I left him there until morning. He'd been no friend of mine, and I saw no point in waking up a lot of citizens just to come and gape at the little lout. Still less did I feel like losing a night's sleep on his account. I'd had a long day and I was tired. So I just tossed a handful of earth over him and went inside. I bade Hermes soak his tunic in a bucket of water before he retired. As usual I was low on funds and did not want to have to buy him a new tunic.
I slept like a corpse myself and woke feeling much better. Cato brought in a basin and my breakfast at first light. I splashed my face and downed a mouthful of bread and cheese as I laboriously recalled the previous day's sequence of events. As the cobwebs of sleep cleared, I realized that it had been a more-than-usually-eventful day. I ordered my thoughts while I munched on boiled eggs and fruit and finished off with a crust soaked in sweet wine. My father always told me I was a degenerate for eating breakfast in bed. Eating breakfast at all, for that matter. He thought it was an un-Roman practice and effete to boot. He was probably right, but I did it anyway. Just as I finished, Cato came back in.
"Master, there's some sort of commotion out front."
"Whatever might it be?" I said innocently. I had decided to keep quiet about finding the little wretch the previous night. "Where is Hermes?"
"Sick. Says he has a bellyache. I found his tunic soaking in a bucket this morning, so he must have fouled it last night."
"Tell that malingering little swine to get in here immediately," I said.
"He's not faking it, master," Cato insisted. "He's puked all over his room."
"How does that boy find so many ways to annoy me?" I said. I got up and went to his room. The reek of vomit was strong as I opened the door to his cubicle. The boy lay on his side on a pallet, his body curled around his fists, which in turn were pressed into his stomach. I squatted by him and felt his brow. He was not feverish and I sighed with relief. All I needed was pestilence in the house.
"When did this start?" I asked.
"In the middle of the night," he groaned. "I woke up with cramps." His scarlet face drained and turned pale. He sighed and sat up. "They come and go. I'm all right now, but it'll start again in a few minutes."
"Are the spasms getting worse?" I asked him.
He shook his head. "No. They're not as bad as they were a few hours ago, and they're farther apart."
"Did you eat at Milo's last night?"
"Yes. A couple of his men took me to the kitchen and I ate better than I do here."
"They probably slipped an emetic into your food. They have a rough sense of humor. Be careful around them. Milo may be my friend, but his men are all murderers and criminals of all kinds."
"Yes, sir," he said weakly. He didn't fool me. He yearned to be just like them.
"Listen, Hermes. I've decided to keep finding Nero's body last night secret. Say nothing to anyone about it."
"Yes, sir," he said meekly. Apparently he was too miserable to protest.
"Good. I'm leaving now. You'll probably have the runs next. If so, Cato will help you to the public jakes down the street. No sense making the smell in here worse than it already is."
"Yes, sir."
I left feeling relieved. It wasn't contagious, and he seemed to be recovering from whatever it was. In spite of everything, I had taken a liking to the boy. The world is full of humble, obedient slaves who rob you blind when you turn your back. Having one who didn't pretend to be anything but a villain was amusing.
I went out into the street and saw that a crowd had gathered around the body. It now lay completely stripped, the clothes lying in a heap nearby. Apparently, somebody had come across it during the night and had removed all valuables. The clothes were too blood-soaked to bother with. In morning light the body just looked frail and rather pathetic. He might have tried to poison me, but he was just a boy who had got involved in matters too great and too dangerous for him.
My neighbors looked to me for instructions. I was, after all, the neighborhood Senator. I spotted a vigil who had apparently just got off duty. His bucket still dangled from his hand.
"Go to the Praetor Urbanus," I told him. "Report the murder of a patrician in the Subura." The thief had not taken the red sandals. Even the stupidest thief would know better than to try to sell those.
"What was he doing down here?" a man asked. The question had occurred to me as well. I knew that my mental faculties had been uncommonly slow of late, but I also knew it was no mere coincidence that Nero had been murdered a few steps from my door. Had he been sent to finish the job he had botched at the house of Capito two nights before? If so, why had he been murdered instead? It had to mean that the murder of Capito and the attempt on my own life were somehow connected.
