“The man who killed Aristeas is dead now. There was a woman who helped him, but I’m afraid she got away.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“What—?”
“I was on the roof of the building next door. I heard all of it. When the woman came out the window, I was there to greet her. I killed her … but she had …”
Daphne raised her right arm and I saw a knife sticking out of her side.
“I still don’t know how she hid it,” Daphne gasped. “In that … flimsy dress.”
She squeezed my hand, closed her eyes and did not say any more.
When we arrived at the house with Daphne’s body in our cart, I kept everyone away. She never wanted to be gawked at. I told Tranio to begin building another pyre and not to let anyone disturb Daphne’s body.
“Do you want a guard posted, my lord?”
“There’s no need for that.”
“I didn’t think so, my lord. Especially after what Volconius sent over this morning.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come see, my lord.” He led us to the far side of the stable, out of sight of the animals. “Didn’t want to scare ’em.” he pointed to the wall of the stable.
Nailed to the wall, with its wings spread out, was the largest bat I’ve ever seen. It had a partially healed wound on its left shoulder and a white face.
“Volconius’ men killed it this mornin’, my lord,” Tranio said. “Out in the woods between our place and his.”
It wasn’t just the blow to my head that was making me dizzy now. “Get that thing down! Right now!”
“But, my lord—”
“Get it down!” I raised my fist and would have hit the man if he hadn’t jumped that instant to start pulling the nails out of the creature’s wings.
“What should I do with it, my lord?”
“Put it in the stall with Daphne. And treat it kindly. We’ll cremate them together.”
At a quick trot, Tranio carried the bat around the corner of the building.
“Are you all right?” Tacitus asked.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know. Would you be up for a trip to Metapontum in the near future?”
Tacitus nodded. “Since Julia and her mother are off to Sicily in a few days, I have nothing pressing, except for some lunch.”
“Agreed.”
But Hylas was waiting for us in the atrium. He held a rolled-up piece of papyrus.
“May I show you something, my lord?”
“Certainly.” I expected him to unroll the piece of papyrus right there, but he started back to the library. We had no choice but to follow him.
“My lord, I don’t know what to make of this.” He waved the piece of papyrus in his hand up and down. “I didn’t want to leave it here and I didn’t want to show it to you in the atrium. I simply don’t know how to explain it.”
“Explain what?”
“This.” He unrolled the piece of papyrus and I saw the drawing he had made of Aristeas on the day we found him. “Do you notice anything odd, my lord?”
I saw it immediately, or rather I didn’t see it. “The raven’s head is gone.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Tacitus peered over my shoulder. “There was a raven’s head on the drawing?”
“Yes, my lord. I drew exactly what I saw. The mark was here.” Hylas put his finger on the drawing just above the man’s left nipple.
“Do you remember the last time you saw it?” I asked.
“No, my lord. I hadn’t looked at the drawing since I made those copies of the face for you. I locked it in the chest where we keep your most important documents. But as I was working this morning I needed to consult something in there. When I saw this picture I noticed at once that the mark was gone.”
“And you’re sure it was a raven’s head?” Tacitus asked.
“Yes, my lord. Quite distinct, facing to the left.”
I had to sit down. “Something very bizarre is going on. Domitian himself could not have gotten in here and removed the mark from this drawing without us knowing about it.” I looked long and hard at Hylas. He was the only person who could have tampered with the drawing, but he met my gaze without flinching.
“Has it been erased?” Tacitus asked.
We inspected the papyrus closely, running a finger over it and holding it to the light at various angles to detect any sign of an erasure, but the sheet was as smooth as the day we bought it, just as smooth as Aristeas’ own skin had been when we noticed the mark missing in Myrrha’s bedroom.
XX
Three days later Tacitus had returned to Rome to help Julia and her mother get off on their trip to Sicily. I had ridden to Laurentum in the late morning, by myself, to ask Myrrha who Chloris’ father was. She refused to tell me, saying it would not be good for Chloris or for me to know. The man had threatened to kill her, she reminded me, if word of his child ever got out. He would surely know she had told someone, because she was the only one who knew the secret.
“It’s not Naevius?” I asked because she and Naevius were going to be married in a few days. The Long of It owned a small farm east of Laurentum and raised cattle. He’d been supplying Saturninus with cheese for some time.
“No, sir. It’s not Naevius. That I can assure you. But please don’t make me tell you any more. In spite of all you and your mother have done for me, it’s something I just can’t do. Even if it means you won’t count me as your friend anymore.”
There was nothing I could do but accept her decision and buy some cheese. Would I ever have an answer to that question? Did I really want an answer?
As I rode back home I tried to put the matter out of my mind. It was a beautiful day, I told myself. Tranquility had been restored in my life. My head finally felt normal again. The gold urn I had ordered for Daphne’s ashes had been delivered the day before. Myrrha and Chloris were making a good start in their new business. In the last few days I had answered enough questions to satisfy even my itching curiosity. There was still the problem—at least as I saw it—of people employed by Regulus less than a mile from my house. And I still didn’t know who in my house might be funneling information in that direction.
