The House of the Vestals

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE SATURNALIA SILVER

"Gambling in the Forum! Really, Gordianus, who can countenance such behavior?" Cicero sniffed, turning his nose up at the nearby circle of men busy casting dice on the paving stones.

"But Cicero, it is Saturnalia," I said wearily. Eco and I had run into him on our way to the house of Lucius Claudius, and Cicero had insisted that we walk with him. He was in a testy mood, and I couldn't imagine why he wanted our company, unless it was simply to swell the ranks of his little retinue of secretaries and hangers-on as he walked through the Forum. A Roman politician can never be seen with too large an entourage, even if its members include a citizen of dubious respectability like myself and a thirteen-year-old mute.

The clatter of dice was followed by squeals of glee and moans of defeat, then the jingling of coins changing hands. "Yes, Saturnalia," sighed Cicero. "By tradition the city commissioners must allow such behavior in public during the midwinter festival, and Roman traditions are always to be revered. Still, it pains me to see such demeaning activity in the very heart of the city."

I shrugged. "Men gamble all the time in the Subura."

"Yes, in the Subura," he said, his polished orator's voice dripping disdain for the precinct where I lived, "but not here in the Forum!"

From nowhere, a group of drunken revelers appeared and went careening through the midst of Cicero's retinue. The revelers whirled about, making the hems of their loose gowns spin above their knees. With their forefingers they raised their felt skullcaps off their heads and spun them in the air, making blurs of red, blue and green. In the midst of the celebrants, held aloft in a litter chair, was a hunchback dressed like old King Numa in a bright yellow gown with a papyrus crown atop his head. He nodded tipsily, squirting wine into his lips from a wineskin in one hand while waving a gnarled walking stick in the other, as if it were a scepter. Eco, delighted by the spectacle, opened his mouth in a silent laugh and clapped his hands. Cicero was not amused.

"Surely Saturnalia is my least favorite of festivals, no matter how wise our ancestors were to establish it," he grumbled. "All this drunken revelry and licentiousness has no place in a sensible society. As you see, I'm wearing my toga today, as usual, no matter what custom decrees for the holiday. No loose gown for me, thank you. Men whirling about to show off their naked legs, indeed! Loose clothing leads to loose morals. A toga keeps a man all in one piece, if you take my meaning." He squared his shoulders and shook his elbows slightly, making the folds of his toga fell into an orderly pattern, then gathered one arm to his chest to keep the folds in place. To look respectable in a toga, my father used to say, a man must have a spine of iron. The toga suited Cicero well.

He lowered his voice. "Worst of all are the liberties granted to slaves for the holiday. Yes, I give mine a day of rest and I allow them to speak their minds freely, within reason, but I draw the line at letting them go carousing through the streets wearing colored felt caps like free men. Imagine a day when you can't tell whether a stranger in the Forum is a citizen or someone else's property! The festival is consecrated to Saturn, but it might as well be Chaos! And I absolutely refuse to follow the absurd custom of allowing my slaves to wear my clothes and recline upon my dining couch while I serve them dinner!"

"But Cicero, it happens only once a year."

"Which is once too often."

"There are those who would say it's a good practice to turn things upside down every so often-to let a hunchback be a king, and set masters to wait upon their slaves. What better time for a bit of whimsy than midwinter, when the harvesting is all done, ships are safely docked, old magistrates are about to be booted out of their offices so that new ones can take their place, and the whole Republic lets out a collective sigh of relief at having survived yet another year of corruption, greed, backstabbings and betrayals? Why shouldn't Rome slip into some loose clothing for a few days and uncork a new wineskin?"

"You make Rome out to be a whore," said Cicero disapprovingly.

"Instead of a scowling politician with a stiff neck? I think that Rome is both, depending on which side one looks at. Don't forget, they say that Saturnalia was established by the god Janus, and Janus has two faces."

Cicero harrumphed.

"But I'm sure you observe at least one of the traditions of saturnalia," I said, "which is the exchange of gifts with friends and family." I made this comment with no ulterior motive, only to remind him of the finer aspects of the holiday.

He stared at me gloomily, then a smile broke out across his ace as if he suddenly dropped a mask. "That I do!" he said, and clapped for one of his slaves, who brought him a small bag from which he drew a tiny object which he placed in my hand. "For you, Gordianus!" He laughed aloud at the expression of surprise on my face. "What, did you think I made you walk across the Forum with me just so I could regale you with my low opinion of the revelry?"

