Tears ran down the man’s cheeks. “The couple on the second floor got out, and us. The family on the fourth—all those children…”
“The old man on the third?”
He shook his head. “The stairway was all flame.”
Pliny stayed through the night, supervising the bucket brigade, and sent Suetonius back to the palace to fetch Aquila and a squad of soldiers. It would be daylight before the fire burned itself out.
He questioned Galeo and Marius. They had seen a man enter the building, they assumed he lived there. He must have run out with the others who escaped, they couldn’t be sure.
***
The Sun-Runner was grim-faced. “Idiot! Was is necessary to burn the building down?”
The man held a bloody rag against his cheek. “Was an accident,” he mumbled. “Just as well, though. Covers our tracks.”
“It was supposed to look like the old man had a heart attack. It’s hardly likely that he set his room on fire.”
“Could have.”
“Let’s hope the Romans are stupid enough to think so.”
“My silver, sir?”
The Sun-Runner tossed a bag of coin which the man caught in one hand. “Go get your face looked at, you’re dripping blood on the floor.”
The Sun-Runner poured himself a goblet of wine and drained it in one gulp. He raked his fingers through his hair. He needed to think. Sad, of course, that the Father had to die, but there was no alternative. Sooner or later the Romans would get the old man to talk—if he hadn’t already. It was a risk the Sun-Runner couldn’t afford to take. And the cult had clearly outlived its usefulness. Mithras, he hoped, would be understanding. Mithras who eternally plunged his dagger into the bull’s throat.
More blood than that would be spilled before this was over.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The Ides of November
“…therefore, Sir, if you will authorize the rebuilding of Nicomedia’s aqueduct and the refurbishing of the baths, I will see to undertaking these works at once. With respect to the Balbus investigation, I have to report—” Pliny paused, sighed. Zosimus, who sat at the foot of the dining couch with his stylus and tablets in hand, looked up questioningly.
What did he have to report to Trajan? That his procurator was mixed up with some barbarian religious fanatics? That more people had been murdered and he was no nearer the truth? How would all this sound in Rome? Like pure lunacy. Like incompetence.
The embers of Barzanes’ apartment were still smoldering. They had gone in this morning and uncovered his charred corpse—which told them nothing.
“Uncle Pliny, play Latrunculi with me. Please. You can be the soldiers this time.” Little Rufus climbed up beside him on the dining couch. Pliny had given him the board game of Soldiers and Brigands and he loved to spend time, when he could snatch a few minutes, to play with the child. At four, Rufus was an enthusiastic, if reckless, player.
Pliny tousled his hair and kissed him. “I’m afraid you’ll beat me again.”
“I will, I will beat you. I want a grape. Don’t eat ’em all.”
“Don’t bother master now, he’s busy,” Zosimus said, trying to sound like the stern father.
“Where’s his mother?” Pliny asked.
“With the mistress, I suppose. They spend so much time in the temples these days looking at statues and paintings Ione says she could write a book on the subject, if she could write.”
There was a knock at the dining room door. A servant entered followed by a figure that Rufus had never seen before. The child clapped his hand to his mouth and shrank back, trying to hide himself behind Pliny. The figure approached the couch with jerky steps like a puppet on strings. Its face was pinched and pale, its neck ropy, its arms and legs like sticks. Rufus began to whimper.
“Take him away, Zosimus.” Pliny handed the child to him with a swift motion. “And leave us for a while.”
“Aulus, what a pleasure to see you. Sit down here beside me.” Pliny made room for the boy on the couch. “What brings you here? You don’t leave home often, do you?”
Aulus sat stiffly, twisting his hands. “I—I haven’t told mother. I took a horse from the stable. Asked the way to the palace. They didn’t want to let me in until I told them whose son I am.”
“Well, I’m very glad to see you. Have you eaten? Try these, they’re very good.” Pliny handed the boy a plate of grapes. “Will you take some wine? What’s that you’re holding?”