“I’ve made no charges. It’s your friend Demetrius here…”
Baal turned on Demetrius. “You! You! You think that by giving evidence against me, you can buy your own freedom. You think a miserable drunk like you can best Simon Baal! Well, that’s not the way the world goes! I know things about you… and now that the seal of silence is broken…”
Hesperian took another bite of the apple.
Demetrius interrupted with a savage, “Barbarian snake! Outlander! I take no more of your insults, your bullying. All the gold in the world wouldn’t buy my silence now. I shout it so all can hear. Simon Baal is a spy! Simon Baal is a spy! Simon Baal is a smuggler of money and weapons to Rome’s enemies!”
Simon Baal was shouting too. “Demetrius sells secrets to Parthia! Demetrius transports spies and enemies of Nero on his ships, his ships bought with Parthian gold. Demetrius trades in forged documents!”
Hesperian chewed, swallowed. The others were speechless. Daphnis, tablet in hand, had begun writing rapidly. Mannus strained to hear the frantic voices of the two conspirators as they hurled charges and countercharges. The dwarfs fled from the room.
Hesperian stood up, bowed to the assembled company. “I thank you all for a most instructive evening, but now I must leave you. Pressing affairs…”
Demetrius sprang forward and clutched at the Roman’s arm. “At least I’m not a murderer!”
Hesperian gently removed the old man’s claw-like hand. “True. You have obviously neither the courage nor the physical strength to have done it, but since you could have bought with your life both treason and murder, you missed a bargain by being guilty of only one.”
The centurion paused at the door to beckon to Mannus, who followed him out. In the hall, the two men stood a moment as Hesperian unrolled a scrap of crumpled papyrus. “Look at this, Mannus. That dwarf slipped me a note when he was in my lap there.”
They strained to read the crude, awkward Greek letters in the dim lamp light.
“He wants you to meet him in the slave’s quarters,” Mannus said, looking up with a frown. “He says he knows. Knows what, sir?”
“Let’s ask him.”
Daphnis appeared in the hall, chuckling, and Hesperian called to him. “Come, my faithful scribe. I think we may have more work for you tonight.”
The next to enter the hall was Simon Baal, tight-lipped and pale. Then came the guards, with Demetrius. Demetrius was weeping shamelessly.
* * * *
The slaves’ quarters were in the rear of the villa, on the other side of the kitchen. They stank of rancid olive oil, smoke, and urine, and were so dimly lit that Hesperian had to walk with care. Daphnis and Mannus followed close behind him.
Hesperian called, “Hello! Is there anyone here?” There was no answer.
“I guess we’ll have to wait,” Mannus sighed.
“We gave the little monster ample time to get here already,” Daphnis said crossly. The scribe had a fastidious nature and obviously found the filth of the slaves’ quarters revolting.
There was a rustle in the darkness, then the sound of quick footsteps, footsteps made by light, bare feet. The Romans glanced hopefully in the direction of the sound and, a moment later, Sabella stumbled into the circle of light surrounding the hall’s one oil lamp. She blinked and squinted, as if even this faint glow was too bright for her.
“What you want?” she mumbled.
Hesperian answered, squatting down so his face was level with hers. “We’re looking for one of the dwarfs.”
“Which one?” Her lower lip jutted out and her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“I think they call him Bubo,” Mannus said.
“Bubo?” She considered this a moment. “I saw Bubo. Yes, I saw him. He ran through here. Looked scared.”
“Where did he go?” Hesperian laid a hand on the girl’s bare, bony shoulder. She was wearing the same dirty tunic she usually wore; it would appear she even slept in it.
She pointed toward a doorway at the rear of the hall. “He out there somewhere.”
“Thank you, Sabella.” As he stood up, Hesperian gave her a friendly pat on the head. She ducked away, still sullen and suspicious.
The Romans stepped through the doorway and found themselves under the stars. The trees around them and the building behind them registered as no more than areas of black where the stars were not visible. The moon had not yet risen.