Eco drew close to me and together we peered down at the tiny round object which glittered on my open palm beneath the dead white winter sun. It seemed to be a simple silver bead flawed by some irregularity, but when I held it closer I saw that it was fashioned like a miniature chickpea-the cicer bean, from which Cicero's family took its name. Eco let out a noiseless gasp.

"Cicero, I'm honored!" I said. From the weight of the little thing, it had to be solid silver. Silver is the substance of choice for Saturnalia gift-giving, among those who can afford such extravagance.

"I'm giving my mother a whole necklace of them," Cicero said proudly. "I had them made last year in Athens, during my studies there."

"Well," I said, gesturing to Eco to reach inside the pouch he carried, "I have nothing to match it, I fear, only this." No man goes out during Saturnalia without gifts to offer should the need arise, and I had given Eco a pouch to carry before we went out, containing a bundle of wax tapers. Eco handed me one, which I then held out to Cicero. It was the traditional gift of a poorer man to a man better off, and Cicero accepted it graciously.

"It's of the highest quality," I said, "from a little shop on the Street of the Candlemakers, dyed deep blue and scented with hyacinth. Though perhaps, given your feelings about the holiday, you won't be out tonight with the rest of the throng holding up your burning taper to set the Forum aglow."

"Actually! my brother Quintus is joining me for a small family celebration tonight; I'm sure we'll stay in. But I often stay up late, reading. I shall use your gift to light my way when next I ponder a scroll of law. The scent will remind me of the sweetness of our friendship." Hearing such honey from his lips, who could doubt that young Cicero was well on his way to becoming the best-known orator in Rome?

Eco and I took our leave of Cicero and made our way up the Palatine Hill. Even here, in the city's poshest neighborhood, there was open gambling and drunken revelry in the streets; the only difference was that the gambling was for higher stakes and the revelers wore gowns made of finer stuff. We came to the house of my friend Lucius Claudius, who answered the door himself.

"Reduced to a door slave!" he laughed. "Would you believe, I told the slaves to take the whole day off and they took me quite seriously. Saturn alone knows where they all are or what they're up to!" With his red nose and plump cheeks, Lucius Claudius was the very image of benevolence, especially with his features suffused, as they now were, with a beaming and slightly tipsy smile.

"I don't imagine they'll get very far, unless they have purses to carry them," I said.

"Oh, but they do! I gave each one of them a purse with a few coins and a felt cap. Well, how can they enjoy themselves if they can't join in the gambling?"

I shook my head in mock disdain. "Now I wonder, Eco, what Cicero would make of our friend Lucius's reckless liberality?"

Eco took the cue at once and launched into an uncanny impersonation of Cicero, drawing his holiday gown about him like a toga, throwing back his head and wrinkling his nose. Lucius laughed so hard he began to cough, and his face turned redder than ever. At last he caught his breath and wiped tears from his eyes.

"No doubt Cicero would say that a slave owner with such a lax disposition is shirking his responsibility to maintain peace and order in society-but ask me if I care! Come, let me show you why I'm in such a good mood. The presents arrived only this morning!"

We followed him through the vestibule, through an immaculate garden decorated with a splendid bronze statue of Minerva, down a long hallway and into a small, dark room at the back of the house. There was a thumping noise and a stifled curse as Lucius banged his knee against some sort of low chest set against one wall. "Light, must have light," he muttered, leaning over the chest and fiddling with the latched shutters of one of the tall, narrow windows.

"Here, Master, let me do that," said a hoarse voice from the darkness. Eco gave a little jump beside me. His eyes are quite keen, but even he had not seen the owner of the voice when we entered the room.

The ability to be invisible is a much sought-after trait among household slaves, and appeared to be one of the skills of Lucius's right-hand man, an ancient white-haired Greek named Stephanos who had been in charge of running the house on the Palatine for many years. He walked with a stiff-limbed gait from window to window, unlatching the narrow shutters and pulling them open to admit cold air and bright sunshine.

Lucius muttered a word of thanks to the slave, who muttered some formula in return, but I hardly heard them. Like Eco, I stood transfixed by a sudden blaze of silver. Before our dazzled eyes, the sunlight which poured in through the windows was transformed into a white, liquid fire that shimmered, sparkled, and danced. I glanced at Eco and saw his wondering face lit up by lozenges of reflected light, then returned my gaze to the splendor before us.

The piece of furniture Lucius had bumped his knee against was a thigh-high wooden chest. In itself it was a marvelous piece of work, beautifully crafted and inlaid with bits of shell and obsidian. Spread across the hinged lid was a blood-red cloth. Laid out atop the cloth was the most stunning collection of silver objects I had ever seen.

