Under Vesuvius s-11 Read online

  Amazingly, we found the right man on the third try. The shop was one of the smallest, wedged between a huge cameo display and a place that seemed to specialize in rubies the size of minor Asiatic kingdoms.

  "Must've missed this one," Hermes muttered.

  We went inside and a man looked up from behind a display case. "Yes, sir? How may I-" he caught sight of my purple stripe and jumped from behind the case "-help you?" He was of that Greek-Asian breed so common in the gem trade, the sort who hails from Antioch or Palmyra or some other Eastern metropolis.

  "Hermes," I said. He took the necklace from inside his tunic and held it up for the man to see. "Do you recognize this?"

  The man took two or three of the massive links in his fingertips and studied the carved gems. "Why, yes. I sold this piece about a year ago. I am quite certain. This is a very remarkable necklace. It's Phrygian. Is there some problem?"

  "I just need to know who you sold it to," I told him.

  "Of course. Gaeto the Numidian bought it. I've heard he is dead. Is there a problem with the inheritance?"

  "Exactly." I was astounded, but I had a politician's knack for covering such lapses. "Did he indicate when he bought it that he intended it as a gift?"

  "No, but I presumed that he did intend it so. A man does not wear such jewelry, after all." He thought about this for a moment. "Well, admittedly there are certain men who-but not Gaeto, certainly. He must have intended it for a woman."

  "For his wife?" I asked innocently.

  "Well, sir"-he chuckled-"in the first place, I understand that he had more than one. In the second, well, in my experience, which is quite extensive, a man rarely buys such a piece for a woman to whom he is already married, if you take my meaning."

  "I know what you mean," I told him. "I don't suppose he made any indication of just who the recipient might be?"

  "I am afraid not. Gaeto was always the soul of discretion." He sighed. "I am sorry to hear that he is no more. I know he was a slave dealer but really quite a splendid man, extremely rich and a very good customer."

  "He bought other items from you?" I asked.

  "Oh, yes. He had a taste for these massive, Eastern pieces. They are my specialty, you see. Most of the items I sold him, he bought for himself. Men in Numidia wear heavy gold bracelets, for instance. And he bought heavy signet rings, gifts for Numidian colleagues, I believe. And he did not haggle. He knew what my merchandise is worth."

  "I am sorry you have lost a valued customer. I rather liked the man myself, brief though our acquaintance was."

  "I take it," he said with a wry expression, "that his widow-the local one, I mean-is disputing possession of that necklace with a favorite? It is a common story."

  "Yes, yes, but please keep this to yourself for the time being. Delicate legal matter, you understand."

  "Of course, of course."

  We went out, walked a few streets, and paused by one of the many fine fountains. A little consort of musicians played harp and flute for our entertainment.

  "So it was Gaeto!" Hermes said. "He must have been one of her lovers."

  "So it would appear," I said. I stared into the swirling waters of the fountain, musing on this new development.

  "She was doing the father and the son at the same time?"

  "If Gelon is to be believed, he was courting her, but matters had not yet progressed to physical intimacy. As Julia pointed out, she almost certainly was not going out to meet the giver of the necklace, because she wore all her jewelry except that one piece. Gaeto was not the killer, because he was at the banquet with us at Norbanus's house when it happened."

  "Don't let him off that easy," Hermes advised. "Men use hirelings to commit their murders and make sure that important people see them when the crime is committed."

  "All too true," I agreed. "But I somehow feel that it isn't what happened here. This thing-" my frustration made me lose my vocabulary, a rare thing for me "-this is so different from the sort of crime we are used to in Rome. There, the motives are relatively simple. Men want supreme power and are willing to do anything to get it. When all the confusing shrubbery is cut away, that is what remains: the lust for power. If jealousy is involved, it is because men envy one another's power."

  "That's how it is in Rome," he agreed.

  "Here, we have wealth, and status, and jealousy and snobbery and, I suspect, love."

  "Love?" Hermes said.

  "Our first day here, Gelon rode up to the temple and we saw how he and that girl looked at each other. I am certain that that was real. Whoever else she was seeing, whatever other lovers she had, she loved that boy, and he loved her."

