The Bull Slayer

“You won his heart?”

“I’m not such an old woman yet.” She lowered her eyes.

“Indeed not.” She wasn’t above fishing for a compliment.

“He hated his wife and talked about divorcing her and making me his concubine. He said he could obtain Roman citizenship for me and my son, said he had friends who were close to the emperor. And then he promised to marry me.”

Exactly as we’d thought! Suetonius reflected with deep satisfaction. Now try a different tack, circle around. “Tell me something about yourself, Sophronia. How do you come by-all this? His gesture took in the room and what lay beyond.

She went to the sideboard now and poured herself a goblet of wine, then poured more for him. “My father was a successful merchant. My late husband, not so successful. He went down with his ship in a storm five years ago, leaving me with a load of debts and a young son, who is now twelve years old and wants to be a Roman legionary when he grows up! Can you believe it?”

“And you found it necessary to go into this particular line of business?”

“Whoring? It’s a good deal less risky than shipping. Respectability doesn’t interest me, profit does. I discovered I had a talent for business. I’ve taken something sordid and made it elegant. It isn’t about sex, you know, it’s about theater. Sex is only the last act. If you don’t approve you can leave.”

Angry again, I’ve touched a sore spot. “On the contrary, lady, I’m filled with admiration. Anyone who commands a fortune like yours-”

“If only I did command it.” She set her goblet down hard, splashing some of the wine. “I have a brother, a half brother actually, Argyrus. My father’s first wife was a Greek woman. After her death, he married again, this time a Persian-you may know there is a sizeable Persian enclave here-she was my mother.”

Half barbarian, Suetonius thought, I could almost have guessed. “And so Argyrus is older than you are and pure Greek and-”

“And my oldest living male relative, yes. Your Roman women enjoy an enviable freedom. It’s not the same with us. He controls my fortune and does nothing but waste it, sucks my blood like a leech.”

“But if you had married Balbus, Argyrus would have lost control over your money.”

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

“And where might I find this brother of yours?”

“Here, as often as not, helping himself to the merchandize free of charge.”

“Would you object if I interviewed him?”

“Why should I?” she murmured.

“Thank you, Sophronia, you’ve been very helpful. The governor and I appreciate it.”

Perhaps it was the wine; the frown lines were softening, there was almost a wistfulness in her gaze. “I hope you catch whoever did it,” she said. “Balbus was not-not an easy man to like. What can I say, he was a Roman. But he meant something to me.”

“I’m sure he did.”

She squared her shoulders. “So. Have I answered all your questions? Then let me ask you some.”

For the next few minutes he opened himself to her-not everything, naturally, but more than he had planned; perhaps more than was wise. He had no children, he told her. His wife was in Italy. It was a marriage of convenience. He talked about his boyhood in North Africa, about his ambition to make his mark in literature. Finally, he even told her about his monograph. She laughed and made him promise to send her a copy when it was done.

They had far exceeded the quarter of an hour she had said she would allow him.

“I’ve taken enough of your time, Sophronia,” he said at last. He made to get up. “Thank you again for seeing me. I can find my way out.”

She looked at him under her heavy lashes. “You needn’t go,” she said.

Chapter Twenty

The day before the Kalends of November

The following morning, Suetonius located Pliny several miles beyond the city. With an architect and surveyor at his heels, the governor was inspecting the ruined arches of an abandoned aqueduct. It was a cold, clear day. Suetonius had ridden out on horseback and found that the sharp air revived him a little. He hadn’t had much sleep.

“Five million sesterces gone to waste!” Pliny was scowling. “And into whose purse did it disappear? I aim to find out. Meanwhile the city is starved for water. As long as the Balbus case keeps me in Nicomedia, there’s plenty to do here. We’re trying to see how much of the old brickwork is salvageable.” He signaled to his companions to take themselves out of earshot. “I expected to hear from you last night. You spoke with Sophronia?”

“The conversation went on, ah, a little longer than I had planned. You’d gone to bed by the time I got back.”

“Really.” Pliny raised an eyebrow. “You found her company agreeable?”

“Yes, well, I mean-”

“But not too agreeable, I hope.” He gave his friend a penetrating look.

“No. We discussed my monograph. She was most informative.”

“I can imagine. You know we need to be impartial dealing with these people. No entanglements. You do understand that.”

“Yes, absolutely. Yes.”

“Well, and what did you learn?”

Suetonius recounted their conversation.

Pliny’s eyes lit up. “Extraordinary! We guessed right on every count! Argyrus just might be our man.” He clapped Suetonius on the back. “I’ll be the rest of the morning here. You ride back and tell my lictor Galeo to bring Argyrus in. Where will he be, at the brothel?”

“Possibly, but I advise against arresting him there. Cause too much of a stir. Best we pick him up at home even if we have to wait. Sophronia can tell me where he lives.”

“Right you are.”

“Where do you want to question him? We can use the tavern again, keep things hush-hush.”

“Hmm. I see your point, but no. Have the lictors take him down to the dungeon and leave him there for a few hours. I want this man thoroughly frightened.”

***

Afternoon

The ancient kings of Bithynia had equipped their palace with a warren of airless underground cells, where generations of nameless and forgotten prisoners had dragged out the last years of their lives. The walls were covered with their desperate scribblings. A larger area served as guardroom and torture chamber. It was a place to unman even the bravest.

“Is this how honest citizens are treated now? Hauled out of bed by Roman bullies? My wife’s not well, they left her in hysterics. I have important friends, this won’t go unnoticed, I promise you.”

Though it was cold in the dungeon, Argyrus was sweating and his color was high. He was a ferret-faced man of about fifty, with a pointed nose, a receding hairline and a mouth full of bad teeth. He mopped his face with his sleeve.

“An honest citizen,” said Pliny, looking at him severely, “has nothing to fear.”

The stone walls of the chamber were damp and encrusted with niter. Outside the iron-bound door, two brawny guards, took up their post. A shorthand writer sat in a corner of the room, his stylus poised.

“And just what does that mean?” Argyrus was more angry than frightened.

“Vibius Balbus, the procurator, was last seen alive the morning of the fourth day before the Ides of October.