"Magnificent, aren't they?" said Lucius.

I merely nodded, rendered as mute as Eco by the display.

"Note the ewer," said Lucius enthusiastically. "The shape- so elegant. See how the handle is in the form of a caryatid hiding her face?"

The piece was exquisite, as was the silver comb inlaid with camelian alongside a matching silver brush, upon the back of which was an image in relief of a satyr spying on some bathing nymphs. A necklace of silver and amber was laid beside another of silver and lapis, and yet another of silver and ebony, and each had a pair of matching earrings and matching bracelets. Two silver cups were embossed with hunting scenes around the base, while another pair of cups were decorated with a geometrical Greek design.

Most impressive of all, if only for its size, was a great silver plate as broad as a man's forearm. Its border was a circle of embossed acanthus leaves, while in the center the spirit of mirth, Silenus, ran riot amid a dizzying array of satyrs, fauns and nymphs. When Lucius looked away for a moment, Eco pointed to the face of Silenus and then nodded toward our host. I saw what he meant; while all images of Silenus might be said to bear a family resemblance to Lucius Claudius, sharing as they do a plump, round face atop a plump, round body, this depiction of Silenus was too exactly like Lucius to be anything but a portrait.

"You must have had these pieces made especially for you," I said.

"Yes, I commissioned a shop of artisans down on the Street of the Silversmiths. These pieces are proof, I think, that one can find just as high a quality of workmanship here in Rome as among pieces imported from Alexandria and elsewhere."

"Yes," I agreed, "provided one has the purse to pay for it."

"Well, it was a bit extravagant," Lucius admitted, "but the raw silver comes from Spain, instead of the East, which helps to bring down the price. Anyway, it'll be worth the expense to see the look on their faces when my cousins see what I'm giving them for Saturnalia. Silver is traditionally what one gives, of course-"

"If one can afford it," I muttered.

"— but in the past I'm afraid some of my relatives have proclaimed me a bit of a miser. Well, I have no wife or child, so I suppose I have no training in lavishing my wealth on those around me, and it's sometimes hard to catch the holiday spirit when one is a bachelor. But not this year-this year I've gone all out, as you can see."

"You have indeed," I agreed, thinking that even jaded, wealthy patricians like those of the Claudian clan would have to be impressed with Lucius's generosity.

Lucius stood for a moment gazing upon the various vessels and pieces of jewelry, then turned to the slave who lingered close by. "But Stephanos, what's this? What are you doing skulking about here in the dark on such a splendid day? You should be out cavorting with the others."

"Cavorting, Master?" said the wrinkled slave dryly, as if to indicate that the likelihood of his doing such a thing was quite remote.

"Well, you know what I mean-you should be out enjoying yourself."

"I enjoy myself quite well enough here, Master."

"Well, amusing yourself, then."

"I assure you, I'm just as capable of amusing myself here as anywhere else," said Stephanos. It seemed dubious that he could be amused under any circumstances.

"Very well," laughed Lucius, "have it your way, Stephanos. That is, after all, the point of the holiday."

Lucius paused once again before the chest and lovingly fingered the ewer he had first pointed out, and to which he seemed especially attached. Then he led the way to the atrium and offered each of us a cup of wine.

"Much watered, in Eco's case," I said as Lucius served us from a simple silver ewer that was brimming with frothy purple wine. Eco frowned but held out his cup, willing to take what he could get. From past experience I knew that Lucius kept a stock of only the finest vintages, and for myself I requested very little water, so as to savor the fine bouquet at full strength. For a man so used to being waited on, Lucius did a creditable job of serving us, then served himself and sat down to join us.

"Considering how hard you work, Gordianus, I suppose you must enjoy the leisure of the holiday immensely."

"Actually, I often find myself busier on festival days than at other times."

"Really?"

"Crime takes no holidays," I said. "Or more accurately: crime enjoys the holidays immensely. You have no idea how many thefts and murders occur on festival days-not to mention indiscretions and infidelities."

"I wonder why?"

I shrugged. "The normal constraints of society are loosened; people find themselves more open to temptation and do things they ordinarily wouldn't, for all sorts of reasons-greed, spite, or simply for a joke. Families are gathered together, whether they like one another or not; that can lead to a few heads being bashed. And the expense of entertaining can drive even a wealthy man to deeds of desperation. As for those already of a criminal disposition, consider the advantages to their trade during the festivals, when people let down their guard and stupefy themselves with too much food and wine. Oh yes, a Roman holiday is an invitation to crime, and they are often my busiest days of the year."

