by Ben Pastor
"Despite the open window?"
"Ah—oh. Well, the murderer must have opened it afterward to let the poisonous air escape. Even though charcoal vapors are odorless, you'd soon know by vertigo and a headache if you stood in a room that hasn't been aired. Isaac the Jew claims that Lupus did not suffer the cold, seldom used braziers and such, and kept his window partly open. Apparently, he didn't even lock his door, as he kept nothing worth stealing in the shack."
Aelius had come to relax, but this was much better than growing torpid in the heat. "So he could have been surprised in his sleep. Wait a moment. There is—it's curious, very curious—another thing: Did you notice the coverlet, the edge of the coverlet?"
"Why, no." Gallianus went under and then emerged from the water again, rubbing his face with the joined hands. "What about it?"
"I assume there's clay everywhere in a brickyard. But it was dirt, bits of dirt, that I fingered on the cloth, as if the coverlet had been used—I don't know—maybe to seal the bottom of the door from the outside, to make sure the vapors would kill the man within. History has many examples of such murders by suffocation."
Gallianus pinched his short blond mustache to squeeze water from it. He agreed that yes, it could be done, and that in theory the killers could have waited outside for the time needed to stifle their victim and then replaced the coverlet on the bed, cracking the window to clear the air. "To this moment, I have neither informed Lupus's family of my findings nor spoken to others about them. Not knowing there's murder behind the case, at the brickyard and elsewhere in the town they already blame Agnus for failing in his resurrection, and it's better for him if he does not show up just now. Too bad, because I would dare him to bring the dead back to life after my autopsy. What have you heard?"
"A few things. Even though at a first glance the only ones to gain from Lupus's death are his relatives, I was able to ascertain that husband and wife were overnight guests of friends, and nowhere close to the brickyard when the man died. Never mind, it's my habit to ask about such things ... Also, there is no night guardian, no watchdog near the kilns or the clay bed. Virtually anyone could come and go unnoticed, if he avoided the grove where the curious bivouacked in hopes of seeing the living dead."
Gallianus laughed. "So, you started snooping as well." He hauled himself out of the pool, and sat with his feet in the water. "I confess that this afternoon I became so restless that I went back to the brickyard with a couple of troopers, and until daylight failed us, we did seek footprints around the shack. But it's hopeless in a place where people come and go, it's bushy, and there's a risk of falling."
"A successful businessman might have had enemies in and out of the family." Aelius spoke while still in the water to his waist, his arms crossed over the edge of the bath. Over the pool, glancing up, he watched steam form a mist in the high-ceilinged hall and condense along the wall. In the dim light, the walls seemed to be weeping. "Did you know Lupus personally?"
"No. Last year he supplied bricks for some repairs at the camp, noticeably underbidding his competitors. That's why we thought of him when we decided to enlarge this building. But our army contract was a small one, so I doubt anyone would kill him because Lupus won the bid to sell us the wherewithal for an addition and new latrines. Since you have access to court, you may want to ask whether he had been approached for other, larger projects. There are new public buildings coming up all over the place. Augusta Treverorum—Treveri, we call it for short—is growing every which way. If Lupus won that sort of governmental bid, there's no telling what the competition might do."
Aelius did not have to go as far as asking at court. In fact, he did not have to go beyond the next room of the baths, a sort of informal officers' club, where civilian government workers often came for a drink or lunch. Before long, he learned that Marcus Lupus had been one of three brickworks owners who had entered a bid for a large contract, related to the building of a new tribunal and annexes. The other two bidders—businessmen from the frontier also, one based in Mogonti-acum, the other north of Confluentes—had apparently lost by a hair.
"But you know, Commander," a talkative aging bureaucrat told him, "it is all in the game, eh?" Completely naked, he sat on a stool swinging his skinny legs and chewing on nut meats. "Someone has to win the bid, and Lupus did not always come up with the lowest one. But I can t understand why you call him a successful businessman. Successful, my foot! Before the publicity he received from his 'rebirth,' his brickyard was about to close, which explains the low bids. We're told he's dead once more. A shame, eh? These miracles, mighty short-lived, if you allow me the pun! If this were Egypt, I'd smell a rat in his sudden demise, but we live in the civilized world. If suppliers and merchants had to kill one another every time someone beats them to a fat contract, each of us would be reduced to baking his own bricks and raising his own herds of swine."
