Under Vesuvius(17)

“I must return to the villa at once,” I said. “This thing has occurred at my residence. Norbanus, Silva, as duumviri, you should come with me.”

“Certainly,” said Norbanus. “Litters will be too slow. Everyone take horses from my stable.” He began to bark orders to his stable master.

“Excellent,” I said. “All here who are magistrates come with us.”

Silva turned to the messenger. “How did this happen?”

I held up a hand. “Let’s have no secondhand information. It just leads to rumor and confusion. We will go view the body and question any witnesses there may be. Until we have done so and prepared a report for the municipal authorities, I abjure all here to refrain from idle speculation and from spreading tales that at this moment must be baseless.”

“Very wise, Praetor,” Norbanus said. “I, for one, fully support your actions.”

“That poor gii’l!” Julia said. “What could have happened?”

“I don’t know yet,” I told her. “But I intend to find out.”

As was my usual practice in such situations, I was watching those present. Everywhere I saw shock, outrage, at least a thrilled titillation. No help there. Gaeto’s swarthy face had gone ashen. The slaver came to me and spoke in a low, urgent voice.

“Praetor, I wish to come with you.”

“Gaeto, you are not a magistrate. You are not even a citizen.”

“Nonetheless, I would esteem it a great favor if you would allow me to accompany you. I would be in your debt. In this district, that is not a small thing.”

I was pretty sure what he was thinking, and I could not help but sympathize. “Very well, but do keep to the side and do not interrupt while we transact official business.”

He bowed. “I am most grateful.”

There were some odd looks when he rode out with us, but nobody said anything. The night was fine, but the cloud still rose from Vesuvius, and now its underside was stained a lurid orange. If this was not a true eruption, I hoped never to see one.

It was nearing dawn by the time we returned to the villa. Julia and the other women were following by litter. I had sent Hermes and some of the younger men of my party ahead on the fastest horses, to secure the murder scene and separate witnesses. These were precautionary measures I had devised in my career of investigating crimes. Much can be learned at a crime site, as long as it remains in the condition it enjoyed while the crime was being committed. I had little hope of this being the case when I arrived on the scene, but it was worth a try.

How futile had been my wish became clear as we entered the villa grounds. We rode straight to the precincts of Apollo’s temple, and there I found a great crowd gathered. Most were slaves and freedmen of the villa, many of them bearing torches. The cluster was densest a little to one side of the temple, by the olive grove.

We dismounted outside the grove and I called for the steward. The man appeared, looking harried and drawn. “Praetor Metellus! This is a terrible thing! Nothing like this has ever—”

“Annius,” I said, “I want you to clear this rabble out of here and back to their quarters. They are not helping and they could be doing a great deal of harm. Is there anything resembling a witness around here?”

“Sir, I have found nobody who—”

“Then get these people away from here.”

“At once, Praetor!” He clapped his hands, waved his staff, and began to herd everyone back up to the main house. Everyone, that is, except the temple staff. I saw the girls who had been assisting Gorgo the day we arrived, along with some men who had the look of sweepers and haulers, groundsmen and such. I approached the girls, who were weeping copiously.

“What has happened here?” I demanded.

“Sir,” began one, “the god must be angry with us! We were awakened by—”

“What is your name, child?”

She snuffled loudly. “Leto, sir.” She was a honey-haired beauty, locally born from the sound of her voice, a bit older than the other two.

“Then calm yourself, Leto. I am not angry with you and I doubt Apollo is, either. Are you slave or free?”

Either my voice or my assurances seemed to calm her. “I am a slave, sir. We all are. Slaves of the temple.” She indicated the other two girls. “These are Charmian and Gaia.” The girls bowed. Charmian had a look more bold than demure. She had dark hair and classically Greek features. Gaia, despite her name, was clearly a German, strong and big boned.

“Praetor,” said Charmian, “you and Apollo may not be displeased with us, but the master is sure to be. We are—were—his daughter’s attendants, and she was murdered while we slept. He may flog us or sell us or put us to death.”