Furthermore, I manumit my slave Deborah, also known as Melissa, whom I love as no other, and appoint her as guardian and advisor to Chryseis, if Chryseis shall not have attained the age of twenty before my death.
I, Lucius Manilius Cornutus, write this with my own hand and seal it with my own seal.
Given on the Ides of September, in the year when Vesuvius erupted.
“That’s preposterous!” Marcellus blurted, breaking the silence that followed the reading. “It must be a forgery.” He grabbed the will from Florus’ hands and read over it himself.
“Why so?” Florus asked.
“Well . . . I mean . . . it just can’t be genuine. By the gods, she’s a slave!”
Florus shook his head. “No, as of this moment—indeed, since the moment of Cornutus’ death—she has been and is his daughter and the heir to all that was his.”
Marcus Carolus began to weep openly. Chryseis stood unmoving, uncomprehending. “What do you mean, my lord?”
“Just what I said. Didn’t you know, child. . .excuse me, my lady? Didn’t you have any idea that you were his daughter?”
Chryseis’ breath came in short gasps. “No, my lord. I was never told anything. All I knew was that I was a slave. And he branded me!”
“He did that to protect you,” I said. “It was the only way he could guarantee to identify you in the event something happened to him.”
Marcellus stormed out of the dining room, stopping at the door to glare back at us. “Don’t start spending that money yet. You’ll have a difficult time making that flimsy little document stand up when you get back to Rome.”
XVII
CHRYSEIS LOOKED AT ME, then at Florus. “May I go tell Melissa?” She sounded like a child who wants to show off a birthday present.
“You don’t need to ask anyone’s permission,” I said.
“You’re free to come and go as you please,” Florus added.
“Do you mean it?”
“It will take some time to get accustomed to your new status,” I said. “I was seventeen when my uncle died, and I was adopted in his will. I inherited great wealth, as you’ve done today. At first it’s a heady sensation to know you’re absolutely free of any control. Then you realize that you have to make all the decisions that were previously made for you. The responsibility becomes very heavy.”
“But, my lord . . . I mean, Gaius Pliny, I have no one to help me. I know nothing about all this.”
“You’ll have more help than you suspect. Phrixus here will help you manage things, as he helped your father. Melissa will be by your side. I will help you in any way that I can. And there is one more person who, I’m sure, will continue to be devoted to you.” I put a hand on her shoulder to turn her slightly so she faced Marcus Carolus, who had sunk into a chair and seemed to be having difficulty breathing.
“This is your uncle, your mother’s brother.”
“Marcus Carolus, my uncle? That’s wonderful!” She threw her arms around his thick neck and he hugged her tightly. When they broke their embrace, Chryseis said, “Will you come with me to tell Melissa?”
“Of course,” Carolus said. “I think it would be wise if you did not go out alone just yet. There may still be some danger facing you.”
“Sir,” Florus said, “if you are her closest relative, perhaps you should keep this will. I suspect it will be quite safe with you.”
I was prepared to accompany Chryseis and what was now her entourage, but Luke tugged at my tunic to hold me back as they left the room. He stepped toward Florus’ table, pulling me with him.
“Excellency, there is a question I would like to raise with you in private.”
“Go ahead,” Florus said.
“May I ask that the slaves be sent out of the room?”
“Is that really necessary?”
Luke leaned over and whispered, “This concerns what may be perceived as a serious error in judgment on your part, sir. I thought you, Pliny, and I could discuss it in the utmost privacy, to spare you any embarrassment. We all know how slaves carry tales.”
I was just as surprised as Florus was. He motioned for the slaves to leave the room.
“What’s on your mind, doctor?” The very question I wanted to ask.
“I’m seeking clarification on a point of law. Is it true that a freed slave receives Roman citizenship along with her emancipation?”
“If the owner was a Roman citizen, yes,” I said.
“Does that emancipation and receipt of citizenship take place upon the death of the owner or when the will is read?”
