her in her studio, demanding to know what she could not tell them.
“Does Gaius Plinius really think she killed him, then?” asked Fannia, Caelianus’ wife, with a tremor in her little girl’s voice.
“He hopes not, he—”
But she was drowned out by Faustilla’s angry bray: “Of course she killed him, or paid someone to. The woman’s a monster. Haven’t we all thought so? With all her airs and pretensions, a savage at heart.”
There were vigorous nods of assent from Laelia, Cassia, and Gabinia.
“But why?” said Atilia. “She had everything to lose.”
Faustilla looked fierce, “Jealously! The oldest reason in the world. Balbus was sticking it where it didn’t belong and she caught him at it. Jealousy will drive us to anything, man or woman, doesn’t matter. Don’t you agree, Calpurnia dear?”
“You seem to relish the thought, Faustilla. I think it’s sad, if it’s true. And we don’t know if it’s true.” Calpurnia made an effort to speak mildly but she could hardly trust her voice.
“But, of course, you wouldn’t know about jealousy, would you, Calpurnia, married to a paragon like Pliny.”
“Where could she have run to?” asked Laelia.
“She’ll never get away,” said Cassia. “The governor’s turning the province inside out, my husband says.”
But Calpurnia was no longer listening to them. Her flesh had gone cold. Jealousy, she thought. Could it drive even her husband to a murderous rage? Even Pliny? What would he do to her if he knew? No, she told herself, he isn’t capable of that, he isn’t some raving, half-barbarian woman. He’s a civilized man. But he is a man…
Chapter Thirty-two
Silvanus sat at his rickety table in the dark hovel on the outskirts of the city that was his refuge and his prison. His grinding jaws masticated the bread and cheese to a paste, which he washed down with a long draft of wine. He was in the process of getting drunk. How else to pass the long nights? It was nearly a month since the night he had escaped from the treasury with his chests of silver. A month in which he had not put his head out of doors, relying on the hired woman to bring him his food and news of the city. He was beginning to loathe the sight of her. But he would stick it out for as long as he must, until this governor left and was replaced by a new man, until memories grew short and attention flagged, and then he would board a ship and sail away to Arabia, he thought, or any place where Rome’s long arm couldn’t reach him, and live like a prince.
A rap at the door. What was the damned woman doing here again? She never came at this time of night. With a curse, Silvanus lurched to his feet, crossed the narrow room, and opened the door a crack. He blinked his lashless eyelids. It was a woman, but not his woman. It was Fabia, half-hidden in the folds of a hooded traveling cloak. And behind her, her idiot son, and behind him that monster, Lurco.
“You! What are you doing here?” He could hardly get the words out.
She pushed the door open, driving him back—she was stronger than he was—and the three of them crowded in.
“You actually live in this hole?” She wrinkled her nose. “You told me where it was, you didn’t tell me it was a cesspit.”
“I said what are you doing here.” His voice rose through half an octave.
“Hiding just like you. The governor thinks I murdered my husband. I have no protector, no friends, no money.”
“No money? Haven’t I given you enough?”
It had started nearly ten years ago in Egypt when Balbus was on the Prefect’s staff, handling large sums of money for paying the shippers of grain to Rome and Silvanus was his clerk. Silvanus had begun stealing and, when Fabia became aware of it through a careless remark, he had paid her for her silence. She was a grasping, suspicious woman who wanted money of her own in case her husband should ever decide to leave her. Their arrangement had lasted ever since.
“You can’t stay here. You’ll bring the soldiers down of all of us! This is a neighborhood of snoops. How many doors did you knock on before you found me?”
She ignored the question. “We’re here and you must help us, Silvanus.”
“Never! You murdered Balbus, I congratulate you, I suppose the monster there did it for you?”
Lurco, who never spoke, simply glared at him and flexed his huge shoulders.