Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 105, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 640 & 641, March 1995

He crossed his arms and glared. “A little worry won’t kill her. It’s her fault, anyway. She could have made the old miser give me more money-if she’d had the nerve to stand up to him. But she wouldn’t, so I had to come up with my own scheme to get Pater to cough up a bit of what’s rightfully mine anyway.”

“And what about these fishermen? You’ve put them all in terrible danger.”

“They know the risks. They also know how much they stand to profit.”

“And Cleon?” I looked over my shoulder and caught him staring doe-eyed at Spurius. “The poor fellow is heartsick. What did you do to make him that way?”

“Nothing to embarrass Pater, if that’s what you’re getting at. Nothing Pater hasn’t done himself, anyway, from time to time. I guess the gods pulled a joke on poor Cleon, making him fall in love with me. It suited my purposes well enough, but I shall be glad to be rid of him. Too much attention is trying. I’d rather be waited on by a slave instead of pursued by a suitor; you can get rid of a slave just by clapping your hands.”

“Cleon could be hurt before this is over. He might even be killed if something goes wrong.”

Spurius raised his eyebrows and looked beyond me at the low hills. “Then there is an armed guard...”

“It was a stupid scheme, Spurius. Did you really think it would work?”

“It will work!”

“No. Unfortunately for you, young man, I have a vested interest not only in rescuing you, but in recovering the ransom as well. A portion of that gold will be mine.”

Challenging him outright was a mistake. He might have offered to buy my silence, but Spurius was even more miserly than his father. He waved to Cleon, who came running. “Is all the gold loaded?”

“This is the last trip,” said Cleon. The words seemed to catch in his throat. “The relay boat is loaded and ready. I’m going with them. And you? Are you coming with us, Spurius?”

Spurius scanned the hills above the beach. “I’m still not sure. But one thing’s for certain — this man will have to be silenced!”

Cleon stared plaintively at Spurius, then glanced uneasily at me.

“Well,” said the boy, “you have a knife, Cleon, and he doesn’t. It should be simple. Go ahead and do it. Or do I need to summon another of the men from the relay boat?”

Cleon looked miserable.

“Well? Do it, Cleon! You told me you once killed a man in a brawl, in some rat-infested tavern down in Pompeii. That’s one of the reasons I chose you to help me. You always knew it might come to this.”

Cleon swallowed hard and reached to the scabbard that hung from his belt. He pulled out a jagged-edged knife of the sort fishermen use to gut and clean their catch.

“Cleon!” I said. “I know everything. The boy is simply using you. You must know that. Your affection is wasted on him. Put down your knife. We’ll think of some way to rectify what you’ve done.”

Spurius laughed and shook his head. “Cleon may be a fool, but he’s not an idiot. The die is cast. He has no choice but to follow through. And that means getting rid of you, Gordianus.”

Cleon groaned. He kept his eyes on me but spoke to Spurius. “That day on the bay, when you swam up to our boat and climbed aboard, the moment I laid eyes on you I knew you’d bring me nothing but trouble. Your mad ideas—”

“You seemed to like my ideas well enough, especially when I mentioned the gold.”

“Forget the gold! It was the others who cared about that. I only wanted—”

“Yes, Cleon, I know what you want.” Spurius rolled his eyes. “And I promise, one of these days you’ll get it. But right now...” Spurius waved his hands impatiently. “Pretend he’s a fish. Gut him! Once that’s done, we’ll climb into the relay boat and be off with the gold, back to Neapolis.”

“You’re coming with us?”

“Of course. But not until this one is silenced. He knows too much. He’ll give us all away.”

Cleon stepped closer. I considered fleeing, but thought better of it; Cleon had to be more used to running on sand than I was, and I couldn’t stand the idea of that jagged knife in my back. I considered facing him head-on; we were about the same size, and I probably had more experience at fighting hand-to-hand. But that didn’t count for much, as he had a knife and I didn’t.

My only advantage was that he was acting without conviction. There was heartsickness in his voice whenever he talked to Spurius, but also a tinge of resentment. If I could play on that, perhaps I could stave him off. I tried to think of a way to exploit his frustration, to turn him against the boy or at least keep him confused.

But before I could speak, I saw the change in Cleon’s face. He made his decision quite literally in the twinkling of an eye. For the briefest instant I thought he might lunge at Spurius, like a cur turning on its master. How would I ever explain to Valeria that I stood by helplessly while her darling son was stabbed to death before my eyes?

But that was a wishful fantasy. Cleon didn’t lunge at Spurius. He lunged at me.