The Bull Slayer - By Bruce Macbain Page 0,96

your glory as benefactors and philanthropists—although often enough, in your greed, you pocketed the money and never even finished the buildings. And I might never have uncovered any of this if Didymus hadn’t quarreled with Balbus. Didymus has given you up.”

“That greedy, stupid little man!” Now the golden voice grated like iron. The pretense of civility was gone. “I admit nothing, and you are bluffing, Governor. Didymus hasn’t named me and he won’t. Pancrates is a most useful man. Did you imagine he peddles his secrets only to you? I, too, was anxious to know who killed our friend the procurator. And I thought that you, with your power to summon witnesses, and that charlatan, with his network of informants, might discover the truth together. And you haven’t disappointed me. Naturally, Pancrates has kept me informed. You say Didymus has implicated me? Not true. Pancrates has just delivered to me a letter from him, vaguely threatening that he might talk if I don’t rescue him. But I will rescue him, you and I together, Governor. Let me suggest that you arrange to leave his cell door open one night and a carriage waiting, and I will see that he and his family are taken care of somewhere out of the province.”

“Or have him quietly murdered like you did Barzanes? And why would I leave his cell door open?”

Diocles sighed and ran a hand over his silver mane. “We wondered what to do about you, Governor. Some were for bribing you but I knew that was pointless. Unlike our previous governor, you are incorruptible. The boar hunt, as you may have guessed, was also a bad idea. I was against it, too much could go amiss. As usual, I was right. Poison would have been simpler, but I suppose you’ve been careful to dose yourself with theriac, and, if not, it would raise suspicions if you succumbed at my dinner table. But, in fact, I know exactly how to deal with you. I’m not a violent man. Information is my weapon. Excuse me a moment, will you?”

Diocles went to the door of an antechamber, and opened it. “Join us,” he commanded. “Yes, now. And do try to act like a man.”

A young man stepped through the door, his eyes, like a frightened deer’s, looking everywhere but at Pliny.

Diocles smiled. “Here’s someone I want you to meet, Governor. You may recall you met him briefly at Balbus’ funeral. Our estates neighbor each other and his father, as it happens, owes me quite a lot of money. See how pale and trembling he is. Allow me to introduce you, once again, to Agathon, your wife’s lover. Ah, you know I’m telling the truth, I see it in your eyes. Agathon has told me how they were found together in the cave. She’s been carrying on an affair with him for months right under your nose, you poor man. And he will declare it publicly if I tell him to. And, if you think his word isn’t enough, I happen to possess a letter to him in your wife’s handwriting. Foolish woman, she made the mistake of entrusting it to her tutor, who brought it to me instead. He resented being treated as an errand boy, you see, though that never would have occurred to her. Would you care to read it? Do sit down, Gaius Plinius, before you fall down. Women!” Diocles spread his arms in a theatrical gesture, “Zeus only made them to cause us grief, all the poets say so, no? And yet we love them anyway. The boy is good-looking, I grant you, though not very bright. Really, I don’t understand what your wife sees in him.”

Pliny felt the breath go out of him. This was his rival? He had tried to imagine her lover—a handsome older man, he supposed; strong, with a noble face. Not this boy! Anger and shame filled him all over again. He tasted bile in his throat.

“I had hoped this wouldn’t be necessary,” Diocles murmured. “I’m not a cruel man, I don’t relish the spectacle of humiliation. But think of the scandal if you should become the laughing stock of all Bithynia. The governor with a cuckold’s horns because his wife preferred a Greek lover—and not any Greek but this unimpressive youngster. We Greeks are a virile race, whatever you may think. Among us there is no greater shame than being cuckolded. You won’t be able to show your face, much less govern. The emperor,

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