John Roberts - Under Vesuvius

"My guards are free men, but they were off duty for the evening, in a tavern somewhere." He thought about it. "Jocasta was there."

"Jocasta? Your- Would the term be stepmother?" Now that I thought of it, she hadn't been at Norbanus's banquet.

"There is a Numidian word for the relationship between a son and a junior wife. I don't think it translates."

"Probably not. Can she testify that you were at home all night?"

"I–I think so."

The boy's ordinarily handsome face was contorted with his conflicting emotions: grief, rage, bewilderment, fear. I tried to discern guilt among them but I could not. This, as Hermes had indicated, meant little.

"I will speak to her. Anyone else?"

He shook his head. "No. Father was away, as you know. The rest of our family are in Numidia. The guards are men of our tribe. The rest of the household are slaves."

"And you had no assignation with Gorgo last night?"

"Assignation? What do you mean?"

I described the circumstances under which we had found the unfortunate girl. Now a new anguish came over his face: on top of everything else, betrayal.

"If she didn't go out to meet you," I said, "then who?"

"It-it can't be! She would not have-"

"For your sake," I told him, "you had better hope she would. Whoever was waiting for her in the olive grove, she went to meet him more than willingly.'* I let that sink in for a minute, softening him, then, "Young men courting women send them gifts. What did you send her?"

He stammered for a moment. "Gifts? Just small things: a silk scarf, a book of poetry by Catullus, a ring set with a carnelian."

"Small things," I said, "small but costly. The sort of things she could hide from her father. How did you get them to her?"

"We met in public places on festival days-there was never a secret meeting. Other times, I would meet one of her girls in the market and send things that way."

"Which girl was the go-between?" I asked, making a bet with myself.

"The Greek girl."

I'd won my bet. It was bold-eyed Charmian. "Nothing else? No costly perfumes, for instance?"

"Perfume? No, I thought of it, but the Greek girl warned me not to. She said the old priest might notice such a thing, since Gorgo used only rose water."

"I see." I arranged my toga in an imposing manner and gave him a brimming measure of Roman gravitas. "Gelon, I am giving you an unusual measure of attention because I think this is a very unusual case. Hear me now: I am giving you freedom of this villa, although you will be watched at all times. If you try to run, that will be construed as an admission of guilt. You will be tried in public, prosecuted by one advocate, defended by another, and your guilt or innocence decided by a jury. As praetor, I merely preside over the court and pronounce sentence should the jury return a verdict of guilty."

"But I did not-"

"Should the verdict be guilty," I went on, "there will be calls for your crucifixion. Roman citizens may not be crucified, but slaves and foreigners may. I can promise you only this: If you are found guilty, I will not condemn you to the cross nor to the arena nor any other degrading death. A quick beheading will suffice. Do you understand?"

He swallowed hard. "Yes. Thank you, Praetor."

"Very well, then. I will go now and try to set this district in order. Rome is a riotous city, but we don't like to see disorder in the municipalities and provinces."

I left him in a miserable heap and went outside. Julia was waiting.

"I thought you were supposed to be a praetor," she said. "Why are you behaving like a defense attorney?"

"I find it difficult to believe that boy murdered the girl."

"It's not your job. You are to preside over the trial."

"But I always like to know when I'm being lied to," I pointed out. "The more I investigate, the better I am able to determine that."

"You just like to snoop. So do I. I was listening while you questioned the boy. Did you notice that he said 'you cannot believe I would kill a woman I loved,' not the woman."

"The distinction did not escape me. It needn't mean too much. His father has at least two wives we know of. The boy may not consider his affections to be exclusive to any one woman."

"That is an attitude he shares with the entire male species. What do you plan to do now?"

"Would you like to pay a visit to the Temple of Apollo?"

"Not to sacrifice, surely?"

"No. I want to search the girl's quarters before anyone thinks to hide evidence."

She smiled. "That is exactly what I would like to do."

So, arm in arm, we walked down the pleasant garden paths to the beautiful little temple. When we arrived, the temple slaves were draping it in dark wreaths to signify mourning. The remains of a sizable fire smoldered on the altar, small tongues of flame leaping from time to time amid the crackling of resinous wood. It formed a miniature of smoldering Vesuvius, visible in the distance behind the temple.

We climbed the steps and a slave rushed into the temple. Moments later Diocles the priest emerged. He looked drawn but dignified. "Praetor, my lady, welcome to Apollo's temple."

"We've come to pay our respects, Diocles," I told him.

He bowed. "I am honored. My daughter is honored."

So we tossed a handful of incense on the fire and passed within. Gorgo lay on a simple couch, covered with a thin shroud, at the base of the statue of Apollo. At her feet two of her slave girls, red eyed and still weeping, sat on the marble floor, their garments torn in token of mourning. They were fair-haired Leto and German Gaia.

"Her pyre is being prepared before the family tomb," the priest said. "Her ashes will be interred with those of her ancestors."

"We shall attend, of course," Julia said.

"And now, Diocles," I said, "I would like a look at Gorgo's quarters."

His bowed head snapped up. "What?"

I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Just a little formality, in preparation for the trial. I know you would prefer that I do this personally, rather than some appointed index."

"I- yes, of course, Praetor. I appreciate your, ah, delicacy in this matter."

We followed him through a door behind the statue of Apollo and into a fine garden, beyond which lay a modest house built in the austere Greek fashion. Inside, the priest led us to a room opening off the courtyard. It was no more than a cubicle, with a narrow bed, a clothes chest, a chair, and a small vanity table. While Julia examined the vanity, I felt the thin pallet. I looked over the sill of the small window but found no loose bricks or any other sort of hiding place.

I would have liked to ask Diocles to step outside, but I had no decent way to do so. He watched without expression as Julia opened the lid of the chest and went through its contents. She looked at me and shook her head.

"Is all satisfactory?" the priest said formally.

"Yes," I told him. "Now, where do her slave girls sleep?"

He seemed astonished. "Why, in the next room. Why do you ask?"

"All part of the investigation. I would like to see it."

"Very well."

We went into another small room, this one crowded with three sleeping pallets and a single large clothes chest. We repeated the earlier search.

"Where is Charmian?" I asked as I checked the pallets.

"That one is being disciplined," Diocles said.

I felt a stab of guilt. I should have spoken to him sooner. "Last night, I told the girls you would not punish them so long as they told me exactly what happened. It is not my practice to tell a man how to discipline his own household, but this is a criminal investigation."

"No, Praetor, it is not about- what happened last night. It concerned another matter entirely."

"I see. Well, I think we are clone here. Diocles, I apologize and I thank you for your forbearance. This had to be done."