The Mammoth Book of Roman Whodunnits (54 page)

“But aren’t you coming home?” he asked. “Our master is truly in grief over you.”

“Leave me my love of cunning,” Sollius laughed. “I shall come it may be at this very day’s time of dusk, and you must be ready to help me over the wall behind the carp-pool. Now you, Licinius,” he went on, turning to the Prefect briskly, “have you chosen your two soldiers?”

“They are already wearing slaves’ tunics, and have had your instructions.”

“Good,” answered the Slave Detective, “let them be off on their missions now. By Apollo, I can lay a plot as well as unravel one!”

At the time of dusk, as promised, Sollius was on the outer side of the wall of his master’s house. More than once Lucius, crouching by the carp-pool, thought that he heard him, but now, he was certain.

“Is that you?” he called softly.

“Help me over,” bade Sollius. “We can wait amongst these laurels.”

The Roman evening was fair and calm, and a star of sapphirine crystal was mirrored in the carp-pool.

“What do you expect?” whispered a deeply puzzled Lucius, but before Sollius answered the figure of Sergius Falba came down a cypress avenue and stood silently, as though also waiting, by the pool.

Presently a quick step was heard approaching down the same avenue, and another figure joined him.

“What is this urgency, Sergius?” asked the voice of Terentius Cremutus. “What has happened that you sent a slave to me, making this secret appointment here?”

“
I
sent a slave to
you
? It was you who sent a slave to
me
!”

Though they could see only each other’s outlines in the gathering dark they stared at one another with shocked intensity.

“Someone,” muttered Falba, “has done us an evil turn.”

“It will be your cunning Sollius,” answered Cremutus. “Had we only caught him again after he escaped that fire at Natta’s tavern! He must have been slyly watching us. I told you we should have killed him at first,” he added fiercely.

“That I would never have done,” firmly said Falba. “I owe that to my father Sabinus. I was mad to do so much . . . and for nothing!”

“For nothing, indeed, and for me, too,” bitterly burst out Cremutus. “Where has that sly slave been hiding – and what does he know?”

“His cunning is so,” replied Falba, “that he may have us both.”

“Then why not come out from his hiding-place and accuse us to our faces? Can he be hiding in the house?”

“Do you think I haven’t secretly searched?”

“If only,” went on Cremutus through his teeth, “he weren’t so incorruptible! A good bribe could save us. Gods, where is he?”

“He is here,” said Sollius, and stepped with Lucius out of the laurels.

The shadows of Falba and Cremutus started convulsively against the darker shadows in the calm, round mirror of the carp-pool.

“You terrible slave!” burst out Cremutus.

“So you have come home!” said Falba, recovering himself. “My father has been much troubled for you.”

“You, lord, could have spared his white head!”

“Do not be insolent!” cried Falba.

“I am always ready to be insolent, lord, in the service of truth – and my master will uphold me. Answer not, lord, but listen. I have knowledge of two facts: the ignoble pursuit of a beautiful girl, and the burning down of a man’s farm in the selfish desire to possess its site cheaply for the building there of an idle man’s villa. But you are too incompetent for crime! You, Cremutus, should never have visited Natta’s tavern while I was held there: I heard your voice – and again in the Prefect’s office. And you, lord,” he added, turning to Falba, “should not have driven your well-known
white
horses to a seduction. I have opened to the day too many conspiracies to miss such clues.”

“You are going to betray us?” asked Falba.

“The girl is beyond your lust, lord, and I shall say nothing to my master – he is old and loves you. Let him think that I was captured by a gang of thieves who hated me. I have but one other price for silence. Let your friend pay Cordus sufficient compensation for his farm.”

“By Hecate, this is too much, you rascally slave,” cried Cremutus.

“Tranquillus, an honest lawyer, will tell the truth,” said Sollius.

Cremutus cursed by all the Nether Gods and stormed out.

