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Authors: D. L. Johnstone

Tags: #Thriller

Furies (14 page)

BOOK: Furies
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“There’s a healer I know of …” Aculeo offered.

“Don’t you get it yet?” Trogus cried between coughs. “I want nothing … nothing to do with you, you … son-of-a-bitch … just leave me be!”

Aculeo held up a round loaf of fresh hard bread, an amphora of wine, a small block of fresh cheese and a few dried plums. He said nothing as he handed it to Gellius. “I’ll leave this here for when you’re hungry.”

“D’you expect gratitude for your charity now?” Trogus said angrily.

“It’s not necessary …”

“Nor is it deserved. Though I’m sure it lessens the guilt poisoning your heart.”

“What guilt? It’s hardly my fault you’re here. I’ve fallen almost as far as you, as have dozens of others.”

“And whose fault is it?” Trogus said, trying to restrain a cough. “Iovinus’?”

“Perhaps.”

“Blame a dead man, why not? Just do me a favour, Aculeo – stay out of my sight. I detest your sympathy and I don’t really need the reminder of all I’ve left behind. Just go fuck yourself.” With that, the man pulled his blanket up over his shoulders and rolled to face the wall, his shoulders hitching up and down with each wretched cough.

Gellius touched Aculeo’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s go for a walk.”

 

The two men threaded their way through the morning crowds that thronged and chattered along the Canopic Way. The eastern harbour had a fine view of the magnificent palace grounds, nestled within the Royal Harbour where elegant skiffs and great triremes sat at anchor. Treacherous shoals blocked all but one entrance, but the harbour was deep enough to allow large ships to moor right up against the palace steps. Beta, the palace district, sprawled across close to a quarter of the city with its winding porticoes, lush groves, and grandiose public buildings. Once home to the great Greek kings and queens of Egypt, from Ptolemy Soter to Cleopatra VII herself, the magnificent old buildings now served as the headquarters for the Roman Prefect Flaccus and the various officials who ran the city, as well as the Library, the Museion and the Gymnasion.

The grounds of the Museion were just ahead. The heavy fragrance of flowering acacia hung in the air, along with the softly clattering sound of leaves from a grove of date palms growing outside the walls. A colossal pair of Aswan marble statues of some ancient Egyptian kings and queens stood solemn-faced on either side of a towering marble archway.

“Everything else may have been taken from us, but we can still appreciate beauty,” Gellius said gently, taking a seat on a marble bench beneath a shaded portico. “This truly is the loveliest place in the entire city. It seems so different now, though I suppose it’s really me who’s different. I can reflect on what I once had at least.”

“You sound like you’ve already given up,” Aculeo said, sitting next to his old friend.

Gellius said nothing for a while. Then he turned to Aculeo, taking his hands in his, squeezing tight. “I pray you forgive dear Trogus. The moneylenders are after us, you see. We’re so terribly in debt, I fear we can never be free again. Yet Trogus is far too proud to ask anyone for help. And I can’t go against his wishes. I won’t.”

“But what will you do?”

“We want to go back to Rome but we can barely afford food and a roof over our heads much less ship’s passage.”

“You know I’d help you if I could,” Aculeo said. “It’s just …”

“It’s alright – what would be the point?” Gellius said. “Leave here so we could be paupers in another place? No. Besides, Trogus is too ill to travel.”

“And yet he refuses to see a healer.”

“I’ll try to get him to see reason. In the meantime we’ll just hide as long as we can, as long as we can afford the rent, which isn’t much longer I fear.”

“Stay with me then,” Aculeo said. “What little room I have is yours.”

Gellius smiled. “Thank you, but I doubt Trogus would accept your gracious hospitality, however well intended. No, we’ll just stick it out where we are and try to leave once he’s feeling better. In the meantime, there’s still a chance we can recover something of what Iovinus stole from us.”

“A fading chance I fear,” Aculeo said. “I’ve some bad news. Iovinus didn’t take his own life. He was murdered.”

Gellius gave a sharp intake of breath and his eyes narrowed warily. “What are you talking about?” And Aculeo recounted what he’d learned from his visit to Sekhet. “Shit!” Gellius said, slumping down in the marble bench, pounding his fists against his head. “Shit shit shit! Why? Who would have done such a thing?”

“I can think of several names off the top of my head who would have gladly done the deed once the word got out of where to find him.”

“This is a disaster! What shall we do? What of his porne, Neaera? Any luck finding her?”

“Not yet. I doubt it was a coincidence she disappeared within days of Iovinus’ murder though.”

“Perhaps not.” Aculeo pulled the portrait of the three women near Pharos and unrolled it on the bench between them. “What’s that?” Gellius asked.

“I took it from Neaera’s flat.” He pointed to the woman in the middle of the portrait with the cameo necklace about her pale throat. “This is Neaera.”

“She’s lovely,” Gellius said.

