'You can show me to the room where Hieronymus of Massilia lived.'
The young slave caught my use of the past tense and shot me a curious look, but he said nothing. He turned and motioned for me to follow him up the stairs.
Usually the choicest apartments in such tenements are located in the middle floors, high enough to escape the noise and odors of the street but not so high that climbing the stairs becomes an onerous challenge, or jumping from a window in case of fire means certain death. I had expected to find Hieronymus's apartment on the second floor up, or perhaps the third, but the sprightly watchman bounded up one flight of stairs after another. I found myself huffing and puffing and called to him to slow down, but he had disappeared from sight.
I followed at my own pace and eventually caught up with him on a landing. He was miming boredom by examining his cuticles.
'Hieronymus lived all the way up here?' I said. 'I should have thought-'
'Not on this floor. One more flight up.'
'What!'
'You have to take this final flight of steps, over here.'
Why had Hieronymus left my home for such a place? This tenement was not as squalid as some, but was it really an improvement on the comfortable quarters I had provided for him?
The last flight of stairs delivered us not, as before, to a landing with dark hallways leading to numerous apartments but to a single door with an open skylight above. Under the bright sunshine, the watchman produced an iron key and opened the door.
The room was sparsely furnished, but the rugs and chairs were of good quality. The space was brightly lit by unshuttered windows on either side. A doorway appeared to lead to another room. Another doorway opened onto a terrace that entirely encircled the apartment. I stepped outside.
'A rooftop apartment?' I said.
'The only one. The tenant had it all to himself.'
Hieronymus had done well for himself, after all. The space and seclusion would have suited him, and the vista would have reminded him of his pampered days in Massilia. This was one of the tallest buildings in the Subura, and the view was virtually unimpeded in all directions. Beyond the Forum there was an excellent view of the Capitoline Hill with its crown of magnificent temples and monumental statues.
I leaned forward, peered over the parapet, and felt a bit dizzy, gazing down at the tiny figures in the street below.
'How well did you know him?' I said.
'The tenant? Not at all. He kept to himself.'
We stepped back into the apartment. 'Did he have visitors?'
'Never. You speak of him in the past tense. Is the tenant-?'
'You can go now, Agapios. Leave the key with me, so that I can lock the door as I leave. In fact, I'll keep the key.'
'But tenants always leave their key with me when they go out. I don't have another.'
'Good.'
'But the mistress-'
'I have authority from Calpurnia. I showed you the seal.'
'So you did,' said the slave, cocking an eyebrow. 'All very mysterious!' He paused in the doorway and turned back. 'You know, for a graybeard who can barely manage the stairs, you're not bad looking.' He skipped lithely down the steps and vanished.
I stood, confounded for a moment. It had been quite some time since a young slave of either gender had flirted with me. I blinked and caught my reflection in the polished square of copper hung on the wall beside the doorway. Hieronymus must have used it for checking his appearance before leaving his rooms. The full lips set into a frown, the knitted brow, the flattened nose (a boxer's nose, Bethesda called it) all projected a stern countenance. The silver-streaked hair and beard were kept short and neatly trimmed; that was my daughter, Diana's, doing. There was perhaps a certain gentleness about the eyes, a suggestion of the callow youth I once had been, a lifetime ago.
I watched a trickle of sweat run down my forehead onto my nose. All the heat of the building rose to these rooms, which were baked by the sun as well. I grunted and wiped the sweat away, then shrugged at the figure in the mirror and set about exploring Hieronymus's lair.
I walked from room to room and searched the usual places. I lifted the rugs. I checked the chairs for false bottoms and rapped on the legs to see if they might be hollow. I rummaged though the trunk that contained his clothing. There were a few cups and jars and other containers; they held only wine or olive oil for the lamps. I examined the narrow bed, the straw mattress, the coverlets and the cushions. He kept his valuables in a little box under the bed. I found some coins and a few trinkets, but not much else of value.
Hieronymus had kept a small collection of books. The rolled-up scrolls were neatly inserted into a tall pigeonhole case against one wall. Most of the scrolls were identified by little tags with titles and volume numbers written on them: Eirenaios's History of Massilia, Fabius Pictor's History of Rome, the Epigrams of Appius Claudius the Blind, and so on. Perusing the bookcase from top to bottom, I came upon a whole row of scrolls that had come from my own library, including a rare copy of Manius Calpurnius's Life of King Numa. Cicero had given it to me many years ago. I couldn't remember ever lending it to Hieronymus. When he vacated my house, he must have borrowed it-if 'borrow' was the correct word.
Feeling a bit peeved, I pulled the scroll from its pigeonhole and unrolled it, wanting to check its condition. The scroll was intact, but several loose pieces of parchment had been rolled up inside it. I removed these extraneous pages and saw that they were covered with writing in Hieronymus's hand. I had only to scan a few lines to realize that I had found what appeared to be a private journal, kept hidden inside the scroll of Numa.
I felt a sudden chill. I sensed a presence in the room and slowly turned around, almost certain I would see the lemur of Hieronymus standing behind me.
I saw no one. I was alone.
Still, I felt an uncanny sensation of being watched, and in my head I seemed to hear Hieronymus's voice: 'How predictable you are, Gordianus! You saw your precious copy of Numa and felt compelled to check at once that I hadn't damaged it-you did exactly as I intended! You found my private notes, intended for my eyes only, while I lived. But now that I'm dead, I wanted you to find my journal, Gordianus, tucked inside your precious Numa…'
I shuddered and put the pieces of parchment aside.
I looked through all the other scrolls, but found no more hidden documents. There was one scroll, however, that piqued my curiosity. It was quite different from anything else in the bookcase. It was not a work of history or poetry or drama. It was not even a book, properly speaking, but a collection of odd-sized pieces of parchment stitched together. The various documents did have a common theme: astronomy, if I could judge the enigmatic notations and drawings rightly. The movements of the sun, moon and stars, and the symbols used to represent them, were not things I knew much about. Hieronymus's taste in reading had not run to the scientific, yet these notations appeared to have been made by his own hand.
I gathered up the scrolls which had belonged to me. I decided to leave the other scrolls, for the time being, except the astronomical miscellany, which I wanted to study further. I added that scroll to the others I was taking, along with Hieronymus's private journal.
I stepped outside the apartment and locked the door behind me.
III
'You went to that woman's house, alone?' Bethesda greeted me in the vestibule with her hands on her hips. 'You should have taken Rupa with you for protection. Or at least the two troublemakers, if only to get them out of my hair.' She referred to our two young slaves, the brothers Mopsus and Androcles, who were not quite boys anymore but not yet men, either.
'Protection? I hardly needed any. People say the city is quite safe now, with Caesar back in residence and his officers in charge, and with half the citizenry dead or in exile. Caesar himself is said to go strolling about the city