"Neat bit of throat-slitting there," someone commented. There were connoisseurs of such things in my neighborhood.
My clients began to arrive and we retired within my house. There was one duty I knew I could not avoid. One of my clients had brought a slave boy with him, and I borrowed the youth.
"Do you know where the mansion of Clodius is?" I asked him. The boy nodded. "Then go there and tell him that he has a dead relative lying in the street here."
"Me? Talk to Clodius?" His eyes bugged with fear.
"You will probably only talk to his majordomo. If Clodius wants to question you, don't be afraid of him. He knows better than to harm another man's property. Now be off with you."
The boy ran out, and a few minutes later an official arrived accompanied by a single lictor. I did not know him.
"I am Lucius Flavius," he said, " iudex of the Urban Praetor's court. Did you discover the body, Senator?"
"My neighbors found him this morning," I prevaricated. "But it looks as if a robber found him earlier."
"Do you know him?"
"Appius Claudius Nero. I met him at the house of Metellus Celer four days ago. He was with Publius Clodius, and I've sent a messenger to Clodius so that he can come to claim the body."
"That saves me a task, then. He seems to have been killed in the same fashion as Mamercus Aemilius Capito."
"He was at Capito's house the night of that murder. I don't know what the connection might be, if there is any."
Flavius shrugged. "Friends of Clodius often die violently. I imagine the lad just fell into bad company. If you'll forgive my saying so, this is a rough neighborhood. Probably he was looking for some of the low amusements available hereabout and ran into the killer by chance. It doesn't pay to be both well-dressed and alone in some parts of the city."
"All too true," I said. At Capito's house he had been accompanied by a pack of slaves, but if he'd come to kill me, he would not have wished to bring witnesses.
"I suppose I'd better wait for Clodius to come fetch the body," he said. I sent Cato for some food and wine and asked Flavius to join me in my study. He accepted gratefully. Apparently the murder of Nero did not interest him greatly, but I soon found out what did.
"I know we haven't met, Senator," he said, "but new friends are always valuable, even if met under unorthodox circumstances. You see, I am standing for a tribune-ship for the coming year, and the support of the Metelli would not come amiss." This was an understatement. We controlled a tremendous voting bloc in the plebeian tribal assembly.
"I am not high in the family assemblies," I said, "but I am not totally ignored. What is your stand on the land for Pompey's veterans?"
"I intend to introduce an agrarian law in support of the land distribution using a combination of public lands and land purchased from revenues. I've outline it to Cicero and he agrees it's workable."
"Good. Will you oppose Clodius's efforts to change his status to plebeian?"
"I'll interpose my veto to stop any such attempt. And it will be needed, because I happen to know that Clodius is pushing Caius Herennius for the tribuneship. The agreement is that Clodius will help Herennius get elected, and in return Herennius will propose a bill to transfer Clodius to the plebeians."
"I've heard that Clodius is using some unheard-of tactics to curry favor with the mob," I said.
"And very successfully. To hear the tavern-talk now, you'd think that Clodius was Romulus come again."
This sounded ominous. "If that's the case, you may count on my support." I had no idea whether I could trust his word, but I resolved to find out soon. We spoke of political matters for some time, until a client came to tell me that a party had come to retrieve the body. I rose and went to my front gate, my clients close behind me. I had little fear of a real fight with Clodius. Whatever his growing power in the slums, my district was strictly Milonian.
Outside, Clodius's crowd had brought a bier and waited by the body while the Libitinarii went through a perfunctory lustrum so that the body could be handled without contamination. The priest touched it with his hammer to claim it for the goddess, then went through the usual rigmarole with liquids and powders. Then he nodded to Clodius, who had been standing by, studiously ignoring me.
