All Roads Lead to Murder

by Albert A. Bell

  Florus lay back on his couch and closed his eyes.

  “He doesn’t hold his wine very well,” Marcellus said.

  I nodded and took a sip from my cup. “Cornutus was a man who could hold his wine . . . Why did you kill him, Marcellus?”

  Marcellus laughed. If I had never met the man before, I would have thought it a merry, light-hearted sound.

  “The wine must be getting to you,” he said. “Why do you think I killed Cornutus? Do you think I went into his room and cut his heart out? Florus has already pronounced his verdict. It was the slave Phoebe who did it.”

  “No, I know who cut his heart out. That wasn’t what killed him.”

  Marcellus shifted on his couch and raised his head, as though he found what I had said extremely interesting. “Then how did he die?”

  “He was poisoned.”

  “What an amazing claim! How was it done? By whom?”

  “I think you did it. How, I haven’t quite figured out yet.”

  “Well, while you’re thinking about it, why don’t we have some real wine?” He sent one of his servants out to get his special wineskin. When the servant returned Marcellus broke the seal on the plug himself. He paused before pouring the wine.

  “If you want to really talk about Cornutus, and not just banter back and forth,” he said, “why don’t we send the slaves out?”

  Florus’ slaves were reluctant to leave at first, but I assured them that it would be for only a short time. As soon as we were alone Marcellus poured us both a generous cup of wine. It smelled rich.

  “The best part,” he said, “is that we don’t have to share it with this somnolent non-entity.”

  I swirled the wine around in my cup but didn’t drink any.

  “Friend Pliny, what are you afraid of? Have you read too many stories about Nero poisoning people right in front of witnesses? I could take that as an insult, you know.” He sipped his wine, looking at me, almost flirtatiously, over the rim of the cup. “I’m drinking from the same wineskin. How could it be poisoned?”

  I raised my cup to my lips and tipped it slowly. “It’s quite good. Falernian, isn’t it?”

  Marcellus smiled. “A vintage from the last year of Claudius, in fact.” He poured me some more. “Now, tell me what makes you think I killed Cornutus. I had only just met him a few days before, as we were leaving Ephesus. He was a likeable enough man, if a bit brusque.” He propped himself up on an elbow, as though he were about to hear a thoroughly entertaining story or a piece of juicy gossip.

  I raised my cup again and saluted Marcellus with it. “I think you were acting as an agent for Marcus Aquilius Regulus.”

  A soft snore erupted from Florus.

  “Yes. I’ve heard about your enmity for Regulus. It’s entirely uncalled for, you know. He bears you no ill will and would be happy to number you among his friends.”

  I shook my head. “Regulus has done enormous harm to people I care about. We could never be friends.”

  “You are young, Gaius Pliny. You haven’t yet learned that it’s dangerous to take strong stands in Rome, especially when you place yourself in opposition to a powerful man like Regulus.”

  I rubbed my hands together.

  “Your hands feeling cold?”

  “There seems to be a chill in the room.” I shivered.

  “That’s just the onset of the effects of the hemlock.”

  I gasped. “What . . . ?”

  “It’s acting quickly tonight, but then you’re a smaller man than Cornutus was, so that’s to be expected. I mixed enough in this wineskin to bring down that big ox. It will finish you off in very short order.”

  I struggled to get up. “My legs feel numb! Excellency! Mestrius Florus!”

  The governor snored and stirred slightly on his couch. Marcellus blocked me from getting to the governor and forced me back down on my couch.

  “It’s pointless to struggle,” he said in an unctuous voice, his face close to mine. “It makes it easier if you just lie back and wait. It’s a painless death. You’ll just fall asleep, as Florus has done. Only you won’t wake up.”

  “Why? Why did you do it?”

  He sat back down on the edge of his own couch, ready to tackle me if I tried to get up again. “Which ‘it’ are you asking about? No matter. I poisoned you because you know that I killed Cornutus. I killed Cornutus because my friend Regulus needed him eliminated so he can inherit a large fortune from Cornutus’ father.”

