John Roberts - Under Vesuvius

"I take it," he said with a wry expression, "that his widow-the local one, I mean-is disputing possession of that necklace with a favorite? It is a common story."

"Yes, yes, but please keep this to yourself for the time being. Delicate legal matter, you understand."

"Of course, of course."

We went out, walked a few streets, and paused by one of the many fine fountains. A little consort of musicians played harp and flute for our entertainment.

"So it was Gaeto!" Hermes said. "He must have been one of her lovers."

"So it would appear," I said. I stared into the swirling waters of the fountain, musing on this new development.

"She was doing the father and the son at the same time?"

"If Gelon is to be believed, he was courting her, but matters had not yet progressed to physical intimacy. As Julia pointed out, she almost certainly was not going out to meet the giver of the necklace, because she wore all her jewelry except that one piece. Gaeto was not the killer, because he was at the banquet with us at Norbanus's house when it happened."

"Don't let him off that easy," Hermes advised. "Men use hirelings to commit their murders and make sure that important people see them when the crime is committed."

"All too true," I agreed. "But I somehow feel that it isn't what happened here. This thing-" my frustration made me lose my vocabulary, a rare thing for me "-this is so different from the sort of crime we are used to in Rome. There, the motives are relatively simple. Men want supreme power and are willing to do anything to get it. When all the confusing shrubbery is cut away, that is what remains: the lust for power. If jealousy is involved, it is because men envy one another's power."

"That's how it is in Rome," he agreed.

"Here, we have wealth, and status, and jealousy and snobbery and, I suspect, love."

"Love?" Hermes said.

"Our first day here, Gelon rode up to the temple and we saw how he and that girl looked at each other. I am certain that that was real. Whoever else she was seeing, whatever other lovers she had, she loved that boy, and he loved her."

"It's not usually a motive for killing," Hermes said, "except when a man surprises his wife with a lover. Under law, that's justification for homicide."

"That's not about love," I said, frustrated. "That's about property. It's about honor, if you can define the concept. Love doesn't come into it."

"Still, jealousy is a powerful thing," Hermes said. "If Gaeto was visiting Gorgo on the sly, giving her rich presents, Jocasta would have a reason to kill them both."

I nodded. "That thought has not escaped me. But you pointed out yourself that the blow that killed Gaeto could not have been delivered by a woman."

"A hireling," he said. "This is Campania, homeland of gladiators."

"And would Gaeto have allowed one such into his bedroom at night? And then turned his back on him?"

"That does present a problem," he admitted.

"I don't think my best with a dry throat," I said. "Let's see what the district has to offer by way of refreshment."

"I thought you'd say that."

We turned our steps toward an entertainment district where there were numerous dining and drinking establishments. Rome is a city of taverns and food stalls and street vendors, but Baiae, as usual, is different. This area featured spacious courtyards filled with tables where elaborate lunches and dinners were served at moderate cost. The main difference between eating in such a place and in a private home is that the diners sit rather than recline at table.

A girl brought us a very superior wine and I ordered big bowls of the savory fish stew. We ate and pondered and discussed and got nowhere. We had a superfluity of circumstance and suspects and yet we were woefully ignorant in a few key areas.

"Praetor Metellus!" This was shouted in that singsong fashion women use when they want your attention from a distance. I looked around and saw Quadrilla, Manius Silva's wife, waving frantically. She rushed over to our table, followed by a slave laden with parcels, the plunder of a triumphant day of shopping, no doubt. "Might I join you?"

"Please do," I said, mystified at this seeming friendliness.

"Cleitus," she said to the slave, "take these things to the house and have the litter sent to me here." Wordlessly the man left. "I was hoping to find you today, Praetor."

"I must wonder at that," I said. "Your husband was most displeased with me."

She laughed gaily. "Oh, he was! Serves him right, too, trying to pass such an obvious bribe. Poor Manius! That sly Cretan gets him into more trouble." She accepted a cup from the serving girl and downed a good portion of it.

"Is Diogenes really counterfeiting perfume?" I asked.

"I have no idea. If he does, it's good enough to fool me. But double-dealing and suborning are reflexive with Cretans, they just can't help themselves. Diogenes has to outmaneuver all his competition, by underhanded means if at all possible."

"You mean it wasn't true, what your husband said about Diogenes being such a hardworking and resourceful businessman?"

"Oh, it's all true. But that is not enough, you see. Diogenes could never be content to know that he excelled through hard work and courage and intelligence. He has to know that he's tricked everybody. It's been that way since Ulysses, you know. Ulysses never opened his mouth except to lie, and Greeks have held to that ideal from that day to this. And the Cretans are the most Greek of the Greeks. Deceiving Romans is child's play to them. Diogenes has to prove that he can outlie, outtrick, and out-bribe all the other Greeks in Campania."

"They are a competitive lot," I agreed. "Not as homicidal as they used to be, though."

"Homicidal?"

"Yes, you know: the Iliad, the House of Atreus, the tyrannicides, Harmodius and Aristogiton, even Alexander and his friends. They were as bloody handed a pack as you could ask for. But these days they'd rather connive than murder forthrightly."

"I'm not sure I follow you." She hadn't been expecting this.

"Just that I have two murders on my hands and I'd like to eliminate as many suspects as possible."

"Don't you think Gelon killed the girl, and her father killed Gaeto in revenge?"

"Quite possible, of course. Likely, in fact. But I dislike having the obvious thrust before my nose. It makes me suspicious."

"As it should. It's so seldom Rome sends us a man of subtlety. I like you, Decius Caecilius, even if my husband is temporarily indisposed toward you. What has stirred up your suspicions?" She sat back and twirled a blue-painted fingernail in her wine.

"A number of things. For instance, the late Gaeto was a man everyone affected to despise, yet I saw him at formal and private functions, always receiving the deference one expects to be shown a public official or a prominent priest or patrician, not a slaver. Why was that?"

"Ah, poor Gaeto." She stared into the bottom of her cup, which seemed to have grown distant in her sight. "I'll grant you, his profession made him lowly-"

Says the probable ex-prostitute, I thought.

"— but he was a remarkable man. One grows so tired, you know, of effete aristocrats, money-obsessed businessmen and their social-climbing wives. And that is about all we have here in Baiae, as you may have noticed. Gaeto was something very different. As wealthy as any of the local tycoons but not at all softened by riches and luxury. He had a manner that is rare in Romans of this generation. I am not saying that he was just some primitive brute. You can buy as many of those as you want in the market."

"You mean," I said, "that he was like a tribal warrior chieftain but a cultured, sophisticated one?"

She smiled lazily. "Yes, that's it. Women like that, you know: a rough man, dripping masculinity, who's had his roughest edges polished smooth. It made him very popular among the ladies here."