“We never intended to harm you . . . in time you would have been set free,” murmured Falba awkwardly.

But the Slave Detective made no answer and walked contemptuously away, returning to his own quarters in the house.

C
oncerning the idleness and profligacy of the Romans, I have amply written elsewhere. However, certain flatterers and sycophants have seen fit to rebuke me for it, saying that I, an Asiatic Greek, should not venture to criticize illustrious men whose names descend from the pristine
age of the Roman state – believing, I suppose, that those who bear great names should be revered for the names’ sake, even if they never by word or deed accomplish anything worthy of their great ancestors. Since, then, statements I have made in my history have been considered outrageous, let me here set out more fully an account of the conduct of some of those who are held in honour at Rome.

I first came to the Eternal City after the death of Julian Augustus
²
in order to consult accounts written in Latin, for I intended to compose a history of the reign of that heroic emperor. I had a letter of introduction from my friend and countryman Libanius, that most renowned of orators, to Aurelius Symmachus, who is generally accounted the most cultured nobleman in Rome.

Symmachus welcomed me very warmly; indeed, when I saw how much attention that wealthy and distinguished man lavished upon me I thought my fame and fortune were assured, and I regretted that I hadn’t come to Rome years before. My pleasure was much abated the following day however, when, obedient to his urging, I called upon him again, only to find that he had completely forgotten who I was, and stood regarding me in doubt, wondering whether or not I might be one of his clients. In the end he did recognize me, and admitted me to his circle and – what was more useful – to his library, yet, for all that I spent years assiduously waiting upon that blockhead, I never advanced any further in his friendship and received only scanty and unhelpful patronage for my history. On the occasion when a famine was feared and foreigners were compelled to leave the city, he interceded to secure the residency of his mistress’s hairdresser, but extended no such assistance to me; and when I returned to Rome, after an interval of a year, he did not even
notice that I had been away, or ask where I had gone. Such is the learned and eloquent Aurelius Symmachus.

However, as a pigeon may appear outstanding for beauty and sweetness of voice if it struts among crows, so Symmachus appears pre-eminent for virtue and wisdom among the nobility of Rome. Many other men of illustrious ancestry care for nothing but gain, and, in the immortal words of Cicero, consider that nothing in human affairs is good unless it is profitable.
³
Some are so overborne by greed and ambition that their arrogance knows no bounds – and chief among them are the clan of the Anicii, whose name is famous throughout the whole world. It will suffice, in place of many examples of their conduct, to set down this one, to which I myself was a witness.

I was in the Library of Trajan in Rome, devotedly handling one of the many books of Latin history, when Symmachus chanced to come in. On seeing me he exclaimed that good fortune must have guided our meeting. “For,” he said, “your friend Eutherius has arrived in Rome, and I have invited him to dinner. I need one more guest to fill the lowest couch, and I believe he would be pleased to see you.”

I was normally spared attendance at my patron’s gluttonous and unwholesome banquets, since his guests, when they were not senators and high officials, tended to be persons whose company senators and high officials find entertaining – that is, horse-breeders and experts at gambling. I was pleased to escape such company, and would have been pleased to escape Eutherius as well. A eunuch, he had been chamberlain to Constans Augustus and afterwards to Julian, and he had recently retired to Rome. Though I had some acquaintance with him – we both served Julian when he held the rank of Caesar in Gaul – I had never been his “friend”
nor ever wished to be. I have seen too many honest men destroyed by the jealousy and greed of imperial chamberlains, and, although Eutherius had always been reported honest, if Socrates himself had given me a good report of a eunuch, I should have accused him of departing from the truth. However, I had by then been long enough in Rome to know that it would be better to kill a nobleman’s brother than decline his invitation to dinner, so I had no choice but to thank Symmachus and accept.

When the time of the ill-omened banquet arrived, I went to Symmachus’ mansion, where, having failed to bribe the slave who was to announce my name, and having in consequence been kept waiting in an antechamber for some time, I was at length admitted.

