Under Vesuvius(67)

I went into the atrium to find Sublicius Pansa, glittering in his polished cuirass and helmet, awaiting me.

“Praetor!” he cried joyfully. “I am happy to report that the bandits have been scoured out and will menace the district no more.” You’d have thought that he’d conquered the Parthians single-handedly.

“Excellent. Now where are your prisoners? I want to question them.”

“Ah, well. Praetor, you see, the boys were very keen to avenge your honor and the honor of Rome. After all, these vile creatures had raised profane hands against a serving praetor, insulting both to Rome, and to—”

“You didn’t take any alive?” I said, disgusted but not at all surprised. Actually, I was somewhat astonished that they had managed not to get themselves massacred by the bandits.

“What did you bring me?” I asked, resigned.

“If you will come this way, Praetor.” He strutted out into the street, where his turma awaited. Besides the cavalrymen there were seven horses draped with corpses. I took a close look but saw no familiar faces. The bandits smelled no prettier dead than they had alive.

Regilius sat his horse a little aside, looking disgusted. I signaled him to me and he rode over and dismounted.

“All right. Tell me what happened.”

“We found three dead while tracking them,” he said. “They’d been wounded in the fight with your lot. Caught up with the rest of them at the foot of the volcano. These twits treated it like stag hunting on their fathers’ estates, whooping and chasing them down with lances. Could’ve got you your prisoners easy enough, if they hadn’t been having so much fun.” He spat on the unoffending pavement. “Found something for you, though.”

“If so, I am grateful.”

He led me to a small horse tethered behind the ones carrying the bodies. It was a handsome animal but very tired.

“This is the one we’ve been looking for. Knew it as soon as I saw their tracks.” He caught my look. “It wasn’t ridden by your murderer. He was a big, ugly brute that was no horseman. That’s one reason it was so easy to ride them down. This is a fine beast, but she shouldn’t have been carrying so much weight. Whoever rode her to the grove and to the slaver’s house was the right weight for her.”

“So she was pay,” I said. “The murderer gave her as part of the bandits’ fee for getting rid of us.”

“Makes sense,” Regilius said. “Bad bit of luck, though. I was hoping I’d be able to track her to the bugger’s stable.”

“It would have been conclusive evidence,” I affirmed. “But our murderer is very good at getting rid of evidence.” How good, I was just beginning to appreciate.

Although I considered the bandit-hunting expedition to have been a disaster, the townspeople felt otherwise. The sight of the dead bandits put them in a good mood and they hailed the cavalry as if they were conquering heroes. It did not hurt that they were Pompeian forces, Campania being one of Pompey’s strongholds.



IN THE EARLY MORNING, THE TOWN forum was packed with people come to witness the trial. Not just the town was there but also people from nearby towns and the surrounding villages. They had all come for the previous day’s festival, and were staying on an extra day to see the splashy trial everyone had been talking about for days.

With my lictors clearing the way before me, I took my seat in the cu-rule chair on the dais. At my nod the day’s proceedings began with sacrifices and the taking of auguries. To my relief, there was no examining the livers of sacrificial animals, for there was little Etruscan influence so far south. Rome, on the very border of Tuscia, has always been plagued with these liver readers. Instead, the local augurs took the omens decently, by observing the flight and feeding of birds and by determining the direction of lightning and thunder. Whatever methods were used, the omens were deemed propitious and we were permitted to proceed.

A chorus of hisses and execrations greeted Gelon, who rode in escorted by my own men. If his acquittal depended on crowd approval, he was already a dead man. Beside him rode Tiro. The two had spent the previous day closeted together, preparing the defense. Tiro looked confident, but that is part of a lawyer’s job.

Next the jury was empaneled, some forty comfortable-looking equites who blandly took frightening oaths before the gods, happy in the knowledge that the gods, too, can be bribed.

One of my lictors led the witnesses to their benches. There were a good number of these, among them Diocles the priest, some nervous-looking temple servants, and Jocasta. Just before all was arranged, a man wearing a white tunic and the winged red hat of Mercury came running into the forum, holding aloft a little golden caduceus. He had tiny silver wings affixed to his sandals, and the crowd made way for him. He halted before the dais and took a small scroll from the wallet slung over his shoulder.