Suddenly I suspected where he was leading us. The old doctor would have made a cagey lawyer. “I think,” I said, “one could argue that it is effective upon the owner’s death. Isn’t that what you suggested, excellency?”
Florus nodded in agreement, like one of Socrates’ students in a Platonic dialogue walking into a trap.
“Then Melissa received citizenship while she was locked up during the night when Cornutus died?” Luke asked.
“I would be comfortable arguing that in court,” I said.
Florus nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Then, excellency, that means that, technically, she was a Roman citizen when you ordered her whipped. And isn’t it against the law to inflict corporal punishment on a Roman citizen without a trial?”
Florus reacted like a man who’s walking through the woods when someone in front of him bends a branch back and lets it go unexpectedly. It caught him right across the face.
“What are you saying?” he asked weakly.
“You flogged a Roman citizen without a trial, excellency,” I said. “That’s not supposed to happen under any circumstances.”
Florus began to sweat. “But I didn’t know she was a citizen. How could I have known it?”
“My friend Paul, who was a citizen, was beaten in Philippi,” Luke said. “The magistrates there didn’t know either, simply because they didn’t take the trouble to inquire.”
“It’s a magistrate’s duty, isn’t it,” I said, “to find out such things before he orders punishment? It never hurts to err on the side of caution. You can always order punishment later. You can never undo it. Rome does not look kindly on people who punish her citizens without trial. I’m sure, excellency, you remember what happened to Cicero when he executed Catiline and his fellow-conspirators.”
“By the gods! They tore his house down and sent him into exile.”
I knew I probably couldn’t make this claim stand up in a court in Rome. A clever advocate would have little trouble bolstering Florus’ defense that he had no knowledge of Cornutus’ will and no reason to suspect that this particular slave woman would be emancipated by it. On the other hand, I could argue that favored slaves in a household are commonly freed in their owner’s will. A judicious magistrate might have thought to check on that before laying on the whip.
Florus was getting desperate. “Gaius Pliny, you know my mistake was an honest one. As a magistrate I’m required by law to torture the slaves of a murdered Roman citizen. How could I have known what he said in his will?”
“Oh, excellency, I understand your position entirely. I would vote to acquit you.”
His eyes grew large. “Do you really think I’ll be brought to trial?”
“That’s entirely up to Melissa.”
“Could you speak to her on my behalf?”
As long as Melissa could feel the welts on her back—and that would be for the rest of her life—I didn’t think she would listen eagerly to anything I had to say. But Florus thought I was her friend. Why not take advantage of that misconception?
“I could urge her not to press a charge against you.”
“The magistrates in Philippi,” Luke said, “came to Paul’s cell and apologized to him in person.”
“I’ll do that,” Florus said. “Yes, I’ll do that. Right now. And you will speak to her on my behalf?”
“Yes, I will,” I said.
He grab
bed my hand and shook it. “Thank you, Gaius Pliny. Thank you. I will be forever in your debt. If I can ever help you in any way, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll do anything for you.”
I almost wished he hadn’t made it so easy. “There is one thing, excellency . . .”
* * * *
I had very little time to spend with Chryseis the rest of the day. There were so many other matters to be dealt with before my fellow-travelers resumed their journeys. Some were easy to clear up. Tacitus reported that Orophernes had brought even more news about Lysimachus’ odd comings and goings. Tacitus had gone straight to Lysimachus and learned that the randy old philosopher had been contending for the affections of a local young man. One of his rivals had taken exception to the foreigner’s intrusion. The affair had come to blows, most of which landed on Lysimachus’ face.
