The Venus Throw

Chapter Thirteen

The easiest route to the house of Titus Coponius, where Dio had died, took me back the way I had come. Passing the former residence of Marcus Caelius again, I noticed that the FOR SALE announcement was untouched, but the obscene graffito beneath it had already been daubed over with paint.

Clodius's henchmen could be accused of many things, but not idleness.

Titus Coponius saw me at once, and soon I was seated in his study with a cup of wine in my hand. If the study of Lucius Lucceius was a hoary homage to the conquest of Carthage, the study of Titus Coponius was a tribute to the enduring triumph of Greek culture. Black-on-red drinking cups, too ancient and precious for use, were displayed on shelves. Small statues of the great heroes and busts of the great thinkers were displayed on pedestals against the walls. A pigeonhole scroll case was full of cylindrical leather slipcases, and on the little colored tags hanging from each cylinder I glimpsed the names of the old Greek playwrights and historians. The room itself was impeccably appointed, with high-backed Greek chairs and a Greek carpet with a geometrical design, all harmoniously in proportion to the space they occupied.

Coponius was a tall man with a long rectangular face and a hand-some nose; even seated he had an imposing air. His hair was clipped short and was very curly, black on top but gray on the sides. His clothing and manner were as elegant as the room in which we sat. "I suppose you've come about Dio," he began.

"What makes you think so?"

"Come now, Gordianus. I know you by reputation. I also know that Bestia's son has brought charges against Marcus Caelius for trying to poison Dio, among other things. It hardly takes a philosopher to figure out your reason for coming to the house where Dio died. What I don't know is who sent you-Bestia's boy for the prosecution, or Caelius for his defense."

"Neither, actually."

"Now that's a puzzle."

"Not to everyone, apparently," I said, thinking of Lucceius's wife. "Does it matter who sent me, so long as I seek the truth?"

"Most men have some ulterior motive, even in seeking for truth. Revenge, vindication, power-"

"Justice. For Dio."

Coponius put down his wine cup and folded his long, elegant hands in his lap. "Some day, when we both have a great deal more time, we should discuss that word, 'justice,' and see if we can come up with a mutually acceptable definition. For the short term, I assume you mean you seek the truth in order to identify Dio's killer. A straightforward enough ambition-but I don't think I can help you."

"Why not?"

"I can't tell you what I don't know." "Perhaps you know more than you realize." "A conundrum, Gordianus?" "Life is full of them."

Coponius contemplated me with a catlike gaze. "As I understand it, the charges against Caelius involve attacks on the Egyptian entourage on its way to Rome, and an alleged attempt to poison Dio at Lucceius's house. What happened in this house isn't even cited in the formal list of charges."

"Technically, it is. But the prosecution intends to concentrate on the attempted poisoning, and use the actual murder of Dio as a corroborative detail."

"Then you do come from the prosecution." Coponius gave me a brittle smile. "Don't misunderstand. I don't mind you coming around asking questions. I went through all this before, when Asicius was pros-ecuted. I shared all I know with both sides, and in the end I helped neither. The simple fact is that the killers left nothing behind to give themselves away. Asicius was prosecuted on hearsay, not evidence. Yes, 'everyone knows' that he was somehow involved, just as 'everyone knows' that King Ptolemy must be at the back of it, but the proof was never put forward, and you won't find it in this house."

"Still, I should like to know what happened here."

Coponius took a sip of wine and turned his catlike gaze on me again. "I knew Dio in Alexandria," he finally said. "A few years ago, my brother and I spent some time there. Gaius, always the practical one, was interested in studying the financial workings of the grain markets. I found myself drawn instead to the steps of the library at the Temple of Serapis, where philosophers discussed the very things we're talking about-truth, justice, conundrums. That was how I met Dio."

"That was how I met him as well," I said.

Coponius raised an eyebrow. "You knew Dio in Alexandria?"

"Briefly, and long ago. I was quite young. My instruction from Dio was strictly informal."

Coponius understood at once. "Ah, you were one of those young men too poor to afford an education who linger on the steps hoping to catch the eye of one of the philosophers. Mendicants for wisdom, Dio called such young men."

"Something like that."

