“Poor little Leto said Gorgo returned to bed smelling differently after various assignations. Sometimes it was Jocasta’s perfume, sometimes it was healthy male musk, Numidian variety.”
“You are being vulgar, dear,” Julia chided.
“And the girl was fickle,” Jocasta went on. “She was beginning to fancy Gelon, who was closer to her own age.”
I stole a glance at Gelon. He seemed to have turned to stone. Maybe he wasn’t going to be executed, but he was getting a double ration of suffering.
“You mean,” Hermes said, “you were bedding the father, the son, the woman they both loved, and her slave girl?”
“Let’s not forget Quadrilla,” I said, “but we’ll get to her later. You said the necklace portended worse things. What did you mean?”
“I think I can answer that,” said my wife, who had turned out to be unsettlingly handy with a dagger. “He was looking for a younger wife, wasn’t he? One better placed than a Greek hetaera.”
Jocasta smiled bleakly. “Pray you don’t learn what it feels like. Yes, he wanted Gorgo for a wife. Unlike Gelon, he could have forced Diocles to his will. Killed him if necessary. Under all the polish I gave him, he was a brute. And Diocles wasn’t much of a partner any more. The great men of the town were borrowing from Gaeto as well as from the priest. Any of them would have agreed to be a partner, as long as discretion was observed.”
“So you got rid of her,” I said. “Did Charmian help you?”
“No, both girls were asleep when I strangled her. With a scarf, it can be done so gently that the victim passes into death without ever wakening. Wives sometimes hire hetaerae to do away with their husbands in such a fashion. They seem to have passed away from overindulgence.”
“But the scream—¦” Julia began. Then, “Oh, that was Charmian, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, when I awakened her and told her her mistress was dead. She was distraught for a while, tried frantically to revive her. But she recovered quickly.”
“So that accounts for the disordered state of the body, despite your humane method of assassination,” I noted. “Now tell me how you killed your husband.”
She thought for a while, and we did not prod her. One doesn’t hear so elaborate a confession often.
“I prepared for this long ago,” she said. “Gaeto depended on me for many of his business dealings. I write well in Latin and Greek, languages in which he was illiterate, though he spoke them well enough. He dictated his will, in which he left most of his property to Gelon, with provisions he thought would satisfy me. I wrote it the way I knew it should read. When I knew he would soon be making a new will, it was time to act. At such times you have to act swiftly and decisively. You can’t hesitate.
“With Gorgo dead, I knew that he would deduce what had happened within a few days. He was not a stupid man. I hadn’t realized that Diocles would suspect Charmian so swiftly. He’d suspected her of spying for a long time, it turns out. When she escaped, she came straight to me, of course. She’d been hideously beaten, but she insisted on coming with me when I went to kill my husband. I didn’t want her to—she was too badly hurt—but she was like iron. Besides, there was a problem with my plan.”
“You needed to stand on your horse to get atop the wall,” I said. “But somebody had to hold it while you were inside, so that you could make your escape.” This accounted for the smell of horse I’d detected on the girl’s body.
“I told myself that it was all right. It wasn’t a long ride, after all. I washed and dressed her and we rode out after dark. There was no problem getting into the compound. I was very familiar with the place and its routines. Gaeto was surprised to see me, but he thought I’d just come in through the front gate. I disrobed and let him know that I was overcome with passion. He was a man. He was flattered. I put the dagger in him and dressed and left.”
So much for her inconvenient husband.
“But as we neared the city before dawn, Charmian doubled over in terrible pain. It was the beating. I never should have let her ride with me. That vicious priest killed her!” For the first time she wept. This was the only death that touched her. She dried her tears and went on. “I took her as far as the laundry park and she could ride no farther. I laid her down on the grass and she died before sunrise. I did the best I could by her, and it was such a beautiful place.” She was weary, now, all but drained.
“But you had to strip her and leave her naked,” I said, “because you’d dressed her in your household livery.”