"Then I count myself lucky to have your company today, Gordianus!" said Lucius, raising his cup.

At that moment we heard the front door open, followed by loud voices from the vestibule, and then a pair of young slaves came tripping into the atrium. Their cheeks were ruddy from the cold, almost as red as the felt caps on their heads. Their eyes were bleary from drinking, but they straightened considerably at the sight of their master.

"Thropsus, Zoticus, I trust that you're enjoying yourselves?" called Lucius heartily.

Thropsus, who was slender and blond, suddenly stiffened, not sure how to react, while his companion, who was stocky and dark, abruptly sputtered with laughter and ran with a whoop through the atrium toward the back of the house.

"Yes, Master, very much, Master," said Thropsus finally. He shifted from foot to foot, as if waiting to be dismissed. Finally Lucius picked up a crust of bread and threw it at the boy. "Go on!" he laughed. Thropsus hurried after Zoticus, looking thoroughly confused.

We drank in silence for a while, enjoying the wine. "You certainly strive for informality, Lucius," I remarked wryly, "even when it makes the poor slave a bit uncomfortable."

"Thropsus is new in the household. He doesn't understand; it's Saturnalia!" said Lucius grandly. He had just finished his second cup of wine and was reaching to pour himself another. I turned to Eco, expecting him to wink at me in amusement, but instead he seemed distracted and was looking toward the back of the house.

"And will you go so far as to wait upon your slaves at dinner?" I asked, remembering how Cicero had balked at performing such a reversal.

"Well, no-after all, Gordianus, there are so very many of them in the household and only one of me! I'll already be worn out from visiting with my cousins this afternoon and handing out my presents. But I do let the slaves recline upon the dining couches as if they were guests and take turns serving each other, while I take my meal in my bedchamber. They always seem to enjoy the little charade, judging from all the noise they make. And you? Will you play servant to your household slaves at dinner?"

"There are only two of them."

"Ah, yes, your bodyguard, that lumbering Belbo, and of course, your Egyptian concubine, the beautiful Bethesda. What man could refuse to wait upon her?" Lucius sighed, and then shivered. He has always been smitten with Bethesda, and more than a little intimidated by her.

"Eco and I will be going home to prepare their dinner immediately after we take our leave of you," I said, "and tonight, before the people mass in the streets with their lit tapers, Eco and I will serve the two of them dinner while they recline upon our couches."

"Delicious! I should come to watch!"

"Only if you're willing to carry a tray like the other citizens in the house."

"Well…"

At that moment, from the corner of my eye, I saw Eco jerk his head toward the back of the house with a sudden, birdlike motion. His hearing can be quite acute, and so it was that he heard the approach of the young slave before Lucius or I did. A moment later Thropsus came running into the atrium with a look of shock and dismay on his face. He opened his mouth but

"Well, Thropsus, what is it?" said Lucius, wrinkling his fleshy brow.

"Something terrible, Master!"

"Yes?"

"It's old Stephanos, Master-"

"Yes, yes, spit it out."

Thropsus wrung his hands and made a face. "Please, Master, come see for yourself!"

"Now, what could be so terrible that the slave can't even utter it?" said Lucius, making light of the matter as he laboriously rose from his chair. "Come, Gordianus, it's probably a matter for you!" he said, laughing.

But all laughter ceased when we followed young Thropsus into the room where Lucius had shown us his silver. AH the windows were shuttered except one close by the chest. By the cold light that entered we surveyed the disaster which had tied Thropsus's tongue. The red cloth was still thrown over the chest, but now it was all askew, and every piece of silver had vanished! In front of the chest, on the floor, the old slave Stephanos lay un-moving on his side with his arms raised to his chest. His forehead was dented with a bloody gash, and though his eyes were wide open, I had seen enough dead men to know that Stephanos had departed from the service of Lucius Claudius forever.

"By Hercules, what's happened?" gasped Lucius. "The silver! And Stephanos! Is he-?"

Eco knelt down to feel for a pulse, and put his ear to the dead slave's parted lips. He looked up at us and shook his head gravely.

"But what's happened?" cried Lucius. "Thropsus, what do you know about this?"

"Nothing, Master! I came into the room and found it exactly as it is now, and then came to you right away."

"And Zoticus," said Lucius darkly. "Where is he?"

"I don't know, Master."

"What do you mean? You came in together."