"There is no shame attached to such begging. The more one must struggle for wisdom, the more honor attaches to its attainment. My relationship with Dio was more formal than yours, I imagine. By the time I met him he had been elevated to the highest ranks of the Academy, and seldom appeared on the steps of the library; it was only by chance that I happened to meet him there. I invited him to dine on several occasions with Gaius and myself at the house we had rented in the imperial district. Dio knew all the Greek thinkers by heart. He could discourse for hours on the laws of perception and rational thought. Gaius would yawn and go to bed early, but I would stay up until dawn listening."

"Your brother doesn't care for philosophy?"

Coponius smiled. "Not particularly. But Gaius and Dio managed to find common interests. I was the one left out when the two of them went looking for adventure in the Rhakotis district." He raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"Dio never struck me as particularly adventurous."

"Then you didn't know him as I did, and certainly not as Gaius

did."

"What do you mean?"

"Dio was considerably older than my brother and me, but he still had appetites. Rather strong appetites, actually. He enjoyed showing Gaius what he called 'the secrets of Alexandria.' "

" 'Picking the fruit before it's ripe,' " I said to myself.

"What?"

"Something that someone else said about Dio."

"Ripeness is a matter of taste. With Dio it was more a question of bruising the fruit, I would say." "I don't understand."

Coponius fixed me again with his feline gaze. "There are those who would say that Dio's particular appetites were a flaw in his character, a sign of some imbalance in his humors. I myself have never been a slave to the flesh; my life is of the mind, and this seems to me ideal. Given my temperament, I'm often tempted to pass judgment on other men's weaknesses, but for friends I forgo such judgments. We must remember that while Dio's blood was Greek, his spirit was Egyptian. These people are more worldly than we are, earthier, in many ways cruder and more primitive. They make greater allowance for things we might consider out of bounds. On the one hand, Dio was a paragon of logic and reason; but on the other, he could release himself into a state of ecstasy beyond reason. If his pleasure sometimes depended on acts which you or I might consider to be cruel or excessive-"

"I don't understand."

Coponius shrugged. "What does it matter? The man is dead. His teachings are his legacy, along with his efforts on behalf of his country-men. Few men can claim as fine a monument." He stood and began to slowly pace, running the palm of his hand over the tops of the busts that lined the wall. "But you came to talk about Dio's death, not his life. What is it you want to know, Gordianus?"

"I already know the bare facts of the murder-what everyone knows, as you say. But water from the mouth of the spring is freshest. I want to hear whatever you or anyone else in the household can tell me about the exact circumstances of that night."

"Let me think back… " He paused before a bust of Alexander. "I was here in my study when Dio came in that evening. I had just finished eating my supper, alone, and had come here to do some reading. I heard a couple of the slave girls tittering out in the hallway. I called them in and asked them what they were laughing at. They said that my houseguest had come in dressed as a woman!"

"Hadn't he worn the same costume before?"

"Apparently so, slipping in and out of the house without my seeing him, accompanied by that little gallus who was always visiting him. Dio behaved very secretively in this house. He kept to his room with his door locked. He wouldn't even join me for meals. When he asked to stay with me, I had hoped that the two of us would share some civilized conversation as we had in Alexandria, that we would dine together and discuss philosophy or politics. I was rather disappointed at his aloofness, and a little irritated."

"He was a very frightened man."

"Yes, I realized that. Which is why I stayed out of his way. If he wished to hide in his room all day, or slip in and out of the house without telling me, I decided to say nothing. I wish now that I had somehow taken steps to intervene, though I'm not sure what I could have done."

"Dio was a hunted man. You must have known he was in terrible danger."

"Of course. That's why I kept a watchman posted inside the door every night. Even so, I never imagined that anyone would actually break into this house and commit such an atrocity. It seemed unthinkable."

"Would you show me where this unthinkable thing occurred?"

Coponius led me down a long hallway to the back of the house. "The watchman was posted in the foyer at the front of the house. When the assassins broke into Dio's room, he didn't hear it. I myself was sleeping in the room next door and heard nothing."

"Did Dio cry out?"

"No one heard him if he did."

"Would you have heard him?"

"I was sleeping, as I said, but I should think a scream would have awakened me. The walls aren't that thick. On other nights I was able to hear-well, never mind."

"You were about to say something?"

"This is the room." Coponius pushed opened a door and gestured for me to enter.

It was a small room, sparsely furnished with a sleeping couch, a chair, and a couple of small tables. A carpet covered the floor. Metal hooks were mounted in the walls for hanging clothing and lamps.

"How did the assassins get in?" I said.