The gardens where they stood were silent, but a slight breeze from the northwest brought to their ears the feint murmur of Alexandria, the city that never sleeps. In spite of the breeze it was a warm night, and humid.
“What do you suppose he was afraid of?” Daphnis said softly.
“Us, more than likely,” Hesperian answered. They walked slowly past statues and bushes, feeling their way along.
“There’s nothing back here but the stable,” Daphnis remarked, sniffing the air with distaste.
“Then that is probably where we will find our shy little friend,” Hesperian said.
“Probably,” Daphnis agreed gloomily.
Somewhere ahead of them a horse whinnied softly.
Mannus thought, What a perfect place for an ambush, and rested his hand on the handle of his short sword.
When they reached the stable, they found the wide double door in front slightly ajar. “How careless,” murmured Hesperian, stepping inside. Mannus and Daphnis followed.
They could hear but not see the horses rustling around in the darkness, snorting and stamping, reacting to the presence of strangers.
“Maybe I should go back to the house and get a lamp,” Daphnis suggested nervously.
“No, wait a moment,” came the voice of Hesperian. “I thought I heard something.”
“Just the horses,” Daphnis grunted.
“Wait,” the centurion whispered.
Suddenly the silence was broken by the sound of a stifled sneeze. Mannus sprang forward in the direction of the sound and, much to his own surprise, found his fingers closing in on the wriggling, kicking form of a little man. The dwarf was surprisingly strong and almost managed to struggle free, but Mannus hung on grimly, crying, “I’ve got him! I’ve got him! Over here, sir!”
It took the combined efforts of all three Romans to drag the gnarled little figure out into the starlight, but once there, he seemed suddenly to give up and slumped dejectedly in their hands.
“Bubo?” Hesperian asked.
“Yes, that is what I’m called.” The cracked, high-pitched voice was dejected, tired.
“You passed me a note?”
“Yes.”
“Well, here I am. What did you want to tell me?”
“It’s too late. I can tell you nothing now.”
“Why not?”
“I was seen. When I passed you the note I was seen.”
“That doesn’t matter. We’ll protect you.”
The dwarf laughed, and it sounded harsh and bitter, almost like the bark of a rabid dog.
“I know you don’t like torture, sir,” Daphnis suggested, “but in this case…”
The dwarf laughed again. “Torture? There are more fearful things than pain and death. There are those who have power over us not only in our present lives, but after death as well.”
“He sounds like a Christian,” Daphnis said, puzzled.
“Are you a Christian, Bubo?” Hesperian demanded.
“Not I! Never!”
Mannus glanced toward the house and saw a light moving toward them. “Someone’s coming,” he warned.
A moment later they could make out the face of the oncoming figure, illuminated by an upraised oil lamp. “Hathor,” breathed Hesperian.
The dwarf began struggling with redoubled efforts, muttering incomprehensib
ly in Egyptian, as the young Hathor strode steadily forward, her face transfigured by a strange and otherworldly smile. With one convulsive effort, Bubo broke free and scrambled away into the darkness.
“Gaius?” Hathor called out softly.
* * * *
Mannus could not help feeling sorry for her.
Hathor had come to expect Hesperian to go easy on her, to treat her with a special kindness and respect, so that now, after the centurion had subjected her to a harrowing cross-examination for several minutes, she was dazed, bewildered and wistful.
“I ask you again, girl,” snapped Hesperian. “Why did you come out here?”
“Sabella told me you’d come out here. I thought you might need a lamp.”
“Really? Are you sure you didn’t come out here to make certain Bubo wouldn’t tell me anything?”
“Don’t be silly!”
“He was afraid of you. How do you explain that?”
“The dwarf is afraid of everything. He’s so small and helpless.”
“But particularly afraid of a murderess!”
“Gaius! I thought you were going to be my friend!”
“You told me that at the time your father died, you were with your brother.”
“Yes, and it’s true!”