As I came to the turn-off to my house I noticed three riders approaching from the other direction. Being by myself, I started to urge my horse to get to the turn-off.
“Gaius Pliny, please wait,” the front rider called out.
I recognized the voice and slowed my horse.
Apollodoros, with two handsome young men beside him, pulled his horse up in front of me. All three men were armed.
I dispensed with formalities or pleasantries. “I never expected to see you again.”
“I’m sorry I was such an ungrateful guest and unreliable ally,” Apollodoros said. “I hope I can make amends.”
“Not until you’ve explained why you deserted us that night.”
He lowered his head. “I am ashamed of that, deeply ashamed. When I volunteered to ride with you, I honestly thought I might be of some help to you. But when the moment came, I proved to be what the Spartans used to call a ‘trembler’. Of no use to you or to anyone else.”
“At least you sent the horse back. Why not the sword?”
“I felt I needed it a bit longer. But here it is.” He motioned and one of his companions drew a sword and handed it to me, handle first.
“All right. That debt is paid. Where did you go and why are you back here now? My mother will not let you in the house, you know.”
“Yes, I know. I’m not expecting to be invited in. I wanted to return the sword and to offer something to help with the expenses of Aristeas’ funeral.” From one of the bags tied over his horse behind him he drew out a small pouch which jingled. He urged his horse closer to me and handed me the pouch. I pushed his hand away.
“I don’t want your blood money.”
He gave a sigh of resignation. “All right, sir. That’s how it’ll be then. But I do want you to see this.�
�� He reached up and pulled down the edge of his tunic over his left shoulder.
On his chest, just where it had been on Aristeas’, was a raven’s head, facing left.
APPENDIX
Pliny’s Letter about his Laurentine Villa
Ep. 2.17
Author’s note: Although Pliny describes his house in great detail, he does not make it easy to reconstruct the floor plan. I have found six attempts at drawing a floor plan of the house based on this letter—all of them differing in significant details. I have put a few key Latin terms in parentheses. Pliny’s writing style is typical of the so-called Silver Age of Latin literature, essentially the first century A. D. and the early second century. Like Tacitus, he writes in a clipped, choppy fashion. We often have to add a few words in translation to make his letters read more smoothly. This letter gives me a sense of being closer to Pliny because the first sentence in Latin reads, “Miraris cur me Laurentinum vel (si ita mavis) Laurens meum tanto opera delectet.” Laurens meum—I was born in Laurens, South Carolina.
Gaius Pliny to his friend Gallus, greetings.
You may wonder why my Laurentine house (or Laurentian, if you prefer) gives me so much pleasure. You’ll cease to wonder when you realize how attractive the house is, how ideally situated, and how broad an expanse of the shore it occupies. It’s seventeen miles from Rome. Once the day’s business is done, you can spend the night there without having cut anything short or rushed through it. The house can be reached by either the road to Laurentum or the one to Ostia. Leave the Laurentine road (via) at the fourteenth milestone and the Ostian road at the eleventh. Either way, the side road (iter) is sandy for a certain distance. In a carriage that makes for a somewhat slow journey, but on horseback it is a short, easy trip. On either side the scenery is varied. At places the road narrows when it runs through the woods and in other spots it widens when it passes through broad meadows, where flocks of sheep and herds of horses and cattle are brought down from the hills to graze in the pastures in the spring-like temperatures.
The house is comfortably large but not a burdensome luxury. You enter an atrium that is decent-sized and not at all undignified. Beyond that there are two porticos, rounded like a letter D. They enclose a small but charming courtyard, which is a nice place to shelter in a storm because it is protected by glass windows and an overhanging eave. From the middle of the courtyard you go into an inner hall and then a triclinium, in which I take a lot of pride. It extends out toward the shore; when the southwest winds churn up the sea, the spray of the waves settles lightly on this room. All around the triclinium are folding doors, or windows that are as large as the doors, so that you have a view of the sea on three sides and, on the fourth side, a view that extends back through the inner hall, the courtyard with the porticos, to the atrium, all the way into the woods and hills beyond.
A bit farther back and on the left, not so close to the sea, is a large room, with another, smaller one next to it, with one window facing the morning sun and another admitting the light as the sun sets. This window also offers a view of the sea, but from a greater distance and without exposure to the waves. The angle formed by this room and the projection of the dining room captures and intensifies the sun’s rays. This is where we spend most of our time in the winter and it is the location of the family’s gymnasium. The only wind that can penetrate here is that which brings rain clouds, but the area can be used again soon after the rain departs. Around the corner is a room with one curved wall made up of windows so that the sun comes through all day. On another wall of this room are shelves with cases holding the books which I enjoy reading over and over. Next to this room is a bedroom, the floor of which is raised and fitted with pipes to circulate warm air and keep the room comfortable.
