The Bull Slayer

and Glaucon had belonged? They would feel like fools when he turned out to be nothing more than a surly old eccentric.

It wasn’t the worst tenement Pliny had ever been in-that had been in Rome years ago when he was searching for a runaway murderer- but it was bad enough: dark and smoky and verminous, like all such places.

There was nothing to do but knock on the door of the ground floor apartment. It opened a crack and a man’s face, double-chinned and shiny with oil, peered out. The odor of cabbage, burnt oil, and garum escaped from the interior, and the sound of a baby crying. The man’s eyes widened, seeing the unfamiliar figures of two well-dressed men.

Did an old man live in the building? Foreign accent? Unfriendly?

“Him? Third floor.”

A cat fled before them as Pliny and Suetonius mounted the sagging stairs.

There was no answer to Pliny’s knock. He put his ear to the door. Did he hear someone breathing? He was almost sure he did.

“Barzanes?”

No sound. Then an explosive, hacking cough.

Pliny put his shoulder to the door; the bolt came away easily from the rotted door jamb.

He was ancient. Bent-backed like the letter C. A nimbus of white hair surrounded a face that was withered and spotted like an old apple. But the forehead was broad and the nose large and strong like an eagle’s beak. He might have been handsome once, even kingly. He wore a long-sleeved tunic which hung to his shins; a threadbare shawl around his shoulders. He steadied himself with his left hand on the back of his chair. In his right hand, which shook visibly, was a butcher knife. He held it in front of him

“Who are you?”

“I am the governor of this province. I mean you no harm, Barzanes, put the knife down, please.”

The man made no move to obey.

Pliny took in the room with a glance: a table with the remains of a meal on it, one chair, a smoking brazier, a narrow cot with a plain spread, a small wooden chest, a bookshelf with a few scrolls, a cupboard with some plain crockery, a rush mat on the floor. Clean, neat. But so bare. Surely this is not the man who purchases property for three thousand drachmas. He was almost tempted to turn and leave. He took another step into the room, Suetonius coming in behind him.

“You own a piece of land on which there is a cave where the rites of Mithras are conducted. I need to know precisely where that cave is and who are the members this cult.”

The knife sliced the air. “Get out! I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have no-” the words ended in a fit of coughing and the old man sank onto his chair. The knife clattered to the floor.

There was fear in those rheumy eyes, and understanding.

It is him. Pliny waited until the coughing fit ended.

“Two members of the cult, the Lion and Bridegroom, have been murdered, apparently by another member, the one called the Persian. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t deny it.”

He flung out an arm. “No one has been murdered. A riding accident, food poisoning.”

The shock was wearing off, the man gaining control of himself.

“You don’t believe that. Help me find this murderer. Or perhaps you already know, or can guess who it is. Maybe you should fear for your own life.”

The old man waved this away.

“You understand you are violating the law on illicit associations. I can prosecute you for that alone. I will overlook it in return for your cooperation. Come now, who is the Persian?”

The old eyes looked fierce. “No. I don’t know how you know what you do, but these are mysteries and you are not an initiate. You want to arrest me, torture me? Do so, by all means. It will take very little to separate my spirit from my body and send it flying up to the stars. Do you want someone to persecute?” The eyes narrowed now and there was a hint of a smile around the withered lips. “I know of some who worship a crucified criminal. They meet in secret on the day of the Sun and shamelessly imitate our own rites. And I’m told they refuse to sacrifice to the gods or the emperor. I can tell you where to find them.”

“I’ve dealt with Christians before,” said Pliny impatiently. “They are not my concern at the moment. You are. Now, listen to me, Barzanes.” There was no other chair in the room. Pliny pulled over the wooden chest and sat down on it. He brought his face close to the old man’s. “I know you aren’t an enemy of Rome like the Christians. I have no wish to persecute you. What if I were to become an initiate in your mysteries?”

The old man snorted.

“No, I mean it. I am a seeker of ancient wisdom. I’ve been initiated into the mysteries of Isis and the Eleusinian goddesses.” Pliny was never comfortable lying; he could almost feel Suetonius smirking behind his back. “If this Mithras is a great god, I want to know him. As does my friend here.”

He’ll take the bait. Pliny thought. Pancrates wouldn’t, he’s a swindler. But this man is a true believer. He wants to convert me.

Barzanes looked into Pliny’s eyes long and searchingly. “I am the Father,” he said at last. His bent back straightened, his chin came up. “I am sprung from the prophet Zoroaster. I preach eternal life through the life-giving blood of the Bull, slain by Mithras, the Unconquered Sun, the Light of Truth. He is young and strong, a god of soldiers. Only men are permitted to worship him. The Persians have known him since ancient times.” Barzanes’ voice was hoarse with age but there was still power in it; the accent foreign, but the Greek excellent. Once, it might have been a commanding voice, even stirring.

“I’ve spoken to the Persians,” said Pliny. “They don’t know you.”

“I have nothing to do with them, they worship Mithras in their own way. My mission is to the Greeks, and even to you Romans. And I am not alone. There are others of us in every corner of your empire, even in Rome itself, who even now are spreading the Faith. One day soon the whole world will know the power of my god. You want to be initiated? First, you must master the science of the stars. You must pay a fee. You must prepare yourself by fasting and purification-”

“I say,” Suetonius spoke for the first time, sniffing and wrinkling his nose. “I would have thought a prophet might live in a sweeter-smelling part of town.”

Great Zeus, Pliny cursed silently, shut up!

But the spell was broken.

Barzanes blinked. His head swung from Pliny to Suetonius and back. “You’re lying! You think you’re clever. You’ve only cheated yourselves. Get out.”

Pliny drew a deep breath and stood up. “All right, old man. I leave you with this warning. These rich and powerful men whom you’ve somehow attracted-don’t trust them. They are drawing you into more trouble than you will ever be able to get out of. Think about that, and then come and talk to me.”

“I am sorry,” said Suetonius as they emerged into the street. “Couldn’t help myself. The pretentious old fool. I hate these filthy barbarian cults.”

“No more than I do,” said Pliny. “Well, what’s done is done. But I think we’ve stung him. He won’t sit still now. He’ll make a move.”

He spoke to his lictors, who were waiting outside. “Galeo and Marius will wait here tonight, across the alley where you can watch the building without being seen. I’ll send men to relieve you in the morning. You’re watching for an old man who walks with a stick. Wherever he goes, follow him.”

***

Barzanes sank onto his chair and stared at the open doorway. He took a rattling breath and tried to still his heart. It fluttered like a trapped bird in his breast. Another fit of coughing seized him and brought tears to his eyes. Too old, I’m too old. I’ll die before my work is done.

Was it possible, what the Roman said? The Persian a murderer? For what possible reason? He wouldn’t believe it. But could it be? He must tell this to the Sun-Runner. He would go to see him in the morning. Risky, to meet outside the cave, they seldom did it, but now he must.

He struggled to his feet and went to shut the door. Seeing that the bolt was broken, he pushed the chest, the small box that contained his few possessions, up against it. The effort brought on another fit of coughing. Then he took his plate from the table and scraped the uneaten bits of bread and cheese out the window and tossed out the