“Do you recognize the other two?”

Gellius examined the portrait more thoroughly, then tapped the dark-haired woman standing to Neaera’s right. “This one I know,” he said, stroking her cheek, a smile curving his lips. “Calisto. I’m sure of it. It’s rather a fine likeness.”

“Who is she? Another porne?”

“Hardly. She’s a hetaira, and an expensive one at that. She entertains at only the finest symposia. I don’t attend those much myself these days. My social life is rather limited of late.”

“As is mine,” Aculeo said. “Where could I find her?”

 

Dotted about the Beta Quarter, like seeds on a crust of bread, were a number of exclusive little demes where the city’s wealthiest citizens resided, including Aculeo and his family only a few months before – it felt so terribly long ago to him now. The winding streets of Olympia were carved into a hill above the central city area. From the top of the hill one could see the Sarapeion to the southwest and the Lighthouse in the northern harbour.

The Street of Lagos was lush with ornamental acacia, fig trees and date palms and a long stretch of pretty white garden walls, the tops of which were blanketed with fragrant pink blossomed boughs. And there, the Shrine of Ares – across from it stood a particularly beautiful villa just as Gellius had described it. Two lush plum trees stood on either side of the entrance, their branches drooping down, heavy with purple-red fruit. No drab little flat near the Tannery for this one, Aculeo mused. Sweat trickled down his brow and back from the exertion of the walk. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand as he approached the gates.

Someone within was playing an aulos, the sound like the melodious buzzing of wasps haunting the air. He knocked at the gatehouse and the music ended. A child, perhaps seven or eight years old, darted to the gate, her feet bare, her eyes wide when she saw Aculeo standing there. It was the little thief from the Agora who’d stolen the wooden top from the merchant’s cart. He realized where he’d seen Calisto before – she was one of the hetairai he’d seen in the Agora that same day.

“Greetings,” Aculeo said. “I’d like to talk to your mistress. Please tell her I’m a friend of Gellius’ and come at his recommendation.” The girl stared at him, unmoving. He smiled. “I believe I may have seen a little girl who looked just like you steal a red top in the Agora two mornings ago. Are you enjoying it?”

The girl gaped at him in astonishment, then turned and ran back inside. Several moments later a very large, intimidating looking Nubian appeared and opened the heavy gates. The slave silently escorted Aculeo through the auleios that led to an inner courtyard. Peacocks strutted across the grounds, fanning out their tail feathers in proud display, and an ivory ibis strode about stilt-legged in a garden pond, spearing fish that splashed and darted around its feet. The little girl was standing at the edge of the courtyard, watching him. He gave her a small wave. She smiled shyly then disappeared into the garden. The Nubian stood off to the side, silent, watching.

Aculeo heard a swish of sandals across the mosaic floor behind him. The birds looked up from their preening. He turned and saw a young woman walking towards him. Calisto. She was tall and slender and wore a loose ivory chiton pinned at the shoulder with an exquisite gold fibula. She had a pale olive complexion and rich, amber-coloured eyes, but her features were too sharp and angular, her nose too thin, her mouth too serious to be considered beautiful. I could find a dozen prettier pornes walking down any street in the Tannery, and at a fraction of the price for the lot of them, no doubt. What’s so special about her then?

“Greetings,” she said. “I’m Calisto.” Her voice had a slight dusky accent, the origin difficult to pinpoint.

“Greetings, I’m Decimus Tarquitius Aculeo. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all. You said you were a friend of Gellius.”

“I am,” he said. “He sends his greetings.”

“Please give him my regards,” she said graciously. “How may I help you?”

“I was hoping you might know a woman named Neaera,” Aculeo said.

Calisto looked at him, caught off guard. “Yes, of course … but why do you ask?”

Aculeo retrieved the portrait he’d taken from Neaera’s flat from his satchel and laid it out on the little table between them.

“Where did you find that?” she asked.

“I took it from Neaera’s flat in Delta.”

“But I don’t understand – what’s this all about?”

“Neaera disappeared a few days ago.”

“Disappeared?” Calisto said, her voice trailing to a wisp. “I don’t …”

“I’m a colleague of her patron, Iovinus.”

“Yes, of course, I know him well. But I still don’t understand.”

“I’m afraid Iovinus was murdered yesterday morning.”

“Oh … that’s terrible.” Calisto’s face went pale.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Yes. I’m just … I’d heard he’d drowned months ago. How could he have only just …?”

“I’m trying to answer the same question, frankly. That’s why I was looking for Neaera. I hoped she’d be able to help me.”

Calisto looked as though she might faint. Aculeo took her by the hand, helping her to sit and poured her a cup of water. She appeared younger and less certain of herself than she had initially. How old is she, I wonder – twenty-three or so?” This is very upsetting. I don’t know what to say. What … did something happen to Neaera?”

BOOK: Furies
11.55Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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