Arms of Nemesis (17 page)

'Didn't he like it?'

'Frankly, no. It was done especially to fit the wall above his table in the library. Well, he made it quite plain that he didn't want it there. If you've seen the room, you've seen his taste — those awful statues of Hercules and Chiron. The painting above his table was even worse, a horrible thing that purported to show the Argonauts attacked by harpies, such a hideous embarrassment I can't imagine how he dared to allow visitors in the room. A really terrible painting done by some unknown hack in Neapolis, a mishmash of naked breasts and nailing claws and stiffly painted warriors brandishing swords. Words cannot exaggerate how awful it was. Am I not right, Olympias?'

The girl looked down from her work and laughed. 'It was a very bad painting, Iaia.'

'In the end Lucius acquiesced and had the thing removed so that we could mount Gelina's portrait into the wall, but he was most ungracious. Gelina had ordered a rug to match, and he complained endlessly about the expense. She was in tears more than once, thanks to that episode. Of course, misery about money was an old story in this house. What a failure Lucius was! What an impostor! What's the point of living in a villa like this if you have to count every sesterce before you spend it?'

There was a sudden tension in the room. Olympias no longer smiled. One of the slaves knocked over a pot of varnish and cursed. Even the fish seemed to quiver with unease. Iaia lowered her voice. 'Let's step into the baths. The rooms are all empty, and the light at this time of day is quite delightful. Let the boy stay here and watch Olympias work.'

The plan of the women's baths mirrored that of the men's, except for the scale, which was considerably smaller. Across the open terrace the view was much the same; beneath the rising sun the bay shone with thousands of tiny points of silver light. We walked around the circular pool, which billowed with steam in the crisp morning air. Beneath the high dome our hushed voices echoed strangely.

'I thought that Lucius and Gelina were a happy couple,' I said.

'Does she seem happy to you?'

'Her husband died a horrible death only days ago. I hardly expect to find her smiling.'

'Her mood now is little changed from before. She was miserable then, thanks to him, and she is miserable now, thanks again to him and his messy death.'

'She doesn't look miserable in the painting. Does the image lie?'

"The image captures her just as she was. And why does she seem so happy and at peace in the portrait? Consider that it was posed for and painted in the one room in the house where Lucius never set foot.'

'I was told they married for love.'

'So they did, and you see what comes of that sort of match. I knew Gelina when she was a girl, before she married. Her mother and I were about the same age and great friends. When Gelina married Lucius it was hardly my place to criticize, but I knew that only sorrow would come of it.'

'How could you be so sure? Was he such a wicked character?'

She was silent for a long moment. 'I don't claim to be a great judge of character, Gordianus, at least not when it comes to men. Do you know what they called me in the good old days? Iaia Cyzicena, Always Virgin, they called me, and not without reason. When it comes to men, I have little experience and I claim no special insight. I'm sure my judgment of a man's character is less reliable than most women's. But judgment based on experience goes only so far. There are other, surer ways of foreseeing the future.' She gazed into the swirling mists above the water.

'Yes? And what does the future hold for this house and its inhabitants?'

'Something dark and dreadful, no matter what.' She shivered. 'But to answer your question: no, Lucius was not wicked, only weak. A man of no vision, no energy, no ambition. Were it not for Crassus, he and Gelina would have starved long ago.'

'A villa and a hundred slaves are far from starvation.'

'But Lucius himself owned not a bit of it! From what I gather, his income was entirely consumed in running this palace and maintaining a facade of great wealth. Given his connection to Crassus, any other man would have made himself independently wealthy long before now. Not Lucius; he was content to amble along, taking what was given him and asking for no more, like a pampered dog begging for scraps from his master's table. To be sure, the same hand that lifted him up held him down; Crassus seemed determined that Lucius should always be the cringing, ever-thankful kinsman, never an equal or a rival, and Crassus has ways of seeing that people stay in their places. Well, Gelina deserved better than that. Now she's completely at the mercy of Crassus, not even able to say whether her own household slaves should live or die.'

'And if that should come to pass?'

Iaia stared deeply into the mist and did not answer. We circled the pool in silence.

'No matter what their differences, I think that Gelina has suffered greatly from the death of her husband,' I said quietly. 'She will suffer even more if Crassus proceeds with this terrible scheme of his.'

