with no bodyguard at all.'
'Because Venus protects him. But what goddess looks after you?' Bethesda scowled at me. 'You're an old man now. Old men make tempting targets for cutthroats and thieves.'
'Not as old as that! Why just today, a young slave engaged in a rather obvious and completely unsolicited flirtation with me. Said that I-'
'She probably wanted something from you.'
'As a matter of fact-'
'Promise me you won't stir from the house again without taking someone with you.'
'Wife! Did we not survive the civil war and the darkest days of the chaos here in Rome? Did we not survive a terrible storm at sea, and a rocky landing in Egypt, and a separation of many months, and my own intention to drown myself in the Nile, when I mistakenly thought that you must have met such a fate? How can you suggest that no gods watch over me? I've always assumed that my life must be providing them with considerable amusement; how else can you explain the fact that I'm still alive?'
She was not impressed. 'The gods may have been amused when you were Gordianus the Finder, always sticking your nose where it didn't belong, exposing so-called great men and women as conniving thieves and killers, daring the Fates to strike you down. But what have you done to amuse them lately? You sit at home, play with your grandchildren, and watch the garden grow. The gods have grown bored with you.'
'Bethesda! Are you saying that you are bored with me?'
'Of course not. Quite the opposite. I hated it when you were always putting yourself in danger. It seems to me that now is the best time of our lives, when you've finally settled down and no longer have to work. You belong in the garden, playing with Aulus and looking after little Beth. Why do you think I became so upset when I found that you'd left the house to go visit that woman and taken no one with you for protection?'
Tears welled in her eyes. Since our return to Rome, it seemed to me that a change had come over her. What had become of the strangely aloof young slave girl I had taken as my concubine, then married? Where was the self-contained, autocratic matron of my household, who kept a cool exterior and never showed weakness?
I took Bethesda in my arms. She submitted to the embrace for a moment, then pulled away. She was as unused to being comforted as I was to comforting her.
'Very well,' I said quietly. 'In the future, I shall be more careful when I leave the house. Even though the house of 'that woman,' as you insist on calling her, is only a few steps away.' I decided not to tell her about my excursion to the seedy, dangerous Subura.
'You'll be going back there, then?'
'To Calpurnia's house? Yes. She's asked for my help.'
'Something dangerous enough to pique the gods' interest in you, no doubt?' said Bethesda tartly, having recovered from her tears. 'Something to do with all those scrolls you've brought home with you?' She eyed the bag slung over my shoulder with the suspicion of those who have never learned to read.
'Yes. Actually… there's something I need to tell you. Something I need to tell everyone. Can you gather the family in the garden?'
They reacted more strongly to the news of Hieronymus's death than I had anticipated.
Bethesda wept-perhaps that was to be expected, given her new propensity for tears-but so did my daughter, Diana. At the age of twenty-four, she was quite the most beautiful young woman I had ever known (even allowing for a father's prejudice), and it pained me to see her loveliness marred by an outburst of weeping.
Davus, her hulking mass of a husband, held her in his brawny arms and wiped the mist from his own eyes. The last time I had seen him weep was when Bethesda and I arrived home unexpectedly from Egypt and found that everyone feared that we were dead. Poor Davus, thinking we might be lemures, first was scared half out of his wits-of which he had few enough to spare-then cried like a child.
Their five-year-old son, Aulus, was perhaps still too young to understand the cause of their grief on this occasion, but seeing his mother in tears he joined in with a piercing wail that set off an even more piercing cry from his little sister, Beth, who had recently learned to walk and tottered to his side.
My son Rupa was the newest addition to the family (by adoption, as anyone could tell by seeing the two of us side by side; he had the blue eyes, golden hair, and muscular frame of a handsome Sarmatian bloodline). Rupa had hardly known Hieronymus. Nonetheless, caught up in the family's grief, he opened his lips and, despite his muteness, let out a sound of despair as poignant as any line ever uttered by Roscius on the stage.
