The Bull Slayer

Suetonius, a shade too clever and rather too full of himself, the object of the others’ jealousy; and Zosimus, the lowest in status but the closest to Pliny in affection.

Pliny had just finished the recitation of his interviews with Fabia and Silvanus.

“You’re thinking he’s embezzled tax money and run off?” said Caelianus. “Why?”

“Because if we assume that he’s disappeared of his own volition, it has to be something at least that serious. And it will be your job to see if he has. I’m sending you over to the treasury tomorrow. I want it all counted down to the last obol and compared to the tallies. Take as many men as you need but work fast.”

Suetonius adjusted the fold of a new cloak so that it hung just so. “And if he hasn’t disappeared on purpose?”

“That is an alternative I would rather not contemplate. The assassination of a Roman official could set this province on fire.”

“Still, I just don’t see it. Balbus has been in public service for twenty-some years and no one’s ever accused him of anything, so far as we know. The emperor appointed him, after all, and Trajan is scrupulous about these things. And does he strike you as a runner? Running is a last resort. Surely he’d try other ways to protect himself first-trying to bribe you, for example. He hasn’t has he?”

Pliny gave him a wry smile. “I like to think my reputation for probity has preceded me.”

“Oh, quite.” Only Suetonius could banter with him like this.

“Still,” said Zosimus. He was careful to raise his hand and wait to be called on like a bashful schoolboy, conscious that the others wondered why Pliny included him in these meetings at all. “Still, that villa, all that art? Could he afford all that on a procurator’s salary?”

“Excellent point, my boy,” said Pliny. Zosimus, at thirty-four, was far from being a boy, but to Pliny he was still “my boy” and probably would be until he sprouted grey hairs. “But not conclusive. No one doubts that a procurator squeezes people, accepts presents, maybe persuades his friends to sell him things at knockdown prices. You know how it goes. It’s a fine line, and I’m sure Balbus knows how to walk it carefully. Helping himself to the taxes, however, is another thing.”

Nymphidius massaged his swollen knee; he suffered cruelly from arthritis. “I agree with Suetonius, I don’t think he’s run. And if he hasn’t, then someone’s done away with him. Not bandits, you’re right about that, Governor. The coast road’s busy in the morning, someone would have seen, and he disappeared before he ever reached the treasury-that is if we believe Silvanus.”

“But can we believe him?” said Pliny, throwing himself into his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “They could be in it together. I don’t like the looks of that man.”

“And we can’t tickle this fellow Silvanus, just a little?” Aquila growled, flexing his fingers as though in anticipation of having a go at the chief accountant.

“A Roman citizen? You know better than that, Centurion. Trajan would be furious if he found out. Not in keeping with the spirit of our reign. No. If I find prima facie evidence of guilt, I can send him to Rome for trial, but that’s all I can do.”

“On the other hand,” Suetonius put in, “you remember them at the dinner. The way Balbus humiliated him, called him ugly and stupid in front of all of us. I should think if anyone would like to put a knife between Balbus’ ribs it’s our friend Silvanus.”

“If we find him with a knife in his ribs I will give that serious consideration.”

“So, then, Governor,” said Marinus, “we wait until the money’s counted?”

“I have no better idea at the moment. We simply have nothing to go on.”

“And in the meantime, will you continue your circuit of the province?”

There was a long silence while Pliny sat with his chin in his hand. “I’ll give it a few more days here,” he said at last, “and hope that something turns up. Then I must go back. Damn the man, he couldn’t have picked a worse time to disappear! What I’m uncovering at Prusa, Nicaea, Caesarea-the rot goes much deeper than I thought. Rich men are lining their pockets while the province is on the brink of rebellion. And meanwhile our procurator is-where? He tried to conjure some mental image of Balbus-Balbus on a ship, sailing for a distant port; Balbus in a coach, racing for the Persian frontier; Balbus lying dead and unrecognized in a gutter somewhere; even Balbus hiding in his own house right under their noses. He couldn’t make any of it seem real. He stood up. “Enough for this evening, gentlemen. Thank you. I’ll let you go to dinner. Perhaps tomorrow our minds will be sharper, I hope mine will.”

***

Ione tucked Rufus in and kissed him. The little boy clutched the front of her dress with his small hands. “It’s all right, darling, we’re right next door, I’ll leave the lamp on. If you have bad dreams again you can come and get in our bed.” He had been like this ever since the earthquake.

Zosimus was already undressed and in bed. “You can’t imagine what it’s been like,” he said. “I don’t know how the master keeps going. I’ve seen him stopping on stairs sometimes to catch his breath. I’m worried about him. His uncle had a weak chest too, it’s what killed him. Marinus wants to bleed him but he keeps putting him off. And now this other business. Anyway, how are you? What’s my girl been up to?”

“Oh, it’s been quite dull around here. Must you go back soon?”

“Who knows?” He reached up and drew her down to him. “I love you.”

She purred, “Are you sure you’re not too tired?”

“Not a bit.”

She took his mentula in her hand. “Has it missed me?”

“Terribly.”

“It hasn’t been anywhere else, has it?”

“Promise.”

She pulled her tunica up over her head and tossed it across the room. She straddled his hips as he lay on his back and he rose up to meet her.

***

“’Purnia, I’ve missed you terribly,” Pliny said. They had shared a light meal together in their chambers and were now undressing for bed, though it was still early. “I brought you a present. Here, unwrap it.”

“Oh, Gaius, it’s beautiful!” It was a necklace strung with pearls and little gold oak leaves. “I’ll wear it tomorrow.”

He lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, stretched, and sighed. She lay down beside him. “Have you been keeping busy, my dear?” he asked. “Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

And she might have said, I’ve met a charming young Greek, a local landowner’s son. And guess what, he knows about painting, he’s actually taught me a few things. Of course, he thinks he’s in love with me-an old matron like me! You must ask him to dinner one night soon, you’ll like him.

But the words would not come.

Tomorrow, she thought, I’ll tell him tomorrow. In fourteen years of marriage she had never kept a secret from her husband. Her dear husband, so good, so loving-although, she thought, he had never really been a boy, not an impertinent, winking, charming boy like Agathon. No, don’t think of Agathon. That was over, a brief fantasy, like a waking dream, and now her life would flow again in its accustomed channel. As she wanted it to. Truly she did.

Pliny’s eyes were closed and he snored softly. She suddenly felt a great tenderness for him. She pressed her body against his and slid her hand between his legs. He stirred but did not wake. The poor man, let him sleep.

But there was no sleep for her.

Chapter Ten

The 13th day before the Kalends of November

The first hour of the day

The next morning Caelianus was ushered into the dining room just as Pliny was finishing his breakfast. The clerk looked worried.