He frowned. “This man is a professional assassin, yet he only struck a few days ago. Why did he wait so long to exercise his skill?”
“A good point. I can think of a number of possibilities.” I loved this sort of thing. “One, he may use other methods of elimination, perhaps reserving the neck-breaking for special occasions. Two, he may have used it, but we never heard about it. Such a death can easily be made to look accidental, and not every killing in Rome comes to my attention. There may have been a number of such that we never heard of. I was only engaged to investigate these deaths because the murdered men were Caesar’s astronomers. And three, there are other places in Italy besides Rome. He may have been working elsewhere for a while.”
“I suppose we can cross Cleopatra off the suspect list, too,” Hermes said.
“Why?”
“Because Servilia is still alive.”
“You’re getting good at this. You’ve been paying attention. Of course, the two of them might be up to something together.”
“There is that possibility,” he agreed. “Is there some way we can find out if he has been active elsewhere in Italy?”
“None that I know of,” I admitted. “We hear of exceptional murders from time to time, but ordinarily they are none of Rome’s business and are handled by local authorities. Plus, remember this man can make his killings appear to be accidents. It’s a good thing he’s been in Rome such a short time.”
“Why is that?”
“A man so talented would never go long without employment in Rome. There would be entirely too much demand for his services.”
10
Julia displayed little sympathy for my plight.
“I think your hostility to Servilia is foolish. She isn’t a scandalous woman like Fulvia. She’s just ambitious for her son. She doesn’t frequent low haunts or have numerous love affairs.”
“Why is it,” I asked her, “that people pretend to be shocked by comparatively harmless transgressions like adultery and extravagance? I’ve seen far more people killed because of ambition and greed than for such trifles.”
“Far more husbands have died because of adultery than you would guess,” she said darkly. Meaning it as a warning, no doubt.
“Yes, well, matrimony is never without hazard.”
“Remember that. Servilia keeps popping up in this because she is now close to Caesar, and somehow this business is all about Caesar. It’s his astronomers being murdered. This is aimed at him.”
“I agree. It’s an uncommonly oblique way of attacking him, though.”
“Easterners are involved and that is how they work,” she asserted.
It was after dinner, our guests had gone home and we were enjoying a rather crisp evening by the pool, sitting with a brazier of glowing coals between us. The year had been uncommonly mild but a chill was creeping into the air. Julia was wrapped in a heavy woolen cloak, but I preferred to exhibit manly hardihood by wearing nothing over my tunic.
“This is complicated even for our usual eastern enemies,” I said. “Maybe these people come from even farther east. What’s that place where silk comes from? I think it’s about as far east as you can go.”
“Keep your thoughts closer to home,” she advised.
“I know, the king of Parthia is the most likely contender for foreign action, but somehow I don’t think so. I think we have an oriental assassin working for somebody right here in Rome.”
“There is still Sextus Pompey,” she reminded me.
“Last I heard he was in Spain and our suspects came from the opposite direction. Admittedly, he could have agents working here in Rome who might have hired the killer, but young Pompey has no more imagination than his father. This is beyond him. If we can’t figure it out, how could he have dreamed it up?”
“We’re missing something,” she said.
“Of course we are. That’s always how it is when people behave in such a deceitful manner. Later on, when you have all the pieces in your grasp, you wonder why you never noticed those obvious factors that were staring you in the face all along.”
“Callista says you should write all this down. Perhaps you could give a course of lectures on your methods.”
“I ought to. Future generations will thank me.”
“What if the grain swindle was just practice?” Julia said.
“Eh? Where did that come from?”
“It just seems to me that they may have had something bigger in mind. Polasser and Postumius discovered their mutual criminal inclinations. Polasser was intrigued by the chariot race swindle Postumius boasted about, and perhaps wanted to give it a try himself.”
I saw what she was getting at. “But Postumius cautioned him against it. Felix the Wise might find out and punish them. Polasser was undoubtedly the more intelligent and imaginative man. He saw that the same swindle could be used in other venues. He had traveled widely, lived some time in Alexandria where the world grain trade is centered. He knew that trading in grain futures can be as much of a gamble as betting on the races. But you think it might have been just practice?”
“I believe so. Polasser needed some experience in this sort of criminality. He was already a fraudulent astrologer and needed to build up his confidence in the wider world of business.”
“What was he practicing for?” I asked, already thinking I knew the answer.
“What is the biggest, most profitable activity in Rome?” she asked.
“Politics,” I answered. “Politics as it is practiced at the highest levels, among the great families. How did he expect to—” Then it struck me. “Fulvia.”
“He already knew her as her astrologer. He asked her to pick out some likely grain merchants and recommend him to them, tell them that his predictions were infallible. It’s a sordid business for a patrician, but I wouldn’t put anything past Fulvia.”
I thought about it. “The temptation must have been strong. That was last year. Her husband, Curio, was dead and there was no love lost between her and the rest of his family. She hadn’t landed Antonius yet, and she’s a woman with expensive tastes. She had to sell off his last harvest before his male heirs could get their hands on it. Polasser held out the prospect of a huge profit from very little effort, and I’ve found patricians to be no less larcenous than the rest of us. They’re just more snobbish about it.”
She let that pass. “The question is, what sort of fraud was he perpetrating?”
