The Venus Throw (39 page)

“You look very thoughtful,” said Bethesda on the way home.

“And you look rather smug. Did you enjoy yourself that much?”

“Enjoyment was not really the point,” she said, suddenly haughty.

“What did Clodia mean by what she said to you?”

“When?”

“She asked if you had gotten the little statue of Attis.
You said yes, and then she said, ‘Good, now you’re one of us.’ ”

“Did she say that?”

“Bethesda, I’m in no mood to be teased.”

“She only meant that I had been accepted by the other women here on the Palatine. The women who matter, anyway. Thanks to Clodia.”

“Is that all she meant?”

“What do you mean, is that all? Think of it, of where I come from, who I am. I dreaded it when we moved from the farm back to Rome, into such a house, such a neighborhood. I never let you see how I felt, of course, but it was just as I feared. They treated me very badly at first.”

“Treated you badly?”

“Ignored me, shut me out. But after tonight, things will change. The others will treat me differently. As if I were one of them.”

This struck me as highly unlikely, but I shrugged. “Why not? Almost anything seems to be possible in Rome these days.”

For some reason Bethesda took offense at this comment and didn’t say another word to me all the way home.

Diana had stayed up for us. She demanded that her mother tell her everything about the party. While they settled in Diana’s room, talking of what the women had worn and how they had dressed their hair, I escaped to our bedroom.

I stripped off my toga and put on a shabby tunic. I kept a lamp burning so that Bethesda could find her way around the room. I lay down on the sleeping couch and shut my eyes against the flickering light, but I couldn’t sleep. I had drunk too much, eaten too much, heard too much poetry. From down the hall I could hear Diana’s and Bethesda’s muffled laughter. The sound reminded me of the sound of distant laughter in the garden, when Clodia had kissed me . . .

I had asked her for something, hadn’t I? The poison, that was it! The gorgon’s hair, so that I could compare it to the
same stuff that Eco had given me to safeguard. Again, I had come home without it. Of course, I didn’t really need Clodia’s sample to make the comparison; I remembered clearly enough what the stuff had looked like. 1 had held it up to the lamplight, while Chrysis twisted in the corner and sobbed . . .

I shifted on the sleeping couch, determined to fall asleep, but the laughter from Diana’s room kept me up, and my thoughts kept twisting endlessly in space, like Chrysis suspended upside down from the ceiling. Finally I got up and reached for the lamp.

There was a little storage room down the hallway from our bedroom, cluttered with rolled rugs and folded chairs and wooden boxes. After a brief search I found the strongbox amid the jumble. I tried to remember where I had bidden the key, and then realized I didn’t need it. The little lock on the strongbox had been broken.

I took the box into the bedroom and set down the lamp so that it would light the inside.

There wasn’t much inside the box—a blood-encrusted dagger that had been important at another trial, a few letters and some other mementos that I didn’t want anyone else to touch. Among them was the little pyxis of poison that Eco had asked me to keep for him, not wanting to have it in his own house with the twins.

I picked up the pyxis by the rim of the lid, which came open. I gave a jerk, thinking I had clumsily spilled the contents, then realized there were no contents to be spilled.

The pyxis was empty. Only a few traces of poison remained, compacted against the inside corners of the box, identical to the crumbly yellow powder that Clodia had shown me.

What did it mean?

I set the pyxis aside and looked in the strongbox again, thinking the poison must have spilled inside. I saw no yellow powder, but I did see something else, a small object easily
overlooked: an earring. It was a simple design, a little silver crook with a green glass bead for ornament. I recognized it at once; it was one of Bethesda’s old earrings.

The crook of the earring was bent. I looked again at the broken lock of the strongbox. The metal facing was scored with tiny scratches. The aperture was small; the crook of the earring would have been ideal for poking inside.

What had happened was obvious: the earring had been used to force the lock.

I sat and stared dumbly at the earring, the strongbox and the empty pyxis, at first puzzled, then stunned, then furious.

Diana and her mother gave a start when I pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the room. I held the empty pyxis in my outstretched hand.

“Can you explain this?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

They both looked at me as if they hardly knew me. Would I have known myself in a minor at that moment?

Neither of them spoke. “I asked if you could explain this.” I said. They stared at me dumbly.

