SPQR XIII: The Year of Confusion

by John Maddox Roberts

  She made another gesture, this one a flick of her right hand, which I guessed to denote denial. “No, Senator. There is no guild of astrologers. We tend to be solitary, not gregarious. An astrologer may have apprentices, but rarely colleagues.”

  “That seems odd,” I said. “Astronomers are always flocking together to talk and argue.”

  “That is because, like philosophers, they are always coming up with something new and want to discuss it with their peers. Astrology is a very ancient art, and it never changes. All was discovered before human memory, and there are no new findings.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” I admitted. “That is an observation worthy of Callista herself.”

  She inhaled sharply. “Ah! I met that learned lady just a few nights ago. She is the most remarkable woman I have ever encountered.”

  “She was quite impressed by you, as well,” I said. I could have bitten my tongue. It was stupid of me to let her know that I had been discussing her with Callista. This woman’s awesome sexuality drove my cautious instincts clear out of my head. “But I fear she has little regard for your art,” I went on.

  She smiled unsettlingly. “But, Senator, I have many arts.”

  I’ll just bet you do, I thought. “She has a philosophical aversion to astrology, I fear.”

  “And I have little use for Greek philosophy. People need not agree on everything to find one another appealing.”

  “Just so,” I said, wondering how our conversation had taken this odd turn. Then I remembered that I had started it by mentioning Callista. “So, you never met Demades?”

  “Demades?” she said.

  “The senator meant Polasser,” Hermes said, coming to my rescue. “Demades was the other murdered astronomer, the one who did not practice astrology.”

  “I knew neither of them,” she said. “In fact, I know none of the men who have been working on Caesar’s new calendar.”

  “Is this because most of your clients are women?” I hazarded.

  “No, because they are Greek philosophers and would seek out an astrologer of their own nationality, should they have need of one. But it is true that most of my clients are women.”

  “Rich and well-born ones at that,” I said.

  She surprised me by not denying it. “Such women have the greatest concerns, especially for their husbands and sons. Not all are well-born, though. Some of my clients are freedwomen, especially those whose men are risk-taking merchants and travelers. The well-being of such people is always precarious.”

  “Servilia is one of your clients,” I said. “I assume she is concerned for the future of her son, Brutus. Does she want to know if he is to be Caesar’s heir?”

  “Senator, you must understand that I cannot discuss the affairs of my clients. It would be unethical.”

  I wondered of what the ethics of an astrologer might consist. “Ashthuva, I am here at the behest of the dictator. I am empowered to demand the cooperation of anyone I feel it necessary to question.” As long as they are not too powerful and influential, I failed to add.

  “I assure you, Senator, that the dictator Caesar would not wish me to answer that question, nor any other about either himself or the Lady Servilia.” This was accompanied by a gesture of her whole body that put me in mind of several venomous serpents I had encountered in Egypt. This was one gesture, however unfamiliar, the meaning of which was unmistakable: It was pure threat.

  I knew when to back off. “I’ll discuss it with him, then.”

  “I regret that I can be of so little help to you.”

  “Your presence alone is gratifying,” I assured her.

  She beamed, all menace gone and the seductiveness back in full force. “And it is a great pleasure to me to meet one of the most interesting men in Rome. I have been hearing about you for some time, and meeting your wife made me even more intrigued with you.”

  “The horoscope you cast for Julia predicts a rather dreary future for me,” I said.

  “Only at the end. And, Senator, I have foreseen far worse futures than yours.”

  Something occurred to me. “Is Queen Cleopatra among your clients?”

  “I have met her,” she said, “but not in a professional capacity. I was invited to one of her parties shortly after her arrival in Rome.”

  “Invited personally by the queen herself?”

  She put her palms together and bowed over them. “I am far too lowly a person to merit the personal attention of a great queen. I attended as the guest of one of my clients, a lady of high position. It seems that, at Queen Cleopatra’s parties, it is customary for invited guests to bring along as many friends as they please. It is expected that such persons should be interesting and amusing.”

