Gordianus The Finder Omnibus (Books 1-4) (36 page)

At last I stepped past the curtains with Tiro into the bright sunlight of the garden. Cicero looked up from his text, but before he could utter a word Rufus appeared behind him.

‘Cicero, Gordianus, listen to this. You won’t believe it. It’s a positive scandal.’ Cicero turned towards him and raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course it’s only hearsay, but surely somehow we can verify it. Do you know what the estates of Sextus Roscius, all combined, are worth?’

Cicero mildly shrugged and passed the question to me.

‘A string of farms,’ I calculated, ‘some of them on prime land near the confluence of the Tiber and the Nar; an expensive villa on the main estate near Ameria; a bit of property in the city – at least four million sesterces.’

Rufus shook his head. ‘Closer to six million. And what do you think Chrysogonus – yes, it was the Golden-Born himself, not Capito or Magnus – what do you think he paid for the whole package at auction? Two thousand sesterces.
Two thousand!’

Cicero was visibly shocked. ‘Impossible,’ he said. ‘Even Crassus isn’t that greedy.’

‘Or that obvious,’ I said. ‘Where did you find this out?’

Rufus coloured. ‘That’s the problem. And the scandal! It was one of the official auctioneers who told me. He handled the bid himself.’

Cicero threw his hands up. ‘The man would never testify!’

Rufus seemed hurt. ‘Of course not. But at least he was willing to talk to me. And I’m certain he wasn’t exaggerating.’

‘It makes no difference. What we need is a record of the sale. And of course the name of Sextus Roscius on the proscription lists.’

Rufus shrugged. ‘I’ve searched all day, and there’s nothing. Of course the official records are a disaster. You can tell they’ve been rifled through, marked and remarked and, for all anyone knows, stolen altogether. Between the civil wars and the proscriptions, the state’s records are an impossible mess.’

Cicero pensively stroked his lip. ‘We know that if the name of Sextus Roscius was inserted into the proscription lists, it was a fraud. And yet if it’s there it would acquit his son.’

‘And if it’s not, how can Capito and Chrysogonus justify keeping the property?’ said Rufus.

‘Which,’ I interrupted, ‘is no doubt why Chrysogonus and company want Sextus dead and out of the way entirely, and if possible by legal means. Once the family is wiped out there’ll be no one to challenge them, and the question of proscription or murder will be moot. The scandal is self-evident to anyone who even casually inquires after the truth; that’s why they’ve grown so desperate, and so crude. Their only strategy is to silence anyone who knows or cares.’

‘And yet,’ said Cicero, ‘it strikes me more and more that they care nothing for the opinion of the populace, or even for the decisions of the court. Their chief objective is to hide the scandal from Sulla. By Hercules, I honestly believe he knows nothing of it, and they desperately want to keep it that way.’

‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘And no doubt they’re counting on your own sense of self-preservation to keep you from opening an ugly scandal before the Rostra. You can’t possibly cut your way to the truth without dragging in Sulla’s name. You’ll embarrass him at the least, implicate him at worst. There’s no way to accuse the exslave without insulting his friend and former master.’

‘Really, Gordianus, do you think so little of my oratorical skills? I shall be treading the dagger’s blade, of course. But Diodotus taught me to appreciate tact as well as truth. In the hands of a wise and honest advocate, only the guilty need fear the weapons of rhetoric, and a truly wise orator never turns them against himself.’ He gave me his most self-confident smile, but I thought to myself that what I had heard of his speech so far only skirted the periphery of the scandal. Shocking the audience with inexplicable tales of corpses murdered in the night and lulling them with legends was one thing; dropping the name of Sulla, by Hercules, was quite another.

I glanced at the sundial. Half an hour remained before the young Roscia would begin to grow impatient. I took my leave of Rufus and Cicero and laid my hand on Tiro’s shoulder as we departed. Behind me I heard Cicero launch immediately into his oration, regaling Rufus with his favourite parts: ‘For what madman, what utterly debauched wreckage of manhood would bring upon himself and his house such a curse, not only of the populace but of the heavens? You know, good Romans, that what I say is true. . . .’ I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Rufus was following every word and gesture with a gaze of rapt adoration.

I suddenly realized that Cicero had not said a word to Tiro before we departed, and had only registered a cold nod of dismissal when Tiro had turned to leave. Whatever further words had transpired between them concerning Tiro’s conduct were never shared with me, and if there had been a formal punishment I was not told of it, either by Tiro or by Cicero; and not once, at least in my presence, did Cicero ever again make reference to the affair.

Tiro was silent as we crossed the Forum and ascended the Palatine. As we approached the trysting place, he grew increasingly agitated, and his face became as morose as an actor’s mask. When we came within sight of the little park, he touched my sleeve and paused.

‘Will you let me see her alone, only for a moment? Please?’ he asked with his head bowed and his eyes lowered, as a slave begs permission.

I took a deep breath. ‘Yes, of course. But only for a moment. Say nothing to send her running.’ I stood beneath the shade of a willow tree and watched him step quickly into the passage between the high walls of neighbouring mansions. He disappeared into the foliage, hidden by yew trees and a great effusion of roses.

What he said to her in that green arbour, I never knew. When the time came that I might have asked him, I did not, and he never volunteered it. Perhaps Cicero interrogated him later and learned the details, but it seems unlikely. Sometimes even a slave may possess a secret, though the world allows him to possess nothing else.

I waited only a short while, and not as long as I intended; with each passing instant I imagined the girl fleeing through the park’s farther exit, until I could no longer stand still. There would never be a good time to get the truth from her, but this was the best opportunity I could hope for.

