I began to walk back toward the City. As I made my way homeward, I reflected that this extraordinary investigation was bringing me into contact with some decidedly odd people. In the course of a single day, I had interviewed a priest of Syrian gods, a mountebank with a magical egg, and now a proud scholar-philosopher and friend of Cicero who was not above selling the occasional spell, charm, or cantrip to gullible customers. Rome is a city of such incredible variety. No wonder I have always hated to be away from her.
That evening, I discussed my findings with Julia, while she displayed, for my horrified edification, the clothing and adornments she had purchased for the reception at the Egyptian Embassy.
“I think Eschmoun sounds the most promising,” she said. “What do you think of these earrings?” She held them up to her delicate lobes.
“Lovely,” I said, a sudden pain shooting through my head. “Emeralds go so well with your eyes. Why Eschmoun? The man is nothing but a mountebank.”
“That is why I suspect him. He convinced you so easily that he is just a cheap trickster. That means he is hiding deep secrets. What about these green-tinted pearls?”
“They go well with the emeralds. No, I am not entirely satisfied with Ariston of Cumae.”
“Cicero’s friend? He seems to have been open and cooperative.”
“That means little. Every villain who knows his business knows how to seem open and cooperative.”
“But you pride yourself on spotting these subterfuges,” she pointed out. “This gown is half silk. Shall I wear it?”
I didn’t even want to think of what it cost. Half silk! “Please do. What he said didn’t rouse my suspicion. What he didn’t say did.”
“How subtle. Do go on.” She admired herself in a polished silver mirror.
“He was on Scaurus’s exile list, but he is still in Rome. Well, just outside the City, but you know what I mean. Elagabal as much as admitted that he secured his own situation with a substantial bribe and would be all too happy to perform the same tribute to me. So did Eschmoun.”
“And did you ask Ariston?”
“You don’t ask a citizen a question like that except in court or at least with a praetor’s authority, as an appointed iudex. No, a certain indirection was called for.”
“Are you sure he’s a citizen?” She tried pushing her hair into a pile atop her head.
“The Cumaeans have had full citizenship at least since Marius’s day, maybe before. If he’s really a Greek, he must be one of the last Cumaean Greeks alive. The place was taken over by the Campanians centuries ago.”
“You rarely hear about Cumae, except for the sibyl. Everybody knows about the Cumaean sibyl. Well, we already know Scaurus went easy on the accused citizens.”
“I’m sure he required hefty payments from them, though,” I said. “And that’s what bothers me. Here is a prestigious, but penurious, scholar, reduced to selling spells, living frugally in a humble house on what has to be absolutely the cheapest real estate in all of Roman territory. What did he bribe Scaurus with?”
This, finally, took her mind off her preparations. “That is a good question. Might it have been the bribe itself that impoverished him?”
“That’s a thought, but he spoke as if he’s lived there for longer than just the last three years. I’ll have to ask Cicero.”
“Do that,” she advised. “Do you think Cicero will be at the embassy tomorrow?”
8
DO YOU THINK SHE GOT MY HAIR right?” Julia asked.
“You look superb, my dear,” I assured her. In fact, she was better than superb as we rocked along in our hired litter to the admiration of all eyes. The sides were rolled up to give those eyes the best possible view. Julia, dressed in her half-silk gown and decked in her emeralds and pearls, her face made up by an expert and her hair dressed in a high-piled lattice of curls, could have modeled for one of the goddesses. I didn’t look so bad myself, with my bruises fading and wearing my best toga. The winter sun of late afternoon, low in the south but shedding a clear light, flattered us both. Behind us, as usual, walked Hermes and Cypria.
“I am so excited,” she said, fanning herself unnecessarily.
“I don’t see why. You’ve attended the festivities at Ptolemy’s own court. This won’t be nearly so lavish.”
“You know it’s not the same. In Alexandria, I could only stay for the first part of the evening. For the sake of my reputation, I had to leave before things got really scandalous. Besides, those were the revels of a barbarian court, full of half-mad Egyptian nobles and Persian degenerates and Macedonian brutes. Lisas’s entertainments are attended by the cream of Roman society.”