The King's Gambit(54)
“It’s a disgrace,” I agreed. “It’s possible that some of them are accepting bribes to keep the fleet laid up so the pirates can operate without interference. That would surprise me little.”
Milo tossed a handful of nuts into his mouth and washed them down with wine. “I doubt that. Those pirates aren’t afraid of the Roman fleet even when it’s at full strength. Why pay to be rid of it?”
“You’re right. It could be some of them plan to hire the pirates as an auxiliary fleet; that’s been done before, in past wars.” At this, the beginning of a thought began to form somewhere in the back of my mind, where the worst ones always take shape. “No,” I muttered, “even they wouldn’t stoop to that.”
Milo’s interest brightened. “You’ve made it plain that there isn’t much that our more ambitious men won’t stoop to. What is it that seems so unlikely?”
“No, this I can’t even speculate about. It will have to wait until I have some sort of evidence.”
“As you will,” Milo said. “Come, are you ready to find a room for the night?”
“Might as well.” Only when I rose from my seat did I realize how tired I was. It had been another incredibly long and eventful day, beginning with my waking in Claudia’s getaway, still in a drugged stupor. There had been the murder of Paulus, my near-strangulation by Asklepiodes, the encounter with Claudius and his thugs, the trip downriver and my brief tour of Ostia, ending in this underground tavern. It was indeed time to find some rest. We ascended to the fresh air and Milo found a priest to show us to our room, which I did not even examine before crashing onto my cot.
8
I WOKE FEELING IMMEASURABLY better. The light coming through the door was that of dawn just before the sun appears. I could see someone standing outside the doorway, leaning on a balustrade. I climbed from my cot and found a basin of water with which I splashed my face liberally. Milo turned as I came out of the little room.
“About time you were up, Commissioner. Rosy-fingered Aurora rises from the bed of her husband Tithonus, or whatever his name is.”
“You’re another of the early risers, I see.” I walked out onto the gallery that ran along the front of the inn. We were on the fourth floor. I didn’t even remember climbing the stairs the night before. From our vantage point we could look out over the roof of the temple and see the harbor just a few hundred paces distant. The growing light revealed a myriad of details, and a fresh wind brought us the smell of the sea. The markets of the town were beginning to send up their daily din like an offering to the gods. Smoke rose from before the great Temple of Vulcan, probably a morning sacrifice. It was time to begin another overlong day of doing my duty by the Roman Senate and People.
“Let’s go,” I said to Milo. We descended the rickety steps and began to make our way toward the Juno dock, first stopping for a shave from a street-corner barber. Milo was frequently hailed, and I wondered what had caused him to leave a place where he was plainly so popular. Probably Os-tia was too small for him, I decided.
We found the shop we needed without difficulty. It lay, as promised, between the rope shop and the used-amphorae-dealer’s establishment. From the stacks of jars in the latter’s yard came the reek of sour wine lees. The interior of Has-drubal’s shop had a different smell, odd but not unpleasant. I found that it was the characteristic odor of cloth colored with the murex dye. It was tremendously popular in the East, but in Rome we used it mainly for the broad stripe on the senatorial tunic and the narrow border on the equestrian tunic. Only a general celebrating a triumph was permitted to wear an entire robe dyed with it, in the fashion of the Etruscan kings. There could not have been a great demand for triumphal robes, but Italy was full of old priesthoods and cults demanding their own regalia, and I presumed that Has-drubal did the bulk of his business keeping them supplied.
Hasdrubal himself was in the front of the shop, arranging the drape of some of his rich cloth to show it to best advantage. He looked up smiling, but the smile wavered slightly when he recognized Milo. He was a tall, lean man, dark of complexion, with a black, pointed beard. He wore the conical cap of his nation.
“Welcome, my old friend Titus Annius Milo. And you, sir …” He trailed off interrogatively.
“I am Decius Caecilius Metellus, of the Commission of Twenty-Six, of which I am part of the Commission of Three, in Rome, Subura district.” Hoping he was impressed by my long-winded title, I pressed on. “I am investigating the untimely demise of a colleague of yours, one Paramedes of An-tioch.”