"Yes, but I had to relieve myself, so I went to the privy at the other corner of the house. Afterward I went looking for Zoticus, but I couldn't find him."

"Well, go and find him now!" blustered Lucius.

Thropsus meekly turned to leave. "No, wait," I said. "It seems to me that there's no hurry to find Zoticus, if indeed he's still in the house. I think it might be more interesting to discover why you happened to come into this room at all, Thropsus."

"I was looking for Zoticus, as I said." He lowered his eyes.

"But why here? This is one of your master's private rooms. I shouldn't think that anyone is supposed to come in here except a slave of Stephanos's rank, or perhaps a cleaning girl. Why were you looking for Zoticus here, Thropsus?"

"I–I thought I heard a noise."

"What sort of noise?"

Thropsus made a pained face. "I thought I heard someone… laughing."

Eco suddenly clapped his hands for our attention and nodded vigorously.

"What are you saying, Eco, that you heard this laughter, too?"

He nodded, and made a motion with his hands to indicate that from the atrium it had sounded faint and far away.

"The laughter came from this room, Thropsus?"

"I thought so. First the laughter, and then… then a kind of rattling noise, and a banging, or a thud, not very loud."

I looked at Eco, who pursed his lips ambivalently and shrugged. He, too, seated in the atrium, had heard something from the back of the house, but the sound had been indistinct.

"Was it Zoticus laughing?" I asked.

"I suppose so," said Thropsus dubiously.

"Come now, was it Zoticus or not? Surely you're familiar with his laughter-you were both laughing when you came in from the street a while ago."

"It didn't sound like Zoticus, but I suppose it must have been, unless there's someone else in the house."

"There's no one," said Lucius. "I'm certain of that."

"Someone could have come in," I said, stepping toward the open shutters. "Curious-this latch seems to have snapped. Was it broken before?"

"I don't think so," said Lucius.

"What's outside the window?"

"A small garden."

"And what surrounds the garden?"

"The house, on three sides, and a wall on the other."

"And on the other side of the wall?"

"The street. Oh dear, I see what you mean. Yes, I suppose someone young and agile enough could have scaled the wall and broken into the house."

"Could the same wall be scaled from this side as well?"

"I suppose."

"Even by a man with a bag full of silver over his shoulder?"

"Gordianus, you don't think that Zoticus-"

"I hope not, for his sake, but stranger things have happened when a slave is given a small taste of freedom, the experience of spending a few coins, and a little too much wine."

"Merciful Fortune," breathed Lucius. "The silver!" He walked to the chest and reached out as if to touch phantom vessels where the silver had vanished. "The ewer, the jewelry, the cups-all gone!"

"There's no sign of a weapon," I said, looking about the room. "Perhaps one of the missing pieces was used to strike that blow to Stephanos's head. Something with a rather straight, hard edge, by the look of the wound. Perhaps the plate…"

"What a horrid idea! Poor Stephanos." Lucius rested his hands on the lid of the chest and suddenly drew back with a gasp of horror. He held up his hand and I saw that the palm was smeared with blood.

"Where did that come from?" I said.

"The cloth atop the chest. It's hard to see in this light, the cloth being red, but there's a spot that's wet with blood."

"Here, it's been pushed all askew. Let's put it as it was before." We straightened the cloth and discovered that the bloody spot was right above the edge of the top of the chest.

"As if he hit his forehead on the hard wood," said Lucius.

"Yes, as if he fell-or was pushed," I said.

Thropsus cleared his throat. "Master, should I go and look for Zoticus now?"

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "We shall look for him together."

A quick search of the slaves' quarters revealed that Zoticus was not in the house. We returned to the pilfered treasure room.

"Should I go search for Zoticus in the streets, Master?" The quaver in Thropsus's voice indicated that he was well aware of the delicacy of his position. If Zoticus had committed murder and theft, was it not likely that his friend Thropsus had been a partner in the scheme? Even if Thropsus was entirely innocent, the testimony of slaves is by law extracted through torture; if the silver was not retrieved and the matter resolved quickly, Thropsus was likely to face an ugly predicament. My friend Lucius has a good heart, but he comes from a very old patrician family after all, and the patricians of Rome didn't get to be where they are today by being altruistic or squeamish, especially in handling their property, human or otherwise.

Lucius dismissed Thropsus to his quarters and then turned to me. "Gordianus, what shall I do?" He moaned, at that moment not sounding very patrician at all.