Clodius then performed his duties. The body was lifted onto the bier and he leaned over the dead boy's face, almost kissing him, miming the action of catching his last breath as it escaped the body. A little late for that, I thought, but it had to be done. He straightened, clapped his hands three times and shouted the conclamatio:
"Appius Claudius Nero! Appius Claudius Nero! Appius Claudius Nero!" After the last calling of the name, a crowd of female relatives and slaves set up the usual shrill lamentations and Clodius placed a coin under the boy's tongue, to pay the ferryman. As the bier was raised he turned to glare at me, but he said nothing until bier and body had been carried away and the mourning wails faded into the distance.
"Metellus! You murdered my cousin and I intend to bring charges against you in the Court for Assassins!" Obviously, he didn't really believe what he said. He preferred to kill his enemies without benefit of a trial.
"You're babbling even more dementedly than usual this morning, Clodius," I said. "Even if I wanted to murder the boy, I wouldn't do it in front of my own gate. Anyone can see that he was killed by the same murderer who killed Mamercus Capito, and I was in Capito's triclinium when that happened, as several of the most distinguished men in Rome will bear witness." I made no mention of the poisoning attempt. People might infer from it that I bore a grudge against the boy and had a motive to kill him.
"I didn't say you did it with your own hand!" Clodius yelled. "You're not that good with a dagger. The assassin was your hireling!" Behind him, a gang of his thugs growled, but all the rooftops were crowded with my neighbors, armed with enough stones to build a small city.
"If you want to make formal charges, you know how it's done," I said, "but a man under accusation of sacrilege cuts a poor figure in court." At this my supporters roared with laughter while Clodius grew scarlet in the face.
"Then perhaps we shouldn't bother the courts with this!"
I saw the glint of daggers being drawn among his mob, and behind me, my own followers gripped cudgels, stones and, no doubt, a few swords. I reached into my tunic and gripped my caestus. We had the makings of a full-scale riot here, and I was ready for one. The past few days had been frustrating, and a street brawl is a fine way to relieve tension, despite what the philosophers say. I have always held that excessive equanimity is unhealthy. We were about to come to blows when something unexpected happened.
The crowd in the street parted as if by magic as a herald came forward in his white robe, parting the mob with his ivy-wreathed staff. "Make way!" he shouted.
"Make way for the Pontifex Maximus!" The daggers disappeared as if they had never existed. I released my grip on my caestus and the crowd fell silent.
Caius Julius Caesar strode superbly into the space between the two hostile groups. He wore a magnificent formal toga, one fold of it drawn over his head as if he were engaged in one of his sacerdotal functions. He turned slowly in a full circle, and people fell back before his lordly eagle's frown. This was the first time I witnessed Caesar's easy mastery of crowds, and I was impressed. Now I could see why he was so influential before the huge public assemblies. In small gatherings, even before the Senate of his peers, Caesar's manner looked like bombastic posturing. In the midst of a great mob it was godlike. I began to have an inkling of what he would be like haranguing the troops before battle.
"Citizens!" he cried, at the precise moment when his speech would have the greatest dramatic effect. "This street has seen the murder of a noble youth of one of Rome's most ancient families, a patrician of the Claudii. Was this not enough? Would you anger the gods and bring their curse upon Rome by shedding civil blood before the Pontifex Maximus!" He ignored the minor lake of Nero's blood that spread over the cobbles. Maybe dried blood didn't count. People looked abashed, even Clodius's arena bait.
"Pontifex," Clodius said, "we would never offer you disrespect, but my kinsman has been foully murdered and I name him" -he jabbed a finger toward me-"as the guilty party."
"Rome is a republic of law," Caesar proclaimed. "Courts and magistrates and juries decide these questions, not mob action. I order that all here return to their houses. When your passions have calmed and you can behave as citizens should, then will be the time to try this matter publicly. Until that time, depart!" The last word snapped out like one of Jove's thunderbolts, and some of the Subura's most bloodstained ruffians fairly scurried to get out of his sight.
