Roman Games(54)
“It was the third day before the Nones.”
“Verpa died that very night!”
“So he did, indeed, sir.”
Pliny massaged his throbbing temples. This was becoming too much. The physician of Amatia, a stranger to the city, snatched off the street in broad daylight, rolled up in a carpet, taken somewhere, and almost certainly murdered. For what possible reason?
He drew a deep breath. He must inform the lady. She was taking lunch in her room, said old Helen, shaking her head. The mistress was with her, crying on her shoulder.
What a confusion of feelings assailed him! But he had been brought up in his uncle’s hard school. His uncle who, setting duty before all else, had sailed into the maelstrom of an erupting volcano and lost his life. With a comparable feeling of dread, Pliny knocked upon the door.
“You have come to speak with me, Gaius Plinius?” Amatia said in her low voice. “Speak first to your wife.”
Calpurnia, covering her face with her hands, tried to run past him, but he stopped her. They enacted a painful scene before their guest’s steady gaze.
His story came out in halting phrases—not quite the whole truth, but enough of it—amid many endearments and promises never, never to make such an ass of himself again. At the end Calpurnia, blinking back her tears, kissed him gravely upon the cheek. A married woman learns to expect these things, she seemed to say, but from you I expect better. “We will not speak of it again, husband.”
Pliny’s heart overflowed with gratitude. “Thank you, my dear. And now, if you will excuse us, I need to speak with Amatia.”
The lady gave him a questioning look.
“I fear I have troubling news, dear Amatia. The thing is quite baffling.” He recited the few, bare facts of Iatrides’ disappearance. “Can you think of any reason why someone would want to kidnap your physician? I mean murders, assaults, robberies happen every day in Rome. But this seems very odd. Where would he have been going at that hour of the day?”
“I don’t know.” She put her hands to her breast, her breath rattled ominously in her throat. “Oh, I wish we’d never come here!”
“My men are still working on the case, but I’m afraid I can’t offer you much hope. In the meantime, may I again offer you the services of my specialist, Soranus?”
“Oh, please say yes, dear,” Calpurnia urged, “he’s quite a wonderful man, I’m sure he can help you.”
Amatia smiled wanly and placed a finger on her lips. “Allow me awhile to think on it alone. Please leave me now, both of you.”
“Will you be all right?” Calpurnia asked.
“Yes, yes, don’t worry.”
But they had barely closed the door when they heard a strangled scream and the thump of a body. They raced back to find Amatia on the floor. Her limbs twitched violently. Her lips were drawn back in a rictus, baring her teeth. Her eyes were wide and staring.
“Helen, quick!”
The nurse came running as fast as her short legs would carry her. She and Calpurnia between them were able to raise Amatia’s head and pour spoonfuls of medicine down her throat—a preparation of hemlock, pepper, and honey, which she had brought with her. After some moments, her limbs relaxed, her eyes closed, and they were able to lift her back onto the bed.
The Roman Games consisted of ten days of stage plays followed by five of chariot races. Pliny detested chariot racing, but loved the theater. In seven days he had yet to tear himself away to see a play. And what better peace offering to Calpurnia? The poor girl hadn’t been out of the house in weeks. Soranus would disapprove but he’d chance it anyway. Wall posters announced that a performance of Plautus’ The Captives, one of his least bawdy creations, was to be performed that afternoon at the Theater of Marcellus. He would take her and Zosimus. And Amatia? She seemed to have recovered herself although she was still pale.
“I can’t. As I told your friend the poet, crowds terrify me. And I’ve had one attack already today. But let me help Calpurnia dress.”
Calpurnia was determined to plaster her face with white lead and rouge, “like a proper lady.” This was a constant argument between her and Pliny.
“Your husband is quite right.” Amatia touched the pouting girl’s cheek. “Any dried up old matron would give a hundred gold pieces for your rosy skin. Your beauty is a gift of the gods, my dear, why ruin it with this noxious stuff. I never wear it, even at my age, and I think I’m none the worse.”
Pliny was grateful to her and said so.
They sat in the section reserved for senators, front row center in the vast open-air cavern of the auditorium, facing the towering porticoed facade through whose doors the actors entered and left the stage. The singing and acting were first rate, but the play was a bad choice, Pliny soon decided. Only mildly amusing, while its theme of unjust captivity and slavery threw him back painfully on the very thoughts he had hoped to escape from. But Calpurnia seemed to enjoy herself—indeed she must have enjoyed being anywhere outside the confines of their house.