"Keep Thropsus here, of course. Out on his own he might panic and get some mad idea about running off, and that always ends badly for a slave. Besides," I added under my breath, "he just might be guilty of conspiring to steal your silver. I also suggest you hire some gladiators, if you can find any who are sober, to go round up Zoticus, if they can find him."

"And if he hasn't got the silver on him?"

"Then it's up to you to decide how to go about obtaining the truth from him."

"What if he protests his innocence?"

"I suppose it's possible that some outsider might have come over the wall and stolen your silver. Another of your slaves, perhaps, or someone from the Street of the Silversmiths who would have known about your recent purchases. But find Zoticus first and find out what he knows."

Eco, who had been looking pensive for some time, suddenly demanded my attention. He pointed at the corpse of Stephanos and then performed a mime, smiling stupidly and pretending to laugh.

Lucius was taken aback. "Really, there's nothing funny about it!"

"No, Lucius, you misunderstand. Are you saying, Eco, that it was Stephanos whom you heard laughing?"

Eco nodded, in such a way as to indicate that he had been debating his judgment of the matter and had finally made up his mind about it.

"Stephanos, laughing?" said Lucius, in the same tone he might have used if Eco had indicated that he had seen Stephanos breathing fire or juggling his eyeballs.

"He did seem a rather dour fellow," I agreed, giving Eco a skeptical look. "And if it was Stephanos who laughed, then why didn't Thropsus say so?"

"Probably because he had never heard Stephanos laugh before," said Lucius. "I don't think I ever heard such a thing myself." He looked down at the corpse with a puzzled expression. "Are you sure it was Stephanos you heard laughing, Eco?"

Eco crossed his arms and nodded gravely. He had made up his mind.

"Ah well, perhaps we'll never know for sure," I said, walking toward the door.

"You're not staying to help me, Gordianus?"

"Alas, Lucius Claudius, I must take my leave for now. There's a dinner to be prepared, and a concubine to be served."

Eco and I managed to get home relatively unscathed. A group of giggling prostitutes impeded our progress for a while by dancing in a ring around us, another King Numa carried aloft in a litter poured a cup of wine over my head, and a drunken gladiator vomited on one of Eco's shoes, but the trip from the Palatine to the Subura was otherwise uneventful.

The fare we prepared for dinner was very simple, as suited my talents. Even so, Bethesda seemed barely able to keep out of the kitchen. Every so often she peered through the doorway wearing a skeptical frown and shaking her head, as if the very way I held a knife betrayed my utter incompetence in culinary matters.

At last, as the winter sun was beginning to sink into the west, Eco and I emerged from the kitchen to find Bethesda and Belbo comfortably ensconced on the dining couches normally reserved for ourselves. Eco pulled up the little dining tables while I fetched the various courses-a lentil soup, a millet porridge with ground lamb, an egg pudding with honey and pine nuts.

Belbo seemed content with his meal, but then Belbo enjoys every meal, so long as there's enough of it; he smacked his lips, ate with his fingers, and laughed out loud at the novelty of sending his young master Eco to fetch more wine, accepting the tradition of reversing roles as a lark. Bethesda, on the other hand, approached each dish with an air of cool detachment. As always, her typically aloof demeanor masked the true depth of what was going on inside her, which I suspected was as complex and subtle as the most exquisite ragout. Partly she was skeptical of my cooking, partly she enjoyed the novelty of being served and the pretense of being a Roman matron, and partly she wished to hide any outward sign of her enjoyment because, ah well, because Bethesda is Bethesda.

She did, however, deign to compliment me on the egg pudding, for which I took a bow.

"And how was your day, Master?" she asked casually, settling back on the couch. I stood close by, my arms clasped deferentially behind my back. In her imagination, was I reduced to a slave-or worse, to a husband?

I recounted to her the day's events, as slaves are often called upon to do by their masters at the end of the day, Bethesda listened abstractedly, running her hands through her luxurious black hair and tapping at her full red lips. When I described my encounter with Cicero, her dark eyes flashed, for she has always been suspicious of any man who has a greater appetite for books than for women or food; when I told her I had called on Lucius Claudius she smiled, for she knows how susceptible he is to her beauty; when I told her of Stephanos's demise and the disappearance of the silver, she became deeply pensive. She leaned forward to rest her chin on her hand, and it suddenly occurred to me that she was very dangerously close to performing a parody of me.

After I had explained the unfortunate events, she asked me to explain them again, then called on Eco, who had been performing some childish hand-slapping game with Belbo, to come over and clarify some aspects of the story. Again, as he had at Lucius's house, he insisted that it was Stephanos whom he had heard laughing.