“Very well. It needs no explaining.” I held up the earring. “You must have been in a considerable hurry, Bethesda, to have left this behind. That was careless, very careless. Didn’t you realize I’d find it eventually?”

She stared blankly at the earring. “Please, Bethesda, don’t pretend that you don’t recognize it. Even I recognized it, and you claim I never notice jewelry ! It’s one of a pair that you’ve had for years.” I sighed, suddenly more sad than angry. “Did gaining her favor mean so much to you? Did you not know how she would use the poison—not just to fool the court, but to make a fool of me!” I snapped the pyxis shut and threw the earring on the floor. Diana gave a start and drew against her mother, frightened. For a moment I felt ashamed, but then my anger returned. I paced the floor.

“She’s made a fool of you as well, can’t you see that? Inviting you to her party, giving you that abominable statue,
making you think you could belong to her circle. Sharing shameful secrets with you, whispering behind my back in the garden! She made up whatever you wanted to hear, I imagine. She’s had a lot of practice at that. It’s what she does with her lovers, so why not with you? Did you really think she wanted to be your friend, a woman who talks about her ancestors as if they were gods, stooping to share gossip with a woman who was born a slave?”

I stopped my pacing, trying to quiet my rage, but I only grew angrier. I clutched the pyxis so hard that the corners cut the palm of my hand. “Wife, you have taken part in deceiving me! Do you deny it?”

Bethesda made no answer.

“You have deliberately deceived me! Do you deny it?”

“Mother—” said Diana, clutching at Bethesda’s arm. Bethesda covered the girl’s face and pulled Diana against her breast to quiet her.

“Do you deny it?” I shouted.

Bethesda looked steadily into my eyes, shrewd and unflappable to the last. “No, husband. I do not deny it.”

“You took part in deceiving me?”

“Yes.”

We stared at each other for a long moment. Bethesda never blinked. I threw the pyxis on the floor and left the room in a rage. My shouting had roused Belbo, who rushed after me as I raced out the door and up the night-dark street.

The polite manner of knocking on a door is with the foot, but that night I used my fist to bang on Clodia’s door. The banging reverberated in the still night air, loud enough to wake neighbors, I thought, but the slaves took a long time to answer. Did the noire frighten them, or did they simply think me rode? At last a slotted peephole slid open and two eyes peered out. Even in the darkness I recognized them by the single brow above them.

“I want to see your mistress, Barnabas.”

“It’s late. You can see her tomorrow at the trial.”

“No, I must see her tonight.”

The eyes studied me dispassionately. I realized how I must look, wearing my sleeping tunic, my hair mussed. The peephole closed. I paced back and forth on the narrow doorstep while Belbo stood in the street behind me, yawning and blinking.

At last the door opened. I slipped inside, but Barnabas closed the door in Belbo’s face.

He led me through the foyer, down the steps and across the garden. By the light of a few low-burning lamps I was able to see that the garden was not entirely deserted. Coupled figures moved and whispered in the shadows. Suddenly, like a fawn in the forest, a naked girl went running across our path, taking great bounding strides. It was the girl who had dined with Senator Fufius. She turned her head and gave a startled laugh as she passed, then vanished. A moment later Fufius, naked and drunk, went chasing after her.

Barnabas led me into the red-paneled room off the garden. He set a lamp on a small table and left. I had plenty of time to study the nymphs and satyrs on the walls before Clodia appeared in the doorway. Her hair was unpinned and hung down past her shoulders. She wore a transparent white robe belted only at the waist, so that it was open between her breasts. The naked patch of flesh shimmered in the red light reflected off the walls. She smiled wearily.

“If you wanted to stay, Gordianus, why did you leave? Ah yes, to take Bethesda home. But now you’re back. Did someone at the party catch your eye?” She moved sinuously toward me, her eyes heavy-lidded, a faint smile on her lips.

“You had a slave tortured today for no reason.”

The lids became heavier. The smile stiffened. “That again? Please, Gordianus, surely a man of your age has accustomed himself to the ways of the world.”