Clodius was so enraged that he was, for once, unable to speak. His face had darkened to crimson, and throbbing veins stood out on his brow. His eyeballs were red as a three-day hangover. If he had just stuck his tongue out, he would have been identical to those gorgons you see painted on old Greek shields. It was a most entertaining spectacle, but it could not last. Beneath Caesar's glare, Clodius's extravagant color began to fade. When he was self-possessed once more, he whirled and stalked off, followed by his uneasy entourage.
Within moments the street was empty except for Caesar. It was the most amazing thing I had seen in a good long while. He turned to where I stood in my gateway.
"How did this come about, Decius Caecilius?" he asked.
"Come inside and I'll tell you, Caius Julius," I said. Caesar came in. I didn't tell him everything, naturally, just about how I had met Nero and encountered him again at the herb-woman's booth and then at the house of Capito. I left out the parts about the attempted poisoning and coming upon the corpse the night before. Since I was as mystified as anyone else, I didn't need to fake it.
"None of this seems to make any sense," Caesar said.
"I could not agree with you more."
"Still, this is a disturbing thing," he mused. "Two murders, performed identically, and both victims patricians."
"Don't forget Capito's janitor," I reminded him. "He wasn't a patrician."
"He probably got a glimpse of the killer's face," Caesar said. "He must have been eliminated as a witness."
"I agree," I said. Then I told him what Asklepiodes had said about the wounds. Why was I speaking to Caesar so openly? Partly it was because I suspected him of being involved in some way and I hoped that he would betray complicity. Partly, also, it was because I had been ready for a mortal brawl with Clodius and Caesar had poured water on the fire. In a less frustrated state I might have been more cautious.
"This is strange indeed. Am I to understand that you have taken upon yourself one of your inimitable investigations?"
"It helps to pass the time," I said.
He grew very serious. "Decius, my friend, I have known many men who courted death for the sake of glory. Others do the same in pursuit of wealth, power or revenge. You are the only man I know who does so as a sort of intellectual exercise."
"Every man finds his pleasures where he will," I said, quoting an old saying I had often seen carved on tombstones.
"You are an intriguing man, Decius Caecilius. I wish there were more like you in Rome. Most men are boring drudges. My niece told me of your visit yesterday. She was quite taken with you."
This surprised me. But I answered without prevarication. "As I was with her."
He nodded approvingly. "I am glad to hear it. We must discuss this further at a future date. Just now, though, I am called elsewhere. Good day, Decius."
His words rattled me somewhat. Was he suggesting a match? Or was he trying to distract me? If the latter, he did not shake from my head the question that had been there since his appearance. "Caius Julius," I said.
He turned in the doorway. "Yes?"
"How did you happen to get here so quickly?"
He smiled. "Ever the inquirer, eh? As it happened, I was in the Temple of Libitina when Clodius's servant arrived to summon the undertakers."
"I see," I said. "Pontifical duties?"
"Arranging for some family obsequies," Caesar said. "The goddess is an aspect of the ancestress of my house." Caesar had just begun to stress the divine origins of the Julian clan. He omitted no opportunity to mention it. He left.
"That's a man to watch," said my old retainer Burrus. He had been waiting with the others in the atrium while Caesar and I conversed in my study. Burrus was a former centurion from the legion I had served with in Spain. He was gray as iron and had a face like a soldier's dolabra.
"Why do you say that, Burrus?" I knew why I was uneasy about Caesar, but I was curious to know how a man like Burrus would read him.
"I don't know the courts and the Senate like you, patron," he said, "but I know the legions. Give that man command of one or two good legions, and he'll work miracles."
This astonished me. "Why on earth do you say that?"
"I've heard him speak before the Concilium Plebis. You saw him out on the street just now? Well, he's always like that when addressing the plebs. Soldiers respond to a man who talks like that, sir. If he can soldier like he talks, they'll do anything for him."
