the sun.

  I looked at Cleon. His brows were drawn together as if he had pricked his finger. He stared at the boy and swallowed hard.

  "It's about time!" Spurius crossed his arms and glared at me. Petulance made him even more beautiful.

  "Perhaps you'd like to put on your tunic," I suggested, "and we'll be on our way. If you'll point t
he way to Ostia, Cleon, we'll begin walking. Unless you intend to leave us the wagon?"

  Cleon stood dumbly. Spurius stepped between us and drew me aside. "Did anyone follow the wagon?" he whispered.

  "I don't think so."

  "Are you certain?"

  "I can't be absolutely certain." I glanced at Cleon, who appeared not to be listening. The little relay boat was heading out to the larger ship with its first load, riding low in the water under the weight of the gold.

  "Well, did Pater send along a troop of armed guards or not? Answer me!" Spurius spoke to me as if I were a slave.

  "Young man," I said sternly, "my duty at this moment is to your mother and father-"

  "My stepfather!" Spurius wrinkled his nose and spat out the word as if it were an expletive.

  "My job is to see that you get home alive. Until we're safely back in Ostia, keep your mouth shut."

  He was shocked into silence for a moment, then gave me a withering look. "Well, anyway," he said, raising his voice, "there's no way these fellows will release me until all the gold is loaded onto the ship. Correct, Cleon?"

  "What? Oh, yes," said Cleon. The sea breeze whipped his long black hair about his face. He blinked back tears, as if the salt stung his eyes.

  Spurius gripped my arm and led me farther away. "Now listen," he growled, "did that miserly pater of mine send along an armed force or not? Or did he send you alone?"

  "I've already asked you to keep quiet-"

  "And I'm ordering you to give me an answer. Unless you want me to make a very unsatisfactory report about you to my parents."

  Why did Spurius insist on knowing? And why now? It seemed to me that my suspicions about the kidnapping were confirmed.

  If there was no armed force, then Spurius might as well stay with his so-called captors, if only to stay close to the gold, or his portion of it. Perhaps his stepfather could be had for a second ransom. But if an armed force was waiting to act, then it would be best for him to be "rescued" by me now, to allow the fishermen-for surely these Neapolitan Greeks were anything but pirates-to make their escape immediately, along with the gold.

  "Let's suppose there is an armed force," I said. "In that case, your friends had better get out of here at once. Let's suppose they get clean away. How will you get your share of the gold then?"

  Spurius stared at me blankly, then flashed such a charming smile that I could almost understand why Cleon was so hopelessly smitten with the boy. "It's not as if I don't know where they live, down on the bay. They wouldn't dare try to cheat me. I could always denounce them and have every one of them crucified.

  They'll keep my share safe for me until I'm ready to claim it."

  "What sort of bargain did you strike with them? Nine-tenths of the gold for you, one-tenth for them?"

  He smiled, as if caught at doing something wicked but clever. "Not quite that generous, actually."

  "How did you find these 'pirates'?"

  "I jumped in the bay at Neapolis and swam from boat to bat until I found the right crew. It didn't take long to realize that Cleon would do anything for me."

  "Then the idea for this escapade was entirely your own?"

  "Of course! Do you think a half-witted fisherman could come up with such a scheme? These fellows were born to be led. They were like fish in my net. They worship me-Cleon does, anyway-and why not?"

  I scowled. "While you've been romping naked in the sun, enjoying your holiday with your admirers, your mother has been desperate with worry. Does that mean nothing to you?"

  He crossed his arms and glared. "A little worry won't kill her. It's her fault, anyway. She could have made the old miser give me more money if she'd had the nerve to stand up to him. But she wouldn't, so I had to come up with my own scheme to get Pater to cough up a bit of what's rightfully mine anyway."

  "And what about these fishermen? You've put them all in terrible danger."

  "They know the risks. They also know how much they stand to profit."

  "And Cleon?" I looked over my shoulder and caught him staring doe-eyed at Spurius. "The poor fellow is heartsick. What did you do to make him that way?"

  "Nothing to embarrass Pater, if that's what you're getting at. Nothing that Pater hasn't done himself, with the prettier boy slaves, from time to time. I know my place, and what's proper for a man of my station; we take pleasure, we don't give it. Not like

  Caesar, playing boy-wife to Nicomedes! Venus played a joke on poor Cleon, making him fall in love with me. It suited my purposes well enough, but I shall be glad to be rid of him. All that attention is cloying. I'd rather be waited on by a slave instead of pursued by a suitor; you can get rid of a slave just by clapping your hands."

  "Cleon could be hurt before this is over. He might even be killed if something goes wrong."

  Spurius raised his eyebrows and looked beyond me at the low hills. "Then there is an armed guard…"

  "It was a stupid scheme, Spurius. Did you really think it would work?"

