'And did they?'
'No. After that they left her alone. Perhaps Sextus managed to soften Capito, I don't know. Her belly grew larger and larger. She was put with the kitchen slaves and did her share of work. But right after she had the baby she disappeared.'
'When was this?'
'Three months ago? I can't remember exactly.' 'So they took her back to Rome?'
'Maybe. Or maybe they killed her. It was either her they killed, or the baby, or both of them.' 'What do you mean?' 'Here, I'll show you.'
Without a word he led me out ofthe house and into the fields behind. He threaded a path through the grape arbours, wending past slaves who skulked and slept in the leafy shade. A winding pathway led up a hillside to the family gravesite whose stelae I had glimpsed the day before.
'Here,' he said. 'You can tell from the earth which are the newer ones. The old man was buried here, beside Gaius.' He pointed to two gravesites. The older one was decorated with a finely carved stele picturing a handsome young Roman in the guise of a shepherd surrounded by satyrs and nymphs; there was a great deal of engraving below, in which I glimpsed the words GAIUS, BELOVED SON, GIFT FROM THE GODS. The newer mound was marked only with a simple uninscribed slab that had the look of being merely temporary.
'You can tell how much his father doted on Gaius,' said Carus. 'A beautiful piece of work, isn't it? Done specially by an artisan in the city who knew the boy; it looks just like him. He was very handsome, as you can see; the stone even captures that look in his eyes. Of course the old man so far has nothing better than a beggar's stele, not even marked with his name. Sextus intended to have it there only until he could commission a special one done up from portraits of his father. You can wager Capito won't be wasting any of his new fortune on a stone.'
He touched his fingers to his lips and then to the top of each slab, in the old Etruscan manner of showing respect for the dead, then led me to a weedy patch nearby. 'And this was the grave that appeared after Elena vanished.'
There was nothing but a small mound of earth and a broken stone at the head to mark the spot.
'We heard her giving birth the night before. Screaming loud enough to wake the whole house. Maybe Magnus and Glaucia had done something terrible to her insides, after all. The next day Sextus showed up at the house, though Capito had long since stopped allowing him inside. But Sextus forced his way in and cornered Capito in his study. They slammed the door, and I heard them arguing for a long time, first yelling and then very quiet. Later Elena was gone, but I didn't know where. And then some of the other slaves told me about the new gravesite. It's a small grave, isn't it? But rather large for just a baby. Elena was small herself hardly more than a girl. What do you think, could it hold both a girl and her baby?' 'I don't know,' I said.
'Neither do I. And no one ever told me. But this is what I think: the baby was born dead, or else they killed it.' 'And Elena?'
"They took her to Chrysogonus, in Rome. That was the rumour among the slaves, anyway. Perhaps it's only what we wish might be the truth.'
'Or perhaps it's Elena who's buried here, and the child lives on.'
Carus only shrugged and turned back towards the house.
Thus I departed from Ameria even later than I had hoped. I took the advice of Titus Megarus and spent the night with his cousin. All that day on the road and that night under a strange roof I pondered what Carus had told me, and for some reason the words that lingered in my thoughts were not about Elena or her child, or about Capito and his family, but something he had said about his former master 'And if Sextus Roscius was a terrible father to his daughters, what business was that of mine?' There was something disturbing in those words, and I puzzled over them until at last sleep captured me again.
20
I reached Rome shortly after midday. The weather was sweltering, but the climate in Cicero's study was quite chilly.
'And where have you been?' he snapped, pacing with crossed arms about the room, staring at me and then into the atrium, where a household slave sat pulling weeds. Tiro stood at a table before a bunch of scrolls unrolled and held down by weights. Rufus was there as well, sitting in the corner and tapping at his lower lip. The two of them gave me sympathetic glances that told me I was not the first to receive Cicero's wrath that day. The trial was only four days away. The first-time advocate was not bearing up well.
'But surely you knew I was in Ameria,' I said. 'I told Tiro before I left.'
'Yes, good for you, running off to Ameria to let us handle the case here alone. You told Tiro you'd be back yesterday.' He gave a small burp and made a face, clutching his belly.
'I told Tiro I'd be gone for one day at the least, possibly more. I don't suppose it would interest you to know that since I last saw you my home was invaded by armed thugs — and may have been attacked again — I can't say because I haven't yet returned there, having come straight here instead. They threatened my slave, who luckily escaped, and they butchered my cat, which may seem a small thing to you but which would be an omen of catastrophic proportions in a civilized country like Egypt.'
Tiro looked appalled. Cicero looked dyspeptic. 'An attack on your house — on the night you left Rome? But that can't possibly be connected to your work for me. How could anyone have known—'
'I can't answer that, but the message left in blood on my wall was explicit enough. "Be silent or die. Let Roman justice work it’s will" Probably good advice. Before I left Rome I had to cremate my cat, find lodgings for my slave, and arrange for a guard to watch my doorstep. As for the journey, I invite you to ride to Ameria and back in two days and see if it leaves you in a better humour. My backside is so sore I can hardly stand, let alone sit.' My arms are sunburned, and my insides feel as if I'd been picked up by a Titan and thrown like a pair of dice.'
Cicero's jaw stiffened and quivered, his lips pursed. He was about to snap at me again.
I held up my hand to silence him. 'But no, Cicero, don't thank me yet for all my pains on your behalf. First, let's sit calmly for a few moments while you have a servant fetch us something quenching to drink and bring a meal fit for a hungry man with an iron stomach who hasn't eaten since daybreak. Let me tell you what I discovered on my rounds with Tiro the other day, and what I found out in Ameria. Then you can thank me.'
Which, after I had finished my tale, Cicero did quite profusely. His indigestion seemed to vanish, and he even broke his regimen to share a cup of wine with us. I plunged into the murky matter of my finances and found him completely amenable. He agreed not only to pay for any additional expenses incurred by leaving Vespa for a few extra days in Ameria, but even volunteered to pay for an armed professional to guard my house until after the trial. 'Hire a gladiator from whomever you wish,' he said. 'Charge the debt to me.' When I produced the petition of the citizens of Ameria asking Sulla to reverse the proscription of old Roscius, I thought he might name me his heir.
As I told the tale I paid careful attention to Rufus's face. Sulla was his brother-in-law, after all. Rufus professed only disdain for the dictator, and in any event Titus Megarus's tale implicated not Sulla but Chrysogonus, his ex-slave and deputy.’ Nevertheless, I feared he would be offended. For an instant I considered that it might have been Rufus who betrayed me to the enemies of Sextus Roscius and set Mallius Glaucia invading my house, but I could see no guile in his brown eyes, and it was hard to imagine that those quizzical eyebrows and freckled nose belonged to a spy. (Red hair on a woman is a warning, the Alexandrians say, but put your trust in a redheaded man.) Indeed, when the tale turned to Sulla and cast him in a poor light, Rufus seemed quietly pleased.