I had thought that I knew Rome intimately, but here was something new to me. At the time I dismissed it. Talk was one thing, but the ability to endure the hard privations of a soldier's life? I knew how much I detested military life. Caesar's reputation for the love of ease and luxury exceeded my own by a wide margin, and my reputation in that area was by no means small. He could never amount to anything as a general. That was how much I knew.
Of far more interest to me were his cryptic words about Julia. Was he suggesting a union between our houses? I could think of it in no other terms. Marriages between the great families were always political, but there were gradations of meaning. We Caecilii were an immense gens, but the Julians were tiny. At any given time they had no more than one or two marriageable daughters. Such an offer was serious indeed. If it was an offer. More likely, I thought, it was a distraction. That would mean that Caesar was afraid I would find out something he wanted to remain concealed.
The whole matter, or rather matters, had grown too confusing. I decided to narrow my attention. I decided that if I were to regain any perspective at all, I would have to grasp my courage in both hands and confront the person in Rome I feared above all others. I would go and question Clodia.
I dismissed my clients. After the morning's delays, it would be futile for us all to troop off to attend Celer's morning call. I was especially courteous in my dismissal, though. These men had stood by me unflinchingly when I was about to go to battle with my mortal foe, even though many of them were too old for a street brawl. It was only a client's duty, and I was obligated to do the same for them, but an actual instance of fulfillment of the mutual obligation was special, and despite my lifelong reputation for laxness, I have never been accused of ingratitude by my clientela.
It was a daunting prospect, but I did not need to nerve myself up to the task as I might have on ordinary days. I had faced a death-fight with her brother and bearded Caesar already since breakfast, so a bout with Clodia was not as daunting as it might have been.
By the time I arrived at Celer's house he had long since departed for the Curia on public business. The great house was quiet as his household staff busied themselves with their various domestic tasks. I told the majordomo to announce me to the lady Clodia and inform her that I requested an interview. He conducted me to a small waiting room off the atrium, and I stood about there for a few minutes until a barefoot slave girl appeared.
"Please come with me, sir," the girl said. "My mistress will see you now." I followed her. She was a slight but beautiful creature, with yellow Gallic hair. Clodia always surrounded herself with beautiful things: slave, freeborn, animal and inanimate.
She led me to a suite of rooms in a corner of the mansion. These rooms were plainly newer than the rest of the house, and Clodia's touch was visible everywhere. The walls were painted by masters, mostly landscapes and mythological scenes, and the floors were mosaics of equal quality. Every humblest furnishing was exquisite. The vases and statuary were worth a good-sized town.
"A private interview, Decius? How brave."
I turned from the lamp of Campanian bronze work I had been admiring. Clodia was as beautiful as any of the art in the room, and knew it. She stood in a doorway that opened onto a garden. It was a trick of hers with which I was all too familiar. It allowed light to pass through the sheer garments she favored. This day she had outdone herself. She wore a gown made of the famous, or rather infamous, Coan cloth. It was forbidden by every new pair of Censors, but that just meant that it was inadvisable to wear it in public. Her gown had been dyed purple, a further extravagance. She appeared to be surrounded by a fine violet mist.
"Why, Clodia," I said, "I am here on a mission assigned by your husband. I even have his permission to call on you."
"How unthinkably proper," she said. "You are always so dutiful."
"Attention to duty is what made Rome great," I said, quoting my second old saying of the day.
She smiled. "You know, Decius, every time I've counted you out of the game, you show up again with more friends, more influence and just a tiny bit more rank. I won't say power."
"Slowly and steadily," I said. "That's the best way to advance."
"The safe way."
"Safe is the best way to stay alive," I said. "At least, I've always thought so. Lately, someone has been trying to kill me for no reason I can imagine. It wouldn't be you, would it?"
"Just because I tried to have you killed before?" She looked truly hurt. "You were in my way then. I'm not frivolous. I don't try to kill people out of spite. Why do you suspect me?"
"Your little cousin Appius Nero tried to poison me a few nights back. Afterward he was seen coming here. You and Celer are the only people of consequence in this house, and that narrowed things somewhat."
