Under Vesuvius

with goodies. I'd sent Marcus and the rest back to the villa for rest, doctoring, and to tell Julia what was going on. Over a humble but delicious lunch of sausage, seed cakes, fruit, and wine we discussed the latest twists.

'What sort of killer,' I said, 'goes to the trouble of murdering a slave girl, then lays her out with all possible dignity, as if she were a beloved relative, in one of the most beautiful sites the town has to offer?'

'A pervert,' Cicero said without hesitation. 'We've seen them in court often enough. The mad ones who kill repeatedly and perform little rites every time: perform unspeakable acts, take body parts, or else dress their victims in beautiful clothes or pose the bodies in grotesque ways or perform ceremonies of their own sick devising. It happens all too commonly.'

'She was killed near water, like Gorgo,' Hermes noted.

'Yes, that could be a connection,' I agreed. 'The mad killers Marcus Tullius referred to often employ such ritualistic repetitions. But why take such care with a victim, then strip her naked?'

We thought about this for a while, and it was Hermes who had the inspired answer. 'When she ran, she must have had to stop frequently in the fields to rest. By the time she arrived at her protector's house, her clothes would have been filthy with dirt and blood. This friend must have given her new clothing.'

'But why take it off-' Then I saw what he was driving at. 'Of course! She was given slave livery. Many of the great houses here dress their slaves in distinctive uniforms. The killer couldn't afford to have her found in the livery of his own household.'

'Very astute,' Cicero approved. 'You may have the answer.'

'That leaves us the motive for her murder,' I said.

'She may have simply known too much,' Cicero said. 'There has been a groat deal of bloodshed around here lately. Plenty of reason to eliminate an inconvenient slave witness.'

'Would she have fled to Gorgo's murderer?' I asked.

'She ran to someone she thought had reason to protect her,' Hermes said. 'She may have been wrong about that.'

'If so,' Cicero said, 'she wouldn't be the first to learn, too late, that a friend can be treacherous.'

A short time after this, a messenger came from Norbanus with the list I had requested. The ice company had leased caves to a number of familiar names: Norbanus, Silva, Diogenes the scent merchant; even Gaeto himself was among them.

'This doesn't narrow the search down any,' I said disgustedly. 'The only one missing is Diocles the priest. He isn't rich enough to afford such an exotic property and probably doesn't entertain enough to need one.'

'You don't suspect him of killing his own daughter, do you?' Cicero said, shocked.

'Men have done it before,' I pointed out. 'Even Agamemnon killed a daughter when it seemed necessary. Diocles was conveniently 'away' that night. He had the opportunity and he may have felt she had dishonored him with her multiple liaisons.'

Cicero laughed drily. 'Decius, I do not envy you. It's hard enough to get a conviction when you prosecute one man you know to be guilty. But to sort out one or more guilty parties from such a crowd, that is a labor worthy of Hercules!'

A little later Julia and the rest of my party arrived. She greeted Cicero courteously but coolly. Cicero was known for his opposition in the Senate to Caesar's ambitions. Cicero took his leave and I brought Julia up to date on the day's happenings.

'I've brought Leto and Gaia. They can be the mourners at Charmian's funeral.'

'Are they up to it?' I asked.

'Gaia is much recovered. Germans are tough. And Leto is greatly heartened.'

'Heartened? Why?'

'They were concerned that Diocles might seize them. They were not entirely sure that a praetor peregrinus would be competent to protect them. I told them that they were in my personal charge, that I am a Caesar, and that anyone who dared to interfere with them must answer personally to Julius Caesar.'

'Ah, that should do the trick,' I said. A mere Metellus holding the second-highest office of the Republic was no bargain as a guardian, but Julius Caesar himself, that was another matter entirely.

'And it was an excellent gesture, to give Charmian a funeral.'

'Cicero thought so, although he considered it eccentric.'

'Cicero is just a jumped-up snob. I, on the other hand, am a patrician. I appreciate the obligations of nobilitas.'

'I know a bit about nobilitas as well,' I assured her. 'My family, though plebeian, have been consulars for a good many centuries.'

'My point exactly,' she said with impeccable obscurity.

'On to more pertinent things,' I said. 'What do you make of the circumstances I've been investigating? In particular, the odd combination of smells on that girl.'

Julia shuddered. 'Just doing such a thing seems obscene, but I understand why you did it. In a way, I almost wish I had been there. My sense of smell is much more sensitive than yours.'

'Well, she's still right over there at the Temple of-'

'Don't even suggest it!' she cried with an apotropaic hand sign to ward off evil. 'The very thought fills me with revulsion. Now, if you are through making absurd suggestions-?'

'Quite finished,' I assured her.

'Well, then. Assuming you are correct about Zoroaster's Rapture, and I am confident that you are, it occurs to me that the person with whom she sought refuge would have bathed her immediately. The scent may have been in the bath oil or in an unguent applied to her wounds. Like many of the costliest scents, that one is believed to have curative properties.'

'Have you ever heard of a perfume that expensive being used on a slave?'

'This is Baiae. The oil or unguent may have been all that was convenient when she arrived.'

'That makes sense. What of the horse smell?'

'Maybe she didn't take refuge in a stable. Maybe she had been riding a horse.'

'Is that possible? In her condition?'

'We already know that she was incredibly resilient. Just surviving the beating in the first place, then escaping and making her way on foot to Baiae. What was one more ordeal to such a creature?'

I began to ponder, seeking to place the facts we had into some sort of coherent sequence of events, some possible process that might account for all, or most of them. I call this making a model. Julia preferred to call it a paradigm, because she was a snooty patrician and preferred to use Greek.

'All right,' I said, 'let's try this. The girl, with the collusion of Gaia, flees the temple. Somehow, hurt and bleeding, she makes her way to Baiae.'

'She had to pass through a gate,' Julia said. 'Probably the Cumae

gate.'

'Good point. I'll look into it. Somebody may have seen her, although from what I've seen of the city guard, the Gauls could have marched in without waking them. So she got through the gate and went to the house of her friend protector, whatever you wish to call him. She is taken in, bathed, her wounds treated, given new clothes.'

'Eventually,' Julia said, following my line of thought, 'she becomes a liability. Just why, we don't know. Perhaps she knew too much; perhaps he couldn't afford to have her discovered in his house. He tells her he's taking her somewhere else, somewhere safer.'

'He mounts her on a horse,' I speculated. 'He leads her on another. But they go only as far as the municipal laundry, where he does away with her, removes the incriminating clothes, and goes away, probably back into the town.'

'It's a possibility,' Julia said, 'but it leaves too much unexplained. Why did he kill her? Why the ritualistic disposition of the body? And just who did the girl think had a reason to protect her?'

'Almost anyone would be an improvement on Diocles,' I said. 'As for the rest, maybe Cicero's right and he's just mad.'

'Madness is a too-convenient explanation for seeming irrationality. It is a way to explain away that which we do not understand. More likely, the murderer had a very good reason for each of these apparently inexplicable