Furies (18 page)

“I shall treat her with the utmost reverence,” Sekhet said with a small bow.

Calisto took out her purse and counted out five gold coins, her fingers trembling. “This should cover things, I pray.”

“Exactly enough,” the healer said, accepting the coins.

Calisto turned to Aculeo, put a hand on his arm. “Walk me to the litter please.”

They left the little building, walking in silence for a moment. She took a deep breath. He sensed she was trying to recover her poise, not wanting to appear upset in front of Idaia, who had climbed back into the litter and now watched their approach from behind the partially raised curtain. She was clearly shaken, pale and trembling.

“Myrrhine had words with her patron last night,” she said at last.

“Who is her patron?”

“Albius Ralla. I overheard them arguing about something at the symposium. I’m not sure what it was about.”

“Do you think it’s possible …?” Aculeo paused, not daring to speak the words.

“No, no, I realize it makes no sense,” Calisto said and glanced towards the litter, shaking her head. “Please, if you learn anything, anything at all about what happened to Myrrhine, you’ll come and tell me,” she said with soft urgency. “I have to know.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you. For all you’ve done.” Calisto kissed him on the cheek, her perfume rich and dense, her lips warm and soft against his skin, then climbed into the litter. Idaia lifted a corner of the curtain and smiled tentatively at Aculeo.

Sekhet sniffed as the Nubians hoisted the litter up and carried it away. “The slave carrying the front left corner of her litter has a bad left hip. He looks far too old for this sort of work if you ask me, but at least his mistress will save getting a blister on her pretty feet.”

“Perhaps she should carry him instead?” Aculeo asked.

“It might be a pleasant change.” She gave Aculeo a critical look. “Are you drinking your cucumber juice?”

“Of course,” he said, his head throbbing.

“Really? Because you look like shit. I say that as a healer, you understand, not as a lowly old fellahin woman to one of her omnipotent Roman overlords.”

A slave escorted Aculeo into the Blue Bird’s atrium. Most of the little tables scattered about the courtyard were occupied by men and pretty young women. Sunlight streamed in from the compluvium, scattering in the rippling water of the rectangular pool beneath it. A dark skinned beauty approached him with a lovely smile and a cup of wine.

“Welcome, my name’s Sabina,” the girl cooed, snaking her arm around his and pressed her body against him.

“I’m looking for Tyche,” Aculeo said, and politely disengaged from the girl, who shrugged and returned to one of the rooms off the atrium. A moment later, Tyche emerged, a wary smile fixed on her face. Her eyes brightened when she saw Aculeo. “Can we go someplace private?” he asked.

She signalled a slave, who approached the table. “Two sesterces for fifteen minutes,” the slave announced. Aculeo handed him the coins. “Third room.”

Tyche took Aculeo’s hand in hers and led him down the dark hallway to a room. There was a small, crude painting of a threesome on the wall outside the doorway. Tyche opened the wooden door and they stepped into the tiny cubiculum, hardly big enough to hold the narrow pallet.

She turned around and pressed his hand to her lips. “I’m grateful to see you again.”

“And I you,” he said. “How’ve you been?”

“Well enough,” Tyche said, though her eyes were far too burdened for one so young. “Please, sit.”

“I only came to talk with you.”

“Just do as I ask,” she whispered anxiously.

Aculeo sat on the pallet and Tyche knelt on the floor before him. She unstrapped his sandals and pulled a basin of water from beneath the bed and started to wash his feet.

“Don’t,” he whispered, taking the sponge from her hands. “Listen to me a minute. Iovinus was murdered.”

“What?”

“I went to Neaera’s flat as you told me. There was no sign of her there. She hasn’t been seen in days. She left all her possessions behind though. I fear something may have happened to her as well.”

“Oh!” Tyche cried, her face crumpling in grief as she stifled a sob.

The door rattled in the frame and opened a crack. Tyche climbed onto the pallet next to Aculeo, placing a hand on his thigh as she kissed him hard on the mouth. The door closed again as the watcher moved on.

“They watch everything here,” she whispered, clinging to him, her tears wetting his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I had better news.”

“It’s as I feared, I only hoped I was wrong.”

“A woman was murdered last night. A hetaira named Myrrhine.”

“Who?” Tyche asked.

“You didn’t know her?” Aculeo asked.

“No. What happened?”

“She attended a symposium last night. Her body was dumped in a canal in Gamma. She’d been stabbed to death.”

Tyche bowed her head, her shoulders trembling. I shouldn’t have come here, he thought, she can’t help me, I’m only adding to her worries. He decided to change tack. “Did Neaera ever mention Albius Ralla or Marcellus Gurculio?”

“Of course. Ralla used to own her,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Oh?” Aculeo asked in surprise. “But I thought Iovinus …?”