"Master," said Bethesda thoughtfully, "will this slave Thropsus be tortured?"

"Possibly." I sighed. "If Lucius is unable to recover the silver, he may lose his head-Lucius, I mean, though Thropsus could eventually lose his head as well, literally."

"And if Zoticus is found, without the silver, protesting his innocence?"

"He will almost certainly be tortured," I said. "Lucius would lose face with his family and his colleagues if he were to allow himself to be duped by a slave."

"Duped by a slave," murmured Bethesda thoughtfully, nodding. Then she shook her head and put on her most imperious expression. "Master, you were there! How could you not have seen the truth?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were drinking the wine of Lucius Claudius straight, weren't you? It must have addled your judgment."

Many liberties are allowed to slaves during Saturnalia, but this was too much! "Bethesda! I demand-"

"We must go to the house of Lucius Claudius at once!" Bethesda sprang to her feet and ran to fetch herself a cloak. Eco looked at me for direction. I shrugged. "Fetch your cloak, Eco, and mine as well; the night may be chilly. You might as well come along, too, Belbo, if you can manage to lift yourself off that couch. The streets will be wild tonight."

I will not recount the madness of crossing Rome on Saturnalia night. Suffice to say that on certain stretches of the journey I was very glad to have Belbo with us; his hulking presence alone was usually enough to clear a way through the raucous throng. When we at last rapped upon Lucius's door, it was once again answered by the master of the house.

"Gordianus! Oh, I'm glad to see you. This day only becomes worse and worse. Oh, and Eco, and Belbo-and Bethesda!" His voice broke a little as he said her name and his eyes widened. He blushed, if it was possible for his florid face to turn a brighter red.

He led us through the garden. The statue of Minerva gazed down upon us, her wise countenance a study in moonlight and shadow. Lucius led us into a sumptuously appointed room just off the garden, heated by a flaming brazier. "I took your advice," he said. "I hired men to search for Zoticus. They found him quickly enough, as drunk as a satyr and gambling in the street outside a brothel in the Subura-trying to win enough to go inside, he says."

"And the silver?"

"No sign of it. Zoticus swears that he never saw the silver or even knew that it existed. He says he slipped out the back of the house, through a window in the slaves' quarters. He says that Thropsus was boring him and he wanted to go out alone."

"Do you believe him?"

Lucius clutched his head. "Oh, I don't know what to believe. All I know is that Zoticus and Thropsus came in, Zoticus slipped out, and at some point in between Stephanos was killed and the silver was taken. I just want the silver back! My cousins came calling today, and I had nothing to give them. Of course I didn't want to explain the situation; I told them my presents were late and I'd come to see them tomorrow. Gordianus, I don't want to torture the young men, but what else can I do?"

"You can take me to the room where you kept the silver," said Bethesda, stepping forward and slipping off her cloak, which she tossed onto a nearby chair. Her cascade of black hair glittered with flashes of deep blue and purple in the light of the flaming brazier. Her face was impassive and her eyes were steadily fixed on Lucius Claudius, who blinked under her gaze. I quailed a bit myself, looking at her in the firelight, for while she wore her hair down, like a slave, and was dressed in a simple slave woman's gown, her face had the same compelling majesty as the brazen face of the goddess in the garden.

Bethesda kept her gaze on Lucius, who reached up to dab a bead of sweat from his forehead. The brazier was hot, but not that hot. "Of course," he said, "though there's nothing to see now. I had the body of Stephanos removed to another room…" His voice trailed off as he turned and led the way to the back of the house, taking a lamp from a sconce on the wall to light the way.

Under the lamp's flickering light, the room seemed very empty and slightly eerie. The shutters were closed and the bloodstained cloth had been removed from atop the chest.

"Which shutters were open when you found Stephanos dead?" said Bethesda.

"Th-these," said Lucius with a slight stutter. At his touch they parted. "The latch seems to be broken," he explained, trying to push them shut again.

"Broken, because the shutters were not opened by the latch, but forced," said Bethesda.

"Yes, we figured that out this morning" he said. "They must have been pushed open from outside. Some outsider forced his way in-"

"I think not," said Bethesda. "What if one were to seize the top of the shutters and pull them open, like so." At another window she wrenched the shutters open, breaking the little latch at the middle.

"But why would anyone do that?" asked Lucius.

I parted my lips and drew in a breath, beginning to see what Bethesda had in mind. I almost spoke, but caught myself. The idea was hers, after all. I would let her reveal it.

