The Bull Slayer: A Plinius Secundus Mystery

by Bruce Macbain

  “But her money, I suppose, smells as sweet as anyone’s?”

  Didymus clapped his hand to his forehead. The clerks had stopped working and were staring at them. “The fact is, sir, I’ve had losses this year. Two ships in which I was heavily invested went down this summer. I have several creditors. She will simply have to wait her turn. Reason with her if you can, sir, I beg you.”

  “It occurs to me to wonder whether the late procurator, Vibius Balbus, was one of your clients.”

  “Balbus? Why, no. You asked me that once before. He did no business with me.”

  “Really?” Pliny looked at him in surprise. “Why not? I assume you made him the same offer you did me.”

  “Well we simply never had a relationship, that’s all. Perhaps he invested with one of the other bankers.” Didymus’ face was working. “I’m an honest man, Governor. I pay my taxes, I’m straightforward in everything, as fair as I can be to everyone, my hands are clean.”

  Pliny went to the door and signaled to the two lictors whom he had told to wait across the street with his chair bearers. They came at a run. He faced a hard choice. If ever a man looked ready to make a run for it, it was Didymus, and Pliny was determined not to lose another suspect the way he had lost Silvanus and Fabia. Still, he must tread carefully. It was one thing to throw a lounger like Argyrus into a dungeon cell, but this banker was a member of the business community whose good will he needed to conciliate. It wouldn’t do to terrorize them. And so far he had no more than a suspicion that Didymus was guilty of anything.

  “You will be my guest at the palace today, my friend; and tomorrow, and perhaps the day after. Your family is upstairs, I take it? I’ll see that they’re informed. Send your clerks home. The bank is closed and I will post one of my men at the door to see that no one enters while you’re gone. And you will please gather your books, I intend to go over them with my accountant. I do have the authority to impound them in case you’re thinking of protesting.”

  Didymus groped behind him for a bench and sank onto it. His lips moved but no sound came out. Pliny almost felt sorry for him.

  ***

  Pliny handed the banker over to his major domo with instructions to find him a comfortable room and serve him a good meal—and post a guard at the door. He would let him cool his heels for a day. Meanwhile, it was imperative to get the whole truth from Sophronia.

  Pliny had never been to the Elysium. It was late afternoon when he and Suetonius arrived, too early for customers. They were met by Byzus, Sophronia’s accountant, who informed them that his mistress was out but invited them to wait in her private office and take refreshments. Pliny was impressed by the sumptuous décor. He also couldn’t help noticing how at home his friend was in this place: greeting the servants by name, exchanging a wink with one of the girls.

  “She’s out inspecting a property for sale,” Byzus explained. “A tenement burned down and the lot’s going cheap. It’s near a fullery and she might buy that too. Good money to be made in the laundry business.” He tapped the side of his nose and looked wise.

  Pliny and Suetonius exchanged glances. Barzanes?

  Half an hour later, she bustled through the door. Seeing Suetonius first, her lips parted in a smile. Then her eye fell on Pliny and the smile faded.

  Pliny wasted no time getting down to business. “I’ve spoken to Didymus about your deposit. He made excuses, legitimate or not I don’t know yet. At the moment he is my guest in the palace and will remain there until I’ve gotten everything he knows out of him. I’ve had a quick look at his books and it appears that Balbus never invested with him, which I find odd since he advised you to do so. My question, madam, is this: was any of that two talents you invested actually Balbus’ money?”

  Her expression betraying nothing. “Forgive me for troubling you with my affairs, Governor. I should never have mentioned it. We’ll let the matter drop.”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. More is at stake here than your money. A letter found among Balbus’ papers indicates that he had a dispute with someone known to us only as a ‘Persian,’ who owed him money. He was making trouble for this individual—the details needn’t concern you—and soon afterwards he was murdered.”

  She started to protest but he cut her off. “Yes, I know you favor your half-brother Argyrus as the culprit, and you may yet prove right, but I need to know whether there is a connection between your deposit with Didymus and the sum referred to in that letter. Are they one and the same?”

