"Pollux!" the boy exclaimed. "It's that little patrician shit who tried to poison you!"
And sure enough, there lay young Appius Claudius Nero, with a neat puncture in this throat and a circular dent in his brow.
Chapter VIII
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."
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