The Bull Slayer - By Bruce Macbain Page 0,91

isn’t finished until I can expose them—especially the Sun-Runner.”

“And how do you propose to do that?”

“I don’t know,” he answered wearily. “I simply don’t know.”

***

Night. The temple of Asclepius

As ever, the lamps burned late in the chamber beneath the great gold and ivory statue of the god. Pancrates and his assistants labored over the day’s haul of questions to the oracular serpent: some deftly removing the seals from the tablets, others concocting crabbed, obscure answers, still others counting the drachmas.

“Have a look at this one, boss.” One of the nimble-fingered boys handed Pancrates an opened tablet.

He held it to the lamp and squinted. “Interesting. It isn’t a question, it’s a message. From Didymus to Diocles. The governor, I hear, has the banker locked up tight. I wonder how he smuggled this out. He asks me to deliver it in person, praises my discretion, my influence.” Pancrates’ lips moved silently as he read and re-read the words scratched in wax. “The poor fellow is desperate. He begs, he threatens, but without quite saying what he means.” Pancrates bound up the leaves of the tablet and set it aside. He smiled to himself. Where there’s a secret to be learned, a favor to be earned, count on me.

Chapter Forty-two

The 6th day before the Nones of December

“Thank you, my boy, that will do for today.”

Three days had passed since his visit to the cave and Pliny was dictating letters to the magistrates of several cities, announcing his impending visit. Once again he was determined to pursue his tour of the province, which seemed always to be interrupted by more urgent business. Zosimus busied himself putting away his tablets and stylus. He avoided Pliny’s eyes.

“I’ll prepare fair copies, Patrone.”

“Thank you, yes, thank you.” Thank you and again thank you. How many times would he repeat these empty courtesies, so achingly inadequate to express what he really wanted to say? Forgive me, Zosimus, for foisting a bastard child on you, for marrying you to a woman who never loved you, for using you as no man should use another simply because I could, because you are weak and I am powerful. Could they ever be easy with each other again? There were things that had to be talked out; above all, whose son would Rufus be now. But he didn’t know how to begin. Too soon, feelings still too raw. Maybe in a few days…

A knock on the door interrupted this desperate train of thought. It was Suetonius, with a rolled parchment in his hand. “A messenger from our friend Diocles has just come with this for you.”

Pliny unrolled it and read. “Well. The Golden Mouth is inviting me to his country estate to discuss the affairs of the province with him and his friends. He promises pleasure as well as business.”

“I’d rather be thrown into a pit of snarling dogs. Will you go?”

“I don’t see how I can refuse.”

“I’ll come with you, help bear the brunt.”

“No, you stay here.”

“Gaius, you’re not well.”

“I’ll take Marinus with me, I’ll be fine.”

“And me, Patrone?” Zosimus had lingered by the door, listening.

“Thank you, my boy.” Again, thank you! “Perhaps you’d rather stay with Ione and—” He’d almost said your son.

“No sir, I would not.”

***

The following morning the procession of carriages carrying Pliny, his attendants and lictors, and the heap of gifts that protocol demanded departed from Nicomedia in a swirl of dancing snowflakes. This was his first visit to Diocles’ estate and as they proceeded, guided by the messenger, he saw with surprise that they were heading in the same direction as the cave of Mithras, only veering off on another road while still some miles away.

Pliny owned fine estates in Italy and considered himself knowledgeable about their management. Diocles’ well-tended acres impressed him. Fruit and olive orchards; fields of wheat and barley, in stubble now after the harvest; woods full of game; barns and slave barracks in good repair. And the mansion, large and beautifully proportioned, fronted by Ionic columns of pink marble.

Diocles—his bantam cock’s chest thrust out and large, leonine head tilted back—stood in the doorway and hailed him in his thrumming baritone. “We’re all waiting for you, Governor, come in. So glad you could honor us with your presence. Philemon,” he addressed his major domo, who hovered at his shoulder, “see that the governor’s retinue are escorted to the servants’ quarters.”

Instantly Pliny was separated from his lictors, from Zosimus and Marinus, as Diocles ushered him into a vast and crowded dining hall that buzzed with