“Yes, but first it was Ralla. He was … a very cruel man,” she said. “Neaera told me how he liked to bind and beat her before forcing himself on her. She wanted a way out, any way she could, even death. He finally tired of her and sold her back to Panthea perhaps six months ago. That’s when she met Iovinus. She was so happy, she’d finally found a way out. She was wrong, there is no way,” Tyche wept, burying her face into his shoulder, clinging to him as though she were drowning.

There was a rap on the doorframe. “Two minutes,” the slave called.

“Did you know a hetaira named Petras?” Aculeo whispered.

“Neaera’s cousin?” Tyche asked. “I’ve met her, yes, but I haven’t seen her in months.”

“Any idea where she went?”

“No. We all prayed she’d simply run away.”

Aculeo strapped his sandals back on as Tyche huddled in the corner of the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She tried to smile but faltered, her haunted eyes filled with tears and she looked away. He
put his hand on Tyche’s, so small, so fragile, and squeezed it tight, promising himself at that moment that someday he would take her from this wretched place, that he would find a way to change her fate. He didn’t dare speak the words aloud though – she’d had enough broken promises already in her young life.

“Time,” called the slave.

Aculeo awoke drenched with sweat, his heart pounding in his chest, his head spinning. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, watching shadows flit across its cracked surface. He thought of Iovinus, the sound the rope made as his corpse had swung back and forth in the backroom of that foul little tavern. Someone murdered him, stole his tablets, tried to make it look like suicide. His porne, Neaera, fell off the face of the earth. Myrrhine’s body pulled from the canal after an evening at Gurculio’s symposium. And a random river slave is murdered in the Sarapeion. What was the sense of it all?

He climbed out of bed and pulled on a tunic, trying not to wake Xanthias as he slipped out the door. He walked along the streets, the torches that lined the lime-paved streets making them appear as bright as daytime. A pair of soldiers from the Night Guard watched him curiously as he passed but didn’t bother challenging him. Clots of drunken men stumbled out of the many taverns that lined the streets, arms thrown about one another’s shoulders, singing and laughing in joyous camaraderie.

He made his way to the Little Eagle in Gamma. It was still busy enough, the crowd consisting of a rough-looking group of sailors and some itinerant merchants, all of them deep in their cups. Aculeo took a torch from the wall and headed upstairs to Gellius’ and Trogus’ room. He knocked on the door. The door creaked open, the room was in darkness. “Gellius? Trogus?” he called quietly as he stepped inside, his torch casting a flickering glow. The room was empty, all their meagre possessions gone, though the stench of illness and unwashed bodies lingered. Perhaps they’d found the money to leave the city after all. Or had something happened to them?

He headed back downstairs and spotted Bitucus sitting at a corner table, looking much like his old self, surprisingly enough – clean-shaven, hair trimmed, and wearing a fine new tunic, though his pale eyes were glassy from drink. Aculeo approached the table.

Bitucus blinked at him in surprise. “Aculeo.”

“I thought you’d all left. Where are Trogus and Gellius?”

“Is that who I think it is?” a cheerful voice boomed from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder – Theopompus, an Icarian merchant, met him with a huge grin, clapped him on the back and dropped down in the chair across from Bitucus.

“Theopompus, it’s been awhile,” Aculeo said.

“Indeed it has, old friend. Why don’t you join us?” Theopompus said and called to the thrattia for another cup and some more wine. Bitucus looked away, holding his tongue. Aculeo warily sat down – he had a bad feeling all of a sudden.

Theopompus, with his flashy clothing, jewelled rings on every stubby finger and chunky gold and silver bracelets covering both forearms, had always seemed friendly enough, like any good merchant, but Aculeo had always thought him a bit of a snake. “I’d heard you’d gone back to Rome,” the Icarian said with an easy smile, though his hooded eyes, rimmed black with kohl, watched everything.

“My family did. I’m staying here for now.”

“For now, that’s the thing!” the man barked as he poured Aculeo a generous cup. “There’s not much left of this fruit for most of us but the husk, is there?”

“You, uh, haven’t seen Gellius about, have you Aculeo?” Bitucus asked.

The two men seemed too watchful, too interested in what he might say. What game are they playing? And on whose behalf? “I haven’t a clue. I know they were planning to leave the city. As you said, there’s little left here but husk.”

“Come on Aculeo,” Bitucus said, feigning jocularity, and doing a poor job of it. Aculeo glowered at the man, who faltered and looked away. The Icarian laughed again, though his darkened eyes hardened, unblinking.

“Why are you looking for him?” Aculeo asked.

“We’ve a business opportunity for him,” Theopompus said.

“Oh? What sort?”