"Through that window, by the couch. The shutters were drawn and latched, I'm sure. Dio would have seen to that, if only to shut out the cold. The latch has been repaired, but you can still see where the wood was splintered when the shutters were forced open."

"Was the old latch made of bronze, like this one?"

"This is the very same latch, hammered straight by a smith and reattached in a different place."

"This seems to be a rather strong latch. I should think that forcing it from the outside would have made some noise."

"I suppose."

"A considerable noise."

"It couldn't have been that loud-"

"Perhaps not a loud enough noise to awaken you in the next room, or even to be heard by your watchman at the front door, but surely loud enough for Dio to hear if he was lying on this couch."

"You might think so, yes. But as I told you, no one heard Dio cry out. I suppose he was a very sound sleeper. Or perhaps the breaking of the latch didn't make as much noise as you seem to think."

"We could argue the point forever," I said. "Or shall we make an empirical test?"

"Do you mean-?"

"If you'll let me."

Coponius shrugged.

"Go on."

I unlatched the window and stepped through it, into the courtyard beyond, which was surrounded by a high wall. Inside the room, Coponius latched the shutters. I pushed on them, testing their strength, and realized it would take a considerable effort to force them open. I looked around and spotted a loose stone. Clutching it in my fist, I struck a hard blow against the shutters. With a sound of splintering wood the shutters flew open and the metal latch went flying across the room and landed on the carpet.

I climbed through the window. "Tell me, was the broken latch found across the room like that, lying on the floor?"

"Why, yes. I'm sure of it. I remember, because when I came into this room I stepped on the latch and cut my bare foot."

"Then we can assume that the shutters were forced open with at least as much force on that night, and must have made as much noise. I would say that was noisy enough to wake anyone in this room."

"Yes," Coponius agreed, fretfully tapping his forefinger against his

lips.

"And yet, Dio didn't cry out."

"Perhaps he was awakened from a deep sleep, unable to comprehend. Or perhaps he comprehended only too well and was paralyzed with fright."

"Perhaps. Was his throat cut?"

"No. All the wounds were in his chest."

"How many wounds?"

"I'm not sure, exactly. Quite a few."

"There must have been a great deal of blood."

"Some blood, yes."

"A struggling man, stabbed repeatedly in the chest-the room must have been covered with blood."

Coponius wrinkled his brow. "When we came in the room, it was very dark, of course. The slaves held lamps. Shadows swung all about. I remember seeing blood-I don't know how much. Does it matter?"

"Probably not. You don't still have the sleeping tunic Dio was wearing, or the cushions he was sleeping on?"

"Of course not. They were burned."

I looked around the room, imagining Dio on the couch, silent, terrified, being stabbed repeatedly in the chest. Somehow the image did not make sense. "Your watchman finally did hear something, and came to investigate."

"Yes."

"Would you let me speak to him?"

"Of course." Coponius summoned the slave, a sturdy young Greek named Philo, who looked keen enough. I asked him exactly what he had heard on the night that Dio died.

"A noise, coming from this room."

"What kind of noise?"

"A banging kind of noise."

"Not a scream, or a moan?"

"No."

"Splintering wood, cracked hinges?"

"No, more like something being knocked onto the floor."

"When we came in," Coponius interjected, "everything was in disarray. The tables were upended, the chair on its side. The scrolls Dio kept by his bedside were scattered about."

"When you heard the banging noise," I said to Philo, "how quickly did you come?"

"Right away. I heard more noises while I was running down the hallway."

"How did you know where the noises were coming from?" "As I got closer I could tell that they were coming from inside this room."

"So you tried to open the door?" The slave hesitated. "Not right away."

"Because you were frightened?"

"No… "

"No? I would have been. It takes nerve to open a door with strange sounds coming from the other side, especially in the middle of the night."

"I wasn't scared. Excited in a way, my heart beating fast, but not scared."

"Then why didn't you try to open the door, Philo?" "I called out Dio's name instead." "Did he answer?"

"No. There was another banging noise." "Then you tried the door?" "Not right away… " "What were you waiting for?" "For them to finish!" Philo said, exasperated.

"To finish killing Dio?"

"Of course not! For Dio to finish his business, if that's what he was up to." The slave made a face and looked away. "The master knows what I mean."

I looked at Coponius, who looked back at me blandly and pursed his lips. "Philo means that such noises could have meant something besides… danger."

"Danger to Dio, anyway," said Philo under his breath.

"That's enough, Philo," said Coponius sharply. "Get back to what-ever you were doing."