It was true enough. Aelius told himself that only because His Divinity had encouraged him to investigate those deaths in Egypt months earlier did he feel now that he ought to understand why a man about whom he knew nothing, other than the small detail that he had come back from the dead, had been suffocated in his own brickworks.
23 November, Thursday
Punctually, as Aelius expected, it snowed during the night. In the morning only a sprinkling whitened the roofs, and the daily traffic had already reduced to mush what had covered the streets. As often happens at the beginning of the cold season, the snowfall was followed by a rise in temperature, so that ice turned to rain, and this in turn gave way to a springlike day. But the birds flew south in large flocks, honking and calling in the night, and if one listened closely by the window sill, one could hear the flapping of large, tireless wings. They go to Africa, Aelius had told himself in the dark. They go to Egypt. They will land along the great river, in the reeds and canes, among the papyrus plants. They will fly over Anubinas little blue house. That her husband and her son by him died recently, I tell myself, is the reason why she wishes that we remain apart for a time. She said so, but has no desire that I recognize the girl she bore me; wishes to live off her embroidery business, and if she has an affectionate reference, that is Thermuthis's brothel, where I met her. Thermuthis promised me to look after her if needed, and to let me know in writing.
"They've cleared out. Skipped town. Picked up and left." Ben Matthias sat comfortably in front of a marble slab, holding the chisel between his dusty thumbs. "I love it when these things happen notwithstanding imperial control, don't you?" He pretended not to notice Aelius's disgruntled countenance. "I heard they never stay more than a month in any one place, like most itinerant preachers, although this time the fire waker missed a great opportunity for an encore. There's no telling when they left or where they're headed, although in my opinion they would be fools to go out of the provinces under Constantius's rule. If they step into Maximian's piece of the imperial patchwork, they're as good as dead."
"Yes, well. Not that danger would stop them, necessarily. I've seen Christians look for execution before." It was still early in the day, but time for Aelius to continue his journey. He stood ready to go, and only hope that the well-connected Jew could pass on more information had brought him to the workshop.
"I assume it is not the news you wanted to hear, Commander, but it solves your problem, all the same. The living dead is dead for good, the miracle worker and his cohort are out of reach when they are most needed, the relatives inherit the brickworks. I say, what if I came up with death and rebirth to advertise my business? Gossip in town is growing, as the eunuchs at court are spreading the word that Christian magic is a fraud. Me, I'm leaving before moods and the weather get worse. I have a little business in Italy."
"Whereabouts?"
"Mediolanum first, I think."
It was precisely where Aelius was bound next, to bring Diocletian's message to his co-ruler Maximian. Of course, he mentioned nothing in that regard, and as for ben Matthias, he let him think that on his part, too, there was not
hing more to say. In fact, he waited until the officer stepped across the threshold to add, "I'll see you in Mediolanum," at once busying himself with the headstone in front of him against the wall, as if his knowledge of an imperial envoy's travel plans were incidental to his job.
First Letter from Aelius Spartianus to Diocletian: To Our Lord Emperor Caesar Gains Aurelius Valerius Diocletian, Pius Felix invictus Augustus, grettings from your Aelius Spartianus.
Faithful to your recommendation, Domine, that I keep you informed of incidents encountered on the way to carrying out my duties in Augusta Treverorum, I must report something that took place after my successful meeting with His Tranquillity Constantius, Our Lord Maximian s Caesar. An odd occurrence of superstition ruffled for a time the Christian feathers in Bel-gica Prima, although there seem to be no lasting consequences due to the assassination of one of the players. A separate, detailed report of what I was able to gather regarding the incident is included in this mailing. As by Your Divinity's command, I am now readying to depart, bound for Our Lord Maximian s capital to continue my errand. Traveling on a cavalry mount and making use of relays, weather permitting me to travel across the mountain passes, I expect to be reaching Mediolanum in a week's time.
