Under Vesuvius

12

The local festival was an annual celebration in honor of Baios, the helmsman of Ulysses, whose tomb I had been shown outside the gates. It commenced with a sacrifice at the tomb, accompanied by much pomp and ceremony. This I attended as a visiting dignitary. All the priests of the region turned out, many of them dressed in regalia peculiar to the district. Diocles was there, representing the Temple of Apollo, looking no more solemn than usual.

Young girls robed in white danced before the tomb and draped it with wreaths and garlands of flowers, and libations of wine and oil were poured over the altar. Then the girls led the procession back into the town amid loud singing from the civic chorus, scattering flower petals lavishly.

In the forum, stages had been erected upon which dancers and actors performed stories connected to the epic voyage of Ulysses, many of these extremely salacious. Calypso was portrayed by a Spanish dancer from Gades whose joints seemed to bend in all directions. We also learned

that Circe and her attendants still had uses for Ulysses' men even after they were transformed into beasts.

The performances were followed by another of the lavish public banquets we had grown accustomed to. It occurred to me that, had it not been for all this chasing about after murderers and the occasional fight with bandits, this stay in southern Campania would be making me very fat.

The duumviri went out of their way to be conciliatory. There was, after all, no profit to be had from resisting Rome, and much to be gained by cooperation. The bandit attack had embarrassed them and my act of calling in the troops had sobered them. As for Gelon, the trial would be on the morrow and all would be settled then. Besides, nothing should stand in the way of a good party.

In that spirit, we ate and imbibed and enjoyed the proceedings as if no dark cloud hung over us. Of course, a very palpable cloud did just that. Vesuvius was belching out a particularly profuse and noxious plume of smoke that day. Luckily, the prevailing wind kept the soot and ashes away from Baiae. Most of it seemed to be falling into the Bay of Neapolis, but an occasional shift of wind brought us a hot-iron odor laced with the stench of burning sulfur. It was rather like those aforementioned skeletons people use as decoration in banquet rooms, reminding all and sundry that death is always near and we might as well enjoy life while we can.

As if Baiaeans needed encouragement to enjoy life. During dinner famous Greek rhapsodes sang us the Odyssey, their Attic Greek so flawless, their renditions so filled with spirit and emotion that you could hear the oars creaking in the tholes and the splash of the great stones cast by Polyphemus at the fleeing ship of Odysseus (old Baios at the helm, no doubt.) Cognoscenti compared these performances with those of past years and, naturally, some claimed to have heard it done better. I never had.

When the festivities were over, Julia and I were entertained at the home of Publilius the jewel merchant. The last thing we needed was more food and wine, and by local standards this gathering was all but austere. Instead of another bout of gluttony, we were treated to an evening of that rarest and most delightful of diversions; sparkling conversation. Publilius had invited the wittiest and most eloquent men and women of the district, people noted for their skill at repartee. There were only two rules to observe: It was forbidden to talk about politics, and nobody was to talk too long about anything. Each of us was provided with a basket of buns, which we were to throw at anyone who waxed too loquacious.

It seemed that even a jewel merchant could be a person of taste. I have rarely enjoyed myself more, and would scarcely have believed that an evening could be so satisfying in the absence of a great deal of food and wine, tumblers and acrobats and dancers or at least a good fight. Topics ranged from the nature of the volcano in the distance to the true identity of Homer to whether dancing or oratory was the greater art. Discussion continued long into the night, illumination being provided by yet another Baiaean innovation: candelabra magnified by polished silver reflectors, supposedly an invention of Archimedes but adapted by the Ba-iaeans for purposes of luxury.

As we were making our farewells and calling for our litters, Hermes arrived with the latest load of bad news.

"There's been another," he said.

"Not another murder!" I cried. "No! I absolutely forbid it!"

"I fear some things are beyond even the power of a Roman praetor," said our host. "Who is it this time?"

"Quadrilla, wife of the duumvir Silva," Hermes reported. "You'd better come quick."

"Where?" I said. "Their villa?"

"No. The town house. It's only a few streets from here."

"Julia," I said, "return to our lodgings. Try to keep Circe and Antonia from meddling in this. You'll get a full report upon my return."

She nodded wordlessly, tight-lipped. Earlier in our marriage she would have insisted on accompanying me, and longed to do so now, but she was trapped by her own vision of how a praetor's wife should behave, and an unseemly fascination with bloody doings was not among the qualities she thought she should display.

We made our way to Silva's house without delay. The city's street lighting made torches unnecessary so our walk took no more time than it would have in daylight, a thing unthinkable in Rome. We found a crowd of citizens outside the door with a handful of the city guard keeping out the rabble. They stood aside for me. Inside, we found the duumviri in the atrium. Norbanus spoke in soothing tones to his distraught colleague. Manius Silva was pale and agitated. His Cretan colleague, Diogenes, stood nearby.

"Well," I said, "we should be getting used to this. Manius Silva, please accept my condolences for your loss, but matters are getting out of hand. We must dispense with the sad conventions for the moment. We will observe them later, I promise. Now, tell me what has happened."

