“You’ll find a way.” She squeezed his arm affectionately.
And he knew that he would. He didn’t cut a dashing figure, he knew; he wasn’t as quick-witted as some, not as brave, or as brilliant. But he was tenacious and determined: not exciting virtues, perhaps, but good Roman ones. It wasn’t brilliance, after all, that had made Rome great, it was steadiness and determination.
“What’s wrong with the son?” she asked.
“What? Oh. Marinus thinks it’s probably the Sacred Disease. And in that case their secretiveness is understandable. Ignorant people, that is to say most people, regard it with dread.”
They were quiet for a while, rolling and bouncing with the motion of the coach. Pliny squeezed her hand. “’Purnia dear, something I’ve been meaning to ask you, all this business with Balbus drove it out of my mind. Zosimus tells me that he saw that charlatan, the one they call Pancrates, leaving your apartment some days ago. I dislike the man. He’s a troublemaker, this oracle of his is nothing but a swindle and bad for public order. I can’t imagine what business you would have with him, you’re too sensible a woman to fall for his line of talk. Anyway, I don’t want him in the palace again. I must insist. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I believe I ought to expel the fellow from the province.”
“Yes,” she answered. Could he feel her skin go cold? She was being spied on! What else did Timotheus see? “Yes, get rid of the man. He forced himself into my apartment, wanting to tell my future, so he said. I had to order him out.”
“Outrageous! It’s that damned woman Atilia and the others who encourage people like that. I’ll deal with him in short order.” But then a thought occurred to him. “On the other hand, my dear, distasteful as he is, these sort of people sometimes have their uses. I’ll wager there’s many a household he’s wormed his way into and many a secret he’s learned. It’s just possible he knows something that might help me with the Balbus case. I think perhaps I ought to have a little talk with this Pancrates.”
“Oh, surely not.”
“Why not? Of course, I’ll make it plain that he must have nothing more to do with you. I’ve upset you, I’m sorry.”
Did he hear the panic that clawed at her throat? She was terrified that her thoughts would betray her.
“Well here’s something that might amuse you.” He gave her hand another squeeze. “Back at the funeral dinner. I thought you were beside me but you’d slipped off somewhere just as a young man was introduced to me. What was the name, Agathocles? Something like that. Nice manners, good family, good-looking too, if you like the effete, moist-eyed sort of youth. Practically invited himself up to the palace. Claims he’s interested in art. Well, I thought you might like his company. Take your mind off things. We must have him over the next time we entertain.”
***
Silvanus ground his jaws and listened with deep satisfaction to the woman. He paid her more money than she’d ever seen in her life to go out and buy his food for him, and to keep her mouth shut and her ears open. Now she was rattling on about the procurator’s funeral—the whole city was abuzz with it. If only he could have been there, invisible, to see the ugly, bloated corpse blacken and shrivel in the flames! He would have to be content with imagining it. If ever a man deserved death it was Balbus. How he loathed him.
Silvanus told the woman to leave him. He sat at his rickety table and fell hungrily on the bread and sausage she had brought him. What a clever fellow he was. Hiding practically in plain sight. Long ago he’d prepared this bolt hole, a hovel, indistinguishable from its neighbors, in a sprawl of shacks and market gardens along the city’s ragged edge, and he could stay in it as long as necessary while they ran here and there, looking for him. Only one other person knew where he was and she wouldn’t tell. She had too much to lose. And, when the time was right, he would steal away with his two chests of silver and live like a prince in Persia maybe, or Arabia.
Chapter Seventeen
The 6th day before the Kalends of November
The eighth hour of the night
She slipped out of bed silently, careful not to wake him. She