Observance of the imperial edict on maximum prices is to my judgment superior to what it was in Egypt. A sample of prices follows:
Gallic beer, 1 Italic sextarius
4 denarii
Hulled spelt, first quality, 1 army modius
95 denarii (1/20 below maximum price allowed) Picture painter, daily wage with maintenance
150 denarii, although the man interviewed (Aelius did not say it was ben Matthias) swears by the fortune of Our Lords Augusti and Our Lords Caesares that he can barely recover his costs and begs that the limit be reviewed Butter, 1 Italic pound
10 denarii (1/3 below maximum price, and it is of excellent quality)
Written at Augusta Treverorum, 23 November, day IX from the Kalends of December, respectively in the IX and VIII year of the consulates of Our Lords Diocletian and Maximian, also the year 1057 since the foundation of the City of Rome.
Notes by Aelius Spartianus:
En route from Augusta Treverorum to Mediolanum in Italia Annonaria. Fair weather for the season until Argentorate. Add here later regarding impressions skirting the forest that cost so many Roman lives three hundred years ago. Specifically: fat man from Arae Flaviae selling belt buckles and coins he says he found on the place of Varus s defeat; temptation to buy the steel and silver parade helmet he swore had belonged to one of Varus's cavalry officers. Farmers sowing wheat and barley in the protected nooks of the narrow valley toward Vindonissa. Snowfall in the night. Went back to buy the helmet.
Of the strange happenings in Treveri (as they call the city for short), this I have so far to work with: The army surgeon reports his colleagues' conviction that Lupus was truly dead before the fire waker brought him back, but he — Gallianus himself — was not present. Neither was he on the spot when the sepulcher was opened to ensure there was no tampering, or else that the revenant was Lupus in the flesh and not a look-alike. The brickyard at the Happy Diana was, according to the old bureaucrat, nearly bankrupt before the "miracle." Very interesting. Isn't it logical to imagine that Lupus and the fire waker worked out a deal profitable for both? A fake death, a false resurrection, but glory to the healer and commissions to the businessman. It does not solve the question of Lupus's murder, of course. All I can say about it, for now, is that it was made to seem like a natural death: something that all criminals worth their salt would do anyway. Below is, as best I recall, the gist of my final conversation with Isaac.
Isaac: "It was always the same procession. That day a leather merchant came bringing a gift of expensive harness, in exchange for permission to have any small object the fire waker touched during his visits to Lupus. Even two cousins of the governor, who study philosophy in Greece, asked to sit with Lupus. Matrons came together and separately with their servants. A crowd you could not reckon brought pastries and wine for 'the miracle man. ' Sometimes we had to ask that they leave as politely as we could, as it was getting dark already."
Spartianus: "Did you see Lupus alive and well after the round of visits?"
Isaac: "Yes, of course. He told me he was going to bed early, because there was much to do the day after."
Spartianus: "This 'crowdyou could not reckon': Are you sure all of them left the premises?"
Isaac: "Well, why wouldn't they?" But the supervisor's face fell, as he answered his own question: namely, that one or more in the crowd could have stayed behind unnoticed, to seal off Lupus's door and windows.
When I left the city, the magistrate was looking into the murder on the strength of my deposition, and Gallianus's. Ben Matthias's son-in-law and Lupus's brother will be called in to testify if they haven't been already, and they had better have both an alibi and an alternative explanation to give. Matrons and gentle men can be accounted for, but anonymous servants, no.
Tidbits gathered along the border road: Agnus is a former teacher who spent time in Asia, where he was born, and Casta — no real name known — is a self-abasing lady from Laumellum who ministers to and cares for sick women, the sexes being rigidly separate among the Christians. She travels with Agnus but never rooms with him (not even in the same inn or house). A city administrator and itinerant judge in Brigan-tium thinks her wellborn by her speech. The couple was reported last summer here in Raetia, where according to reports "the lame walked and the blind saw. " The judge, who has prosecuted a number of Christians, has it from reputable sources.