A bigger puzzle was the whereabouts of Tiberius Saturninus. I felt some sympathy for the man. Gambling comes as naturally to most Romans as going to the games. But some people do develop an overwhelming urge to engage in either activity. I’ve known a few people in my circle to get almost morose on days when there are no games scheduled. The chariot races barely satisfy them; there’s not enough bloodshed. But on the days when there are games to attend, these same people become lively and animated, almost frenzied. They’re waiting at the amphitheater when the gates open. Saturninus seemed to have that kind of uncontrollable desire to gamble. What caused me greater concern was the way his compulsion had thrown him into Regulus’ clutches. His gambling wouldn’t hurt anyone but himself. As Regulus’ servant, there was no telling how much damage he might do.
Luke and Timothy were more worried about Saturninus than even his brother-in-law, Gaius Sempronius was. He had no intention of delaying his departure if Saturninus did not turn up.
“Good riddance to him, I say,” was Sempronius’ final comment.
Tacitus and I accompanied the two Christians as they searched for what Luke called their “lost sheep” in several disreputable tabernas along the harbor. Saturninus had been in most of them during our stay—he sold his knife to the owner of one—but no one could recall seeing him since the previous evening.
“Never seen a fella with such bad luck,” one man told us. “And such little sense. If he won a bit, actually got ahead, he wouldn’t take his winnings and quit. Not like the fella that was with him.”
“There was someone with him?”
“Yeah. Marcellus, I think his name was. Now, he was a much smarter man with his money. But your fella, he had no sense at all. He’d keep at it ‘til he’d lost whatever he’d won. And yet, he’d go out and come back in a while with a little more money to lose.”
“Now I’m worried about him” I said as the four of us left the taberna. “If Marcellus was with him, I have a feeling this isn’t going to end well.”
We ate a surprisingly good lunch at the next taberna. The food reminded me of what I had tasted in some of the peasants’ huts on my estates—clean and earthy, not overcooked and slathered with sauces. The owner remembered seeing Saturninus, but he had been alone.
“I wonder,” Tacitus said, “if he started the evening alone, then was joined by Marcellus. Or did Marcellus start out with him, then leave him at some point?”
“If he didn’t leave Androcles’ inn with him,” I said, “how could he ever have found him in this neighborhood? Isn’t your latter alternative more likely?”
“The only way we’ll find out,” Timothy said, “is to ask Marcellus.”
“You must be joking,” I said. “After this morning, do you think Marcellus would help us in any way? He’d as soon—”
I was interrupted by a slave bursting into the taberna. He came right to our table. “My lords! My lords! You was the ones lookin’ for that Saturninus?”
“Yes,” I said apprehensively.
“We’ve found him. Come on!”
At a run we followed the slave to a taberna two blocks away. He led us into the small stable attached to it.
“There’s no animals here right now,” he said, “so nobody come in here until just a bit ago. That’s what we found.”
‘That’ was Saturninus’ body, hanging from one of the beams in the ceiling. His tongue was sticking out of his mouth and his eyes bulged out. In his death agonies his bowels and bladder had let go. Luke and Timothy ran to him and started to take him down.
“Wait!” I said. “Let me look him over first, please. It’s too late to help him.”
They stood back. I walked around Saturninus’ stinking, suspended corpse, swinging eerily from Luke’s and Timothy’s touch. One more reason why the name ‘Smyrna’ would always be synonymous with the stench of death for me. Saturninus appeared to have tied the rope to a vertical post and looped it over a beam. With the noose around his neck, he must have stepped off of an old wagon. His feet hung level with my knees. His hands were tied behind his back with a strip of cloth torn from his tunic. Tightly gripped in one hand was a sheet of papyrus. I pulled it out and signaled for Timothy and Tacitus to get him down.
Luke and I examined the papyrus. It was a short letter to Saturninus’ wife. He explained that he had gotten so desperate for money he had prostituted himself to a man that evening, then lost the money. He finally realized how low he’d sunk. I would have opened my veins, he wrote, and died in a more dignified manner, but I sold my knife earlier today.
“May the Lord have mercy on his soul,” Luke said. “It’s ironic. He told me he was first attracted to our faith by hearing the story of Jesus’ crucifixion and how Roman soldiers gambled for his robe at the foot of the cross.”