The other guests were already reclining at the table, and on seeing them I was dismayed, as though I had walked into an arena full of wild beasts. Eutherius, indeed, reclined on the central couch beside Symmachus, but next to him lay the former praetorian prefect, Petronius Probus, who married an Anicia and was in consequence compelled to seek high office in order that his relatives might perpetrate their crimes with impunity. On the next couch were more of the clan: Anicius Hermogenianus, Probus’ brother-in-law, and two cousins, Anicius Auchenius Bassus and Anicius Paulinus, the latter a young man, though already old in lawlessness and greed.

I was unknown to the Anicii at the time, so when the slave grudgingly announced me, my arrival passed unremarked. Indeed, Eutherius was speaking, and the rest of the company were hanging upon his words with open mouths, since each man hoped to gain some advantage from the eunuch’s recent knowledge of the situation at court. I went to the lowest couch in silence, and took my place next to two others of Symmachus’ clients.

Eutherius, however, when he finished some anecdote of
life in Mediolanum
⁴
, glanced about himself with great affability, and, when he noticed me at once sat up, crying, “Marcellinus! I last saw you in Antioch. What are you doing in Rome?”

I explained my purpose, and he praised it. “Our Lord Julian Augustus,” he said, “was a prince well-deserving of some memorial, and I can think of no one better to provide one. I still remember the account of the siege of Amida
⁵
which you recited to the court, and which was so wonderful for its vividness and power.”

At this I was as much flattered as I was taken aback. The Anicii, however, regarded me threateningly, like savage bulls, and Probus proclaimed my purpose to be impious. “Julianus Augustus,” he declared, “was an apostate, a madman who turned against the Christian faith in which he was raised and chased instead after the fables of poets. Because of this, God decreed that his reign soon came to an end – though not before he had cost the Roman state dearly! It would be better if he and all his works were buried in oblivion.”

I was filled with the passionate indignation, and would have spoken out, had not Symmachus intervened first. “Surely noblemen are not to be judged solely on their faith, illustrious Probus!” he exclaimed. “If that were so, religion alone would be sufficient to distinguish a bad prefect from a good one.”

Now Symmachus had at that time achieved the rank of Prefect of the City of Rome
⁶
; and, as all the world knows, is more firm than prudent in his adherence to the ancient gods of the city, scorning as expedient the conversion to
Christianity of such notables as the Anicii. (And indeed, it might well be thought that the Anicii would have little sympathy for the pure and simple Christian religion if it did not enjoy imperial favour, since in all other respects they worship luxury and power.) Probus therefore had no ready reply, for he was unwilling to accuse his host at the table where he himself was a guest; moreover, he did not dare to criticise the emperors, who have all appointed pagans as well as Christians to high office. There indeed the whole matter might have ended – except that Symmachus, elated by the sound of his own voice, and aroused by the opportunity of speaking to so many distinguished men, could not resist pouring out more of his famous eloquence.

He began to speak at length on the virtues of highly placed pagans, and – most unwisely, in that company – he included among his examples some who had been convicted of disloyalty. I noticed that as the Anicii listened to him, their menacing scowls gave way to looks of calculation, and I grew afraid for my patron. As a great river flowing into the sea is swallowed up without raising the level of the salty waters, so all the wealth of the Anicii cannot satisfy their greed – and Symmachus was wealthy.
⁷

I consoled myself that the present emperors
⁸
are less suspicious than some who have worn the purple, and that those who wish to ruin a great house can no longer do so merely by distorting a few incautious words, but are obliged also to provide proofs. Yet I was still troubled, for where proofs are lacking, the ingenuity of wicked men has often contrived them.

And indeed, a mere eight days after that Damoclean feast,
I heard that one of Symmachus’ slaves had been found dead in the street, and that the man who found the body belonged to the household of Anicius Paulinus.