  “Ask Didymus.”

  “I’m asking you!” Pliny was on his feet, leaning over her and staring hard. Despite herself, she shrank back. She looked to Suetonius for help. He studied his wine glass.

  “All right.” She drew a deep breath. “Some of it was his.”

  “How much?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “How much!”

  “Half maybe.”

  “Half ! A full talent. Where did he get so much?”

  “He wasn’t a poor man.”

  “Why didn’t he invest it in his own name?”

  “I don’t know. It was a personal loan to me. What difference does it make?”

  “There are half a dozen bankers in town. Why did he suggest Didymus?”

  “I’ve no idea. He said he was a friend.”

  “And that was good enough for you? You have a reputation as a shrewd businesswoman. Balbus tells you to invest a small fortune with a banker you’ve never done business with before and you do it.”

  “I loved him.” She was angry now.

  “Love,” Pliny sniffed. “Indeed it makes us do strange things.”

  “Is there anything else you want to know about my personal life, Governor?”

  He looked at her sourly. “Not at the moment.”

  “Well,” Suetonius sighed as they mounted their litters, “there’s an end to a beautiful friendship.”

  “Consider yourself lucky.”

  ***

  Galeo returned to the tavern. His red lictor’s tunic was soaked through, his hair was plastered against his head. He had lost the man in the dark—fortunately, perhaps; he wouldn’t like to tangle with that brute. He sat himself down at a table, motioned to the tavern keeper to join him, and carefully placed a silver drachma on the scarred table top between them. The man couldn’t take his eyes off it.

  “Who is that fellow who ran out? How long has he been in the village?

  “Calls ’imself Lurco, sir. Been ’ere five, six days, I reckon.”

  “Did he arrive alone or with a woman and a boy?”

  “You know that, do you?”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Well, sir, I really couldn’t say as to that.”

  Galeo placed another drachma on the table.

  “Ah. Well it might be they hired a boat, take ’em to sea, in spite of it bein’ filthy weather. You’d best talk to ’er captain.”

  “Send someone to fetch him. I’m not going out in this again.”

  “Happens that’s ’im over there.” He glanced at one of the men at the bar. “Cleitus!”

  Cleitus eyed Galeo warily. “’Aven’t done nothin’ wrong.”

  “No one says you have.” Galeo placed another drachma on the table. Cleitus’ eye—he had only one—narrowed. “Tell me about the woman and boy.”

  “They paid me ’andsomely to sail across Propontis to the Thracian side. Me and the lads agreed though we didn’t like the weather. Well, we wasn’t far out when the wind picks up and the boy comes all over queer, like maybe he has a demon in him. That’s what we thought anyway. I was for pitching ’im over the side but the woman begs me to leave ’em on an island that’s out there—just a little speck of rock really, nothin’ on it but a few goats. Well, we went in as close as we dared on the leeward side and made ’em jump.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s all I know. We sailed back with the big fella, Lurco. He didn’t want to jump and we couldn’t make ’im.�
� Cleitus’ hand shot out and plucked one of the coins off the table. He touched two fingers to his forehead and moved off.

  At first light, Galeo was on his horse galloping back to Nicomedia.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The 9th day before the Kalends of December

  To Aulus the passage of time was formless and endless. He drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes spasms shook him, and afterwards he would sleep for hours: sleep filled with dreams of thrashing in icy sea water, of struggling for breath, of his mother’s powerful arms around him. And even in sleep the ache of hunger and the ache of cold never abated. In his lucid moments he knew that they drank rain water from a hollowed rock, ate berries that gave him a stomach ache, tried to catch and kill a goat until they sank down exhausted. How long had they been here? How much longer could they survive? Mother! She lay beside him on the stony ground, her hair a wet tangle spread out around her, her dress sodden and filthy. Her eyes shut. Was she breathing? Mother, don’t die, don’t leave me! He crawled to her and laid his head on her breast. It’s all right, she’s breathing. He sank again into oblivion.