  “This lady could hardly have chosen a more interesting person,” I assured her.

  “You are too kind, Senator.”

  “Not at all,” I said, rising, “and now I fear I must tear myself away from you. I have other calls to make.”

  She rose, but far more sinuously than I. “Please call again. If you like, I can cast a far more detailed horoscope for you.”

  “Please do not,” I urged. “The last thing I want is to know what is going to happen to me. Some forms of ignorance are a blessing, and that is one of them.”

  She smiled again. Even her teeth were dazzling, the whitest I had ever seen, beautifully set off by her dark complexion and red-stained lips. “More people should possess your wisdom, though it would ruin my profession.”

  Once outside, we walked a few paces from the house, then I stopped. “Wait a bit,” I told Hermes. “I have to get my breathing back to normal.”

  “Maybe a plunge in the frigidarium would help,” he said.

  “That woman could turn an Egyptian eunuch into a stallion.”

  “She could inspire an erection from an Egyptian mummy,” Hermes said. “She may be wealthy from her fortune-telling, but if she ever turns professional whore she’ll be as rich as Cleopatra.”

  We started down the hill. “Hermes, I would rather hold a bridge single-handed against an invading army than meddle in an affair as full of dangerous women as this one.”

  “It doesn’t help that Caesar is withholding information from you.”

  “That is the truth,” I said bitterly, “but then, just about everybody I’ve questioned so far is lying and holding back. Nothing new about that. Cleopatra has me shot in the nose when Servilia’s name comes up; Servilia gives me the viper treatment when I dare to question her about anything. Cassius drops dark hints about obtaining a horoscope for Caesar—” I threw up my hands in disgust. “So far, it seems only Brutus has been straight with me, not that he knows much. Even Callista—” Some fragments of memory clicked together.

  “Callista?” Hermes said.

  “Callista said that Brutus had been at one of Cleopatra’s parties and he talked for a long time with that Indian astronomer, not about astronomy but about some Indian belief in the transmigration of souls.”

  “What of it?”

  “She said that it was because Brutus was studying Pythagoreanism. The Pythagoreans also believe in transmigration of souls. Yet when I spoke with Brutus he spoke disparagingly of them. He said they were to true mathematicians what the astrologers are to true astronomers.”

  “Maybe it was a temporary interest and he grew disillusioned with them,” Hermes said.

  “That could be it, I suppose. One more anomaly to cloud the waters.”

  “So what next?”

  “Something I’ve been trying to avoid. Now I have to talk to Fulvia.” Hermes began to grin broadly. “It won’t be much fun this time,” I told him. “She lives in the house of Antonius now.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, his face falling. “I’d forgotten that.” In previous years, when we had called on Fulvia she had lived in a house famous for the beauty of its female and male slaves. The house of Antonius would undoubtedly be different.

  We made our way to the Palatine where that domicile
lay. The doorkeeper looked like a professional wrestler and the major domo who received us was clearly one of Antonius’s soldiers. The atrium was full of war trophies, weapons, and other masculine accoutrements. On the other hand, the courtyard to which he led us was full of beautiful sculpture, some of which I remembered from Fulvia’s other houses. Clearly, interior decoration was a matter of some contention in this household.

  The lady herself came out to greet us and we went through the usual formalities. Fulvia was tiny, voluptuously formed, and had a husky voice. I had thought she was the most alluring woman in Rome, but having just come from the presence of Ashthuva, she seemed no more seductive than a rather pretty statue.

  “Polasser of Kish?” she said, eyebrows going up. “Wasn’t he murdered recently?”

  “Exactly,” I told her, “and Caesar has commissioned me to discover who killed him and another stargazer named Demades. How well did you know Polasser?”

  “Scarcely at all. I met him at one of Cleopatra’s gatherings, but I’d heard of him before then.”

  “Heard of him? How?”

  She frowned with thought. “Let me see, somebody mentioned him … you realize that astrologers are all the rage in my social circle, don’t you?”