The little park was shaded and cool, but choked with dust. Dust clung to the parched leaves of the roses and the ivy that crept up the walls. Dust rose underfoot where the grass had withered and worn thin. Twigs snapped and leaves crackled as I pushed my way through; they heard me coming, though I stepped as softly as I could. I glimpsed them through the tangle and in the next moment found them sitting together on a low stone bench. The girl stared up at me with the eyes of a frightened animal. She would have bolted were it not for Tiro’s hand closed fast around her wrist.

‘Who are you?’ She glared at me and grimaced as she tried to pull her hand free. She looked at Tiro, but he would not look back, staring instead into the tangled leaves.

She sat absolutely still then, but I could see the panic and the furious calculation behind her eyes. ‘I’ll scream,’ she said quietly. ‘If no one else hears, the guards around Caecilia’s house will. They’ll come if they hear me screaming.’

‘No,’ I said, taking a step back and speaking softly to calm her. ‘You’re not going to scream. You’re going to talk.’

‘Who are you?’

‘You know who I am.’

‘Yes, I do. You’re the one they call the Finder.’

‘That’s right. And you have been found, Roscia Majora.’

She chewed her lip and narrowed her eyes. For such a pretty girl it was remarkable how unpleasant she could make her face. ‘I don’t know what you mean. So you found me sitting with this slave – he’s Cicero’s slave, isn’t he? He lured me here, he told me he had a message from his master about my father—’

She spoke not in the tentative tone of one fabricating a lie for later use, but as if it were the truth she spoke even as she invented it. I could see she had much experience in lying. Tiro still would not look at her. ‘Please,’ he whispered. ‘Gordianus, can I go now?’

‘Absolutely not. I’ll need you here to tell me when she’s lying. Besides, you’re my witness. Leave me alone with her and she’s likely to invent sordid stories about my conduct.’

‘A slave can’t be a witness,’ she snapped.

‘Of course he can. I suppose they don’t teach Roman law to farmers’ daughters in Ameria, do they? A slave is a perfectly reliable witness, so long as his testimony is obtained under torture. Indeed, the law requires that a slave bearing witness
must
be tortured. So I hope you won’t scream and begin inventing trouble, Roscia Majora. Even if what you feel for Tiro is no more than contempt, I don’t think you’d want to be responsible for having him racked and burned with irons.’

She glared at me. ‘A monster, that’s what you are. Just like the rest. I despise all of you.’

The answer came effortlessly to my lips, but I paused for a long moment before saying it, knowing that after it was spoken there would be no turning back. ‘But your father most of all.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ There was a catch in her breath, and the anger that shielded her face abruptly vanished to reveal the pain beneath. She was a child after all, despite her craftiness. She fumbled about, trying to cover herself with that bitter shield and only half succeeding, so that when she spoke again it was as if she were half-naked, brazenly hostile, but with her vulnerability painfully exposed.

‘What is it that you want?’ she whispered harshly. ‘Why did you come here? Why can’t you just leave us alone? Tell him, Tiro.’ She reached for the arm that held her wrist and tenderly caressed it, glancing at Tiro and then casting her eyes demurely to the ground. The gesture seemed both calculating and sincere, manipulative and yet truly longing for tenderness in return. Tiro blushed to the roots of his hair. From the whiteness of his knuckles and the sudden grimace on Roscia’s face, I saw that he was squeezing her wrist painfully tight, perhaps not even knowing it.

‘Tell him, Tiro,’ she gasped, and no man could have said for certain whether the tears in her voice were genuine or not.

‘Tiro has already told me enough.’ I looked straight at her but shut my eyes to the pain on her face. I made my voice cold and hard. ‘Whom do you meet when you leave Caecilia’s house – I mean, besides Tiro? Is it here on this spot that you give your father’s secrets to the wolves who want to see him flayed alive? Tell me, you foolish child! What sort of bribe could convince you to betray your own flesh?’

‘My own flesh!’ she shrieked. ‘Betray my own flesh? I have no flesh! This is my father’s flesh, this!’ she tore her hand from Tiro’s grasp, pushed up her sleeve and pinched a handful of the flesh on her arm. ‘This flesh, this is his flesh!’ she said again, pulling up the hem of her gown to show me her bare white legs, pinching at the taut flesh as if she could tear it from the bone. ‘And this, and this! Not mine, but his!’ she shouted, tearing at herself, at her cheeks and hands and hair. When she pulled at the neck of her gown to bare her breasts, Tiro stopped her. He would have embraced her, but she slapped him away.

‘Do you understand?’ She shook as if she wept, but no tears came from her sparking, feverish eyes.

‘Yes,’ I said. Tiro sat beside her, shaking his head, still confused.

‘Do you really understand?’ A single tear sprang from one eye and threaded its way down her cheek.

I swallowed and slowly nodded. ‘When did it begin?’

‘When I was Minora’s age. That’s why —’ Suddenly she sobbed and could not speak.

‘Minora – the little one, your sister?’

She nodded. Tiro at last understood. His lips quivered. His eyes grew dark.

‘So this is your revenge – to help his enemies however you can.’

‘Liar! You said you understood! Not revenge – Minora . . .’

‘To save your sister from him, then.’

She nodded, turning her face in shame. Tiro watched her with a look of utter helplessness, moving his hands as if to touch her but afraid to. I could not bear to watch them both at once and turned my face to the empty, endlessly burning sky above.

A breeze wafted through the park, causing the leaves to hiss and then subside. Somewhere far away a woman shouted, and then all was quiet. Deep within the silence one could still make out the distant murmur of the city below. A single bird flew high overhead and bisected the heavens.