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

I pictured the spectacle and my head began to throb. “They weren’t pirates, Belbo. There never were any pirates.” Suddenly the room became blurry. It wasn’t from the blow to my head; it was only the tears welling up in my eyes.

A few days later I was back at the Senian Baths, lying naked on a bench while one of Lucius Claudius’s slaves massaged me. My battered body needed pampering. My bruised conscience needed the release of pouring the whole sordid tale into Lucius’s spongelike ear.

“Appalling!” he finally muttered. “You’re very lucky to be alive, I should think. And when you got back to Rome, did you call on Quintus Fabius?”

“Of course, to collect the balance of my fee.”

“Not to mention your share of the gold, I should think!”

I winced, and not from the massage. “That was something of a sore point. As Quintus Fabius pointed out, I was to be paid one-twentieth of whatever portion of the gold was actually recovered. Since the ransom was lost—”

“He cheated you on a technicality? How typical of the Fabii! But surely some of the gold washed up on the shore. Didn’t they go diving for it?”

“They did, and Marcus’s men recovered a little, but only a tiny fraction. My share hardly came to a handful of gold.”

“Only that, after all your labor, and after putting yourself in so much danger! Quintus Fabius must be as miserly as his son claims! I suppose you told him the truth about the kidnapping?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, the very men who could back me up — the fishermen — are dead, and Spurius continues to blithely insist that he was kidnapped by pirates.”

“The bald-faced young liar! Surely Quintus Fabius knows better than to believe him.”

“Publicly, at least, he accepts his son’s version of the story. But that’s only to save himself the embarrassment of a scandal, I think. He probably suspected the truth all along. I think that’s why he sent me with the ransom, to find out for certain. And that’s why he ordered Marcus to kill his son’s accomplices on the spot, to keep the truth from getting out. Oh yes, he knows what really happened. He must detest Spurius more than ever, and the enmity is mutual.”

“Ah, the type of family bitterness that so often ends in...”

“Murder,” I said, daring to utter the unlucky word aloud. “I wouldn’t care to wager which will outlive the other!”

“And the boy’s mother, Valeria?”

“Her son subjected her to agonizing worry, just to satisfy his greed. I thought she had a right to know that. But when I tried to tell her, she suddenly seemed to go deaf. If she heard a word I said, she didn’t show it. When I was done, she politely thanked me for rescuing her son from those awful pirates, then dismissed me.”

Lucius shook his head.

“But I did get something I wanted from Quintus Fabius.”

“Yes?”

“Since he refused to give me a full share of the ransom, I insisted that he give me something else he owned, a possession he clearly undervalued.”

“Ah yes, your new bodyguard.” Lucius glanced at Belbo, who stood across the room with folded arms, sternly guarding the niche that held my clothing as if it contained a senator’s ransom. “The fellow is a treasure.”

“The fellow saved my life on that beach outside Ostia. It may not be the last time.”

Every now and again, business takes me south to the vicinity of Neapolis and the bay. I always make a point of visiting the waterfront where the fishermen congregate. I ask in Greek if any of them know of a young man named Cleon. Alas, the Neapolitans are a close-lipped, suspicious bunch. Not one of them has ever admitted to knowing a fisherman by that name, though surely someone in Neapolis must have known him.

I scan the faces on the fishing boats, on the chance that I might see him. For no good reason, I have convinced myself that he somehow eluded Marcus’s men on that fateful day and made his way home.

Once, I was almost certain that I did get a glimpse of him. The man was clean-shaven, not bearded, but his eyes were Cleon’s eyes. I called out from the dock, but the boat slipped by before I could get a better look. I was never able to confirm whether it was Cleon I saw or not. Perhaps it was a relative, or merely a man who resembled him. I didn’t pursue the matter as fully as I might have, afraid perhaps the truth would disappoint me. I prefer to believe that it was Cleon after all, proof or no proof. Could there be two men in the world with those soulful green eyes?

The Last Rendezvous by Joan Richter