Gordianus The Finder Omnibus (Books 1-4) (184 page)

‘And tonight Faustus Fabius would be free of all suspicion.’

‘Yes,’ Crassus sighed, ‘and the people of the Cup would be spreading tales of the unique and glorious spectacle staged by Marcus Licinius Crassus, stories that would reverberate all the way up to Rome and down to Spartacus’s camp at Thurii.’

‘And ninety-nine innocent slaves would be dead.’

Crassus looked at me in silence, then smiled thinly. ‘But instead, the opposite of each of these things has happened. I think, Gordianus, that you are indeed an arm of Nemesis. Your work here has merely fulfilled the will of the gods. How else could it be, except as a jest of the gods, that tonight I should be sitting here drinking the last of my cousin’s excellent Falernian wine with the only man in the world who thinks the lives of ninety-nine slaves are more important than the ambitions of the richest man in Rome?’

‘What will you do with them?’

‘With whom?’

‘The one hundred.’

He swirled the last of the wine in his cup and stared into the red vortex. ‘They’re useless to me now. Certainly they can’t be returned to this house, or to any of my properties; I could never trust any of them again, after what’s happened. I considered selling them here at Puteoli, but I don’t care to have them spreading their story all over the Cup. I shall ship them off to the markets at Alexandria.’

‘The Thracian slave, Alexandros—’

‘Iaia has already approached me, asking to buy him as a gift for Olympias.’ He sipped his wine. ‘Completely out of the question, of course.’

‘But why?’

‘Because it is just possible that someone might decide to bring a murder charge against Faustus Fabius and force a trial; I’ve told you that I have no desire for such a public spectacle. Any prosecutor would of course call on Alexandros to testify, but a slave cannot testify without his master’s permission. Now, so long as I own Alexandros I will never allow him to speak of the matter again. He must be put out of reach. He’s young and strong; probably I shall make him a galley slave or a mine worker, or send him to a slave market so far away that he will quietly vanish forever.’

‘But why not let Olympias have him?’

‘Because if murder charges are ever brought against Faustus Fabius, she might allow him to testify.’

‘A slave can’t testify except under torture; Olympias would never permit that.’

‘She might manumit him; in fact, she probably would, and a freedman can testify to his heart’s content, and to my eternal embarrassment.’

‘You could extract a pledge—’

‘No! I cannot permit the slave to stay anywhere in the region of the Cup, don’t you see? So long as he’s about, people will keep talking about the affair of Lucius Licinius, and wasn’t Alexandros the slave everyone accused of the murder, and didn’t it actually turn out that some patrician did it, or so the gossips say – you see, he simply has to vanish from the Cup, one way or another. My way is more merciful than simply killing him, don’t you see?’

I clenched my jaw. The wine was suddenly bitter. ‘And the slave Apollonius?’

‘Mummius wants to buy him, as you must already know. Again, out of the question.’

‘But Apollonius knows nothing!’

‘Nonsense! You yourself sent him diving for the weapons that Faustus Fabius tossed into the water.’

‘Even so—’

‘And his presence among the other ninety-nine this afternoon ruins him for any further service in any proximity to me. Mummius is my right-hand man; I can’t have a slave I almost put to death living in Mummius’s home, serving me wine when I come to visit and turning down my bed for me at night, slipping an asp between the coverlets. No, like Alexandros, Apollonius must vanish. I expect it won’t be difficult to find a buyer for him, considering his beauty and his talents. There are agents in Alexandria who buy slaves for rich Parthians; that would be best, to sell him to a rich master beyond the edge of the world.’

‘You’ll make an enemy of Marcus Mummius.’

‘Don’t be absurd. Mummius is a soldier, not a sensualist. He’s a Roman! His ties to me and his sense of honour far outweigh any fleeting attraction he may feel for a pretty youth.’

‘I think you’re wrong.’

Crassus shrugged. Behind the mask of hard logic on his face, I saw his smug satisfaction. How could such a great and powerful man take pleasure in exacting such petty revenge on those who had foiled him? I closed my weary eyes for a moment.

‘You said earlier that I would be paid the fee I was promised, Marcus Crassus. As part of my fee . . . as a favour . . . there is a boy among the slaves, a mere child called Meto—’

Crassus shook his head grimly. His mouth was a straight line. His narrow eyes glinted in the lamplight. ‘Ask me for no more favours concerning the slaves, Gordianus. They are alive, and for that you may credit your own tenacity and Gelina’s insistence, but your fee will be paid in silver, not in flesh, and not one of the slaves will receive special treatment. Not one! They shall be dispersed beyond the reach of anyone in this house, sold to new masters and put to good use, doing their small share to build the prosperity and maintain the eternal power of Rome.’

Crassus and his retinue made ready to leave for Rome the next morning. The slaves, with Apollonius, Alexandros, and Meto among them, were herded from the stables down to the camp by Lake Lucrinus, and then to the docks at Puteoli. Olympias, weeping and refusing to be comforted, shut herself away in her room. Mummius watched the slaves depart with a grim jaw and an ashen face.

Iaia’s household slaves were summoned from Cumae to tend to necessities at the villa. Eco’s fever broke but he did not awaken.

That night a dinner in Crassus’s honour was held at one of Orata’s villas in Puteoli, where Crassus and his retinue spent the night. Gelina attended, but I was not invited. Iaia stayed with me to watch over Eco. Crassus departed the Cup the next morning. Gelina made ready to vacate the villa to spend the winter at Crassus’s house in Rome.

