Read Online The Mammoth Book of Roman Whodunnits by Mike Ashley (ed) - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mike Ashley (ed)
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see such a thing, Zuleika. Did you attend to his body afterwards?”
“I wasn’t even allowed to see him! I went to the quarters where the gladiators were kept, but the
lanista
wouldn’t let me in.”
“Did you tell him who you were?”
“If anything, that made him even more hostile. He told me it didn’t matter whose sister I was, that I had no business being there. ‘Clear off!’ he shouted, and one of the gladiators shook a sword at me, and I ran away, crying. I should have stood up to him, I suppose, but I was so upset . . .”
Stood up to him?
, I thought. That would have been impossible. A freedwoman Zuleika might be, but that hardly gave her the privileges of a Roman citizen, or the prerogatives of being male. No one in Saturnia that day would have taken her side against the
lanista
.
I sighed, wondering, now that her story was told, why she had come to see me. “Your brother did an honourable thing when he sent you money to buy your freedom. But perhaps he was right. You shouldn’t have followed him here. You shouldn’t have tried to find him. A gladiator’s life is brutish and short. He chose that life, and he saw it through to the only possible end.”
“No!” she whispered, shaking her head, fixing me with a fiery gaze. “It wasn’t the end.”
“What do you mean?”
“It wasn’t the end of Zanziba!”
“I don’t understand.”
“Zanziba didn’t die that day. I know, because . . . because I’ve seen him!”
“Where? When?”
“Yesterday, here in Rome, in the market place down by the river. I saw Zanziba!”
Was the glint in her eyes excitement, or madness? “Did you speak to him?”
“No. He was on the far side of the market. A cart blocked my way, and before I could reach him, he was gone.”
“Perhaps you were mistaken,” I said quietly. “It happens to me all the time. I see a face across a crowd, or from the corner of my eye, and I’m sure it’s someone I know. But when I take a second look, I realize the familiarity was merely an illusion, a trick of the mind.”
She shook her head. “How many men who look like Zanziba have you ever seen in the Roman market?”
“All the more reason why you might mistake such a fellow for your brother. Any tall, muscular man with ebony skin, glimpsed at a distance –”
“But it wasn’t a glimpse! I saw him clearly –”
“You said a cart blocked the way.”
“That was
after
I saw him, when I tried to move towards him. Before that, I saw him as clearly as I’m seeing you now. I saw his face! It was Zanziba I saw!”
I considered this for a long moment. “Perhaps, Zuleika, you saw his lemur. You wouldn’t be the first person to see the restless spirit of a loved one wandering the streets of Rome in broad daylight.”
She shook her head. “I saw a man, not a lemur.”
“But how do you know?”
“He was buying a plum from a vendor. Tell me, Gordianus: do lemures eat plums?”
I tried to dissuade her from hiring me by naming the same fee I would have asked from Cicero, but she agreed to the figure at once, and paid me a first instalment on the spot. Zuleika seemed quite proud of her financial resources.
It was her idea that we should begin our search in Rome, and I agreed, duly making the rounds of the usual eyes and ears. I quickly discovered that a large Nubian of Zanziba’s description had indeed been seen around the marketplace, but no one could identify the man and no one knew where he’d come from, or where he’d gone. Zuleika wanted to visit every hostel and tavern in the city, but I counselled patience; put out a reward for information, I told her, and the information would come to us. Sure enough, a few days later, a street-sweeper in the Subura arrived at my door with word that the Nubian I was seeking had spent a single night at a seedy little hostel off the Street of the Coppersmiths, but had given no name and had moved on the next day.
Again I counselled patience. But days passed with no new
“I wasn’t even allowed to see him! I went to the quarters where the gladiators were kept, but the
lanista
wouldn’t let me in.”
“Did you tell him who you were?”
“If anything, that made him even more hostile. He told me it didn’t matter whose sister I was, that I had no business being there. ‘Clear off!’ he shouted, and one of the gladiators shook a sword at me, and I ran away, crying. I should have stood up to him, I suppose, but I was so upset . . .”
Stood up to him?
, I thought. That would have been impossible. A freedwoman Zuleika might be, but that hardly gave her the privileges of a Roman citizen, or the prerogatives of being male. No one in Saturnia that day would have taken her side against the
lanista
.
I sighed, wondering, now that her story was told, why she had come to see me. “Your brother did an honourable thing when he sent you money to buy your freedom. But perhaps he was right. You shouldn’t have followed him here. You shouldn’t have tried to find him. A gladiator’s life is brutish and short. He chose that life, and he saw it through to the only possible end.”
“No!” she whispered, shaking her head, fixing me with a fiery gaze. “It wasn’t the end.”
“What do you mean?”
“It wasn’t the end of Zanziba!”
“I don’t understand.”
“Zanziba didn’t die that day. I know, because . . . because I’ve seen him!”
“Where? When?”
“Yesterday, here in Rome, in the market place down by the river. I saw Zanziba!”
Was the glint in her eyes excitement, or madness? “Did you speak to him?”
“No. He was on the far side of the market. A cart blocked my way, and before I could reach him, he was gone.”
“Perhaps you were mistaken,” I said quietly. “It happens to me all the time. I see a face across a crowd, or from the corner of my eye, and I’m sure it’s someone I know. But when I take a second look, I realize the familiarity was merely an illusion, a trick of the mind.”
She shook her head. “How many men who look like Zanziba have you ever seen in the Roman market?”
“All the more reason why you might mistake such a fellow for your brother. Any tall, muscular man with ebony skin, glimpsed at a distance –”
“But it wasn’t a glimpse! I saw him clearly –”
“You said a cart blocked the way.”
“That was
after
I saw him, when I tried to move towards him. Before that, I saw him as clearly as I’m seeing you now. I saw his face! It was Zanziba I saw!”
I considered this for a long moment. “Perhaps, Zuleika, you saw his lemur. You wouldn’t be the first person to see the restless spirit of a loved one wandering the streets of Rome in broad daylight.”
She shook her head. “I saw a man, not a lemur.”
“But how do you know?”
“He was buying a plum from a vendor. Tell me, Gordianus: do lemures eat plums?”
I tried to dissuade her from hiring me by naming the same fee I would have asked from Cicero, but she agreed to the figure at once, and paid me a first instalment on the spot. Zuleika seemed quite proud of her financial resources.
It was her idea that we should begin our search in Rome, and I agreed, duly making the rounds of the usual eyes and ears. I quickly discovered that a large Nubian of Zanziba’s description had indeed been seen around the marketplace, but no one could identify the man and no one knew where he’d come from, or where he’d gone. Zuleika wanted to visit every hostel and tavern in the city, but I counselled patience; put out a reward for information, I told her, and the information would come to us. Sure enough, a few days later, a street-sweeper in the Subura arrived at my door with word that the Nubian I was seeking had spent a single night at a seedy little hostel off the Street of the Coppersmiths, but had given no name and had moved on the next day.
Again I counselled patience. But days passed with no new
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