The slave left us. I turned to Coponius. "These noises-"

He sighed. "Shortly after Dio came to stay here, he-how shall I say this? — he appropriated one of my slaves for his own use."

I nodded. "The last slave he owned had died tasting his food."

"That's not what I mean." Coponius shook his head. "He was a troubled man, in great distress. If ever a man needed something to take his mind off his problems, it was Dio. There was a young serving girl who caught his eye. He decided to make use of her. For his pleasure. He used her almost every night."

"With your permission?"

"I was never asked, actually. It was presumptuous of Dio to simply take what he wanted, to be sure, but under the circumstances I decided I would be a selfish host if I withheld the use of a slave from a guest, especially since I had no plans to use the girl myself, at least not in that way."

"I see. Then Philo thought he might simply be hearing the sounds of Dio using the girl." "Exactly."

"All the bumping and thumping-surely you heard it, too."

"Eventually it woke me. At first, I made the same assumption that Philo made. 'At it again!' I thought. I shut my eyes and tried to get back to sleep."

"Did Dio always make so much noise?" "Not always."

"What on earth would he do to the girl?"

"I hardly see how that's any of your business, Gordianus. I've been

indiscreet in telling you as much as I have. May Dio's shade forgive me. I begin to grow tired of this interview-"

"But eventually Philo realized that something was terribly wrong," I said, pressing on.

"Yes. When the bumps and knocks stopped, things got a bit too quiet. He called out Dio's name, louder and louder-I could hear him calling, so Dio should have been able to. I could also hear him rattling Dio's door, which was locked, of course. I got up then and told Philo to fetch some others. They brought torches and together managed to break down the door. Inside we found the shutters open, the room a mess… and Dio dead on his couch."

"And the slave girl?"

"She wasn't in the room at all, as it turned out. She was in the slaves' sleeping quarters."

I walked to the window and peered out. "How did the assassins get onto the terrace in the first place? It seems to be surrounded by a high wall."

"They must have scaled it. They couldn't have come in the front because of Philo, and the side walls were set flush against the houses on either side. The wall enclosing the little courtyard out back runs along a little alley. There's a gate in the wall, but it was securely locked. They had to have climbed over from the alley."

I nodded. "It's a high wall-too high for a man to climb without help, I should think."

"Do you want to test that as well?" Coponius raised an eyebrow.

"No. I think we can assume that there were at least two assassins, to help each other over the wall. Did your neighbors see anything?"

"None of my neighbors can see into the courtyard behind the house. The alley is practically unused. I doubt that anyone could have seen anything, unless they happened to be standing on a rooftop, which would have been unlikely on a chilly Januarius night. Besides, if anyone had seen something, I'd have been told. I'm on good terms with my neighbors. They were all quite upset by the murder."

I walked about the room, idly tapping my forefinger against the metal hooks set into the walls. "So the slave girl wasn't with Dio when the murder occurred?"

"As I told you, she was asleep in the slave quarters."

"Could I talk to her?"

Coponius shook his head. "Not possible."

"Why not?"

"I sold her to a slave dealer here in the city."

"Was there something wrong with her?

Coponius hesitated. "After the use Dio made of her, she was no longer suitable to serve in my house."

"You don't mean she was crippled?

"Of course not. Oh, a few strap marks and bruises, perhaps, but nothing that wouldn't fade with time. Possibly a scar or two, but nothing that would show unless she was naked. Nevertheless, she was damaged property. It simply wouldn't do to keep her in the household; much better to pass her on. I'm sure some other master will find her suitable-perhaps even find her value enhanced by the instruction Dio gave her." He shrugged. "I never intended for the girl to become a pleasure slave, but it must have been the will of the Fates."

"Or of Dio." My mouth was dry.

"The subject is distasteful to me," said Coponius. "Indeed, this whole conversation has begun to tire me. I should think that you've already found out more than you need to know."

"More than I intended to, anyway."

"Then perhaps you should be going. Here, I'll summon a slave to show you out." He clapped his hands.

The slave who came running was Philo. Coponius didn't notice. Having dismissed me, his mood abruptly darkened. He didn't even bid me farewell as he walked to the window and gazed out at the sunny courtyard, idly fingering the newly broken latch with one hand.

In the foyer I put my hand on Philo's shoulder and drew him aside. "The slave girl we were talking about-what's her name?"

"Zotica. But she's not here anymore."

