Bruce Macbain - The Bull Slayer

Her voice thick with tears, “I waited two days for your answer. I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“Answer to what?”

“Please don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. Here now, get up, don’t do that.” She wrapped her arms around his knees like a suppliant before the statue of a god. “Look, you can’t come here. Your husband-”

“He’s gone! He’ll be gone for weeks. Now is our chance! Tell me you love me. I know you do, you must. You were only frightened, I understand.”

“Calpurnia, it’s over.”

“You don’t mean that! Let me be your Callirhoe again, let me love you.” She rucked up his tunic, uncovering him, put her head between his legs. In spite of himself, he swelled again. And sweet little Thais, hidden from them by only the thin fabric of a curtain, was momentarily forgotten. He drew her up and carried her to the bed, still warm from that other body…

When they had finished making love, she lay dreamily with her head on his chest and only then began to take in her surroundings. On the bedside table a tray of half-eaten pastries and two goblets. She sat bolt upright, looking around wildly. “Who’s here?”

“What? No one. One of my chums dropped by, left hours ago.”

Slowly, she lay down again. “I want to stay here all day and all night,” she murmured.

Did he hear a stirring behind the curtain? “Don’t be silly, ’Purnia, they’ll be missing you soon. You have to go now.”

“Say you love me again.”

“I love you, I do. Now you have to go.”

“I’ll come again tomorrow.”

“I’m leaving for the country tomorrow. My parents are complaining they haven’t seen me in months. I’ll be away for a week or more.” This was, in fact, the truth, though if it hadn’t been he would have said it anyway.

“Oh, too long!” she cried. “I have an idea.” She took his face between her hands, her lips parted eagerly. “We’ll spend a day in the country, where you took me once before. You can get away, can’t you? We’ll have a whole day to ourselves. We’ll be nymphs and satyrs in the woods. You are a satyr, my beautiful young satyr!”

Anything to be rid of her. And why not? It would be preferable to a day spent listening to a lecture from his father about the planting of winter wheat and why couldn’t he take an interest in things like his brothers. And she did excite him even though she knew none of the tricks of a hetaera . “Yes, yes, all right. Make it two days from now. Take the road that follows the river up toward the Reclining Woman. You remember? At the waterfall follow the track that goes off to the left about five stades . I’ll mark the path for you with a cloth tied to a tree branch. It’s a steep climb but you can do it. And come alone, Calpurnia. You won’t be afraid?”

“I’m not afraid of anything. Only that you won’t love me.”

“Now go, please.”

As the door closed on Calpurnia, Thais rushed out from her hiding place. “So that’s your Roman whore?” she screamed. “You poor man, I could hardly keep from laughing, listening to the two of you go at it.” She picked up a goblet and flung it at him. “You called her Calpurnia. I’m not stupid, I know who that is. Wouldn’t the governor just love to know-”

He hit her in the face with a blow that sent her staggering against the wall. He hit her again and she went down. “You say anything about her and I’ll kill you!” He dragged her to the door and threw her down the stairs.

The 6th day before the Kalends of December

Suetonius had promised himself that he would have no more to do with Sophronia, a woman too wily and amoral even for his jaded tastes. But her note had been urgent. And so he found himself again in her private office in the Elysium together with a weeping girl who would have been pretty but for a broken nose and swollen jaw.

“I don’t like it when people beat my girls,” Sophronia said. “This one is terrified, but I got the story out of her-all but the man’s name. You won’t like what you hear. What you do about it is up to you. I promise you she will tell no one else, nor will I.”

“At what price, madam?”

“That was uncalled for, my dear.” She looked at him reproachfully.

Minutes later, he was making his way back toward the palace, his features grim, his head in a whirl. He had devoted years of his life to chronicling, with sardonic wit, the moral lapses of the great and powerful. He had believed himself unshockable. He was wrong.

At the door to Pliny’s office, temporarily his own, he was met by a sentry who reported that Didymus’ wife and son were waiting on him. “They beg to have a visit with the prisoner, sir. They’ve brought him a change of clothing, some personal things.”

The wife, a stout woman shaped like a flour sack, the son, a younger version of his father, stood in the corner with downcast eyes. A bundle of what looked like rags sat on the floor at their feet.

If Suetonius had been less preoccupied he might have been more cautious. Instead, he waved them away. “Quarter of an hour, no more,” he told the sentry.

He sat down at Pliny’s desk and remained for a long time with his head in his hands. Finally, he fetched a long sigh, rose, and strode out. He would send a messenger after Pliny of course. But first, he would talk to Calpurnia. For the first time since joining Pliny’s staff he devoutly wished himself back in Italy.

But the lady was not in her apartment, or anywhere in the palace, and even Ione claimed to have no idea where she was.

***

A wintry sun winked through the lattice of naked branches above her head and lit the chuckling water of the river that ran beside the path. The forest floor was covered deep with pine needles and matted leaves so that her horse’s hooves made no sound. She breathed in deep lungfuls of the bracing air and shivered inside her heavy cloak-shivers of excitement, of the thrill of danger, of anticipation of the hours ahead with her lover. Not since she was a girl, roaming in her native north Italian hills, had she felt so free. In her whole adult life she had scarcely ever gone out without a train of maids and servants. Now she was that girl again and her heart sang with joy. She had been very careful, saying nothing to Ione and going before dawn to the stables, rousing the boy from his sleep, and giving him a silver denarius to buy his silence. And she wasn’t afraid of wild animals or brigands for she knew in her heart that Aphrodite, sweet goddess of passion, was watching over her. And now she saw the red cloth that he had tied to the branch to mark the trail for her. She turned her horse’s head and urged it up the steep track toward the distant ridge that people said resembled a reclining woman.

At the clearing she dismounted, spread her blanket roll on the ground and sat down to wait. It was early still. She hadn’t expected him to be here before her, he had once told her he liked to sleep late in the mornings. She had wrapped up a loaf of bread with some cheese and olives and a flask of wine. She was hungry and couldn’t wait. She took a bite, a sip. Another. He would bring more food. What a love feast they would have!

She waited.

The sun crept across the sky.

Where was he? Why didn’t he come? Her nerves were stretched as tight as harp strings.

Ah, gods, had he lied to her? Was he so cruel? Wait-there was a sound, the cracking of a twig. She ran to it. Nothing. Some animal. She shivered again: this time with cold, with fear. With anger. She had humbled herself, a Roman governor’s wife, and he didn’t care! It was over then. A wail rose in her throat . Stop it! She beat hers sides with her fists. Stop it. Fate has saved you from yourself. What were you thinking? But, not to see him! Where is he? Who is he with? Is he with a girl, some whore? Are they laughing? Is he telling her about me, the governor’s wife, his slave? The vulgar, lying little seducer! I’ll tell Gaius, confess everything to him, and he’ll crush this wicked boy, torture him, make him wish his mother had never borne him. “No! No! she cried aloud, “What am I saying? I love him. Juno help me, I love him!”