  “Regulus, that . . . damn legacy-hunter.” My speech was labored.

  “You have to admire the man. He is the best in a highly competitive game. He has been cultivating Cornutus’ father for a long time. Cornutus was the only surviving member of his father’s family, literally the last of the line. Or so we thought. Regulus has finagled himself into the father’s will and stood to inherit everything if Cornutus died before his father did. When it became clear the old man was quite ill, he sent me to Ephesus with orders to intercept Cornutus when he passed through there on his way to Rome, as he inevitably must.”

  “How could you be sure he wouldn’t . . . return by ship?”

  “Regulus knew that Cornutus despised sea travel as much as you do, Pliny. I hired spies in various inns around Ephesus to let me know who was arriving. I had to get rid of Cornutus as quickly as possible, so all of his property would revert to his father and the old man would die without any heirs.”

  “Chryseis must have come as quite a shock to you, then.”

  He gave a rueful laugh. “Indeed she did. And the timing was so ironic. I had already poisoned Cornutus. This rich wine must have loosened his tongue a bit. He said he hoped his father did die, so he could finally acknowledge his daughter. He pointed her out to me. I was thunderstruck. If I had known he had a child, I wouldn’t have poisoned him until I’d had time to work out a better plan. Once I found out about the daughter, it became imperative that she be killed immediately, before anyone else learned who she was.”

  I lay back on my couch, as though having difficulty holding up my head. “But you’ve failed at that. She’s been . . . publicly acknowledged . . . as his daughter.”

  “Yes, the situation has become complicated, with Marcus Carolus and Melissa both to protect her now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get rid of them all before we get back to Rome, but I’m going to keep trying. I’m actually not sailing to Rome tomorrow. I’ll get off the ship somewhere up the coast and have time to plan something more effective. That’s what Regulus pays me for. And with you out of the way my job will be easier.”

  “Did killing Tiberius Saturninus make your job easier?”

  “By the gods, Gaius Pliny! Your youth is deceiving. What made you suspect that?” He picked up a piece of food, as casually as if we were discussing our favorite chariot team.

  “The way his hands were tied.” I licked my lips as if having trouble speaking. “A man who tied his own hands behind his back could never have done it . . . so well. He could not have held a piece of papyrus while tying them. And he couldn’t have gripped the papyrus so securely if he had picked it up after tying his hands.”

  Marcellus laughed and shook his head. “Well, it was a rush job. Regulus was finding Saturninus too much of a liability. A man who gambles that compulsively can never be fully trusted.”

  “‘No man can serve two masters’, I’ve heard.”

  “Who said that?”

  “Never mind. But how are you going to explain my death when the governor wakes up?” I was slurring my words now, getting drowsy. “Or are you going to kill him too?”

  “No, there’s no need for that. I don’t like to have to improvise, but I’ll appear to be taken ill, as though there’s something wrong with the food. That’s believable enough in this place. I’ll recover, albeit with a good bit of retching. You won’t be so fortunate. Nor will Androcles, since I’ll shift the blame onto that fool of an innkeeper.”

  I sat up and smiled at Marcellus. “I think I’ve heard enough.” />
  Marcellus coughed out whatever he was eating. “But . . . but . . . you drank it! You were . . . poisoned.”

  “Doctor Luke told me what the symptoms were and about how long it would take.”

  “But you drank! How . . . ?”

  I showed him my cup. “I imagine it works very much like yours. When I have the Socrates side toward me, the wine flows through a slit under the lip and into the cavity created by the embossed figures. When I press a spot on the Crito side, the wine is released through a slot in the base of the cup, just as Crito tried to secure Socrates’ release from prison. I rather like the symbolism, don’t you?”

  “Very clever! Very clever indeed.” He clapped his hands as though applauding an adept play in trigon. “The only problem is that you have no real proof. And I will deny that this conversation ever took place.”

  “Governor, that’s your cue.”

  Florus raised his head and propped himself up on his elbow. “I think, Marcellus, that my testimony in support of Pliny’s will count for something.”