“And he was with you, you said, to bring you a message from some lover of yours, some lover you refuse to name.”
“That’s right.”
“You’re strong and light. You could have climbed those vines outside your father’s window. And you’ve been trained in the use of arms. You could have thrown that pilum.”
“But I didn’t!”
“And this lover of yours. He’s not really a Roman soldier, as he seems to have pretended to be. There’s something shadowy, something unreal about him. You could have bribed that old woman to tell us about him. You could have thrown a bit of cloth in the corner of your room, knowing that someday, if the investigation went far enough, someone like me would find it. How do I know this man exists? How do I know he’s not a myth, a phantom killer you created to blame the murder on?”
“He does exist! He does!”
“Then who is he? Don’t you see? You must tell me now!”
“I can’t!”
“Then you must be… wait.” Hesperian fell silent, then whispered. “I see it all now.” Another pause, then, surprisingly, a soft chuckle.
“See what?” Daphnis demanded impatiently.
Hesperian spoke slowly, looking down at Hathor’s lamp lit face with an expression of dawning understanding. “Hathor, Serapion is your lover.” It was not a question, but a statement of fact.
Hathor looked down, unable to meet the centurion’s gaze, but she said nothing, made no attempt to deny the accusation.
Mannus, in the darkness, whispered, “By the gods!”
Hathor, still holding the lamp, spoke at last, in a faraway voice. “In the eyes of the gods of Egypt, it is no sin for brother and sister to be lovers.”
Daphnis said, “Ah, now things are getting clearer.”
But Hesperian answered: “Clearer? As I see it, the solution to this puzzle has become not only more difficult, but impossible! In a schedule so crowded with mischief, how could any of these ladies and gentlemen have found time for the murder?”
Chapter Four
As they re-entered the dining room, Mannus noted that all the guests had departed and, except for a bit of broken bread on a plate, all the food had been cleared away.
“Then you’re not going to arrest me?” Hathor asked incredulously.
“What for?” Hesperian told her. “Incest? If I started arresting people for incest, I might end by slapping the Emperor himself in irons. Murder? It’s more certain than ever that you were with your brother at the time of your father’s murder… in your brother’s bed, more than likely.”
Hesperian and Hathor seated themselves on the couch at the head of the table. Mannus stationed himself nearby, leaning against the wall. Daphnis had gone to check with the guards.
“But how did you guess?” she asked.
“That Serapion was your lover? Better to ask how I failed to see it instantly. Odysseus had the entire family sealed in here for almost a whole day before he was killed. How then could any message have been brought in from your lover, if he was outside? And here inside, who but Serapion, among all these women, old men, dwarfs, children, and eunuchs, was able to be your lover? By the gods, if Nero ever hears I’m making blunders like this, he’ll have me on a platter with an apple in my mouth!”
Librarius Daphnis appeared in the doorway and saluted. “The Christians are here, sir. Your men brought them in just a few minutes ago.”
“Excellent, Daphnis. I’ll question them immediately.” Daphnis stepped to one side to allow two of the guards to roughly push two plainly-dressed Jews into the room. “They call themselves Annianus, Bishop of Alexandria, and Mark the Apostle,” said Daphnis.
“You are Annianus?” Hesperian demanded of the Jew nearest him.
“Yes, that is my Greek name. My Jewish name is Hananiah.” Annianus, unlike the Romans, Greeks and Egyptians, wore a beard, a short gray one, neatly trimmed. He was a hawk-nosed, sunburned little old man with a bald head that gleamed in the lamp light, and a toothless smile. He wore a long gray wool tunic and a camel hide cloak and sandals, and into the hem of his tunic was woven the blue thread that identified him as a Jew, a symbol of long standing among the Hebrew people.
Hesperian turned to the other man. “And you are Mark?”
