Katherine Brooks - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 106, No. 4 & 5. Whole No. 648 & 649, October 1995

“Up there?”

“Bring the things.”

I followed, encumbered by bags and baskets. She walked along the diving platform about ten feet above the water and sat down, her feet over the edge.

“Come and sit next to me.”

She was breathing fast. I sat.

“If he comes up the steps after us we can stamp on his fingers. Is that the idea?”

“I feel safer high up, where I can see.”

“You haven’t been like this all year, have you?”

“No. Only these last few days. I’ve been so sure that he’s going to find me. If I can only get past today...”

“Once you’re fifty, it doesn’t work anymore, is that the idea?”

She nodded, looking down past her crossed ankles to the water.

“I think so, don’t you?”

Moving cautiously, I took the champagne and glasses from their chilled bag and managed to ease out the cork so that it hardly popped at all. I handed her a glass.

“A toast to your birthday.”

She raised it to her lips, then paused.

“Once I drink it, I’ll be fifty.”

When she’d said it her lips stayed a little apart.

“Accept it. It’s not so very bad.”

She smiled, got up without spilling a drop, went to the very edge of the diving board, and stood there silhouetted against the last of the light over the blank water. A perfect target for Welbrand with a rifle in the bushes. I understood then why she’d brought us there.

“Sit down.”

She only shook her head slowly and raised the glass to her lips. At some point between the time she stood up and then my hand had gone into the shoulder bag lying beside me and come out holding the revolver. As she raised the glass I eased off the safety catch. When her lips touched it I fired, just the one shot. She stayed frozen there for a moment, then she and the glass, each on its own separate trajectory, fell down and into the water. Ripples were still rocking the alarmed ducks as I left the pool and walked fast along the path through the bushes. I brought her gun with me. An oath is meant to be kept, and somewhere, still alive in the world, I’m sure, is Welbrand.

© 1995 by Steven Saylor

“All the bee lore in ‘King Bee and Honey’ is authentically Roman,” says author Steven Saylor, “including the guardian presence of Priapus at the hives. And the Romans did use the Latin word for honey (mel) as an endearment, much as we do.” Mr. Saylor’s work is rewarding not only in providing suspenseful entertainment, hut in bringing to light many aspects of the daily lives of the historical figures of whom he writes.

“Cordianus! And Eco! How was your journey?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as I get off this horse and discover whether I still have two legs.”

My friend Lucius Claudius let out a good-natured laugh. “Why, the ride from Rome is only a few hours! And a fine, paved road all the way. And glorious weather!”

That was true enough. It was a day in late Aprilis, one of those golden spring days that one might wish could last forever. Sol himself seemed to think so; the sun stood still in the sky, as if enraptured by the beauty of the earth below and unwilling to move on.

And the earth was indeed beautiful, especially this little corner of it, tucked amid the rolling Etruscan countryside north of Rome. The hills were studded with oaks and spangled with yellow and purple flowers. Here in the valley, groves of olive trees shimmered silver and green in the faint breeze. The orchards of fig trees and lime trees were in full leaf. Bees hummed and flitted among the long rows of grape leaves. There was bird song on the air, mingled with a tune being sung by a group of slaves striding through a nearby field and swinging their scythes in unison. I breathed deeply the sweet odor of tall grass drying in the sun. Even my good friend Lucius looked unusually robust, like a plump-cheeked Silenus with frazzled red hair; all he needed to complete the image was a pitcher of wine and a few attendant wood nymphs.

I slipped off my horse and discovered I still had legs after all. Eco sprang from his mount and leaped into the air. Oh, to be a fourteen-year-old boy, and to never know a stiff muscle! A slave led our horses toward the stable.

Lucius gave me a hearty slap across the shoulders and walked me toward the villa. Eco ran in circles around us, like an excited pup. It was a charming house, low and rambling with many windows, their shutters all thrown open to let in the sunlight and fresh air. I thought of houses in the city, all narrow and crammed together and windowless for fear of robbers climbing in from the street. Here, even the house seemed to have sighed with relief and allowed itself to relax.

“You see, I told you,” said Lucius. “It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it? And look at you, Gordianus. That smile on your face! The last time I saw you in the city, you looked like a man wearing shoes too small for his feet. I knew this was what you needed — an escape to the countryside for a few days. It always works for me. When all the politicking and litigation in the Forum becomes too much, I flee to my farm. You’ll see. A few days and you’ll be a reborn man. And Eco will have a splendid time, climbing the hills, swimming in the stream. But you didn’t bring Bethesda?”

“No. She—” I began to say she refused to come , which was the exact truth, but I feared that my highborn friend would smirk at the idea of a slave refusing to accompany her master on a trip. “Bethesda is a creature of the city, you know. Hardly suited for the countryside. She’d have been useless to me here.”

“Oh, I see.” Lucius nodded. “She refused to come?”

“Well...” I began to shake my head, then gave it up and laughed out loud. Of what use were citified pretensions here, where Sol stood still and cast his golden light over a perfect world? Lucius was right. Best to leave such nonsense back in Rome. On an impulse I reached for Eco, and when he made a game of slipping from my grasp I gave chase. The two of us ran in circles around Lucius, who threw back his head and laughed.

That night we dined on asparagus and goose liver, followed by mushrooms sautéed in goose fat and a guinea hen in a honey-vinegar sauce sprinkled with pine nuts. The fare was simply but superbly prepared. I praised the meal so profusely that Lucius called in the cook to take a bow.

I was surprised to see that the cook was a woman, and still in her twenties. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, no doubt to keep it out of her way in the kitchen. Her plump cheeks were all the plumper for the beaming smile on her face; she appreciated praise. Her face was pleasant, if not beautiful, and her figure, even in her loose clothing, appeared to be quite voluptuous.

“Davia started as an assistant to my head cook at my house in Rome,” Lucius explained. “She helped him shop, measured out ingredients, that sort of thing. But when he fell ill last winter and she had to take his place, she showed such a knack that I decided to give her the run of the kitchen here at the farm. So you approve, Gordianus?”

“Indeed. Everything was splendid, Davia.”

Eco added his praise but his applause was interrupted by a profound yawn. Too much good food and fresh air, he explained, gesturing to the table and to the breath before his lips. Eco’s tongue was useless, due to a fever that had nearly claimed his life, but he was a skillful mime. He excused himself and went straight to bed.

Lucius and I took chairs down to the stream and sipped his finest vintage while we listened to the gurgling of the water and the chirring of the crickets and watched thin clouds pass like shredded veils across the face of the moon.