  "It's not usually a motive for killing," Hermes said, "except when a man surprises his wife with a lover. Under law, that's justification for homicide."

  "That's not about love," I said, frustrated. "That's about property. It's about honor, if you can define the concept. Love doesn't come into it."

  "Still, jealousy is a powerful thing," Hermes said. "If Gaeto was visiting Gorgo on the sly, giving her rich presents, Jocasta would have a reason to kill them both."

  I nodded. "That thought has not escaped me. But you pointed out yourself that the blow that killed Gaeto could not have been delivered by a woman."

  "A hireling," he said. "This is Campania, homeland of gladiators."

  "And would Gaeto have allowed one such into his bedroom at night? And then turned his back on him?"

  "That does present a problem," he admitted.

  "I don't think my best with a dry throat," I said. "Let's see what the district has to offer by way of refreshment."

  "I thought you'd say that."

  We turned our steps toward an entertainment district where there were numerous dining and drinking establishments. Rome is a city of taverns and food stalls and street vendors, but Baiae, as usual, is different. This area featured spacious courtyards filled with tables where elaborate lunches and dinners were served at moderate cost. The main difference between eating in such a place and in a private home is that the diners sit rather than recline at table.

  A girl brought us a very superior wine and I ordered big bowls of the savory fish stew. We ate and pondered and discussed and got nowhere. We had a superfluity of circumstance and suspects and yet we were woefully ignorant in a few key areas.

  "Praetor Metellus!" This was shouted in that singsong fashion women use when they want your attention from a distance. I looked around and saw Quadrilla, Manius Silva's wife, waving frantically. She rushed over to our table, followed by a slave laden with parcels, the plunder of a triumphant day of shopping, no doubt. "Might I join you?"

  "Please do," I said, mystified at this seeming friendliness.

  "Cleitus," she said to the slave, "take these things to the house and have the litter sent to me here." Wordlessly the man left. "I was hoping to find you today, Praetor."

  "I must wonder at that," I said. "Your husband was most displeased with me."

  She laughed gaily. "Oh, he was! Serves him right, too, trying to pass such an obvious bribe. Poor Manius! That sly Cretan gets him into more trouble." She accepted a cup from the serving girl and downed a good portion of it.

  "Is Diogenes really counterfeiting perfume?" I asked.

  "I have no idea. If he does, it's good enough to fool me. But double-dealing and suborning are reflexive with Cretans, they just can't help themselves. Diogenes has to outmaneuver all his competition, by underhanded means if at all possible."

  "You mean it wasn't true, what your husband said about Diogenes being such a hardworking and resourceful businessman?"

  "Oh, it's all true. But that is not enough, you see. Diogenes could never be content to know that he excelled through hard work and courage and intelligence. He has to know that he's tricked everybody. It's been that way since Ulysses, you know. Ulysses never opened his mouth except to lie, and Greeks have held to that ideal from that day to this. And the Cretans are the most Greek of the Greeks. Deceiving Romans is child's p
lay to them. Diogenes has to prove that he can outlie, outtrick, and out-bribe all the other Greeks in Campania."

  "They are a competitive lot," I agreed. "Not as homicidal as they used to be, though."

  "Homicidal?"

  "Yes, you know: the Iliad, the House of Atreus, the tyrannicides, Harmodius and Aristogiton, even Alexander and his friends. They were as bloody handed a pack as you could ask for. But these days they'd rather connive than murder forthrightly."

  "I'm not sure I follow you." She hadn't been expecting this.

  "Just that I have two murders on my hands and I'd like to eliminate as many suspects as possible."

  "Don't you think Gelon killed the girl, and her father killed Gaeto in revenge?"

  "Quite possible, of course. Likely, in fact. But I dislike having the obvious thrust before my nose. It makes me suspicious."

  "As it should. It's so seldom Rome sends us a man of subtlety. I like you, Decius Caecilius, even if my husband is temporarily indisposed toward you. What has stirred up your suspicions?" She sat back and twirled a blue-painted fingernail in her wine.