Tomorrow, having followed the Rhine practically to its springs, I will seek entrance by the pass known as the Golden Spike into Italy. I have been told of my good fortune, as often by this time of year the mountains are forbidding and one is stuck on either side of them, or else has to go around, adding weeks to his travel. The innkeeper maintains that as soon as the road begins to descend into Italy you can smell the fields and the richness of the land, and a tepid breezes rise from the plain to caress your face" (his poetic words). They had better, because — northerner that I am — riding for days in the rain and snow has lost its charm for me.
Mediolanum, capital city of Italia Annonaria, 30 November, Thursday
Maximian's new palace, Aelius had been told, was not aligned with the straight, perpendicular streets intersecting at the Mall square. Having entered Mediolanum through the westernmost gate, before long Aelius recognized at his right side the imperial quarters' thick, ornate mass alongside the racetrack's north-south direction. Not unusual for the seat of government to stand near a place of public entertainment: It was true even in Rome, where the Palatine Hill and its palaces formed a gigantic spectators' box above the Great Circus. Not unusual that the racetrack should be near the walls, either. What seemed an odd choice here, in terms of elementary safety, was that racetrack, imperial residence, and ramparts were fully contiguous. Hadn't barbarians attacked the walls no more than forty years before, nearly succeeding?
The short day was nearly over. In the shade, the waning light already stole details from the rows of river pebbles and bricks that ran, buried in mortar, along the endless blind surfaces; polygonal towers— the walls' and the circus's—loomed above. With the wind, an odor of mildew breathed in the street, undoubtedly from the small shops and houses where businesses generally thriving around horse-betting flourished. When Aelius turned back, he saw his Guardsmen ride by twos, visibly annoyed by the offers of services—carriers, muleteers, whores—inside the gate. Unlike their commander, they were bound across town to the new walled-in area added by Maximian to the northwest, which was reportedly large (one-third the size of the old city, they said) and sparsely populated, if one excluded the baths, the army compound, and the weapons factories.
In the tract between the gate and the palace complex, Aelius was stopped at roadblocks mostly manned by Pannonians. Once they knew his errand, they let him through. The last checkpoin
t, however, was less accommodating. Spaniards comprised it, led—unless he was mistaken—by officers from Hispania or Italia. His Guardsmen were not allowed to cross the line, and Aelius himself had to dismount, consign his sword, and wait in the windy street for someone to look at his credentials. Daylight closed like an eye. To his left, the circus's long wall cast a massive shadow, so that the street was captured by dusk already. Only the brick towers at the starting end, back toward the gate, stood bright red like torches in the sinking sun. Sparrows so small that from the distance they resembled a swarm of flies came and went from the towers, against a faultless blue sky.
"Nice view from up there." A voice caused Aelius to lower his eyes. He turned and looked at the spot, a few feet in front of him, where a beautifully appointed officer, his equal in rank, stood, the credentials in his outstretched hand. "From the top, Our Lord Maximian's mausoleum is visible straight ahead in the elm grove, and even the arena due south."
Aelius knew better than to assume that just because the papers had been handed back to him, permission was granted to proceed. So he nodded in a way meant to thank the officer for the information, useless as it was, and to greet him.
"Will you please follow me," the other said, not as a question but as a statement. "We have to go through the slightly uncomfortable ritual of checking you for weapons."
"I carry none, Commander."
"Well, Commander, we'll check you out anyway."
They walked into a narrow service door, leading to a diminutive room with slit windows, where even with the fiercest intentions one would have a hard time pulling a knife out of its sheath. Two soldiers frisked Aelius's chest, sides, and legs, and even bent down to make sure he did not carry a dirk stuck inside his boot. The officer stood outside, looking in, and when Aelius joined him again, he pretended not to notice his irritation. "This way, please."