Even the young slaves, Mopsus and Androcles, who could usually be expected to exchange taunts at any sign of weakness, bowed their heads and joined hands. The brothers had been very fond of the Scapegoat.
'But, Papa,' said Diana, fighting back her tears, 'what was he doing in Calpurnia's employ? Something to do with Massilia? Hieronymus hardly had the personality to be a diplomat. Besides, he swore he would never go back there.'
I had decided to tell them as little as possible about the specific nature of Hieronymus's activities for Calpurnia. To be sure, I was not certain myself exactly what Hieronymus had been up to; I had not yet read the reports Calpurnia had given me. Beyond that, I saw no need for any of them to know such details, especially Diana, who more than once had expressed a desire, bordering on an intention, to someday do exactly what Hieronymus had done-to follow in my footsteps as a professional ferret for the rich and powerful of Rome. Even with her keen mind and a protector like Davus, such a dangerous activity was hardly suitable for a young Roman matron.
'Perhaps he was working for her as a tutor. Hieronymus was smarter than just about anybody!' This came from Androcles, who had been very impressed by all the stories Hieronymus could recite.
'It couldn't be that,' said Bethesda, sighing through her tears. 'Calpurnia has no need for tutors; she's never given Caesar a child. The woman is famously barren.'
'But Caesar has a son, even so, doesn't he?' offered Mopsus, doggedly following his younger brother's chain of thought. 'He had a son by Queen Cleopatra, a little boy about the same age as Beth. And they say Cleopatra is in Rome right now, to witness Caesar's Egyptian Triumph, and she brought her little boy, Caesarion, with her.' His face was lit by the glow of deductive success. 'I'll wager Calpurnia wanted Hieronymus to be Caesarion's tutor.'
Even Davus, as thick as he is, knew better than this. He laughed. 'I hardly think that Caesar's Roman wife would want to engage a tutor for the son of Caesar's Egyptian mistress!'
He was right, of course. But what was Calpurnia's attitude toward Cleopatra and, more especially, toward the child Cleopatra claimed to be the son of Caesar? I had seen Calpurnia grimace when she spoke the queen's name, but she had said not a word, harsh or otherwise, about Cleopatra. Mopsus and Androcles were clearly far from the mark with their speculations about Hieronymus, but could the Scapegoat's death have had something to do with Cleopatra, nonetheless? I felt a stab of eagerness to begin reading the reports Calpurnia had given me as well as Hieronymus's private journal.
But first, there were practical considerations to be dealt with. I had told Calpurnia that I would assume responsibility for Hieronymus's funeral rites. I dispatched Rupa and the slave boys with a cart to fetch his body. Diana, with Davus to accompany her, I sent to pay a call on an undertaker near the temple of Venus Libitina. I had used the man's services before. He would supply slaves to wash the body and anoint it with oil and perfumes, and deliver a wreath of cypress for the door and a funeral bier with garlands for my vestibule. He would also enter the name of Hieronymus in the official registry of the dead and make arrangements for his cremation.
Bethesda busied herself with preparing the evening meal. We would eat that night in honor of the memory of our departed friend, Hieronymus of Massilia.
Left to myself, I withdrew to the garden and sat on a chair in the afternoon shade. With the scrolls beside me, and with a much-desired cup of wine close at hand, I began to read.
I began with the documents Calpurnia had given me. The reports from Hieronymus-there were a great many of them-had been neatly arranged into sections under the names of various persons. Most of these people were familiar to me, and I could see why Calpurnia thought it worthwhile to keep an eye on them.
I turned to the reports regarding Marc Antony.
Antony had been one of Caesar's most trusted officers during the conquest of Gaul. Later, he fought beside Caesar at Pharsalus in Greece, where Pompey was routed. When Caesar pursued Pompey to Egypt, he sent Antony back to Rome to keep order. Because Antony's return occurred shortly after I left for Egypt myself, I had not been