  “I’ve heard of little else since this business began.”

  “So the ladies I know are always babbling about this one or that one. Anyway, I heard about him, and when I met him at Cleopatra’s, he seemed so fascinating and knowledgeable that I decided to consult with him about my dear Antonius’s future.”

  “Weren’t you put off by the fact that he was a Greek dressed as a Babylonian?”

  She shrugged, making her abundant breasts quiver. “I’ve never seen a Babylonian. For all I know, that’s what they look like.”

  “So you got Antonius’s horoscope. I take it that Polasser predicted a glorious future for your husband?”

  She beamed. “He said that Antonius would become the greatest man in Rome.”

  “Did he say for how long?”

  “No.”

  “A grain merchant named Balesus has told me that you recommended Polasser to him.”

  “Did I? I suppose I might have. That would have been when I sold off the last harvest I had from poor Curio’s estate. It’s the only time I ever went to the grain market.”

  “It surprises me that a patrician lady would stoop to such a transaction. Why didn’t you send a steward?”

  “The only steward I had at the time was Curio’s, and he was sure to be on the side of Curio’s family. Selling grain is far from the most scandalous thing I’ve done.” Fulvia was totally indifferent to her bad reputation.

  “In any case Balesus didn’t do as well as you. Polasser told him to buy when it was time to sell. He lost a fortune.”

  “Did he? Serves him right. Why should an astrologer be expected to give accurate advice to a petty businessman? The stars proclaim the fortunes of great men, not little money grubbers like Balesus.”

  “Spoken like a true patrician,” I said.

  “And why not? It’s what I am.”

  “Now that Polasser is no longer among us,” I said, “whom do you consult upon celestial matters?”

  “Recently I’ve been seeing Ashthuva. I think her knowledge of the art is even more comprehensive than Polasser’s and she is the most delightful company.”

  “I daresay,” I said, remembering.

  “Do we have visitors?” said Antonius, entering the courtyard from the direction of the street. He was dressed in his usual brief tunic, sweating abundantly, and covered with sand, straw, and grime.

  “Marcus, have you been fighting again?” Fulvia said.

  “Just wrestling. Hello Decius, Hermes.” With this perfunctory greeting he stepped into the pool, sat, and began washing himself down. The word informal does not begin to describe Marcus Antonius.

  “Marcus, dear, Senator Metellus has been asking me about that murdered astrologer.”

  “He’s been pestering everyone in Rome about the matter,” Antonius said. He ducked his head beneath the water and came up blowing like a porpoise. “But Caesar ordered him to do it so there’s no help for it. Are you any closer to finding the guilty party, Decius?”

  “I hope so. I’ve learned a great deal, it’s just a matter of putting it all together coherently.”

  “Well, that’s your specialty.” He stood up, dripping. “I just went three falls with Balbus.”

  “Who won?” I asked. So much for Asklepiodes’ advice, I thought.

  “He did. He’s the only man in Rome who can beat me consistently.”

  “From the look of you, you weren’t wrestling at the baths or the gymnasium,” Fulvia noted.

  “No, I encountered him at the cattle market and proposed a match right there.”

  “How entertaining it must have been for the market idlers,” Fulvia said.

  “I suppose it was. You don’t get to see two real experts contending every day. I don’t suppose there’s any wine in the house?”

  “I will take my leave of you, then,” I said. “I must be about Caesar’s business.”

  “Oh,” Fulvia said. “I just remembered.”

  “Yes?”

  “I remember now who told me about Polasser. It was Servilia.”

  We left the house and I stood in the street a moment, pinching the bridge of my long, Metellan nose. “My head hurts.”

  “This business is fit to give Hercules a headache,” Hermes said.

  “Everywhere I turn I encounter Servilia, the one woman in Rome I don’t want to face without a legion at my back.”

  “Not to mention she’s the woman Caesar doesn’t want you to suspect of complicity in the murders. If she doesn’t have you killed, he will.”