"The slave Thropsus said he heard first laughter, then a rattling noise, then a banging. The laughter, according to Eco, came from Stephanos."

Lucius shook his head. "That's hard to imagine."

"Because you never heard Stephanos laugh? I can tell you why: because he laughed only behind your back. Ask some of the slaves who have been here longer than Thropsus, and see what they tell you."

"How can you know this?" protested Lucius.

"The man ran your household, did he not? He was your chief slave here in Rome. Believe me, from time to time he laughed at you behind your back." Lucius seemed taken aback at such an idea, but Bethesda was not to be argued with. "As for the rattling Thropsus heard, you heard the same noise just now, when I wrenched open those shutters. Then Thropsus heard a banging, a thud-that was the sound of Stephanos's head striking the hard edge of the chest." She winced. "Then he fell to the ground, here I should think, clutching his chest and bleeding from his head." She pointed to the very spot where we had found Stephanos. "But the most significant sound was the one that no one heard-the clanging of silver, which would surely have made a considerable noise if anyone had hurriedly stuffed all the vessels into a bag and then run off with it."

"But what does all this mean?" said Lucius.

"It means that your wooden-faced slave, whom you believed to have no sense of humor, had his own way of celebrating Saturnalia this year. Stephanos pulled a little joke on you in secret-then laughed out loud at his own impertinence. But he laughed too hard. Stephanos was very old, wasn't he? Old slaves have weak hearts. When their hearts fail, they are likely to fall and reach for anything to support them." She seized the top of the shutters and jerked them open. "These were a poor support He fell and struck his head, and then kept falling to the floor.Was it the blow to his head that killed him, or his heart? Who can say?"

"But the silver!" demanded Lucius. "Where is it?"

"Where Stephanos carefully and silently hid it away, thinking to give his master a fright."

I held my breath as Bethesda opened the lid of the chest; what if she were wrong? But there inside, nestled atop some embroidered coverlets, glittering beneath the lamplight, were all the vessels and necklaces and bangles which Lucius had shown us that morning.

Lucius gasped and looked as if he might faint from relief. "But I still can't believe it," he finally said. "Stephanos never pulled such a prank before!"

"Oh, did he not?" said Bethesda. "Slaves pull such jokes all the time, Lucius Claudius. The point of such pranks is not that their masters should find out and feel foolish, for then the impertinent slave would be punished. No, the point is that the master should never even realize that he's been made the butt of a joke. Stephanos was probably planning to be out in the street enjoying himself when you found the silver missing. He would have let you rush about in a panic for a while, then he would have come home, and when you frantically told him the silver was missing, he would have shown it to you in the trunk."

"But I would have been furious."

"All the better to amuse Stephanos. For when you asked him why he had put the silver there, he would have said that you told him to and that he was only following your orders."

"But I never gave him such instructions!"

" Ah, but you did, Master,' he would have said, shaking his head at your absent-mindedness, and with his stern, humorless expression, you would have had no choice but to believe him. Think back, Lucius Claudius, and I suspect that you may remember other occasions when you found yourself in a fix and Stephanos was constrained to point out that it was due to your own forgetfulness."

"Well, now that you mention it…" said Lucius, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"And all the while Stephanos was having a laugh at you behind your back," said Bethesda.

I shook my head. "I should have seen the truth when I was here earlier," I said ruefully.

"Nonsense," said Bethesda. "You are wise in the ways of the world, Master, but you can never know the secret workings of a slave's mind, for you have never been one." She shrugged. "When you told me the story, I saw the truth at once. I did not have to know Stephanos to know how his mind worked; there is a way of looking at the world common to all slaves, I think."

I nodded and then stiffened a bit. "Does this mean that sometimes, when I can't find something, or when I distinctly remember giving you an order but you convince me that it slipped my mind…"

Bethesda smiled ever so slightly, as the goddess of wisdom might smile when contemplating a secret joke too rich for mere mortals.

Later that night we joined the throng in the Forum, holding up our wax tapers so that the great public squares and the looming facades of the temples were illuminated by thousands and thousands of flickering lights. Lucius came with us, and joined in the joyful chanting of "Yo, yo, Saturnalia!" which echoed and boomed about the Forum. From the giddy smile on his face, I could see that he had regained his good humor. Bethesda smiled, too, and why not? On her wrist, glittering like a circle of liquid fire beneath the flicker of her taper, was a bracelet of silver and ebony, the Saturnalia gift of a grateful admirer.