"You're an idiot. He had no cause to poison you, and he came here because he'd had an argument with my brother and needed a place to stay. They must have patched things up, because I haven't seen him since yesterday morning."
"You won't be seeing him," I told her. "Someone killed him right in front of my house last night."
Her face froze in mid-smile. "Killed?" she said. Her control was great, but I was sure that she was shocked.
"Yes. Done in just like Capito."
She turned away from me so I couldn't read her expression. "Well. Poor Nero. I didn't know him well, but he was a kinsman and rather young."
"Old enough to try to poison me," I said.
"It's all distressing, but that isn't why you came here today, is it?" She turned back, and her mocking face was in place once more.
"No. What I came to ask about was your brother's indiscretion at the rites of Bona Dea. The city is shocked. There must be an accounting."
"Oh, you know Clodius. He loves to make fun of our religious guardians. He's never grown up and loves to make his elders angry."
This was an amazing thing to hear from Clodia because it was so perfectly true. Her adulation of her brother was legendary. She had even changed her name when he had changed his. She was often angry with him, but it was unlike her to belittle him in front of an enemy. I was already suspicious. Suspicion was a habit when dealing with Clodia. But this was intriguing. Could she be a bit upset with her beloved brother? Then someone called from another room.
"Clodia? Who is it?"
"Am I intruding?" I asked.
"Yes, but I forgive you. Come, Decius, you must meet Fulvia."
"Fulvia? Is she back in Rome?" I knew only one prominent woman of that name, but she had fled Rome after the Catilinarian debacle.
"No, this is a kinswoman of hers. She's just come to Rome from Baiae."
We went into a bedroom, this one betraying Clodia's taste for erotic art. It resembled the decor of a brothel in subject matter, but here as elsewhere everything was of highest quality. A young girl sat up in a silk-cushioned bed and I made a formal obeisance, careful to be impassive, because once again Clodia was trying to upset my equanimity.
The girl was exquisitely beautiful, her hair as blond as a German's. She was so slight and tiny that she might have been a child, but she wore another of the Coan gowns, and that dispelled any such illusion. Her eyes were huge, her mouth startlingly full-lipped. She appeared to be no more than sixteen, but her face, despite its purity, had that indescribable yet unmistakable stamp that bespoke depthless depravity.
"My dear," Clodia said, "this is Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger, son of the Censor."
"I am terribly honored to meet such a distinguished man," Fulvia said. It was against such a voice that Ulysses had his men stuff their ears with wax. Unlike Ulysses, I was not lashed to a mast, but it required some effort not to leap onto the bed with her.
"All Rome rejoices to have so lovely a visitor among us," I said. "Is this just a visit, or can we hope you are here to stay?"
"Fulvia," Clodia said, "is betrothed to Clodius."
I looked at her with an eyebrow sardonically arched. I could not resist. "Aren't you jealous?"
She didn't flinch. "People such as we have a flexibility you cannot imagine, Decius."
She was underestimating my imagination, but I let it pass. "And was young Fulvia in Caesar's house on the now-infamous evening of the rites?" I asked, dragging her back to the subject at hand.
"The rites are only for married women, Decius," Clodia said. "Fulvia accompanied me there, but she could not take part in the rituals."
"And how did it come about that Clodius got in?" I demanded. "The mind boggles at the thought of him pretending to be a woman. Whom did he claim to be married to?"
"I'm sure I don't know," Clodia said. "He didn't tell me he was coming."
"I see. And just how was he found out?"
"Oh, that occurred during a:" She paused. "No, I'm afraid I am forbidden to tell you."
"Don't be absurd. When did you ever care about laws or rules, whether of human or divine origin? The cloak of piety doesn't fit you well, Clodia."
"Who speaks of piety?" she said. "This is a matter of law. Are you not sworn to uphold the laws of the Senate and People of Rome?"