'Yes,' said Iaia in a dull, faraway voice. 'And she will not be alone in her suffering.'

'Surely, if it was someone here in the house who murdered Lucius, that person cannot stand by and see so many people slaughtered in his stead.'

'Not people,' she corrected, 'slaves.'

'Still—'

'And for slaves to die, even ninety-nine slaves, for the benefit of a great and wealthy man — is that not the Roman way?'

To that, I had no answer. I left her standing by the pool, staring into its sulphurous depths.

In the anteroom Eco stood on the scaffold holding a horsehair brush, while Olympias hovered behind him, her hand laid gendy atop his to guide his strokes. 'A single sweeping motion,' she was saying. 'Lay it on in a thin, even coat.'

'Really, Eco,' I called up to him, 'I had no idea you had a gift for painting.'

He gave a start. Olympias looked over her shoulder with a cheerful smile. 'He has a very steady hand,' she said.

'I'm sure he does. But I think we will take our leave. Come, Eco.' He scrambled nimbly down, looking flushed and slightly disoriented and glancing awkwardly over his shoulder as we stepped into the portico outside.

'Did you press your attentions on her, Eco, or was it Olympias who suggested that you join her on the scaffold?' Eco indicated the latter. 'Ah, it was she who stepped so close, putting her arm around you?' He nodded dreamily, then frowned at the way I pursed my Lips. 'I would not be entirely trusting of that young woman's friendliness, Eco. No, don't be silly; I'm not jealous of you. There's something about the way she smiles that makes me uncomfortable.'

A voice hailed us from behind, and I turned to see Metrobius and Sergius Orata, each attended by a slave. 'Are you on your way to the baths, too?' asked the businessman with a yawn that indicated he had just got out of bed.

'Yes,' I said. Why not?

While Orata and Eco relaxed in the hot pool, I accepted an offer from Metrobius to share his masseur. We stripped and reclined side by side on pallets in the changing room. The slave went back and forth between us, kneading our shoulders and poking at our spines. The slave was a tall, wizened man with extraordinarily strong hands.

'If I were rich,' I grunted, 'I think I would have this done to me every day.'

'I am rich,' said Metrobius, 'and I do. How did you ever get that awful bump on your head?'

'Oh, it's nothing. A doorway was shorter than I expected. Oh! That's good! Yes, there, that spot below my shoulder . . . These baths are quite wonderful, aren't they? Eco and I came here yesterday, after we first arrived. Mummius wanted to show off the plumbing. He had a massage from the boy who sang last night, Apollonius I think he's called. But I doubt that Apollonius could be half as skilful as your man.'

'I wouldn't know,' said Metrobius cautiously, lying on his side with his head propped on one hand and looking at me with sudden suspicion.

'No? You're such a frequent house guest, I thought you might have taken the opportunity to use this Apollonius yourself'

Metrobius hummed and raised an eyebrow. 'Only Mollio here massages me. He was a gift from Sulla, yean ago. Knows every aching muscle and cracked bone in this tired old body. A callow youth like Apollonius would probably give me a sprain.'

'Yes, I suppose Mummius can take that risk. He's not exactly delicate. Tough as an ox, by the looks of him.'

'And nearly as smart.'

'Oh! Could you do that again, Mollio? For some reason, Metrobius, I don't believe you like Marcus Mummius.' 'I'm indifferent to him.' 'You detest him.'

'I confess. Here, Mollio, attend to me. Gordianus has had enough for the moment.'

I lay in a state of bliss, as limp as pummelled dough. I closed my eyes and saw visions of starfish and octopi, attended by strange gasping noises. It was Metrobius's turn to grunt and wheeze.

'Why does the grudge run so deep?' I asked.

'I never liked Mummius, from the first moment I met him.'

'But there must have been some incident, some offence.'

'Oh, very well.' He sighed. 'This was ten years ago, just after Sulla was made dictator. You remember that Sulla set up the proscription lists and posted them in the Forum, offering rewards to whoever would bring him the heads of his enemies?'

'I remember it well.'

'It was an ugly process, but unavoidable. The Republic had to be purged. For Sulla to restore order and put an end to years of civil war, the opposition had to be eliminated. Otherwise the conflicts and vendettas would have gone on endlessly.'

'And what does this have to do with your feud with Mummius?'