They were too stunned to object. Once again, my authority here was on shaky ground, but by bulling in forcefully and taking charge as if I were born to command, I got my way. This is a useful tactic that should be practiced diligently by all governors and magistrates sent to the hinterlands. People will usually cede authority to one who demands it with sufficient brazenness.

"I–I found her when I returned-" Silva was stammering, either sorely distressed or faking it very well.

"Returned from where?" I asked.

"We were-" Diogenes began, but I cut him off.

"I wish to hear this from Manius Silva. Please continue."

"I was at the annual banquet of the perfumer's guild, of which I am head. It is held every year on this date." He had gone from the lavish public banquet earlier in the day to another banquet. How typical of Baiae. "When I reached home, all seemed as usual-"

"Quadrilla did not attend this banquet with you?" I asked. I had seen her with him at the earlier event.

"No. Most years she goes with me, but she pleaded that she was not feeling well and wished to spend the evening at home."

"So, when you returned?"

"When I returned-this was perhaps an hour ago, maybe less-all seemed as usual. The janitor opened the door for me, the majordomo greeted me and reported all was well in the house."

"Did you speak to any of the other servants?"

"No. The rest had all retired. I do not require them to wait up for me when I am to return late."

I turned to Hermes. "Find the janitor and majordomo and isolate them in separate rooms. I will question them later." He nodded and went to do my bidding. "Now, Manius Silva, if you will tell me how you found your wife?"

"Well, from the atrium I walked back to our sleeping quarters. Hapi-that is the majordomo's name-walked with me. I don't believe we said much. I just spoke of how well the banquet had gone, I think. I opened the door as I do every night. I was immediately struck by a-a strange odor."

I knew that odor well. "You saw nothing at first?"

"Nothing. It was very dark. I assumed Quadrilla had snuffed the lamps. I knew something was terribly wrong. I called her name, but there was no answer. Hapi ran to fetch lamps and we went in. Quadrilla was lying-well, you shall see, Praetor. I saw immediately that there was nothing to be done for her. I ordered Hapi out of the room and backed out myself. Nothing has been touched in there. She is as I found her. I immediately sent messengers to summon you and Norbanus and the civic magistrates." People were learning how I conducted an investigation.

I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Manius, you've shown great presence of mind under the most distressing of circumstances. I appreciate your foresight. I will make my inspection as quickly as possible, then we can have the libitinarii in to give Quadrilla the proper rites." He nodded dumbly.

Hermes returned moments later. "I've done as you ordered, Praetor." By this time a small group had assembled in the house, mostly the other civic officials.

"Very good. Here is how we shall proceed. Only I, my assistant Hermes, and the duumviri will enter the room where Quadrilla lies. This is not a spectacle but an official investigation. All will keep silent until [speak, and then they will speak only to answer my questions. I abjure you to remember what you see and what words are spoken. This will be a matter for court testimony soon. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Praetor," they said.

"Very well. Let's see what is to be seen."

Silva conducted us to the room, which opened off a central courtyard. Nervous slaves stood by with lamps. "Hermes," I said, "take the lamps inside and place them yourself. You know how to do it." By this I meant that he had long practice at not disturbing a crime scene.

"Yes, Praetor." He took the first lamp and walked in very carefully. Then he returned for another, taking them in one at a time until he had placed eight or ten within. When the room was illuminated, I walked in.

Immediately I was conscious of the smell that Manius Silva had noted-the sordid smell of death. Quadrilla lay on the bed amid luxuriant, disordered pillows. She was quite naked and had that deflated look common to the newly dead, like a wineskin that has been drained. She was a handsome woman of advancing years and clearly had once been a great beauty. Her overstretched navel gaped obscenely, the sapphire gone from its setting. I looked around the room and did not see it anywhere.

"Manius," I said, "where did Quadrilla keep her-her abdominal sapphire?"

He pointed to an ivory box upon a table. "She had a number of them."

"Hermes," I said. He opened the box to reveal around twenty sapphires. Some were rimmed with gold, some carved intaglio, even one with a pearl set in its center. They were nestled in yellow silk, each in its own depression. One depression was empty. "Which one is missing?"

"The largest," Silva said. "It was her favorite."

"Was she wearing it earlier today?"

"She was."

"It may be in the bedding," I said. "We'll have it searched once her body is attended to."

There was no mystery about how she had died. She lay in an untidy sprawl, her head twisted to one side. The hilt of a miniature dagger protruded from the base of her skull, at what my physician friend Asklepi-odes would term the insertion point of the neck vertebrae.

"Manius, do you recognize this weapon?" I asked. "Is it from this house?"

"Never saw it before," he said. From without, I heard whispering to the effect that Quadrilla had been killed in the same fashion as Gaeto. Hermes shushed them.

Beneath the smell of death I detected another fragrance, one with which I had grown familiar of late. "Manius, I suppose you can identify this perfume?"

He stepped closed and sniffed with a sick look on his face. "Of course. It is Zoroaster's Rapture. It was her favorite, and incredibly costly. Even I was able to procure only small amounts of it. She wore it for special occasions."

"And was she wearing it when she left you earlier?"

"She was not," he said grimly, not missing the implication.