  Terror swept over Marcellus’ face. For the first time he saw that he’d been caught, like an animal with its foot in a trap. No matter how clever he’d been in the past, this time there was no escape.

  “You were only pretending to be asleep,” he said stupidly.

  “Yes,” Florus replied. “I heard everything.”

  “You had me worried for a moment, Excellency,” I said. “The snoring sounded very convincing.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice. If my wife thinks I’ve fallen asleep during dinner, she’ll go away and leave me in peace and quiet.”

  “We need to get this villain locked up, until he can be sent back to Rome for trial.”

  “Indeed. I’ll get some soldiers in here.” Florus bestirred himself and left the room.

  “You must be very proud of yourself,” Marcellus said. He lay back on his couch, apparently ready to accept the inevitable. Then he grabbed his wineskin and gulped down a long draught of the poisoned wine.

  I ran to the door and poked my head out. “Damon! Get in here!” When he appeared, I said, “We’ve got to make Marcellus vomit. He’s swallowed some poisoned wine. It’ll take both of us, I’m sure.”

  “Stay away from me,” Marcellus growled. I turned to find that he had grabbed a knife off the table. “I’m not going back to Rome. Regulus will never let me come to trial. I’d rather end it this way than at the hands of his thugs. He doesn’t tolerate failure. Just look at Saturninus.”

  “We can keep you safe, Marcellus. Help me bring Regulus to justice.”

  Marcellus shook his head slowly. “There’s nowhere you could hide me that Regulus couldn’t get to. He has spies and agents everywhere. You can’t be absolutely certain that none of your own slaves are on his payroll. How much do you know about the man who shaves you every morning?”

  I looked at Damon. If I didn’t know that some of my slaves were Christians, how could I be sure some of them weren’t passing information along to Regulus?

  We could hear the clatter of soldiers drawing near. Marcellus put the knife under the bone that runs down the middle of the chest and thrust it upward.

  XVIII

  IT RAINED THE NEXT MORNING. The caravan members that Tacitus had wanted to travel with decided to delay their departure. Florus, however, was determined to get back to Cyme and resume his other duties. Tacitus decided to travel that far with the governor and his soldiers, then see what arrangements he could make from there. Chryseis, Marcus Carolus, and I stood by his wagons in Androcles’ stable as his slaves finished loading his goods. Luke and Timothy had wished him well and gone to make arrangements for Tiberius Saturninus’ funeral.

  “At least you’ll be as safe as you can possibly be on the road,” I said to Tacitus, “with Florus’ soldiers to escort you.”

  “That’ll be some compensation for setting out in this rain.”

  “It is very important that you get on the road. That slave Marcellus sent with a message to Regulus has a long start on you. I’m sure Marcellus’ letter told Regulus about Chryseis. If he has time to prepare, it will be that much more difficult to make her claim stand up in court.”

  “Won’t Florus’ statement help our cause?” Carolus asked. The governor had dictated a statement authenticating Cornutus’ will and describing the circumstances under which it had been opened and read. Tacitus and I each had a copy with Florus’ seal on it.

  “I’m sure it will,” I said. “But Florus is not nearly as influential a man as Regulus is. And knowing how Cornutus’ father feels about children fathered on slaves, I can’t predict the outcome.”

  “I do hope my grandfather is still alive when we get to Rome,” Chryseis said. “I’ve known him all my life, but now it will be very different to sit down and talk with him.”

  “If he is still alive,” I said, “I’m not sure when would be the best time for you to meet with him. He’ll have to be informed of his son’s death. I’ll take the urn containing Cornutus’ ashes to him.”

  “I think I should go with you when you do that,” Chryseis said. “He was my father.”

  Yesterday, when we both thought she was a slave, I could simply have told her no. Today all I could say was, “We’ll have time to decide about that.”

