But Fabia, Pliny noticed, did not laugh. What was it that crossed her face for an instant? A tightening of the jaw muscles, the eyes moving to Silvanus and then sliding quickly away. Perhaps it was only his imagination.
“But he’s loyal,” Balbus continued. “Loyalty’s the great thing. Been with me for years.”
Another uncomfortable silence. Broken by Suetonius, who asked, “What can you tell us about the former governor?”
“Anicius?” Balbus answered. “Excellent man. Excellent. Miss him already.”
Pliny and Suetonius had met Anicius Maximus at the harbor where he was waiting, amidst a mountain of luggage, to sail back to Italy on their ship’s return voyage. He had seemed almost pathetically eager to be on his way. The emperor had nothing against the man, or at least nothing he had shared with Pliny, and yet Anicius’ jumping eyebrows, his fluttering hands, his muttered apologies for his hasty departure all seemed to signal some consciousness of guilt. Would he be the seventh governor of Bithynia to be indicted on his return for crimes real or contrived?
“We got along like brothers, each to his own sphere, no conflicts, no ruction.” Balbus seemed to feel the point needed underlining.
“We’re having trouble finding a number of documents in the-”
“Took ‘em with him,” Balbus cut him off. “Perfect right to. Governor’s papers are his own, you know that. Mine too.”
Pliny decided for the moment to let that pass. This was not the time or place.
Balbus swung his legs off the dining couch, stood and stretched. “Show you around the place.” Dinner, it seemed, was over.
The villa and grounds were spectacular, crammed with first-rate statues and objects, although jumbled together and poorly displayed as though the mere having of them was all that mattered to the procurator and his wife. Calpurnia, who was an artist herself, made appreciative comments to her hostess and asked where they had acquired this bust, that vase. Fabia glowered and answered her with curt monosyllables.
It was growing dark now and they were returning from the garden, Pliny and Calpurnia walking ahead, followed by Balbus and his wife and the others, when a slender figure, half-hidden in the shadow of the doorway, suddenly bolted across their path and vanished into the dim recesses of the house. It was so unexpected Calpurnia gasped and grabbed Pliny’s arm. “What on earth was that?”
Instantly, Balbus and Fabia were on either side of them, shouldering them back. “One of the slaves,” said Fabia too loudly, “pay no attention.” But her eyes said something else. For an instant, Calpurnia could have sworn, those agate eyes turned liquid.
It was all over in a moment and Balbus was eager to see his guests to their carriages.
“Delightful couple,” said Suetonius with a twinkle in his eye. He, Pliny, and Calpurnia had stepped down from their carriages and stood together at the palace gate. “You’re going to have your hands full with Balbus.”
“Balbus will open his books for me or find himself back in Rome explaining himself to Trajan. The emperor was very clear. There is too much money sloshing about in this province, misspent, unaccounted for, squandered on projects that never seem to be completed. Whether our friend Balbus has his fingers in any of that I do not know. But I plan to find out.”
“Do they have children?” Calpurnia asked.
“Why do you ask?” said Pliny.
“I just thought-no reason, really.”
“You, by the way, were wonderful, my dear as always. Putting up with that dragon.”
“Fabia doesn’t like me.”
“Not surprising. She’s enjoyed the highest rank among the Roman wives up until now. I know that doesn’t matter to you but it does to a woman like her. You now hold that place, like it or not, ’Purnia.”
If it had not been so dark Pliny would have seen the anxious look that crossed her face. Suetonius, with sharper eyes, perhaps did see it.
“Well,” said Pliny. “Let’s make an early night. Busy day tomorrow. We meet the Greeks.”
“Just one thing more, Gaius Plinius,” Suetonius said. “If you don’t mind. What Balbus said earlier, something about the Praetorians visiting you the night before the unlamented Domitian died. Some danger to yourselves? Happens I’m gathering material for another project of mine, biographies of the Caesars from Julius to Domitian. I’d be grateful for anything you might…”
Pliny froze him with a look.
“Well, I mean, that is…” Suetonius looked from Pliny to Calpurnia, who gazed at him steadily.
“We don’t speak of that night,” she said.
“Yes, well-sorry,” he stammered, “please forget I asked.”
“Already forgotten, my friend.” Pliny smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Sleep well.”
***
Not everyone slept that night.
In the temple of Asclepius, in a secret chamber beneath the great gold and ivory statue of the god, lamps burned late and a dozen sweating figures bent to their work:
Lads with nimble fingers inserted hot needles under the wax seals of the
Pancrates permitted this. He paid them little enough, let them enjoy themselves. Better paid and more serious were his oracle writers, men with a smattering of literary education who composed the answers in crabbed poetic verses that could mean anything. The written replies were attached to the
But that was for the common run of questioners. Seekers of higher status were vouchsafed an oracle from the mouth of the sacred python itself. Pancrates was careful to do this only rarely so as not to dilute the effect by overexposure. It was a complicated and tiring performance. He would sit in the doorway of the temple, the snake, asleep with drugged milk, hanging like a dead weight from his shoulders, its head under his arm, while he opened and closed the mouth of a canvas snake head by pulling invisible strands of horsehair. A confederate hidden behind him spoke through a tube made of cranes’ windpipes.
For still more important clients-the Romans and their foolish wives-Pancrates would grant personal visitations: drawing out their secrets so subtly that he seemed, to their amazement, to read their unspoken thoughts. It was a talent he had perfected over years.
For the past six months he had toured the provinces of Greece and Asia, drawing immense crowds everywhere he went and putting to shame those shabby Christian proselytizers whom he encountered at every turn. Now he had returned in triumph to Nicomedia, all the more sought after because of his absence. It was time now to reactivate his network of informants. For in every great house there was some servant, some lowly hanger-on, who was on Pancrates’ payroll. They sent him people’s characters, forecasts of their questions, and hints of their ambitions, so that he had his answers ready. And sometimes the questions revealed that the writers were up to illegal activities. In these cases he didn’t return the tablet with an answer but held on to it and used it to blackmail the sender. Here was where the real money was made.
Chapter Four