I walked carefully around the room. There was no disorder save on the bed, where the cushions and coverlets were in some disarray, possibly as a result of the death struggle, but I doubted that.

I examined the lamps that had been in the room before we entered. Each had a good supply of oil. Either they had been snuffed out, or they had not been lit that night.

"There is no more to be done here," I said. "Call in the libitinarii. I want to know if that sapphire is found. Now I will talk with the majordomo."

Hermes had put the man in a small room opening off the triclinium. As his name would indicate, he was Egyptian. Hapi is the twin god of the Nile. He was middle-aged, bald, and pudgy, possibly a eunuch. When I walked in, he was sweating profusely.

"Praetor!" he piped. Yes, definitely a eunuch. "Praetor, I had no idea- I don't know what-"

"Just tell me what you do know," I commanded. "To begin with, when did your mistress return from the festival?"

"Just after sunset, Praetor." He wrung his hands, eyes darting in all directions save toward me.

"Was she alone?"

"Well-well, she arrived in a litter. A closed litter."

"Then I will want to speak to the litter bearers."

"It was not my lady's litter, Praetor. Her own litter had returned perhaps an hour earlier. She had dismissed her bearers, telling them that she wished to stroll in Diana's Grove, and that she would walk home, since it was such a fine evening."

"I see. And did you recognize this litter or its bearers?"

He looked down at the floor as if his salvation lay there. "No, Praetor. It was costly, and the bearers were all black Nubians."

"And she did not explain how she came to return in this fashion? Were you not curious?"

"One-one learns not to ask, Praetor."

"I understand. Tell me exactly what happened."

"At an hour past sunset, as I said before, the litter arrived at the front gate. The janitor admitted it, and when I came into the atrium, my lady told me that she was going to her bedroom and I was to dismiss her gii'ls to their quarters."

"Did you see who else might be in the litter?"

"No. My lady only put her head out and held the curtains close around her. The bearers took her right back to the bedroom, and a few minutes later they left with the litter."

"And you didn't- Yes, I know, one learns not to ask. Did you hear anything unusual from the bedroom?"

"No, Praetor. She said that the master would be at the guild banquet until very late and I might as well retire to my own quarters. It was not a suggestion, Praetor. I know when I am receiving a command, however gently it is put."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"Just that my lady seemed-very happy, Praetor."

The janitor was of no help at all. He was an elderly Bruttian who was barely able to speak and whose intelligence seemed just about equal to his duties. One doesn't need much in a slave who does little but open and shut the front door.

By the time I left it was determined that the sapphire was nowhere in the bedroom.

"I rather liked the woman," I told Julia when I returned to our town house. "I am sorry that she is dead."

"At this rate," Antonia observed, "there will be no one left alive to give you any trouble."

"The last one still alive will be the killer," said Marcus helpfully. "That makes it simple, at the very least."

"If there's only one," I grumbled. "There may be a whole pack of them."

"Quadrilla was killed by Gaeto's murderer," Julia said. "The method was the same."

"Or somebody is copying this homicidal technique to cover up an unconnected murder," I speculated. "In the bad old days in Rome, when senators were being proscribed, many men used the confusion to settle old scores."

"Nonsense," Julia said. "Quadrilla smuggled a lover home and the lover killed her and took that sapphire."

"Why?" Circe queried. "I mean, why take that sapphire, fabulous though it was? There was ten times its value in the box that held her other navel adornments."

"The killer was taking a souvenir, a keepsake," I said.

"That's insane," Julia said.

"Clearly, this murderer is not quite sane, however clever," I said.

"Gorgo was killed haphazardly, and perhaps the killer did not go to meet her with murder in mind. Gaeto and Quadrilla were killed with an incredible cold-bloodedness. And then there was the bizarre, ritualistic way Charmian's body was laid out."

"Assuming there is just one killer," Julia said. "If it is just one, and he is not sane, we may never find out his identity."

"Why do you say that?" Antonia wanted to know.

"Because people usually kill from greed or jealousy," she answered. "A madman does not act from such motives. Do you remember that madman in Lanuvium a few years ago?"

"Oh, I remember that one!" Antonia said, clapping her hands with delight like a little girl. "Was it twenty or thirty bodies found in his well?"

"Twenty, I think," Julia said. "He testified that he heard Pluto calling from the bottom of his well, demanding human sacrifices. He threw one in every full moon for almost two years. Other than that, he seemed like a normal, rational man."

"I remember Cato saying that it was a terrible thing to do to a good well," I said.

"Our killer may be acting according to motives that make sense to him alone," Julia said, "and if that is the case, we may never discover who it is or who will die next."

"And I have to conduct a trial tomorrow," I said.

"Is there no way to delay it?" Julia asked.

"None," Hermes said. "Even if the augurs find the omens unpropi-tious, they'll just throw Gelon into the local lockup until the praetor can find time to return here, or until the next praetor peregrinus comes down from Rome."

"We can't have that," I said.

"Then go to bed," Julia ordered. "It's almost sunrise now."

"Very well," I said, suddenly feeling unutterably tired. "But I want to be wakened immediately if those cavalrymen return with some live bandits."