  "It will work!"

  "No. Unfortunately for you, young man, I have a vested interest not only in rescuing you, but in recovering the ransom as well. A portion of that gold will be mine."

  Challenging him outright was a mistake. He might have offered to buy my silence, but Spurius was even more miserly than his stepfather. He waved to Cleon, who came running. "Is all the gold loaded?"

  "This is the last trip," said Cleon. The words seemed to catch in his throat. "The relay boat is loaded and ready. I'm going with them. And you? Are you coming with us, Spurius?"

  Spurius scanned the hills above the beach. "I'm still not sure. But one thing's for certain-this man will have to be silenced."

  Cleon stared plaintively at Spurius, then glanced uneasily at me.

  "Well," said the boy, "you have a knife, Cleon, and he doesn't. It should be simple. Go ahead and do it. Or do I need to summon another of the men from the relay boat?"

  Cleon looked miserable.

  "Well? Do it, Cleon! You told me you once killed a man in a brawl, in some rat-infested tavern down in Pompeu. That's one of the reasons I chose you to help me. You always knew it might come to this."

  Cleon swallowed hard and reached to the scabbard that hung from his belt. He pulled out a jagged-edged knife of the sort fishermen use to gut and clean their catch.

  "Cleon!" I said. "I know everything. The boy is simply using you. You must know that. Your affection is wasted on him. Put down the knife. We'll think of some way to rectify what you've done."

  Spurius laughed and shook his head. "Cleon may be a fool, but he's not an idiot. The die is cast. He has no choice but to follow through. And that means getting rid of you, Gordianus."

  Cleon groaned. He kept his eyes on me but spoke to Spurius. "That day on the bay, when you swam up to our boat and climbed aboard, the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you'd bring me nothing but trouble. Your mad ideas-"

  "You seemed to like my ideas well enough, especially when I mentioned the gold."

  "Forget the gold! It was the others who cared about that. I only wanted-"

  "Yes, Cleon, I know what you really want." Spurius rolled his eyes. "And I promise, one of these days I'll let you. But right now…" Spurius waved his hands impatiently. "Pretend he's a fish. Gut him! Once that's done, we'll climb into the relay boat and be off with the gold, back to Neapolis."

  "You're coming with us?"

  "Of course. But not until this one is silenced. He knows too much. He'll give us all away."

  Cleon stepped closer. I considered fleeing, but thought better of it; Cleon had to be more used to running on sand than I was, and I couldn't stand the idea of that jagged knife in my back. I considered facing him head-on; we were about the same size, and I probably had more experience at fighting hand to hand.

  But that didn't count for much as long as he had a knife and I didn't.

  My only advantage was that he was acting without conviction. There was heartsickness in his voice whenever he talked to Spurius,
but also a tinge of resentment. If I could play on that, perhaps I could stave him off. I tried to think of a way to exploit his frustration, to turn him against the boy or at least keep him confused.

  But before I could speak, I saw the change in Cleon's face. He made his decision quite literally in the twinkling of an eye. For the briefest instant I thought he might lunge at Spurius, like a cur turning on its master. How would I ever explain to Valeria that I stood by helplessly while her darling son was stabbed to death before my eyes?

  But that was a wishful fantasy. Cleon didn't lunge at Spurius. He lunged at me.

  We grappled. I felt a sudden burning sensation run down my right arm, more as if I had been lashed by a whip than cut by a blade. But a cut it must have been-as the world spun dizzily around us I glimpsed a patch of sand spattered with blood.

  We tumbled onto the ground. I tasted gritty sand between my teeth. I felt the heat and smelled the sweat of Cleon's body. He had been working hard, loading the gold into the relay boat He was already tired. That was a good thing for me; I had just enough strength to fend him off until a figure came running from the boulders at the end of the beach.

  One instant Cleon was atop me, crushing the strength from my arms, bringing his blade closer and closer to my throat; the next moment it seemed that a god had snatched him by the back of his tunic and sent him soaring skyward. In fact it was Belbo who plucked him off me, lifted him into the air and then slammed him to the ground. Only the lenient sand prevented him from being broken in two. He managed to hold on to his knife, but a sideways kick from Belbo sent it flying through the air. Belbo dropped to his knees onto Cleon's chest, knocking the breath out of him, and raised his fist like a hammer.

  "No, Belbo, don't! You'll kill him!" I cried.

  Belbo turned his head and gave me a quizzical frown. Cleon flailed like a fish beneath the weight on his chest.

  Meanwhile, Cleon's three friends clambered out of the relay boat. So long as it was Cleon against me, they had stayed where they were, but now that Cleon was down and outnumbered, they came to his rescue, drawing their knives as they ran.