'This makes no sense,' she said when my recitation was done. 'These are people with everything to lose. Why would they participate in some crackbrained conspiracy against Rome?'
'My own thought,' I told her. 'And while the Greeks are well-known political morons, I doubt that even Greeks could seriously entertain the idea that some old colonies might gain permanent independence from Rome and that this could be a desirable thing. So what is really go-mg on?
'I have no idea, but I am cheered to learn that you weren't utterly besotted by the woman's immodest dress and more than abundant flesh. I've known you to be distracted by these things before.'
'I won't deny it. But I'm a serious man these days. I am a Roman praetor and such men as I do not succumb to the temptations of loose women.'
'Hah! If that's true, you are unique among Roman magistrates of our generation.' She rolled close and wrapped an arm around my waist. 'And if you are suddenly so dignified, why are you going around questioning suspects? That's a freedman's job.'
'Do you think Jocasta would have spoken to Hermes as she spoke to me?'
'Probably not. But only because you are the one she wants to deceive. The questions are: Why the deception and what is the real story? What is she covering?'
'And for whom?' I said.
'The obvious answer is her husband,' Julia speculated. 'It is probably he who is up to something, not the others.'
'How does this help Gelon?' I demanded.
'Perhaps she doesn't want to help Gelon,' Julia said.
This brought me up short. 'She doesn't want to help him?'
'Why should she? She isn't his mother. She may have children of her own she wants Gaeto to favor. She may be pregnant. It's not unknown for a subsequent wife to edge other wive's children out in favor of her own.'
'I hadn't thought of that,' I admitted. 'I've been going on the assumption that she wants to protect her husband and his son.'
Julia gave my waist a little squeeze. 'This is why you married me,' she said, 'to think of these things that tend to escape you.'
I pondered for a while. 'That necklace.'
'What about it?' Julia asked.
'It bothers me. The girl went out in her best jewelry. Why didn't she wear that necklace?'
'You see? My subtlety has rubbed off on you. My guess is that the necklace was the gift of a different lover. She wouldn't have worn it to meet the one who hadn't given it.'
'So which lover was the poet?'
'Need it have been one of them? Why not a third?'
'Why must things be so complicated? And just how many affairs could that girl have concealed from her father?'
'Men can be selectively blind,' she pointed out. 'Women rarely are. I've been studying the poems. I am all but convinced that the writer is Greek, not a Roman writing in Greek. There are giveaways in the use of the two languages.'
'I'll defer to you in this. Your command of Greek is far better than mine.'
'And there's something else about it-I can't quite put my finger on it, but I think it will reveal itself with further study.'
For Julia to express herself with less than full certitude was unusual, so I did not press her over this tantalizing hint.
The next morning I made it my business to locate Gaeto. As I sat through another morning of desultory cases in court, Hermes was away, in search of the Numidian slaver.
The last case of the morning involved my companion of the Pompei-ian amphitheater, Diogenes. Standing as his citizen patron was Manius Silva. I had a feeling that I was soon to learn what I had been bribed for.
The bailiff announced, 'Suit is brought against Diogenes the Cretan by the perfumer Lucius Celsius. The charge is fraud and unfair business practices.'
A dispute between scent peddlers was not quite on a level with struggles for world dominion in the Senate, but I seemed to have a personal stake in this matter, so I bade them continue. The men involved took the usual oaths.
'Celsius,' I said when the formalities were done, 'what is the nature of the charge you bring against Diogenes?'
'This Greekling,' Celsius said, pointing a skinny finger at the man, 'this perfidious Cretan, has been counterfeiting some of the costliest scents in the world, concocting them from cheap ingredients and selling them at the highest price!' The man shook with indignation, probably for the benefit of the jury. He was a painfully thin, balding man of about forty years, and from the smell of him he dipped his toga in his own wares.
'Diogenes, what have you to say?' I asked.
Manius Silva stepped forward. 'As the citizen patron of Diogenes, I will answer these charges, noble Praetor. The splendid Diogenes is honest and blameless, as all citizens of Baiae are quite aware, and he speaks only the truth.'
Here there was muffled laughter from the many bystanders. To hear a Cretan described as honest, blameless, and truthful was a rare joke.
'Order, there,' shouted my chief lictor. The mirth subsided and Roman justice resumed its progress.
'Each of you will have his say,' I proclaimed. 'But I don't intend to waste the rest of the day hearing a wrangle over perfume. This trade, I remind you, is strictly regulated by the sumptuary laws, which are being rigorously enforced this year. Each of you has until the fall of a single ball to state his case.'
I nodded to the court timekeeper, and the old slave pulled the plug on his water clock. This clever device released water at a measured rate and, by a subtle mechanism, dropped steel balls at regular intervals. These fell into a brazen dish, making a loud clatter.
'Celsius,' I said, 'you may begin.'
The man cleared his throat ostentatiously and withdrew a roll of papyrus from the folds of his toga and opened it. 'The lying, counterfeiting Cretan rogue Diogenes, in violation of the most sacred rules of the Brotherhood of Narcissus, the ancient guild of perfumers, has brazenly concocted a number of the costliest scents, using cheap and inferior ingredients, and passing off these noisome substances as genuine, sells them at the full price, as regulated by the-' he made a half turn and bowed in my direction '-sumptuary laws.' This raised a laugh.
'The scents thus falsified include those known as Pharaoh's Delight, Babylonian Lilac, Tears of the Moon, Zoroaster's Rapture, Milk from Aphrodite's Breast, Gardens of Ninevah, Illyrian Blossom,-'
'Enough,' I told him. 'We don't need a whole roster of the smells that drive us poor husbands to bankruptcy. Why do you believe that Diogenes has been counterfeiting these fragrances, which, I hear, are largely made of things like whale vomit and afterbirths and anal glands and other revolting substances.'
He rerolled his papyrus with a frown. 'Sir, that is base calumny. Ambergris, for instance, has almost no scent of its own. It merely stabilizes-'
'I don't want to hear perfumer's shoptalk!' I barked. 'I want to hear
evidence!'
'Well, then. Certain persons in my employ have told me that, secretly, Diogenes buys up great loads of flower petals, lemon peel, cedar oil, and other fragrant but common substances and in a kitchen of his manufactory blends them with distilled wine and pure oil until he achieves an approximation of the great perfumes, at least close enough to deceive the nose of one unskilled in perfumery.'
'And who told you this?' I demanded.
'Certain persons employed in this nefarious process.'
Silva leapt to his feet. 'Praetor, I object! The word of suborned slaves is worthless!'
'Sit down,' I said. 'You shall have your turn presently. Celsius, the word of suborned slaves is worthless. You'll have to do better than that.'