Furies (19 page)

The merchant didn’t bother to reply as he counted out ten silver sesterces and slid them across the table, the coins gleaming in the lamplight. “Just let us know if you run into him, will you?”

Aculeo’s general unease was replaced with a sense of dread, though he tried not to show it. The Icarian stood to leave. Bitucus stood as well but Aculeo stopped him. “Before you go, a moment in private please. I trust you don’t mind, Theopompus.”

The Icarian nodded. “I’ll wait outside then. Good to see you again, Aculeo.”

They watched him leave. Bitucus gave a nervous smile. “Aculeo, I …”

Aculeo grabbed the man by the front of his tunic, clutching at the soft linen, exquisitely embroidered with gold and purple thread. “What the fuck’s going on here, Bitucus?”

“Wha … what d’you mean?” the man stammered, unable to look him in the eye.

“What do you want with Gellius?”

Bitucus pulled away, absently straightening out the front of his tunic. “This doesn’t involve you, Aculeo.”

“You found Iovinus’ tablets, didn’t you!”

“It’s nothing like that!”

“And why just Gellius? Where’s Trogus?”

“Come on, Aculeo, you have to understand …”

Aculeo glanced down at the coins glinting on the tabletop. Everything came horribly clear. “Your loyalty to your friends comes cheap. You turned him in to Gurculio, didn’t you?”

“Should I betray my family instead?” Bitucus cried.

“The first defence of a traitor.”

“At least I’m not a fool who refuses to see the tide’s turned until it’s too damned late!”

Aculeo swept the coins off the table. They rang and rolled across the floor and a few other patrons scrambled to retrieve them. Bitucus tried to escape and Aculeo shoved him to the floor.

He looked up at Aculeo in surprise and hurt. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You’d better get out of here before I cut your damned throat.”

“You were always a reasonable man.”

“Fuck your reason, Bitucus! I’m a Roman, damn you, as I thought you were. What about virtue?”

“Where’s virtue gotten either of us, you pompous prick?” Bitucus demanded as he struggled to his feet. Aculeo started towards him. The other man’s face showed a flash of fear and he scuttled quickly towards the door. “Come find me when you come to your senses!”

Aculeo waited a minute, watching Bitucus and the Icarian through the window, engaged in a heated discussion. The Icarian threw up his hands and walked away. Bitucus followed reluctantly, shoulders slumped. Aculeo stepped outside, following the two men from a safe distance along the darkened streets. Where are they going? They led him deep into Beta along the winding, lovely streets. They came at last to Gurculio’s villa, still lit up in the depth of night, and the guards let them inside.

So I was right, they’re working on the moneylender’s behalf, collecting on his loans. They probably have Trogus in there right now. Fuck! He heard the sickening sound of Gurculio’s braying laughter and resisted the urge to storm the gates and face the man. What would I say exactly? Bitucus may be a fool and a traitor, but he’s not wrong – the tides have changed. The question is, can they change back?

The guards looked towards where he stood. Aculeo stepped back into the shadows, helpless, exposed and furious at himself for being that way.

Aculeo turned south onto the broad Street of the Soma, the Great Crossroads, where the golden-domed Tomb of Alexander shimmered in the noonday sun, well behind him now, and headed up towards Olympia. The crowds had begun to thin at last as he moved away from the marketplace, leaving the tangled noises and smells of the streets behind. Here the air smelled of hyacinth and jasmine and he could hear birds singing in the acacia trees.

His head was throbbing. He’d slept late after staying up drinking almost until the break of dawn, rolling his shrinking options around and around in his head like loaded dice. Meeting with Calisto again and asking her what she knew of Gurculio’s involvement with Iovinus was a longshot at best. Then again, it did give him a reason to see her again.

As he neared the villa he spotted the little girl playing just inside the gates, feeding bits of bread to a flock of geese. Aculeo whistled to her. The girl looked up in surprise, then beamed at him. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Aculeo said with a smile. “Is your mistress at home?”

“Yes,” she said. The towering Nubian guarding the gate met Aculeo with a stolid glare. “It’s alright. Go fetch the mistress.” The man bowed and opened the gate for Aculeo, then disappeared into the house.

“Come,” she said, and skipped just ahead of him as they made their way along the creamy marble hallway towards the atrium. There were half a dozen fine marble statues and some splendid tapestries on the walls, softening the sounds of their footfalls. They could hear the clatter of slaves working and chatting in distant sections of the villa. Aculeo’s heart was filled with a sudden sense of nostalgia at the scene – he half expected to see Atellus running down the fauces to greet him.

“Have you found the man who killed Myrrhine yet?” the little girl asked, breaking the spell.

“No, not yet. Did you know her well?”

“Oh yes, of course, she was very nice, so pretty and such a lovely voice. I’ll miss her terribly.” Idaia was quiet for a moment. “Do you have children?”

“Yes. A son.”

“How old is he?”

“Three. He lives in Rome with his mother though.”

“Oh.” The girl stopped skipping then and fell into step with him. “Why?”