* * * *
Tacitus was somber as I joined him on the stairs for the walk to the baths.
“I can’t wait to get back on the road tomorrow,” he said. “I’ve seen all I care to see of Smyrna. The only consolation is that we’ll have a lot to talk about for the rest of the trip.”
“I’m not going with you,” I said.
“And why not?”
“I’ve just had a long talk with Melissa and Chryseis. Marcus Carolus and I are going to stay here for a while, until Melissa is well enough to travel. It’ll give us time to help them get adjusted to their new position. I’ve written letters to some people in Rome who need to know what’s happened. I’d like you to take them back with you.”
“Of course.”
“I’m convinced Cornutus’ will is unbreakable, but that won’t stop his father from contesting it, if he’s still alive. And any others, such as Regulus, who may have hoped to profit from Cornutus’ death or his father’s, will raise trouble for Chryseis as well. We’ve got to alert our friends.”
“Marcellus is sailing tomorrow morning. He’ll likely get to Rome before I do. And he may get away with murder.”
“So now you’re willing to consider what I’ve suspected all along?”
“At this point, if you said you thought he killed Saturninus, I wouldn’t argue with you.”
“I think he did kill Saturninus.”
“But how—?”
I raised my hand to silence him. “You said you wouldn’t argue.”
“All right, I won’t. But how are you going to prove anything against him before he leaves tomorrow?”
“He isn’t gone yet.”
“Pliny, be reasonable! Florus considers the case closed. And everyone will be leaving tomorrow. What can you hope to do in the few hours you have left?”
“I told you. I do my best work under pressure.”
* * * *
Florus and I made sure we arrived early for the intimate dinner party he had arranged that evening at my request. He had taken over Androcles’ small dining room and had it set up it in good Roman fashion, with three couches around a table. I could hardly remember the last time I had been able to recline at a meal like a civilized human being. It didn’t bother me at all that I was on the low couch, the one assigned to less distinguished guests. Florus had the high couch, reserved for the host, and Marcellu
s would be offered the guest of honor’s position on the middle couch.
When Marcellus arrived, accompanied by more slaves than he needed, he didn’t seem to think it unfitting that we had left the place of honor for him. He settled himself and his slaves removed his sandals and brought out his plate and cup. That was the signal for me to motion to Damon to bring my new cup.
“That’s a lovely piece,” Marcellus said, saluting me with his own cup.
“I bought it as a token to remember the extraordinary events of the past few days.”
“Where did you find it?”
“At a silversmith’s shop, on the north side of the agora.”
“I’ll have to see about getting one myself,” Florus said. “I feel left out with my poor clay cup.”
We drank in silence for a moment. Then Florus said, “Quite a remarkable turn of events, eh? The slave girl turns out to be the master’s daughter. Tongues will wag in Rome for weeks about this!”
“Chryseis—excuse me, the lady Manilia—is going to have a difficult time fitting in,” I said, “where she has been regarded as, and considered herself to be, a slave all her life.”
“Her new-found grandfather is going to be outraged,” Marcellus said, “if he lives to hear of it. He’s been quite ill for several months. A tumor of some kind in his stomach. Very painful. Some of his friends have been urging him to take his own life, but he’s determined to hang on until his son arrives.”
“I’m sure,” I said, “that Chryseis will win him over.”
“The old man is strongly opposed to citizenship for children born to slaves.” Marcellus poured more wine for all of us.
“He doesn’t have any choice in the matter,” Florus said. “Cornutus’ will is quite explicit.”
Marcellus laughed in his slimy way. “There’s not a will that can’t be broken. That’s what the courts are for.”
“But Cornutus’ father is too old and sick for a lengthy court case,” I said.
“He has friends who will assist him, I’m sure.”
“Regulus among them?”
“Foremost among them,” Marcellus said with a lift of his eyebrows.
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