  A soldier appeared in the stable doorway. Rain ran down his helmet, with drops falling from his nose guard. “My lord Tacitus,” he said, “his excellency is ready to leave.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Tacitus embraced me and shook hands with Carolus. He hesitated in front of Chryseis until she hugged him.

  “Thank you, Cornelius Tacitus,” she said. “I know you’ve taken great risks on my behalf. I’ll look forward to seeing you again in Rome and counting you among my friends.”

  “I would be greatly honored, my lady.” He climbed aboard one of his wagons. His slaves piled into the other and they were on their way. I don’t think I realized until that moment how much his friendship had come to mean to me.

  “And now, friend Pliny,” Carolus said, “why don’t we have something to eat?”

  “I don’t feel very hungry.”

  “You seem sad,” Chryseis said. She placed her hand on my arm. Even as disfigured as she looked, I couldn’t help but feel some sort of divine radiance passing from her to me.

  “I’m disappointed at how things have turned out,” I said.

  “I don’t understand,” Chryseis said. “Are you disappointed that I’m free and have discovered my identity?”

  “Not at all! But, aside from that, what have I accomplished? Cornutus and Tiberius Saturninus were murdered. Phoebe was put to death, and Melissa was horribly beaten. Both for no reason. Even the Jew, Simon, who did not deserve to die, was killed before my eyes, with my own knife.”

  “But the people who did those things have been punished,” Chryseis said. “You have every reason to feel proud of yourself. You’ve thwarted Regulus—”

  “I wish I could be sure of that. I may have delayed his plans a bit, but his tentacles reach everywhere. That’s one thing the last few days have taught me. I don’t know if anyone can stop him.”

  “I believe you can,” Chryseis said. She leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the lips.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Authors and literary critics often debate whether novels should have author’s notes. “Say what you have to say in the story” is the usual argument. But this novel has presented a few special problems which deserve brief comment. It can be enjoyed by anyone who chooses not to read the next couple of pages.

  Using Historical Characters in Fiction

  Novelists who use historical persons as characters in their fiction must be careful that those characters speak and act in ways consistent with what is known of their historical models.

  Pliny is one of the people from ancient Rome whom we can know best. He left a collection of letters in ten books and a speech in honor of the emperor Trajan. The speech is a dreadful example of
political boot-licking, but the letters reveal a humane, generous man who feels confined by an increasingly dictatorial regime. He busies himself with public service, though he finds it futile. It is what wealthy Romans of his day must do.

  During his thirty-year career Pliny served in various offices and government departments, finally holding a suffect consulship in A.D. 100. He was also a landowner and a lawyer. He is curious about natural phenomena and a thorough-going skeptic when it comes to religion and the afterlife.

  I began to study Pliny when I was in graduate school. His most famous letters are those (6.16 and 6.20) describing the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in A.D. 79 and the one (10.96) explaining to Trajan how he has handled his investigation of the Christians in the province of Bithynia in 112/113. Another one which shows up in most anthologies is his lament over the death of a friend’s daughter (5.16). The more I read of his letters, the more I was drawn to the man. I found a certain affinity with him, perhaps because of the longing for time to write which he (and I) could never seem to find.

  I’ve published several scholarly articles on Pliny the Younger, and he appears in an earlier novel of mine, Daughter of Lazarus. I also make extensive use of his letters in my non-fiction book, Exploring the New Testament World. A friend of mine who believes in reincarnation once suggested that I might have been Pliny. I do not in any way endorse that notion, although it might make good publicity for this novel if I were to do so.

  I have tried to portray Pliny in a manner consistent with the personality that emerges from reading his letters. He comes across in his own words as a bit of a prig, but with an undeniable charm. He’s a sensible man who has little use for chariot races, gladiator games, and loud dinner parties.

  Pliny’s friendship with the historian Tacitus seems to me genuine. That’s why I’ve chosen to use Tacitus as his “sidekick” in this book (and in what I plan as others in a series). One might even think of an analogy: Pliny is to Tacitus as Holmes is to Watson. I have not tried to make the characters conform to it rigidly, but it is a thread, or an undercurrent, that runs through the book.