  And then, in his dream, he was being shaken. Hands gripped his shoulders. His eyelids fluttered open and gradually a face came into focus. Not mother’s but a man’s face. The governor’s face! “It’s all right, boy, it’s all right.” Pliny and another man helped to sit up. He knew that face too—the physician. They put a woolen robe around his shoulders, held a cup of water to his lips. He swung his eyes around. A ring of Roman marines stared back. His mother sat on the ground nearby, a rope around her wrists. At the edge of the islet a navy cutter rocked at anchor.

  ***

  Silvanus was sunk in a pleasantly drunken doze when the soldiers burst through his door and laid hands on him. The next hours were very unpleasant. They bound him with chains and dragged him to the palace dungeon, where the governor stalked up and down the cell, firing questions at him, while a brute of a jailer heated pincers over a flame.

  “The procurator caught you stealing, didn’t he? What did he do to you?”

  “Beat me up. Not for the first time, he loved to hit. Threatened to sack me.”

  “So you killed him.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “But you hated him.”

  “Everyone hated him.”

  “Then who killed him?”

  “Fabia killed him.”

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “Was Balbus stealing from the treasury?”

  “I’m sure he was.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know how. He never included me in that.”

  “You do know that I can put you to death for what you’ve done.”

  “You can’t. I’m a Roman citizen. I’ll appeal to the emperor.”

  “All right. I’ll send you to Rome for trial, but I promise you you’ll find a nastier death at the end of it than the one I’ll give you. Now again, how was the procurator stealing?”

  “I told you I don’t know!”

  And so it went until they finally left him alone.

  ***

  Aulus lay on a soft bed, propped up on cushions as a servant fed him spoonfuls of hot broth. Pliny sat in a chair beside him and spoke in a low voice.

  “I honestly don’t know what to think about your mother. If nothing else, she had guilty knowledge of Silvanus’ whereabouts. I hope it’s nothing worse than that.”

  “But she wouldn’t have sent assassins to kill my father when I was with him.”

  “That is an excellent point, which I take note of. Aulus, I don’t want it to be your mother, but she did run away.”

  “She made me tell her everything I told you—about that Greek who came to see her. And then she began to scream and strike her breast. I didn’t know what to do…”

  “Hush, be calm now. I understand. I’m sending her home under guard until I know more. But what shall I do with you? Do you want to go back with her or would you rather stay here in the palace for a time? I’ve spoken to Marinus, you know, about you assisting him. He’s willing to take you on.”

  “I—I’ve never been away from her. What will happen when I…”

  “Have a seizure? We’ll know what to do. I remember you told me you’re the man of the family now. In law, yes. But in fact you never will be as long as you live with her. I’ll tell you something. I lost my father early and grew up in the house of my uncle. He was a good man, a tireless civil servant, a prodigious scholar, but a man whose personality absolutely dominated the household. Nothing mattered except his needs. We all tiptoed so as not to disturb him while he was being read to by his slaves and making notes for his Natural History, which was literally all the time. Until the day he died, we were almost like prisoners there. It’s taken me longer than I like to admit to get over it. Think about it, son.”

  Mi fili—my son. He had said it without thinking. He felt a sudden pang of longing for the son that he and Calpurnia would never have. Suddenly he wanted very much to be a father to this tortured boy, bring him into his household, give him a better life than he had ever known. He would speak to Calpurnia about it. But what if it caused her pain? They never spoke about their childlessness. And lately, it seemed, they never spoke at all. They had grown so far apart he felt he hardly knew her anymore.

  “Sir?” Aulus was staring at him. “Is something the matter?”

  “What? No, no, of course not. You rest up, we’ll talk again later.”

  ***

  Pliny summoned his staff. He toyed with the objects on his desk while he marshaled his thoughts. “We have, at the moment, four suspects. Silvanus hated and feared Balbus after he caught him stealing, although frankly I don’t think the man is capable of murder. Fabia and Argyrus, either together or singly, both stood to lose if Balbus divorced his wife and married Sophronia. In that case I suppose that Fabia’s muscular slave, Lurco, was the actual killer. Unfortunately, he gave my lictor the slip and we have yet to find him. Finally there is the banker, Didymus.”

