Arms of Nemesis by Steven Saylor Read Free Book Online Page A

without the name I would have known him for a patrician. Only a Roman noble of the most venerable ancestry can pull back his shoulders quite so stiffly and hold his chin so rigidly upright -even in a small, rocking boat - without looking either pompous or ridiculous.
    'You're the one they call the Finder?' His voice was smooth and deep. As he spoke he arched one eyebrow, such a typical patrician gesture that I sometimes wonder if the old nobility have an extra muscle in their foreheads for just this purpose.
    'Gordianus, from Rome,' I said.
    'Good, good. Here, we'd better sit, unless you're an excellent swimmer.'
    Tm hardly a swimmer at all,' I confessed. Faustus Fabius nodded. 'This is your assistant?' 'My son, Eco.'
    'I see. It's good that you've arrived. Gelina will be relieved. For some reason she took it into her head that Mummius might be able to get back by late last night. We all told her that was impossible; even under the very best conditions the ship couldn't return before this afternoon. But she wouldn't listen. Before she went to bed she arranged to have messengers descend to the harbour, one every hour, to see if the ship had arrived. The household is in chaos, as you can imagine.'
    He saw the blank look on my face. 'Ah, but Mummius has told you next to nothing, I suppose. Yes, those were his instructions. Never fear, all shall be made clear to you.' He turned his face to the breeze and took a deep breath, letting his unfashionably long hair flutter in the wind like a red mane.
    I looked about the harbour. The Fury was by far the largest vessel. The rest were small fishing boats and pleasure craft. Misenum has never been a particularly busy port; most of the trade that flows into and out of the Cup is channelled through Puteoli, the busiest port in all Italy. Yet it seemed to me that Misenum was more quiet than it should be, considering its proximity to the luxurious district of Baiae and its famous mineral springs. I said as much to Faustus Fabius.
    'So you've been here before?' he asked.
    'A few times.'
    'Well acquainted with trading vessels and business on the Campanian coast, are you?'
    I shrugged. 'Business has brought me to the Cup now and again over the years. I'm no expert on sea traffic, but am I wrong to say that the harbour appears rather empty?'
    He made a slight grimace. 'Not wrong at all. Between the pirates at sea and Spartacus inland, trade everywhere in Campania has come to a standstill. Hardly anything moves on the roads or the sea lanes — which makes it all the more amazing that Marcus was willing to send the Fury after you.'
    'By Marcus you mean Marcus Mummius?'
    'Of course not; Mumrnius doesn't own a trireme! I mean Marcus Crassus.' Fabius smiled thinly. 'Oh, but you weren't supposed to know that, were you, at least not until you landed? Well, here we are. Hold on for the jolt — these clumsy rowers, you'd think they were trying to ram an enemy vessel. A stint on the Fury might do them some good.' I saw the slaves at the oars cower, or pretend to.
    As we stepped onto the dock I looked back again at the harbour. 'You mean to say there's no trade at all these days?'
    Fabius shrugged. I ascribed his grimace to the patricians' traditional disdain for all matters of commerce. 'Sailboats and skiffs shuttle back and forth across the Cup, of course, exchanging goods and passengers between the villages,' he said. 'But it's a rarer and rarer occurrence to see a big ship from Egypt or Africa or even Spain come in from the sea headed for the big docks at Puteoli. Of course, in another few weeks travel by sea will stop altogether for the winter. As for goods from inland, all of the south of Italy is under the shadow of Spartacus now. He's made his winter stronghold in the mountains around Thurii, after spending all summer terrorizing the region east of Vesuvius. Crops were destroyed, farms and villas were burned to the ground. The markets are empty. It's a good thing the locals needn't live off bread;