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Under Vesuvius(14)



But, I now saw, if you had two swords, and were paying for neither of them, you could afford to let them get notched, blocking and parrying your enemy’s weapons. You’d get new swords for the next fight. Plus, you could keep your enemy guessing which sword was going to be used for what.

Both men fought with exceptional spirit and skill, and we were all jumping to our feet and shouting like boys attending their first munera. The spearman crouched behind his shield and tried to keep the other at a distance with short thrusts, first toward the face, then at the body and legs. The swordsman danced out of the way, sprang forward and back, and kept drawing the other’s shield up and down by attacking from different directions. He hoped to tire his opponent’s shield arm and create an opening that would let him attack the unprotected torso.

Finally, the spearman overextended on a thrust, and the left-hand sword came down, shearing away the iron point. Immediately, the man dropped the useless shaft and snatched the reserve sword from behind his shield. But in that instant the right-hand sword darted in over the shield and scored a cut on the man’s shoulder.

Immediately the men with staves jumped in and separated the two fighters while we cheered and applauded. The loser’s wound bled freely but it was only a superficial cut, the best sort of wound for a gladiator: a real crowd-pleaser that doesn’t incapacitate the man.

“It seems that you won, Praetor,” said the Greek. He reached into his robe and drew out a well-stuffed sack, which he handed to Hermes. “Sport doesn’t get better than that. I am Diogenes, perfume importer and partner of Manius Silva. Please accept these gifts for your esteemed lady.” He reached behind him and a slave placed a small wooden box in his hands. The Greek worked the latch and raised its lid. Within, nestled in fine wool felt, were perhaps twenty exquisite little glass vials filled with clear liquid, some colorless, others amber tinted. “These are a modest sampling of the perfumes I import. I hope she will find them pleasing.”

I accepted the gift. “You are a generous man and a good loser, Diogenes.”

He smiled again. “I am a Greek. We are good at losing.”

He took his leave, and when he was gone Hermes said, “He arrived with his losses already counted out and bagged. Decius Caecilius, I believe you’ve just been bribed.”

“No, I’ve just won five thousand sesterces. That Greek may think he’s bribed me, but he’s wrong.”

“Bribed to do what?” Hermes wondered.

“Doubtless we’ll know soon enough,” I assured him.

That evening, Julia and the other women had a sniffing party. They made admiring sounds over the fine cedar box and the beautiful glass vials, and then they unstoppered them and began to dab scent on themselves, on each other, and on their slave girls. Each new perfume brought a babble of excitement. When all had been tried, the women gazed at the vials in wonder.

“Decius,” Julia said, “these are some of the costliest scents in the world. This collection is worth far more than you won with your foolish bet.”

“No bet is foolish if it wins,” I told her. “Maybe it was you the Greek wanted to bribe.”

“The vials are Babylonian glass, the very finest,” Antonia reported. “Any time that Greek wants to bribe me, I’ll be glad to accept.”

“I’m not certain it’s the Greek doing the bribing,” I said.

“Manius Silva?” Julia said.

“He and Diogenes are partners,” I said. “It would make sense if Silva wanted to bribe me, to send his foreign lackey and keep his own hands clean.”

“I notice,” Circe said, “that no one thinks the Greek is just a foolish gambler who is princely about gift giving.”

When the laughter died down, Hermes enlightened her. “I’ve been asking around. He’s not just Greek, he’s from Crete. Everyone knows that the Cretans are born liars and connivers. They couldn’t be truthful under torture.”

“I’ve never liked them,” Antonia said. She had good reason. Her father was known as Antonius Creticus. But the Creticus was not an honorific voted by the Senate. It was bestowed in derision by the populace when he was defeated by the Cretans. In my opinion, any Roman who could get himself whipped by Cretans deserved worse than a funny name.

“What else did you learn?” Julia asked Hermes.

“Just that he’s recently back from a purchasing expedition. It seems each year he makes a circuit of the big markets: Alexandria, Antioch, Cyprus, Berytus, and so forth. He spends about half the year at this, then he returns and spends the balance of the year here in Baiae.”