"That is a debatable point," I said. On a sudden inspiration, I embroidered upon a recent conversation. "As a matter of fact, I recently was present at a debate involving some of the highest figures of government, where there was some question whether the cult of Bona Dea is of Roman origin at all. It may be that it is lawful to demand testimony concerning the rites." I had promoted our idle dinner chitchat to the status of senatorial debate, but she didn't have to know that. A look very much like fear flitted across Clodia's beautiful face.
"If that proves to be the case," Fulvia said, "then Clodius can scarcely face a charge of truly serious sacrilege."
I turned to her. "I see that you are a perspicacious as you are lovely." You meddling little slut, I thought. It hadn't occurred to me. But when I turned back to Clodia, she still looked upset. Quickly, she composed herself.
"I believe dear Fulvia is correct. The Censors may frown upon offenses against foreign gods, but the courts surely could not exact stiff penalties in such cases. That is reserved for the gods of the state. I must consult with Cicero on this."
"I hadn't thought that Cicero was kindly disposed toward Clodius," I said.
"Oh, but Cicero and I have become great friends lately," she said, her smile back in place. This was bad news. At first I was not inclined to believe her, but then I remembered Cicero's recent rather hasty insistence that Clodia could not be involved in the scandal. "Why would he say such a thing unless he, too, had fallen to her wiles? I was disappointed in Cicero, but I knew that I was in no position to judge. I had certainly been under Clodia's spell in the past.
"Can you go so far as to tell me who it was that discovered your brother?"
"It was a slave woman from the household of Lucullus. I think I can say that without risking divine wrath."
"Slaves attend the rites?" This was news to me.
"The musicians. I believe it was a harpist who betrayed him."
This seemed to me an odd choice of words.
"I wish I could have seen him," Fulvia said. She brought her legs from beneath the coverlet and sprawled belly-down on the bed. The Coan gown revealed her dorsal contours to be as shapely as her front. "Achilles was discovered in women's clothing, you know, and Hercules had to wear women's garments when he was enslaved to Omphale. She got to wear his lion's skin and carry his club. I've always found that exciting."
"You're very young for such recondite tastes," I observed.
"Some of us start earlier than others," she said. How very true, I thought. Her voice caused an uneasiness in the testicles. Clodia sat beside her and took her hand.
"Will that be all, Decius? Fulvia and I have things to discuss."
"And I would not think of interfering. I shall take my leave and let you ladies get back to: whatever it was. My condolences, Clodia, for your recent loss."
"Thank you, Decius. Poor Nero. So many of us die untimely." And with that cryptic but ominous pronouncement in my ears, I left.
As I walked from Celer's house I passed someone going the other way. It was a woman swathed in veils, and something about her seemed oddly familiar. I restrained myself from looking at her, but when she was past me I turned in time to see her step through the door of Celer's house.
A short way down the street I found a wineshop with an open front. The barkeep dipped me a cup from one of the big jars recessed into the counter, and I carried it to a table near the front. There I could sit and ponder what I had learned while keeping an eye on Clodia's door.
It was always inadvisable to draw hasty conclusions when dealing with Clodia, but I thought I knew a few things now: Clodia had not known of Nero's death, and therefore was unlikely to have ordered it. She had been visibly upset when I suggested that there might be a legal way to subpoena testimony about Clodius's doings at the rites. Fulvia had queered my plan when she pointed out that in that case he could scarcely be charged with serious sacrilege. I had been annoyed at the time, but the randy little twit had unknowingly supplied me with further food for thought, because Clodia had still been upset at the thought of herself or someone else being forced to testify. The charge of sacrilege was not the one she feared her brother having to answer to. What else had he been up to that night? Dalliance with Caesar's wife, who must be above suspicion? That was laughable. As serious offenses went in Rome, adultery ranked right along with failing to wear one's toga to the games.
This opened whole new vistas to delight my vindictive spirit. I wanted nothing more than a chance to prosecute Clodius for something really serious. Up to now, I had been engaged on a rather frivolous investigation, the principal aim of which had been to keep Celer's wife out of it. Now this bare-bones project was gaining some real flesh. And if I was right about the woman who had just gone into Clodia's house, the sacrilege and the recent murders and the attempt on my own life were intimately connected.
