Under Vesuvius(21)

“Unless what?” Julia demanded.

“Unless they don’t want to be recognized as what they are. If I was a Numidian and I didn’t want to be noticed around here, I’d put on some Roman clothes and ride a mare. A shod one.”

“Thank you, Regilius.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open, Praetor,” he said. “I’m pretty good at this. If I run across that mare’s prints anywhere, I’ll know them.”

“That would be very helpful.”

He grinned again. “This is like being in the cohors equitata again, chasing after the Lusitani in the hills.”

“See that Norbanus’s horses are returned to him.”

“Already done, Praetor.”

When he was gone I said to Julia, “I don’t think it makes any sense. She might have angered the boy by obeying her father, telling him not to see her again, but if you are right, she was far from wanting to break it off.”

“He may have come to confront her over another lover. It needn’t have been anything serious. A jealous lover can see betrayal where there is none. Pass me the honey.”

I picked up the pot. “It seems a little extreme—¦” She grabbed my wrist.

“What have you been up to? Have you been in my perfume box?”

It was as if she were speaking another language entirely. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“I can smell it on you. Have you been fondling another woman? It’s on your hands.”

“Just a dead one.” I sniffed my fingers. Sure enough, they smelled faintly of perfume. Then I remembered. “Oh, it was Gorgo’s bath kit. I took out a flask and unstoppered it. It was just scented oil.”

She looked at me in exasperation, a familiar thing. “Did you think that it was just common oil steeped with rose petals? This is the scent called Zoroaster’s Rapture. It is an incredibly costly perfume. It comes out of Persia in tiny amounts and nobody knows how it is made.”

“Well, this is educational. How would a priest’s daughter have come by such a scent?”

“At a guess, it was a gift, probably from Gelon.”

“Is this one of the perfumes I was bribed with?”

“It was one of them. So we know the local source for it.”

“Yes, I’ll have to have a talk with Silva and his partner, Diogenes. See if they sold any to Gelon.”

“And if they didn’t?”

“Then we have a problem. Of course, they may lie about it. People often lie to investigators. It’s almost reflexive.”

“People are usually guilty of something, even if it’s not what you are asking about. It makes them shifty and evasive.”

“Too true. Well, I’ve gotten pretty good at ferreting out the truth. I’ll take them one at a time and—-“

“You’ll do no such thing,” Julia said firmly. “You are a praetor now,-not an investigator for one of your high-placed relatives. Send Hermes. You’ve trained him and he’s very expert. Besides, he’s younger.”

“I’m not exactly doddering,” I protested, but I knew she was right. Not that I was too old for it, but it would look bad for me to go personally to question suspects and witnesses. It would lower my dignity in the community, and I couldn’t afford that.

“You haven’t slept,” she said unnecessarily. “What you need is a nap.

“Oh, a night or two without sleep shouldn’t trouble a Roman magistrate. Why, in Gaul—”

“Go to bed!” she commanded.

“All right.”



A FEW HOURS REST DID ME A WORLD OF good. I awoke in midafternoon, strode out into the courtyard, and splashed water on my face. A slave was there instantly with a towel.

“Has Hermes brought in the Numidian yet?” I asked the girl.

“They arrived not an hour ago, Praetor,” she said chirpily. Like most of the slaves in this house, she seemed happy and content. I suppose if all you have to do is carry a towel around waiting for someone to splash water on his face, you certainly can’t complain of overwork.

“Where?”

“The orchard-viewing wing, Praetor.”

Old Hortalus was as dotty about his prize trees as he was about his fish. He watered some of his prize olive and apple trees with undiluted wine with his own hands, not trusting a slave to do it. It should come as no surprise that he built a special wing onto his villa to look at them.

There was a terrace outside the large dining room. Here Hortalus and his friends could eat and drink at their ease while they admired his trees. On the terrace my lictors lounged, keeping a wary eye on a sullen little group of Numidian bodyguards.

“Any trouble out of them?” I asked the chief lictor.