The Bull Slayer

Chapter Twenty-one

The Kalends of November

An elderly man was waiting for him in the antechamber, flanked by two sleepy-eyed door-slaves, who eyed him with resentment. He was one of the Night Watch, he said, whose job was to patrol the streets on the lookout for fires. He ducked his head to Pliny. “They’re dead, sir, all of ’em. The whole family, slaughtered like. The husband, the wife, the little-”

“Whose family, man?” Pliny peered into the Night Watchman’s frightened face.

“Glaucon, your honor. One of his servants come running out of the house as I was passing by. I went into the house with him and looked. Then I come here, not knowing where else-”

“Take me there.” Pliny called for his cloak and shoes and sent someone to rouse his chair bearers and Galeo, his senior lictor.

Glaucon’s was a large, handsome town house near the temple of Artemis, a short walk from the palace. The servants who met them at the door were gibbering with fear. They had been wakened in the middle of the night, they said, by groans and the sound of retching coming from the master’s bedroom. When they burst in, they found him dying; he took his last rattling breath as they watched. His wife was already beyond help. They ran to the children’s rooms-Glaucon had two young sons and a daughter-and found them dead as well; and Glaucon’s old mother, not dead, but unconscious and barely breathing.

Pliny sent Galeo back for Marinus and when the physician arrived they inspected the bodies together. The stink of vomit was everywhere. In the master bedroom, Glaucon lay on the floor in a puddle of it. He had kicked over a bedside table in his death struggle and the pieces of a smashed water jug lay beside it. His wife was half on, half off the bed, her mouth open as though in mid-scream, her lips blue, her shift rucked up around her waist, exposing her nakedness. They went to the children’s rooms. In one, two boys of about eight or nine-they looked like twins-lay clutching each other. In the adjoining chamber, a pretty girl of about thirteen had gotten as far as the doorway before she collapsed. Glaucon’s old mother lay in her bed, eyes closed and soaked with sweat. A servant girl sat beside her, bathing her face with a cloth.

Pliny realized his legs were trembling. His stomach rebelled and acid rose in his throat. Marinus, who was inured to death, saw how pale he looked and put out a hand to steady him.

“Who could have done this, Marinus?”

“Mustn’t leap to conclusions. Could be nothing more than a case of bad shellfish. What did they dine on?”

“I’ve already asked,” replied Pliny. “Roast lamb and vegetables. No oysters, nothing like that. Have we got a murder on our hands?”

Marinus looked thoughtful. “Poison? Not something I know much about. I’ve heard that sandraca, some call it arsenikon, can be ingested in food or drink and kill you a few hours later, depending on the dose. Makes sense that the man died last. He’s a big fellow, isn’t he? You saw the shoulders on him. Took longer for the poison to work its way through him.”

“But the old woman?”

“Old women don’t eat much. I’ll stay with her, if you like. If she pulls through, we may have an answer.”

“Please.” Pliny shook his head wearily. “The city’s on the verge of panic already, and now this. We must do whatever we can. I’ll leave you in charge, then. Send for me at once if she revives.” He paused in the doorway. “Is this arsenikon hard to get hold of?”

“I wouldn’t think so. It has various uses. I believe painters use it for a red pigment.”

As he left the house, the sun was just rising over the housetops and already a curious crowd of early-risers had gathered outside in the street. In another hour the whole city would be abuzz with news of the atrocity.

***

Pliny returned to the palace to find Pancrates waiting for him outside his office.

“I told you never to come here unasked,” Pliny glowered at him. “I warn you I’m in no mood-”

“Please, Governor,” the prophet looked pained. “I only want to prove my usefulness. I came as soon as I heard.”

“About?”

“Why, Glaucon, of course. What else?”

Pliny took him inside and shut the door. “What do you know about this?”

“About his death, nothing. The family is well-to-do. They have crop land and orchards and do a bit of trading on the side-Glaucon’s brother, that is-he’s the brains of the family. Glaucon, himself, I fear, was a bit slow-witted. But what a wrestler in his day! Oh, he was famous. In the all-out he would break arms and legs. Nobody could stand up to him.”

“Is that all you have to say? I could have learned this from anyone.”

“Tch, tch, such a temper, Governor. Well, you’re under a lot of strain, aren’t you? As a matter of fact, that isn’t all. What I was about to say, is that poor Glaucon consulted us not too long ago. Whenever the prophet said ‘us’, he meant himself and the god. ‘Will I be punished for slaying the lion?’ was his question. Well, we couldn’t imagine what he meant, there haven’t been lions in these parts for a hundred years.”

“‘Slaying the lion.’ And when did he consult you?”

“A few days after the procurator’s disappearance.”

“And what answer did you give him?”

“We told him ‘yes’ to see what would happen.”

“And what happened is that he was murdered.”

“So it would seem.”

Calpurnia had seen him enter. She was waiting for him out of sight. As Pancrates trotted down the palace steps, she rushed at him and seized his hand. “Please! I wrote Agathon a letter. He hasn’t answered! What shall I do?”

He pushed her away roughly. “I thought I was the filthy, Greek spy,” he snarled. “I’ve been warned away from you, madam. Your husband and I have an understanding. I can do nothing for you.”

***

Late the next day, word came from Marinus that Glaucon’s mother was conscious and able to speak. Pliny went there at once. He was met at the door by none other than Diocles.

“A terrible business,” murmured the orator. “I’m a friend of the family, you know. They appreciate your concern, don’t you, Theron?”-he nodded toward a man whom Pliny assumed was the brother-“but this is a matter for the civic authorities, not your office.”

Did anything happen in this city, Pliny wondered, that Diocles did not instantly involve himself in?

“If it’s a question of adulterated food,” Diocles hurried on, “the magistrates will see to it that the merchant is found and punished.”

“And if it’s poison?” said Pliny.

“Great gods! Why would you suspect such a thing?” The orator adopted an expression of horror.

“If it’s poison,” Pliny continued, “that affects the public order. My business. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to question the mother.”

“Only family members are permitted in the gynekeion-”

But Pliny had already pushed past him. Marinus met him at her bedroom door. “They ordered me to leave,” the physician said. “I politely refused.”

“Probably not so politely,” Pliny smiled ruefully. Postumius Marinus did not suffer fools lightly.

“She is very weak, though. Don’t tire her. Her name’s Berenice, by the way. And she doesn’t know yet that the others are dead.”

Berenice lay in bed, a veined and fragile dry leaf of a woman, her white hair spread out on the pillow, a coverlet pulled up to her chin.