“His mother didn’t want to live here anymore, so she returned to Rome and took my son with her.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Yes I do. Very much.”

“I’m sorry.” She slipped her little hand into Aculeo’s, surprising him. He’d forgotten the simple joy of holding a child’s hand as he walked. “Are you Roman?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever met Caesar?”

“No I haven’t.”

“I met the Prefect once and he’s a friend of Caesar’s,” the girl chattered. “He was at a party we went to. I go to lots of parties, Calisto lets me come sometimes. Do you like parties?”

“I used to, but not anymore,” Aculeo said.

“I do. All the food and music and singing … Do you like Calisto?”

“She seems very nice.”

“A lot of men like Calisto.”

“I would imagine so.”

“She goes to parties all the time. She’s not only beautiful but terribly talented and clever as well.”

A peacock gave a haunting trill, bobbing its head back and forth as it hurried along the marble tiles just ahead of them, as though to warn its mistress. The girl slipped her hand from his and chased it down the hall. Calisto was standing in the midst of the sun-filled atrium. The way the sun lit her face, Aculeo saw how truly beautiful her eyes were, a deep honeyed amber, with an exotic, Persian slant to them.

She came towards him, took his hands in hers and kissed his cheek, the scent of her perfume multi-layered, evocative. “Aculeo! What a lovely surprise.”

“Your pretty little slave let me in,” he said.

“Idaia’s not a slave,” Calisto said, taking his arm and escorting him deeper into the atrium, her hand soft and cool against his skin. “I freed her the same day I purchased her. She comes from Phrygia, which is my homeland as well.”

“She’s quite fortunate then, to have found such a kind benefactress.”

“I’m fortunate as well – she provides me a great deal of pleasure,” Calisto said, gazing after the girl as she disappeared behind the garden wall at the rear of the atrium.

Two men were sitting and talking animatedly with one another beneath a white cloth awning, one of them spare and balding, his hair and beard streaked with silver, the other heavy-set with a thatch of stony grey hair atop his head and a gloomy expression on his florid face.

The balding one glanced up at Aculeo and smiled. “Ah, who’s this?” he asked, his dark eyes piqued with curiosity.

“This is the gentleman I was telling you about,” Calisto said. “Decimus Tarquitius Aculeo, these are my dear friends Zeanthes of Araethyrea and Epiphaneus of Cyrene.”

“A great pleasure to meet you, sir,” Zeanthes said warmly. Epiphaneus mumbled incomprehensibly into his cup. Judging by the bleariness of his eyes, he’d already drained it several times that day.

“The pleasure’s mine,” Aculeo replied.

“Zeanthes and Epiphaneus are sophists at the Museion,” Calisto said.

“What field of study?”

“I follow the teachings of Pyrrho of Elis the Skeptic,” Zeanthes said.

“The braggart and the fool!” Epiphaneus blurted, slapping the flat of his hand down on the table, clattering the cups and dishes. “It’s been over a century since that potheaded shit assigned what passed for knowledge to paper yet his thoughts are more muddled now than ever.”

“Must we do this now?” Zeanthes sighed.

The other sophist looked disconsolately at his empty cup. “Are we out of wine?” A slave scurried over to remedy the matter.

“Aculeo is trying to learn who murdered Myrrhine and what might have happened to dear Neaera,” Calisto said.

“Ah yes, Calisto told us what happened,” Zeanthes said with a pained expression. “Most distressing.”

“You knew them?” Aculeo said.

“I never met Neaera but I knew Myrrhine, of course. To think that she could have been murdered. A lovely girl.”

“Lovely,” Epiphaneus mumbled, almost to himself,
fixing his piggish eyes on Aculeo for a moment before returning his attention to his cup.

Zeanthes cleared his throat and smiled politely. “So, good sir, how is it that you’re involved in such a dreadful business?”

“I was an associate of Neaera’s patron Iovinus.”

“Was?”

“He was murdered earlier this week.”

“Oh my!” Zeanthes said, his face drawn suddenly. “But … what happened?”

Aculeo explained as delicately as he could, leaving out the matter of Iovinus’ embezzlement and the disappearance of the tablets he’d been carrying. The sophist listened in rapt attention to every word. “How utterly dreadful!” the sophist said at last.

“I’ve been looking into Neaera’s disappearance, hoping she could shed some insight. I’ve had little luck though.”

“He fears Myrrhine’s murder may be connected,” Calisto said.

“Well I wish you good fortune and a swift resolution to your endeavour,” Zeanthes said solemnly, then raised a cup.

“Hear, hear!” Epiphaneus slurred, raising his cup to drink.

“I only hope it’s not too late for dear Neaera.”

“Perhaps we could talk of more pleasant things for a while,” Calisto said with forced cheerfulness.

“Of course, my dear,” Zeanthes said. “You know, man’s true nature is to pursue pleasure after all, not merely to do his work, whatever it might be. He takes joy in good wine perhaps, or the love of a beautiful woman. What of Tarquitius Aculeo? How does he find his pleasure?”

“I’ve given little thought to pleasure lately. It’s all I can do to simply try and live my life, such that it is.”