"I know. Your master sold her to a dealer. You wouldn't know which dealer, would you?"

The slave hesitated, scrutinizing me. He peered up the hallway and bit his lip. "The master sold her to a man down on the street of the Scythemakers," he finally said. "I don't know his name."

I nodded. "Let me make sure I understand: when you broke into his room and found him dead, Dio was alone. Zotica wasn't with him."

"That's right."

"What about earlier that night?"

He looked at me and then peered up the hallway again. "Oh, all right, why not tell you? She's gone now, anyway, the poor child. Yes, Zotica was with Dio earlier that night. He came in wearing that ridiculous outfit, dressed up in a stola, if you can believe it, and in a foul mood, even fouler than usual. He snapped his fingers at Zotica and told her to come tend to him in his room. 'To help him take off his makeup,' quipped one of the other serving girls. 'No, just to help him take off!" said one of the others. They were always mean to Zotica because she was the youngest, and the prettiest, but I think they were also glad that Dio had settled on using her instead of them."

"So Dio went to his room and took the girl with him."

"Yes, but later he must have sent her away."

"Why do you say that?"

"The rest of the household had gone to bed. I was standing watch at the front door. I heard something in the hallway and went to have a look. It was Zotica walking up the hall, away from Dio's room. She was naked, clutching her gown and hiding her face in her hands, sobbing."

"Clutching her gown? Why wasn't she wearing it?"

"Why do you think? I figured the old man had ripped it off of her and torn it too badly to wear. I asked her what was wrong, but she just shook her head and ran toward the slave quarters. I figured he'd finished with her early, and been even rougher than usual."

"How long was this before the noise you heard later, when the assassins came?"

"Oh, quite a while before."

"But when you heard those noises and went to investigate, you told me you thought they might have been the sounds of Dio and Zotica… "

He shrugged. "I thought she might have slipped back into his room. But she hadn't. When we were breaking down the door to Dio's room, Zotica was off in the slave quarters with the other girls. There's no question about that. She woke some of the slaves with her weeping when she came in, then kept them awake with her sobbing, even when they threatened to beat her. There's no doubt that she was with the other slaves when Dio was stabbed."

"Still, I should dearly like to have a talk with her. Tell me, when you broke into the room, what exactly did you see?"

Philo was thoughtful. "Chair and tables overturned. Window shutters open. Dio on the couch, dead."

"How did you know he was dead?"

"The look on his face!" Philo turned pale, remembering. "Such a look-his eyes and mouth wide open with a look of pure horror, as if he'd seen the face of Cerberus himself."

"Pure horror-and yet you never heard him cry out?"

"Never."

"But to have such a look on his face, he must have known he was under attack, he must have felt the blows. Why did he not scream?" "I don't know. I only know I never heard him." "Did you see the wounds?"

"Very clearly. I helped undress him later, when the men from the necropolis came to take him away."

"How many times was he stabbed?"

"Six or seven times, I think. Maybe more. All in the chest, close together."

"How close?"

He held up his palms side by side. "Two hands could have covered the wounds."

"But surely he thrashed about. A frightened man startled from sleep, horrified. He's stabbed the first time-surely he cries out. Surely he thrashes and twists to avoid the next blow."

"Perhaps his arms were held down and his mouth was covered."

"How many men would that take?"

"The room was a mess. Perhaps there was a whole gang of them milling around in there."

"Perhaps. I suppose there was blood everywhere, on the walls and carpet?"

Philo wrinkled his brow. "Not really."

"And the sleeping tunic he wore-that must have been soaked with blood."

"Around the wounds, yes."

"But not-"

"Philo! I thought you were showing Gordianus to the door." Coponius appeared at the far end of the hall. He crossed his arms. "Yes, Master!"

"There was something I forgot to ask him," I said. "Just a small detail-"

"Farewell, Gordianus."

I took a deep breath. "Farewell, Titus Coponius."

Belbo was waiting for me outside the front door, sitting in a patch of warm sunshine. Together we took a silent walk through the streets of the Palatine, breathing in the smells of midday cooking, listening to the noises that echoed up from the Forum. I walked merely to walk, with no particular goal. I needed to think.

I was beginning to discover a side to Dio that I had never guessed at. This disturbed me. I had also begun to piece together the sequence of his final days and hours. The gory drama of his death seemed forthright enough; it only remained to determine who had broken into his room that fateful night. Yet I could not put aside a nagging feeling that some-thing was very, very wrong.