The Bull Slayer - By Bruce Macbain Page 0,50

for silence. “Nevertheless, nevertheless,” he said when he could make himself heard, “Glaucon is dead and we have a witness who swears that a Persian sent the poisoned dates.”

“No!” Arsames shook his head. “This is a slander on us. An excuse to persecute us.”

Now Pliny felt himself at a loss. He didn’t want to draw a line from Glaucon’s murder to Balbus’, whose death was still officially an accident. “I’m not accusing all of you, Arsames. But one of your people is a murderer. I want you to help me find him. You would be wise to cooperate.” Pliny put on his most severe expression and Arsames’ eyes widened with fear and confusion.

Suddenly, from the rear of the chamber there was a commotion and a woman’s voice was heard demanding shrilly to be let in. Her head didn’t come up to their shoulders but she shoved her way through the press of men, a small whirlwind of indignation, until she stood before the astonished Pliny. Suetonius stepped forward smoothly. “Sophronia, what an unexpected pleasure, but really—”

“Why have you dragged these men here, Governor?”

While Pliny was searching for his voice, Suetonius went on quickly, “Really, this is no place for you, my dear.”

“Why not? I’m a Persian. When they can be attacked, so can I.”

Before he could reply, she turned to Arsames and spoke to him in rapid Persian. He looked hardly less confounded than the Romans by her presence. He knew who she was, of course, and did not approve of her. None of them did. But if, as it seemed, she knew these Romans and didn’t fear them, he was ready to put aside his scruples.

She turned back to the Romans. “These men know nothing about this murder, nor do I. But if you want their help, you had best not threaten them. They are proud men. My mother’s people live amongst them. If there is anything to be learned, we will learn it. From now on, I will be your go-between.”

“I thank you, madam,” said Pliny, finally collecting himself. “Whatever you learn you may communicate to Suetonius in your, ah, place of business.”

“Oh quite,” she said. “The gods forbid that a whore should sully your doorstep.”

Pliny was again speechless. Worse, he was beginning to seriously wonder whether the Persians had anything to do with this.

***

That evening, under a lowering sky, five coffins were borne on the shoulders of pallbearers to the cemetery beyond the city wall. Flutes shrilled, mourners shrieked and tore their garments, but this was more than the imitation grief of hired professionals: the whole city had turned out for this sad event. An immense sea of people trailed the cortege and their outrage was genuine and palpable. And among the crowd, certain men circulated, who sometimes whispered and sometimes shouted that it was the Persians, the hated foreigner, the ancestral enemy, sly, grasping businessmen, deniers of the city’s gods, who had slaughtered this noble Greek family and were only waiting for the opportunity to kill again, kill them in their beds, kill without mercy. Must they wait until more innocents were poisoned? Drive them out! Burn them out!

And, having done their work, they pocketed the coins they had been promised and slipped away.

***

That night a mob rampaged through the Persian quarter, looting shops, throwing torches into homes and dragging the terrified inhabitants out into the street to be beaten and raped; making no distinction between the Persians and the Jews and Armenians who were unlucky enough to live side by side with them. Flames leapt into the night sky, visible from the palace. Pliny sent every soldier he had into the quarter and they battled the mob all night long, chasing looters through dark alleys, putting out fires, forming a human shield around the houses that weren’t burning.

Dawn broke lurid through a pall of smoke that overhung the city. Worse was the sullen miasma of hatred and fear that settled on it. Pliny crucified six looters, declared martial law, suspended meetings of the council and assembly, and ordered his men to break up street corner gatherings of more than three. He opened the palace grounds to the Persian families who had been burnt out of their homes, and Calpurnia—defying the muttered comments of the wives—took charge of caring for them. Pliny had never felt more proud of her.

But it wasn’t only the Greeks he had to deal with. A delegation of Roman businessmen, not only from Nicomedia but from Prusa and Nicaea as well, demanded