  "A number of things. For instance, the late Gaeto was a man everyone affected to despise, yet I saw him at formal and private functions, always receiving the deference one expects to be shown a public official or a prominent priest or patrician, not a slaver. Why was that?"

  "Ah, poor Gaeto." She stared into the bottom of her cup, which seemed to have grown distant in her sight. "I'll grant you, his profession made him lowly-"

  Says the probable ex-prostitute, I thought.

  "— but he was a remarkable man. One grows so tired, you know, of effete aristocrats, money-obsessed businessmen and their social-climbing wives. And that is about all we have here in Baiae, as you may have noticed. Gaeto was something very different. As wealthy as any of the local tycoons but not at all softened by riches and luxury. He had a manner that is rare in Romans of this generation. I am not saying that he was just some primitive brute. You can buy as many of those as you want in the market."

  "You mean," I said, "that he was like a tribal warrior chieftain but a cultured, sophisticated one?"

  She smiled lazily. "Yes, that's it. Women like that, you know: a rough man, dripping masculinity, who's had his roughest edges polished smooth. It made him very popular among the ladies here."

  Oho, I thought. Here's a new factor. "You mean other men besides Diocles may have had a reason to kill him?"

  She erupted in tinkling laughter. "A jealous husband? Here? Not likely! As long as the wife was discreet, the husband would just try to parlay the affair into a business advantage. This isn't Rome, Praetor."

  "As I am being reminded constantly. Did your husband or Diocles have business dealings with Gaeto? Not implying any impropriety on your part, of course."

  "Only on the most mundane level, I think. Gaeto dealt in high-quality slaves, so he would want to present them to best advantage. That would mean perfumes and scented oils, especially for the house servants and entertainers. And he was princely in gift giving, especially with his African and Asian contacts. I believe he regularly ordered assortments of the costliest scents for that purpose."

  "Do you know of anyone besides Gaeto who might have been involved with Gorgo?"

  She pursed her mouth and arched her eyebrows. "As far as I know, she was as blameless as her eulogy would have it."

  "Is anyone ever that blameless?" I asked.

  "Never. But she lived a rather secluded life out there in the temple. We never mixed much with them except at municipal banquets and that sort of event. They're local aristocracy, or fancy themselves so, too well-bred for the likes of us." She laughed again. "If that's how aristocrats live, you can have it!"

  "I couldn't agree more, though I'm something of an aristocrat myself. In Rome we like to affect a taste for the simple, rural life. In truth, we'd all love to live like Lucullus, if only we could afford it."

  "You're not doing too badly," she said. "Old Hortalus's villa is said to be the finest in Italy."

  "Alas, it's just a loan. Before long, I'll have to go down to Bruttium and you know how miserable that's going to be. It's like Rome two hundred years ago and I'll be surrounded by Bruttians."

  "It is a backward place," she agreed. "Actually, you should be grateful these murders have occurred. It gives you an excuse to prolong your stay." She looked up under her thick eyelashes and smiled slyly.

  "By Jupiter, you're right. I suppose that makes me a suspect."

  "I think I would commit murder to stay in Baiae and out of Bruttium!" she said, bursting into laughter again. She had been into the wine before she joined our table.

  "I still wonder, though," I went on, "why the men deferred to him so. Only a small minority would have found in him the same attractions the women did."

  "More than you would think," she said. "But you are right. The fact is, many of Baiae's noblest had business dealings with Gaeto. Very deep, important business dealings. Some of our most impeccably respectable citizens are involved in extremely dirty dealings."

  "What sort of dealings?" I asked.

  She leaned forward on her elbows in a parody of intimacy. "It's all about using money to get more money, Senator. That's what business is. You Roman aristocrats like to pretend that the only respectable sources of wealth are land and plunder in war. The businessmen here prefer the luxury trades. But you and they know the truth: The greatest source of wealth is human flesh. And the only true power is absolute dominion over human flesh." The worldly cynicism in her eyes was an unsettling thing to behold.

  "Go on," I said, through with clever banter.

  "Do you know why everyone despises the slaver? Because he reminds us that we are all slavers. Where would our empire be without slaves?"

