visiting the house, how many of them there are and why they are meeting. Are there others involved, perhaps, who never show up in person? Keep your eyes open and inform me of anything new immediately.’
‘It won’t be easy,’ replied Artemidorus, ‘but I’ll do my best. If I learn anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.’
‘Come here when you have news. If I’m not around, my assistant will know where I am and how to find me at any time. Farewell, Artemidorus. Be careful.’
Artemidorus promised he would and took his leave.
Antistius reflected on the meeting in silence and didn’t move until the servant knocked to say that a new patient had arrived.
Rome, the Wild Olive tavern, 11 March, one p.m.
Sitting under the olive tree, Silius looked at the sun and then at the shadow cast by the pole holding up a skeletal grapevine. He called the tavern boy over and said, ‘Bring me a glass of Tuscolano Rosso and some toasted bread.’
His order was promptly filled. Silius dipped the toasted bread into the wine and began to eat. There weren’t many people on the road at this time of day. A sausage vendor had set up a cart at the other end of the square and a group of rowdy youths was swarming around him. Two or three of them distracted him while the others were busy stealing sausages and passing them behind their backs to the last in line. At this point, they exchanged a signal and scampered off laughing. The vendor ran after them with a whip, while others popped out of a narrow alleyway and made off with another three or four sausages.
‘The pack at work,’ mused Silius, ‘drawing the victim away from safety.’
He raised his eyes to the sky for a moment to watch the flight of a couple of gulls. There was no sign of the person he was waiting for. He finished eating and waited some more, ordering another glass of wine now and then.
The owner of the tavern passed by with a bowl of dormouse stew for some other customers and Silius stopped him.
‘Are you sure no one has asked for me?’
‘I’ve already told you,’ replied the man, ‘not a living soul. I know everyone around here. If a stranger showed up I would spot him immediately. Don’t you know what this bloke looks like? Tall, short, fat, thin. .’
‘No,’ said Silius, looking down. ‘I have no idea.’
The tavern owner shrugged and widened his hands as if to say, ‘So what do you want from me?’
Silius swallowed another mouthful of wine, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and made to leave. But as he was getting to his feet, he saw a person at the corner of the house on his left making an odd gesture. Could it be him?
Silius took a quick look around and, trying not to attract any attention, walked towards the individual who was beckoning to him. Now he could see the person well. It was a woman of modest appearance, probably a servant or a freedwoman, wearing work clothes, with a rope belt around her waist. She looked about forty, and had the callused hands of a woman accustomed to working in the fields.
‘Come this way,’ she called as Silius approached. ‘I’m the person you’ve been waiting for.’
‘Good. Well, then?’
‘The person who sends me says they can’t meet with you. They don’t know you well enough and can’t receive you.’
Silius was clearly irritated. ‘Damn it all! But why? Don’t they know how important this is? That it’s a matter of life or death?’
‘I know nothing,’ replied the woman. ‘I’ve never even seen the person who sent me here before. I don’t even know who it is.’
Silius grabbed her arm. ‘Listen to me! I must — whatever the cost — meet with the person who sent you. If you do as I say, I’m willing to pay you well. Say that I have very important information that directly regards the person — and that person’s son. You’re a slave, aren’t you? Am I right?’
‘You are,’ she replied.
‘Well, I promise you here and now that I’ll give you enough money to buy your freedom. Just do what I’m asking, by all the gods!’
The woman lightly touched the hand that was gripping her sleeve so Silius would let go, then responded without looking at him, ‘Do you really imagine that a woman of my condition can speak to a high-ranking person? I received an order and I learned the words I told you by heart. Tomorrow I’ll be on some farm or other tying up bundles of twigs. I’m sorry. I would have helped you willingly.’
She hurried away.
Silius leaned his elbow against the wall, his head on his arm, and didn’t move from that position for a long time, torn between anger and frustration, not knowing what to do.
A hand fell on his shoulder. Silius spun around, his fingers round the hilt of the dagger he wore in his belt. He found the innkeeper in front of him.
‘That person you were looking for came.’
‘What are you saying? I just-’
‘A tall bloke, skinny, black circles around his eyes. He left a message for you.’
Silius didn’t say another word, but followed the man back to the tavern. The people sitting at the other table were just mopping up the remains of their tasty dormouse stew with some bread. A dog waited hopefully for the bones, which were not forthcoming. The wine jug and empty glass still occupied the table where Silius had been sitting.
The owner took him to the back of the shop and handed him a small sealed scroll. Silius reached for his moneybag and handed over a couple of
Silius moved away until he was safely out of sight in the shade of a portico, then opened the message:
Silius at on the base of a column and reflected upon each word of the letter he’d been given. The response to his request was thorough, but difficult to interpret. If the person writing to him had been kept out of everything, what could be done? What was this road between two chasms?
As he pondered the puzzling message, the words fell into place.
A person who was torn between two powerful, contrasting emotions.
A person who could do little but who promised to act.
The signature was there. The name lay in the messenger who had been sent: a servant.
This confirmed that the person writing to him was Servilia.
He had to conclude that she was being kept under strict surveillance, so someone must be afraid that she might reveal something. Who, if not her son? What, if not a plot against Caesar’s life?
She couldn’t say anything specific because she evidently feared, despite her precautions, that her letter might be intercepted. That was why she signed the letter so cryptically, so that only the designated receiver could identify the sender. Perfect. At this point he had sufficient evidence to warn Antistius first and then Caesar. He would force his commander to defend himself! Perhaps Publius Sextius would arrive soon and could be consulted about organizing a proper defence.