She reemerged just as I finished my wine, a bit of timing I deem propitious. As she walked toward the wineshop I turned away, then got up when she was past. It is never terribly difficult to follow someone through the streets of Rome in the daytime. The ways are narrow and the crowds prevent any fast movement. They also allow you to keep close without being detected.
Not far from the Forum Boarium, she went into a charming little public garden. Besides its plantings, it featured the usual image of Priapus and one of those quaint, miniature tombs we erect on ground where lightning has struck. She sat on a bench bearing a plaque that gave the name of the rich man who had donated the garden to the city, and another rich man who had undertaken its upkeep. I passed by that same garden not long ago. Now the plaque is gone and there is another, bearing the name and lineage of the First Citizen. He would claim that he founded Rome if he thought he could get away with it.
The woman started as I sat down beside her. "Well, Purpurea, we meet again!"
She got over her startlement quickly. "And not by accident, I'll bet."
"Yes, actually, I was wondering what you were doing in the house of Metellus Celer, which is also the house of his beloved wife, Clodia Pulcher."
"You were following me!" she said, indignant. "Absolutely. Now tell me what you were doing with Clodia, or I'll cause all sorts of trouble for you."
"I'm just a poor, honest herb-woman. You've no call to be harassing me!" She shifted the basket in her lap. Something rustled inside it.
"I haven't the slightest interest in your honesty or lack of it," I told her. "But people are getting murdered all over the city, and I was almost one of them. I suspect you of involvement. Your best course is to implicate somebody else, so speak up."
"Murder! I am involved in no such thing. The lady Clodia sent for me to procure certain herbs and have her fortune told. Her and young lady Fulvia, that is, and isn't that one a hot little piece?"
"She is indeed," I agreed, "and no doubt Rome suffer grievously because of her in years to come, let's return to Clodia. Would whatever is rustling in that basket have anything to do with telling her fortune?"
"Oh, aye." She reached into the basket and hauled out a fat, torpid black snake at least three feet long. "Old Dis here is the best fortune-telling snake in Rome. He's not very lively this time of year, though."
"And the herbs?" I asked.
"Just the usual."
"The usual?"
"You know, aphrodisiacs. You ought to let me mix some up for you. Give you a cock like Priapus there."
"I don't suffer from the deficiency," I said, nettled.
"They all say that, except the ones old enough to be honest about it. I think her husband needs a bit of encouragement now and then."
"Are you sure that is all you delivered to her? No poisons, by any chance?"
"Now, sir, you've tried that one before," she chided. "Do you really think I'm going to admit to a capital offense?"
"I suppose not," I said, rising. Then I let fly an arrow at random, the sort that sometimes strikes an unexpected target. I do not know why I asked her, except that her craft was an ancient one, involving many arcane rituals. "Citizens are being murdered, Purpurea. Someone is stabbing them in the throat and then, after they are dead, smashing them on the forehead with a hammer. What do you know of that?" To my astonishment her face drained of color and her jaw dropped.
"You mean they're in the city?"
I was taken much aback. "Who? Who do you mean by 'they'?"
She jumped up, clutching her basket. "Nobody I want to be involved with. Take my advice and don't you fall afoul of them, either. Good day to you, sir." She shouldered past me and headed for the street.
"Stop!" I said. "I want to:" By that time, I was addressing her back, She was not just walking away. She was running. I began to chase her, but I quickly gave it up. The toga is a wretched garment for performing anything strenuous, and I did not dare throw it off. Someone would steal it for certain.
I shrugged, thinking that I could always find her in her booth. Then I trudged back home, where I found two notes waiting for me.
One was from my father, informing me that the following morning the Senate would go to Pompey's camp to give him formal permission for his triumph. I was to dress properly for the occasion.
The other was from Julia. It read: I have important information. Meet me tomorrow evening at sunset en the portico of the Temple of Castor.