'The estates of Sulla's enemies were made property of the state and sold at public auction. I need not tell you that the first people in line at these so-called public auctions were usually Sulla's close friends and associates. How else could a mere actor like myself end up with a villa on the Cup? But there were others in line ahead of me.'

'Including Mummius?'

'Yes. Crassus was much in favour then, almost as important as Pompey. Eventually he overstepped himself and embarrassed Sulla; you may remember a certain scandal involving an innocent man added to Sulla's lists just so Crassus could obtain the poor man's property.'

'There was more than one such scandal.'

'Yes, but Crassus was a Roman of good birth, a general, the hero of the Colline Gate, thought to be above such grubbiness. Even so, Sulla only slapped his wrists for that offence. But before the scandal, Crassus came first in all things, just behind Pompey. And Crassus's men were to be pampered and coddled, even above many of Sulla's oldest friends and supporters.'

'Like yourself.'

'Yes.'

'I take it Mummius got the best of you in something, and Sulla took his side.'

'There was a certain property we both coveted.' 'Real estate, or a human?' 'A slave.' 'I see.'

'No, you don't. The boy had been the property of a certain senator in Rome. Once I heard him sing at a dinner party. He came from my own hometown in Etruria. He sang in the dialect I learned as a child. To hear him made me weep. When I learned that he was being sold in a lot with the rest of the household slaves, I rushed down to the Forum. The auctioneer happened to be a friend of Crassus's. It turned out that Mummius desired the boy as well, and not for his singing. The auctioneer ignored my bids, and Marcus Mummius was awarded the entire lot of slaves for the price of a used tunic. How smug he was when he passed by me to collect his receipt. We exchanged threats. I drew a knife. The crowd was packed with Crassus's men, and I had to flee for my life while they jeered after me. I went to Sulla, demanding justice, but he refused to intervene. Mummius was too close to Crassus, he said, and at that moment he could not afford to offend Crassus.'

'So Mummius bested you over a boy.'

'That wasn't the end of it. It took him only two years to tire of the slave. Mummius decided to get rid of him, but he refused to sell him to me, purely out of spite. By then, Sulla was dead and I had no influence at Rome. I wrote a letter to Mummius and asked him as humbly as I could to let me buy the boy. Do you know what he did? He passed the letter around at a dinner party and made a joke of it. And then he passed the boy around. He made sure I heard all about it.'

'And the boy?'

'Mummius sold him to a slave trader bound for Alexandria. The boy disappeared forever. Mollio!' he snapped. 'Your hands are useless this morning!'

'Patience, master,' cooed the wizened slave. 'Your spine is as stiff as wood. Your shoulders are like rusty hinges.'

The door opened. A rush of cool air brought with it the high, piping voice of Sergius Orata. 'And more ducts run under this floor and along both of these walls,' he was saying. 'You can see the vents that release the hot air, spaced evenly apart.' Eco followed him, nodding without much enthusiasm. Orata was naked except for a very large towel wrapped around his middle. Clouds of steam rose from his plump pink flesh.

'Gordianus, your son is an apt pupil. A better listener I've never encountered. I do believe the boy may have some talent for engineering.'

'Really?' I glanced over the fat man's shoulder at Eco, who looked quite bored. No doubt his thoughts were in a more briny milieu, floating across the seascape of the women's anteroom with Olympias. 'I've always thought so myself, Sergius Orata.

No doubt he finds it difficult to pose complicated questions, but I seem to remember yesterday that he was most curious about how the waters were disposed of after circulating through the pools. I told him I assumed some system of pipes led down to the bay, but my explanation failed to satisfy him.'

'Oh, yes?' Orata looked pleased. Eco stared at me, perplexed, then perceived the wink I gave him when Orata's back was turned. 'Then I shall have to explain it to him in detail, and leave nothing out. Come along, young man.' Orata disappeared through the door, and Eco trudged after him.

Metrobius laughed, then grunted as the slave Mollio recommenced pinching and pounding his flesh. 'Sergius Orata isn't quite the simple soul he pretends to be,' he said with a wry smile. 'There's quite a head on those shoulders, always calculating and counting his profits. He's certainly rich enough, and rumours allude to a weakness for gambling and dancing girls. Still, in this house he must seem a paragon of virtue - neither as greedy as Crassus nor as wicked as Mummius, not by a long shot.'