“Some things a man never gets used to. Lies, deceptions, conspiracy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“And bribery, of course. That’s what the silver was for, wasn’t it? Not for purchasing slaves to testify, but an outright bribe, nothing more or less—so that when the time came I would do whatever you wanted. The man whose honesty was boasted of by Cicero himself—that’s why you wanted me in the first place, thinking I’d come in handy somehow or other. Ah, yes: we’ll throw the fellow in Cicero’s face on the last day of the trial. Let Cicero spin out his oration, then have this fellow who Cicero says is honesty personified take the stand and make Cicero look like an idiot. Did you think you could buy me with silver? Or have you never met a man whom silver, or that smile of yours, couldn’t purchase?”

“Really, Gordianus, it’s awfully late in the evening—”

“—and late in the trial for me to be upsetting your scheme. The supposed delivery of the poison at the Senian baths—were you behind that as well?”

“Don’t be absurd!”

“Perhaps it was a part of your scheme, perhaps it wasn’t. But whatever your intention, something went wrong. The evidence against Caelius that you hoped to capture, or manufacture, never came together. You realized that the mere allegation that Caelius wanted to poison you was too thin to impress the judges. So you came up with this further. scheme. How did you know there would be poison in my house? Or did Bethesda just happen to volunteer the knowledge, and you instantly saw how to make use of it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you, Gordianus, it’s late—”

“Did you merely fake the symptoms? Your brother’s physician could have told you how to do that, once you showed him what kind of poison you’d come up with. Or did you actually swallow a bit of the stuff, letting him advise you on the dose—not enough to kill you, certainly, but just enough to make you sick, to make your performance perfect,
to be sure that you fooled me and everyone else. Yes, I think that would be more like you, to exercise your dramatic flair to the limit, to court a bit of danger, to play for the highest possible stakes. But to hand that poor slave girl over to the torturers for the sake of authenticity—that was really going too far, Clodia, even for you. Of course, you could be sure that she’d tell them the story exactly as you wanted, since they’ll only hand her back to you once they’re finished, and if she hasn’t done her job properly you can make things even worse for her. This absurdity of torturing slaves to get at the truth—”

“You’ ve gone completely mad, Gordianus. You’re raving.”

“Then why do I suddenly feel so perfectly lucid, for the first time since I met you, really. It’s just as they say: you cast a spelt. I thought I’d be immune, but only a fool could think that, and that’s what you’ve played me for. But now my eyes are open, and I have to wonder just how deeply you’ve dug yourself into this campaign of destruction against Marcus Caelius. If the poison charges are a fake, then what about the murder charges? What about Dio—‘that poor wretch,’ as you call him? Might
you
have had some hand in murdering him—for no better reason than to incriminate Marcus Caelius?”

“Ridiculous! When Dio died, Caelius and I were still—”

“Then perhaps Caelius did take part in the murder. But who’s to say that your brother isn’t ultimately behind it all, if he and Caelius were still allies then, just as you and Caelius were still lovers? And this money you loaned to Caelius, that you claim he used in his poison plot against Dio—perhaps you knew all along what the money was for; perhaps the plot was your idea to begin with, and Caelius just another of your puppets. My eyes are open, Clodia, yet everything becomes more and more obscure to me. In light of my growing confusion, I think I should decline to testify at the trial tomorrow, don’t you? Not for the prosecution,
anyway. Perhaps I might testify for the defense—yes, let Cicero call the most honest man in Rome to talk about how Clodia set Win up to make Marcus Caelius look like a would-be poisoner.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t I? Then I suggest that you drop everything to do with this fake poisoning. Tear up the deposition that Chrysis gave under torture. Don’t whisper a word about the gorgon’s hair poisoning when you testify. Do you understand? Because if you do, I’ll give testimony myself and refute everything you say. How will your case against Caelius look then, with your own scheme exposed? So much for the shocking revelations that Herennius promised as a climax to the trial!”

Clodia’s eyes flashed. Her lips trembled. Fury flared on her face and then dimmed as she struggled to contain it. Once again I was struck by her wan and haggard look—was she really mad enough to have poisoned herself deliberately? Was she so totally, relentlessly consumed with destroying Caelius? What was such a love like, to end in such hatred and degradation? And most puzzling of all, at least to me: at that moment—her body ravaged by self-induced poisoning, her duplicity exposed, her scheme to use me in tatters—how could Clodia still look so breathtakingly beautiful to my eyes? So beautiful that I couldn’t stand to look at her, but had to turn my back and look elsewhere, at the rutting nymphs and satyrs who cavorted with mindless, guiltless, sterile passion on the walls.