Under Vesuvius(31)

“With the priest as go-between?”

She said nothing, merely selected an especially fat cherry and dipped it in honey. There was a great fad for cherries back then. A few years previously Lucullus had brought the first cherry trees to Italy as part of the loot from his eastern campaign. He had planted a vast orchard and made seedlings and cuttings available to Italian farmers at only a nominal cost—one of those acts of euergesia Julia had spoken of. The new trees were just beginning to bear and everyone was eating cherries.

“What is the girl’s part in all this?”

“As I said, she was spreading herself thin among the local male population, and it seems she had a habit of babbling in the throes of passion. I don’t think the priest would have killed his own daughter for it, but any of the others would have.”

I set down my cup. “These are no longer the days of Sulla. It is not sufficient to bring charges against a prominent citizen to see him executed and claim a part of his wealth.”

“You wrong me, Praetor!” she said, smiling. “I am merely zealous in my devotion to the Senate and People of Rome.”

“I daresay. And what is your husband’s part in all this?”

“None at all. He is Numidian, not Greek.”

“But you are Greek,” I pointed out.

She shrugged. “I am a woman. I can’t vote in anyone’s elections or hold office or even express myself publicly on any matter of importance. Greek, Roman, Numidian—what’s the difference to me?”

“I can’t bring charges against anyone on a basis of what you’ve told me.”

“Who said anything about bringing charges?” she said, popping another honeyed cherry into her mouth. “I believe it simply bears thinking about. Don’t you agree?”



* * *





6


HERMES AND MARCUS WERE WAITING FOR me when I left Jocasta’s town house.

“Julia’s furious,” Marcus informed me cheerfully. “She says you’ve already demeaned yourself by, first, doing your own interviewing instead of sending one of us; second, going to that woman’s house alone; third—”

“Enough,” I told them. “I’ll hear all about it when I get back to the villa, never fear.”

“You’ll never guess who’s in town,” Marcus said.

“Come along to the baths,” Hermes advised.

Intrigued, I walked along with them, my lictors clearing the way before us. The town baths were, predictably, lavish, located just off the forum. There was a small crowd gathered on its steps, surrounding three men, two of them wearing purple-bordered togas like mine. These two weren’t serving magistrates that year, though. There was no mistaking who

they were. I had my lictors push through the crowd and threw my arms wide.

“Marcus Tullius!” I cried. “Quintus! Tiro!”

The oldest of them grinned. “Decius Caecilius! Praetor Metellus, I should say. Congratulations!”

It was, indeed, Marcus Tullius Cicero; his brother, Quintus; and his former slave, now freedman, Tiro.

“I thought you would never get back from Syria,” I told Cicero, taking all their hands in turn. “And I never expected to see you here! I would have thought you’d be in Rome, where all the political action is going on.”

“I’ve petitioned the Senate to celebrate a triumph, so I can’t go into the City until I get permission. I’d rather spend the hot months down here than hang about outside the walls, missing everything.” Cicero had been one of the first prominent Romans to build a vacation villa near Baiae. The whole district adored him as if he’d been a native, instead of from Arpinum. That was probably one reason why he loved the place. In Rome, the aristocrats never let him forget that he was a New Man from a small town, not one of their own.

I grasped Tiro’s hands warmly. “Tiro, my heartiest congratulations. I hear you are a country squire now.”

Quintus Cicero grinned. “He’s a landowner and a gentleman now, and increasing his holdings all the time. He’ll be looking down on us all soon.”

Tiro smiled modestly. “I hope not. Praetor, I see that your Hermes has also donned the toga.” He took Hermes’ hands.

“Now that I’m free,” Hermes said, “he feels entitled to work me harder.”

“I understand you’ve had some work to occupy you here,” Cicero said. “Do tell me all about it, Decius.” He turned to the surrounding people. “My good friends, please give me leave. I have dealings with the praetor. We shall have a fine banquet in a few days. My brother and I will be here all summer.”