  “That little one-armed runt,” Nymphidius snorted. “He couldn’t kill my old mother.”

  “I’m assuming Glaucon did the actual killing. Didymus must have had some influence over him. They knew each other, that much is certain. He wouldn’t even have to be there in person.”

  “And the motive?” Marinus asked.

  “A dispute over money. If, that is, Didymus is the Persian that Balbus complained of to this Sun-Runner, whoever he is. The same Persian who later poisoned Glaucon to silence him, and burned up Barzanes in his house too, I imagine.”

  Zosimus spoke up, diffident as always. “Money? Is that reason enough to make a provincial risk murdering a high Roman official? Surely Didymus could have found the money somewhere to pay Balbus back. He is a banker with banker friends.”

  “And speaking of his banker friends,” Pliny said wearily, “a delegation of them has been clamoring to see me ever since we brought him in. His arrest has hardly gone unnoticed. Bankers, merchants, and assorted grandees with none other than our friend Diocles at their head, all demanding that I free him. Precisely the people that I do not want to antagonize. Unless I can prove something against him soon I’ll have to let him go.”

  “The little banker worshipping Mithras in a cave?” Suetonius put in. “I just find that hard to picture.”

  “I find the whole thing hard to picture,” Pliny sighed. “And that is the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Who are these people and what are they up to? And we’re no closer to learning that than we ever were.”

  “The cave,” said Aquila. “The blasted cave! I’ve had my men out searching for it for weeks now. They’re so tired of tramping through those hills, climbing in and out of one dark hole after another I’m half afraid they’ll mutiny soon. And what if we do find it? What’ll we learn?”

  “It would be pleasant to imagine we’ll find a list of the initiates, although probably not.” Pliny smi
led bleakly. “Anyway, keep them at it.”

  “Where does this leave us, then?” said Suetonius.

  “It leaves us,” said Pliny, “with our little banker. I’ve let him cool his heels for three days while we dealt with Fabia and Silvanus. Let’s see if he’s ready to talk to us. We’ll start on him this evening. Get some rest now, my friend, it may be a long night.”

  ***

  Timotheus tapped his foot, unrolled and rerolled his scroll. The damned woman was late again for her lesson. But, of course, no one in this household minded wasting his time, no one bothered about his convenience. A Greek tutor in a Roman household was a creature to be pitied. He might wear a scholar’s cloak and long beard but in fact he was little better than a slave; a monkey with a collar around its neck, expected to be amusing at the dinner table though fed on scraps of food and bad wine; expected to flatter and praise the master’s modest poetical efforts, expected to teach the rudiments of Greek to the master’s wife, and to know that while they smiled at him they secretly despised him for a miserable Greekling. These Romans! But Diocles, who was his patron, wanted him here and here he would stay.

  He blew out his cheeks. His stomach was hurting him again. He was forced to admit that the lady exhibited some shreds of intelligence—for a woman and a Roman, although she often seemed half distracted. She claimed to know something about art but her taste in literature was execrable. He had given up trying to drag her through Homer and finally consented to read a romantic novel of her choosing. Absolute trash! Pirates, kidnapped brides! Pure torture for a man of his sensibility. And the expressions she came up with—the Greek of the alleys. Where was she learning them? From that slut Ione, he supposed. A thoroughly bad influence.

  The library door flew open and Calpurnia rushed in, murmuring apologies.

  Timotheus scowled. “Today, madam, I think it best to begin with the finer points of the Greek verb. Its subtlety, its flexibility—”

  “Oh, you’ll drive me mad with this, Timotheus! O-verbs, mi-verbs, contracted verbs! And the aorist tense—what is it for? And the middle voice and the optative mood? We don’t have them in Latin. Your grammar makes my head spin. Why must it be so difficult? Latin is so simple.”