Eco awoke the next day. He was weak but his appetite was strong, and the fever did not return. I half expected that his newly restored power of speech would vanish with his illness; if, as Crassus had said, my work in Baiae had merely been to fulfil the will of the gods, then it was reasonable to assume that the gods had granted Eco the ability to cry out merely for the purpose of saving my life outside the arena, and that now they would reclaim the gift. But when he opened his eyes that morning and looked up at me, he whispered in a hoarse, childlike voice, ‘Papa, where are we, Papa?’

I wept, and did not stop weeping for a long time. Iaia, even with her access to Apollo’s mysteries, could not explain what had transpired.

As soon as he was well enough, Eco and I began the journey back to Rome, by land rather than sea. Mummius had left horses for our use and soldiers to act as our bodyguards on the road. I appreciated his concern, especially since I was carrying a rather substantial amount of silver on my person, my fee for finding the murderer of Lucius Licinius.

We took the Via Consularis to Capua, where Spartacus had trained to be a gladiator and had revolted against his master. Then we took the Via Appia northwards, drinking in the splendid autumnal scenery, never imagining that in the spring its broad, paved width would be lined for mile after mile, all the way to Rome, with six thousand crucified bodies – unlucky survivors of the annihilated army of Spartacus, nailed on crosses and publicly displayed for the moral edification of slaves and masters alike.

EPILOGUE

‘You’ll never believe who’s come to see us!’ said Eco. His voice was a bit deep and hoarse for such a young man, but to me it was more beautiful than any orator’s.

‘Oh, I might,’ I said. Just to hear him speak, even two years after the events at Baiae, was enough to make me believe almost anything. I had learned not to question the whims of the gods or to take them for granted.

I set down the scroll I had been perusing and took a sip of cool wine. It was a midsummer’s day. The sun was hot, but a cool breeze fluttered about the flowers in my garden, causing the asters to bob their heads and the sunflowers to dance.

‘Could it be . . . Marcus Mummius?’ I said.

Eco looked at me from beneath beetling brows. For a while, after he regained his speech, he had become a child again, always questioning, always curious, but speech had also made him whole and had quickened his manhood. His father’s amazing deductions could no longer impress him as easily as in the old days.

‘You heard his voice from the foyer,’ he said accusingly.

I laughed. ‘No, I heard his voice from all the way outside the house. I couldn’t place that loud bellowing at first, but then I remembered. Show him in.’

Mummius had come alone, which surprised me, given his important new rank in the city. I stood to greet him, citizen to citizen, and offered him a chair. Eco joined us. I sent one of the slave girls for more wine.

He looked different somehow. I studied him for a moment, perplexed. ‘You’ve shaved your beard, Marcus Mummius!’

‘Yes.’ He reached up and tugged self-consciously at his naked chin. ‘They tell me a beard is too old-fashioned for a politician, or too radical, I can’t remember which. Anyway, I shaved it off during the electioneering last autumn.’

‘It flatters you. No, really, it does. It shows off your strong jaw. And that handsome scar on your chin – from the battle of the Colline Gate?’

‘Ha! A fresh one, from fighting the Spartacans.’

I laughed. ‘You’ve prospered, Marcus Mummius, and set your foot on a new career.’

He shrugged and looked about the peristyle. The place was less of a mess than usual, which was as it should be, given the new slaves that Bethesda had insisted I purchase.

‘You’ve prospered, too, Gordianus.’

‘In my way. But to be elected Praetor Urbanus – such an honour! What are your reflections, midway through your term of office?’

He suppressed a foolish-looking grin. ‘It’s all right, I suppose. Pretty boring, really, sitting in courts all day. Believe me, falling asleep standing upright is a small trick compared to staying awake on a hot afternoon listening to those advocates bicker and drone about some tedious lawsuit. Thank Jupiter it’s only for a year! Although I will admit that organizing the Apollinarian Games this summer was amusing enough. You were there?’

I shook my head. ‘No, but I’m told that the Circus Maximus was filled to overflowing and the spectacles were unforgettable.’

‘Well, as long as the god Apollo was pleased.’

The slave girl arrived with wine. We sipped in silence.

‘Your son has become quite a man.’ Mummius smiled at Eco.

‘Yes, he brings greater joy to his father every year. But tell me, Marcus Mummius, have you simply come to visit an acquaintance you haven’t seen in two years, or does the Praetor Urbanus of Rome have business with Gordianus the Finder?’

‘Business? No. Actually, I’ve been meaning to visit you for some time, but my duties are quite demanding. I don’t imagine you’ve had much contact with Crassus since Baiae?’

‘None at all, except for seeing his election graffiti everywhere last autumn, and hearing him speak in the Forum from time to time. I’m a busy man myself, Marcus Mummius, and my duties don’t seem to bring me in contact with the great Consul of the Roman Republic’

He nodded. ‘Yes, Crassus got everything he wanted, didn’t he? Well, not quite everything, and not exactly as he wished. You went to the ovation they gave him last December, for defeating Spartacus?’

I shook my head.

‘No? But you attended the great feast he gave this month, in honour of Hercules?’

I shook my head again.

‘But how could you have missed it? They set up ten thousand tables in the streets and the thing lasted for three days! I should know, it was part of my job to keep the peace. Surely you collected the three months’ worth of grain that Crassus distributed to every citizen?’

I shook my head. ‘Would you believe, Marcus Mummius, that I made a point of being at a friend’s house up in Etruria during that time? It occurred to me that Eco might enjoy walking in the hills and fishing in a stream, and Rome does become so hot and crowded in midsummer.’

He pursed his lips. ‘My own relations with Marcus Crassus are not exactly warm.’