  “You do know how to brighten my day. What are we to do now?”

  “It’s as if we’ve walked down a blind alley with enemies chasing us,” Hermes said, “and there we are staring at a blank wall and no place to go.”

  “A simile worthy of Homer,” I commended. “So, what do we do when we’re stuck in a blind alley?”

  He grinned. “We duck into the nearest doorway.”

  “Right. Let’s stop attacking this problem head-on and approach it obliquely.”

  “Whatever that means, I’m all for it. What now?”

  “I’ve set a number of things in motion. Let’s check on one of them. Let’s go down to the docks and visit Ariston.”

  The big seaman looked surprised when we walked through his doorway. “Senator! This is convenient. I was just about to send a boy to track you down.”

  “You’ve found something?” I said eagerly.

  “I may have. Take a seat.” We sat and he bawled to a servant to bring wine for his distinguished guests. Moments later we were sipping a fine rose-colored Judean. These wines lack the body for drinking with meals, but they are an excellent light, refreshing afternoon pick-me-up.

  “I put out the word as you asked,” he began, “and pretty soon a sailor named Glaucus came to me with an odd story. A year ago he was on a ship called the Ibis, that sails a regular route between Alexandria and Rome, going up the eastern seaboard to Greece, then across to Italy. Seems that in Tyre they picked up a pair of passengers, easterners of some sort, a man and a woman. The woman was so swaddled in veils that they couldn’t get a real idea of what she looked like. The man was tall and sort of willowy, in robes and a headcloth. The two of them spent a good part of each day sitting crosslegged on the deck, chanting long, monotonous prayers that got to setting the sailors’ nerves on edge.” He took a drink of his wine.

  “Anyway, some of the men got to thinking it’d been a long time since they’d had a chance to visit the whores ashore, and here was this woman who wasn’t a citizen protected by any laws that applied at sea. They had no idea what she looked like under all those veils but…” he spread his hands eloquently.

  “Sailors are famously undiscriminating in such matters,” I said. “So, these sea-lawy
ers decided that rape was a good idea?”

  “Right. But it turned out it wasn’t such a good idea after all. Somebody must’ve tipped the man what was afoot, because one morning they found three men dead on the deck, all with their necks broken. They were the ones who’d been doing the plotting.”

  “Didn’t the surviving crew take any revenge?” I asked.

  “I suspect the dead men weren’t the most popular aboard, and who wants to face up to a man like that? They were sure that he was in league with some god or demon. What kind of man can break the necks of three strong men without alerting the men on watch? Would you want to deal with such a man?”

  “It looks like I may have to,” I said.

  “Ah, Senator,” Ariston said, “would you like for me to accompany you for a while? I can leave my business to my freedmen for a few days.”

  His offer was tempting. Ariston was a fighter of stupendous ferocity. I had once seen him kill a man in a manner I would have thought to be physically impossible. In sheer deadliness he was very close to my old friend Titus Milo. Hermes bristled a little at the suggestion that I might need a more accomplished bodyguard, but only a little. He had been present when Ariston had performed that feat with his broad, curved knife.

  “I thank you, my friend,” I said, “but I think that this matter will take more cunning than muscle power.”

  “Whatever you say, Senator, but don’t hesitate to call on me if you should feel the need of backup.”

  “I won’t hesitate a moment,” I assured him.

  Back outside Hermes and I conferred. “Sounds like we have our man,” Hermes noted. “If, that is, we had any idea who he might be.”

  “We still have to determine his identity,” I concurred, “but this bit of information allows us to eliminate a few suspects. He boarded in Tyre and was traveling with only a single companion. That pretty well clears Archelaus of suspicion. Not entirely, of course. He could have hired the man here in Rome, but I no longer suspect that the assassin was a part of his retinue. He’s been here almost a year and Archelaus has been in Rome no more than a month or two.”

  “Something doesn’t add up.”

  “A great many things don’t add up. What particular anomaly strikes you?”