The rest of this side of the villa consists of rooms set aside for my servants, although most of the rooms are adequate for guests. On the other side of the dining room is a bedroom large enough to serve as another dining room. It gets sunlight, both directly and reflected from the sea. Behind that is an antechamber with a high ceiling that keeps it cool in summer and walls that protect it from the wind in colder weather. Another similar room and antechamber share a common wall with this room. Next to that is the cold room of the bath, with two swimming baths projecting from each side. They are more than large enough when you consider how close the sea is. Adjoining this is the anointing room, then the sweating room. Next is the furnace room and the hot room of the bath. There are also two latrines, quite elegantly, if simply, decorated. Beyond them is the heated swimming bath, which guests always admire. You have a view of the sea while you swim.
Close by is the ball court, which catches the sun’s warmest rays in the afternoon. Next to the ball court is a two-story adjunct (turris), with two large rooms on the first floor and an equal number above, along with a dining room which offers a panoramic view of the sea and a number of the other houses along the shore. Another two-story structure has, on its upper floor, a bedroom which gets the morning and evening sun. Behind it is a large storeroom. On the lower floor is a triclinium, where you hear nothing of the sea but the sound of the waves breaking on the shore, and even that is muted. This dining room looks out on the garden and the promenade (gestatio), or exercise ground, which runs around it.
Around the promenade runs a border of boxwood, with rosemary where the boxwood doesn’t thrive. Boxwood will grow well in the shelter of buildings, but it shrivels when it is fully exposed to the wind and spray from the sea, even if it is at some distance from the water. Along the inside of the promenade is a shady arbor of vines, where the soil is so soft you can walk bare-foot. The garden boasts a number of fig and mulberry trees. The soil here is especially good for those, though not as good for other varieties. The dining room on this side, although it sits away from the sea, has as lovely a view as the other dining room has of the sea. Two rooms run around the back of the dining room. From their windows one can see the entrance to the house and an excellent kitchen garden.
From that point extends a covered arcade (cryptoporticus), large enough to be suitable for a public building. It has windows on both sides, but more facing the sea. On the landward side the windows occupy every other bay. On nice days the windows can be left open. When the weather is less enjoyable, the windows on one side or the other can be closed, depending on the direction of the wind. In front of the arcade is a terrace, fragrant with violets. The arcade increases the sun’s warmth by reflection and holds the heat on one side just as it breaks the force of the north wind. Thus it is as warm in front of the arcade as it is cool behind it. In the same way it breaks the force of the southwest wind, thus checking winds from opposite directions by one of its sides or the other. In the winter it is pleasant, but in the summer even more so because in the mornings its shade keeps the terrace cool and in the afternoon the garden and the promenade are kept cool as the sun rises to its height and then sinks, with the shadows falling longer or shorter on one side of the arcade or the other. In fact, the arcade receives the least sunshine when the sun is directly overhead, with its rays falling directly on the roof. With its windows open, the western breezes can flow freely, so the place doesn’t get oppressive because of stuffy air remaining in it.
At the far end of the garden, the arcade and the terrace is my favorite part—truly my favorite part—of the house: a suite of rooms which I built myself. The suite consists of a sunny room which offers a view of the terrace on one side and the sea on the other. It gets sun on both sides. There is a bedroom with folding doors that open onto the arcade and a window looking out over the sea. Opposite the wall in the middle is an alcove which can be opened onto the main room or cut off from it by opening or folding back the glass doors and curtains. It is large enough for a couch and two chairs. When you lie on the couch you can see the ocean over your feet, the neighboring villas behind you, and the woods beyond. These views can be seen separately from each window or blended into one panorama. Next to this room is my bedroom. Unless the
windows are open I don’t hear any noise—not from my slaves talking, or the murmur of the sea, or the sound of a storm. During the day, not even sunlight penetrates. This profound peace and privacy are created by a passage which runs between the suite and the garden so that any noise is absorbed in the intervening empty space. A small furnace room has been built here, and a small outlet holds in or diffuses the hot air as comfort requires. There is an ante-room and another bedroom which catches the sun’s rays as soon as it rises and holds them until midday, even though they strike it at an angle. When I settle in this sitting room I feel as though I am completely away from my house. I enjoy this sensation immensely, especially during the Saturnalia, when the rest of the house rings with the shouts and the freedom of the holiday. In my suite I do not interfere with their festivities, nor do they distract me from my work.
The house has one lack—running water, but we do have wells and springs which supply our needs. One curious characteristic of this area is that, wherever you dig you strike water near the surface and it is pure, not the least bit brackish, even though we’re so close to the sea. The woods around us provide an abundance of fuel, and we get other necessities from Ostia. There is also a small village just up the road, which supplies our basic needs. It has three baths, most convenient if I’m making a short visit or if I arrive suddenly and don’t want to heat the bath in the house.
The beauty of the shore is enhanced by villas either bunched together or scattered. When you look at them from the sea or another part of the shore, they give the appearance of a number of cities. The sand on the shore can be too soft to walk in if the weather is fine for a while, but it is usually hardened by the constant pounding of the waves. The sea doesn’t provide fish of any value, but there are fine soles and prawns to be had. My house provides any produce we need, especially milk. Herds collect here when they come down seeking water or shade.
The Corpus Conundrum Page 31