  "We wouldn't have an empire," I answered. "We wouldn't have a civilization."

  "Exactly. They grow our food, and then they cook it and serve it to us and clean up afterward. They build our houses and tend our baths. They provide us with fornication and when we tire of them, we can sell them off. They race chariots for our amusement and die in our arenas for the same purpose. They teach our children and tend us in our illnesses."

  "It's hard to imagine a decent life without them," I agreed.

  She sat back with a depraved smile. "We consume them, Praetor, just as surely as if we were cannibals eating their flesh. We dangle before them the prospect of freedom to keep them pacified and ensure more willing service, but the whip and the cross are always there just in case kind treatment and prospective freedom aren't enough."

  "It's the price of losing wars and choosing the wrong parents," I said. "Been that way since Deucalion's Flood. What is your point?"

  "That we all know it's true and it shames us. So we've singled out the slaver, the man who buys and sells the flesh, to bear the brunt of social disdain while we all merrily profit from his business. If it came out that some of our most revered public figures were silent partners with our richest but most despised resident, certain reputations would be sullied for-ever.

  This tickled my memory, suggested some question that had eluded me or that I had failed to ask. But she went relentlessly on and the moment passed.

  "There are worse things than being a slave, Praetor, and I've been some of them. Luckily, it was only temporary and now I'm a great lady again. Some things can be covered over and forgotten. Others can't. Bear that in mind while you look into these killings."

  "I shall do so," I assured her.

  Abruptly she dropped the serious discussion and resumed the gossipy banter more suitable to the situation. A few minutes later her litter arrived and she made her good-byes.

  "Well," I said to Hermes as we resumed our lunch, "what do you make of that?"

  "Another woman muddying the waters. Probably trying to throw you off her husband's scent and onto someone else."

  "What she said about slaves-what do you think?"

  He shrugged. "She didn't say much I can argue with. But it's t
he way of the world, isn't it? Short of the gods coming down from Olympus and taking a hand in things, how are you going to change anything?"

  "How, indeed?"

  9

  "Why can't things ever be simple?" I lamented.

  "Because people are involved," Julia informed me. "I think natural phenomena are relatively simple and predictable. When people with their passions and hatreds and ambitions are involved, things get complicated."

  We were sitting in one of the lovely outer gardens of the villa. The bees buzzed pleasantly among the blossoms, the fish splashed vigorously in the ponds, the birds sang prettily in the trees, the mountain smoked ominously in the distance.

  "I wish that was predictable," I said, pointing a finger toward Vesuvius.

  "As far as I know, volcanoes are as unpredictable as the whims of the gods," Julia said.

  "Do you think all the most prominent people here were in league

  with the late Gaeto? Have they all been making illicit profits from the slave trade?"

  "The day I believe a word one of those women says, you have my permission to bury me alive like a promiscuous Vestal."

  "I thought so. At least we know now that Gaeto gave her the necklace."

  "We know that Gaeto bought the necklace from the jeweler," she corrected me. "It might have been through other hands in the interim."

  "Your logic, as always, is better than mine," I admitted.

  "What are we going to do about Gelon?" she asked.

  "I have to allow him to see to his father's funeral," I told her. "It would be inhumane to do otherwise."

  "I agree, but he will have to be kept under close watch."

  "Hermes and Marcus and some of the others can ride escort. I doubt the boy will try to escape. Where can a Numidian hide in Italy? And he couldn't get to a ship in time to elude me."

  "I hope that is true. It would be a great embarrassment if he were to get away." She added, "And you are going to have to set a trial date soon. It won't look good if you stall much longer and duty calls you elsewhere."

  "Bruttium," I muttered.

  Reluctantly, I rose and went to the wing where we were keeping Gelon. He had borne the news of his father's death stoically. Of course, I had no idea what their relationship might have been, except that Gaeto had been generous with his son in terms of money. Not every son is saddened by the passing of a father. He had turned pale when I described the circumstances of his father's murder, but that was to be expected. To be murdered in your own bedroom by someone you trust is always an unsettling prospect.