“Yes. John Mark is my name. My Jewish name is Jochanan. I am a traveling scribe by profession.” Mark was younger and taller than Annianus, a fine figure of a man. He was clean-shaven but his dark hair hung down to his shoulders, much longer than was the fashion among the better classes. He also wore the blue thread in the hem of his tunic, a grayish linen garment, and his cloak was of brown wool. On a leather thong around his neck hung a wooden cross with a loop on top, the Egyptian hieroglyph for Eternal Life.
“And your profession, Annianus?”
“I’m a maker of boots and sandals,” answered the old man.
“I have a few questions I’d like to ask you both.”
“With all due respect, sir, I must protest,” Annianus said, drawing himself up with dignity. “We are Jews, sir. You must be unfamiliar with the laws of Alexandria; otherwise you would know that here a Jew is tried only by Jews. We demand to be taken before the Ethnarch or some other official of the Jewish Council!”
Hesperian waved aside these objections with a weary gesture. “You’re not under arrest, Rabbi. No, indeed not. Rather, say that you’re my honored guests. I’ve heard of your sect in Rome. Of Paul, and Peter. You were Peter’s scribe, were you not, John Mark?” Mark nodded. Hesperian continued, smiling. “So I know that you profess to love all men like brothers, even Romans. And that you profess never to tell a lie. Most admirable! And really I should think you’d be glad to face Roman rather than Jewish law. As I understand it—at least this is how it is in Rome and Judea—you Christians are an object of contempt for all the more respectable Jews. Don’t they call you Am-ha-arez, People of the Dirt, because you fail to follow all the nit-picking rules of Jewish ritual cleanliness?”
Bishop Annianus looked at the centurion with new respect. Few indeed were the Roman officials that took the trouble to learn the differences between the myriad Jewish sects rather than lumping them all together into one category unworthy of serious consideration.
The Apostle Mark, however, still looked at Hesperian with ill-concealed suspicion. “If you plan to torture us, I must warn you our God gives us a courage that may surprise you.”
Hesperian sighed. “I’ve always felt that if I couldn’t learn what I wanted to know by the use of my wits alone, I deserved to re
main in ignorance.” He picked up the bit of broken bread from the plate on the table and bit into it, then continued, speaking with his mouth full. “But somehow I always seem to find out everything anyway, sooner or later.”
“If you wish to learn about Our Lord Christ Jesus,” Annianus said, “Brother Mark here has written a wonderful scroll containing all the stories told him by the Apostle Peter, who knew our Lord when…”
“No, no, I’m familiar with the claims of your sect, Rabbi. But, like most Romans, I’m more interested in men than in gods. A certain man, in this case. Odysseus Memnon.”
The Christians glanced uneasily at each other.
“Memnon was not a Christian,” Mark said.
“I doubt if he had what it takes to become one,” Annianus added. “Our path is not an easy one. We hold all our property in common, and this Memnon was a rich man. It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to learn to share.”
“This rich man,” Hesperian said, “might have surprised you.”
“Why do you question us now?” asked the Bishop. “That was all long ago. We told all we knew to the Alexandrian authorities then, when the memory was fresh. Consult the testimony we gave then; it’s all we know about this man, and little enough it is.”
“You did speak to him,” prompted Daphnis, who was writing.
“Just once,” Mark answered. “He asked me what one must do to become a Christian. I told him, and he left in a great hurry.” The Apostle permitted himself a faint smile.
“But was that the only time he came?” persisted Hesperian.
“That’s what they testified,” Daphnis said.
“Yes, that’s right,” Mark said.
“No, wait,” broke in Annianus. “I didn’t remember then, but I have thought about it a great deal since, and I believe he was at our services several other times.”
“Several times?” asked Hesperian.
“Many times,” said the Bishop, nodding and frowning. “I heard from some members of the congregation that he’d attended our services often, over a period of perhaps a year, but always stood apart, unwilling to respond to the friendly overtures some of us made to him. Actually, come to think of it, I saw him myself. Yes, now I remember. You saw him too, Mark. I pointed him out to you.” The old man had become quite excited.
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