I pondered it. “As a foreigner Polasser couldn’t hope to take an active part in Roman politics, but politicians can be manipulated. He couldn’t manipulate them directly, but he could do so through their wives. He had the tools he needed already at hand since most of his clients were highborn ladies.”
“That chariot race elimination scheme wouldn’t work, though,” Julia said. “He wouldn’t have a large enough pool of victims to begin with. Plus, these are people who talk with each other constantly. The ones he’d given bad advice would complain about him to the others.”
“Right. It was something else. There are a lot of profitable activities at the top levels of government, but we can eliminate most of them. There are the propraetorian and proconsular commands, but the loot doesn’t come pouring in until the promagistrate returns more than a year after being given the office. There is huge money in the censors’ apportioning of the public contracts, but it’s five years between censorships and with a dictator in power, who knows when we’ll have censors again?”
“There is one issue of enormous importance yet to be decided,” Julia said after a long pause.
“I know. Caesar’s heir. It is the one problem I would give anything not to get involved with. I’d rather try to conquer Germania with a half century of rebellious Greek auxilia.”
* * *
“Time to wake up.” It was Hermes’ voice. I opened my eyes. It was black as the bottom of Pluto’s privy.
“Are the Gauls attacking?” I asked, trying to get oriented.
“No, we’re back i
n Rome. We have another body to look at.”
“What’s going on?” Julia said next to me. It was her half-asleep voice.
“Just another murder, my dear,” I assured her.
“Did you have to wake me? Go about your business, but do it quietly.”
I got up quietly, dressed, and armed myself without making a sound. The unquiet times in Rome and the years with the legions had taught me the useful art of keeping my clothes and weapons where I could lay hands on them quickly in the dark. I waited until we were outside on the street before speaking again.
“Who is it this time?” I yawned mightily. There was just a trace of gray in the sky to the east, barely visible between the towering tenements that lined the street.
“Felix the Wise sent a messenger. Felix says he’s found Postumius.”
“Postumius,” I said, scratching absently. I still wasn’t quite awake. “The missing figure in all this. I take it Postumius is the corpse we’re going to see?”
“Apparently so. The messenger will guide us there.”
I realized with a start that there was a man standing next to us. I am never at my best early in the morning. “How did you find your way here through these black streets?” I asked him. Few people ventured into the nighttime streets of Rome without a torch-bearing escort.
“I am Pelotas, Senator,” the man said.
“Pelotas? The famous burglar?”
“I was, Senator, before I reformed and became an honest man.”
“Right. That’s why Felix the Wise keeps you around. Well, lead on.” We followed him. He was quiet as a cat and walked through the gloom as if it were noon.
“I’ve known guides in Gaul who could work in the dark like you. They ate owls to improve their night vision. Do you eat owls?”
“That’s for barbarians, Senator. I have good eyes. My father and grandfather were famous burglars, too, but what gives you the edge at night is a drop of belladonna juice in each eye just before you go out. It brightens things right up.”
“It’s good to work with a professional who knows his trade,” I said. “Is Felix at the Labyrinth?”
“Not far from there. It’s a house by the river.”
We went through the shadowed streets and crossed the Forum and the cattle market. The gray light increased and I could almost discern my hand at arm’s length by the time we crossed the Sublician Bridge. On the other side we went down a narrow street and were immediately plunged into blackness again. Pelotas stopped at a door I couldn’t even see and knocked with a strange rhythm, some bit of underworld craft obscure to me and my sort. The door opened and light spilled out. The doorman was an ugly thug with a bare sword in his fist. When he saw who was outside he stepped back and gestured us in with his sword. Inside, I found Felix sitting at a table and five other men standing around, all well-armed. There were several clear violations of the law in that room and I wasn’t going to do a single thing about it. Nighttime in the Trans-Tiber was no place for a mere senator to be throwing his weight around.
“Welcome, Senator,” Felix said. “Have a seat. Got some nice warmed wine here, just the thing for a morning like this.”
I saw no problem with this and sat. Fragrant steam rose from the wine pitcher as he poured. The wine had herbs steeped in it and made me more ready to face what I knew was going to be an unpleasant duty.
“I have a feeling,” I said, “that Postumius is not going to be able to talk to me.”
“I’m afraid not,” Felix said, “but I’m pretty sure he talked to somebody.”
“Before I view the body, tell me how you found him.”
“It was Pelotas that found him. He was paying a visit here when he saw the corpse.”
“I smelled it first,” Pelotas said.
“I don’t want to ask why you were here,” I said.
“Just as well. Anyway, when I came in—”
“I don’t suppose you just knocked and come through the front door,” I said.
“Well, no. I came in through the roof.”
“All right, I’ll assume you were doing some repair work up there, had to remove a few tiles, that sort of thing?”
“Exactly, Senator. Anyway, I dropped in and the first thing hits me is the smell. I looked around until I found the room with the body. As you know, I see good at night, and that hour there was moonlight coming in through the window. I saw right away it was Postumius. I knew him from the races. He knew his horses better than most, and he knew all the drivers, so he was always good for a tip. Felix had put the word out a few days back that anyone who saw Postumius should come tell him right away, day or night, so I ran right over to the Labyrinth.”
“Why did you pick this house to visit tonight? Other than the necessary roof repair, I mean.”
“Well, I’d heard it was a rich man’s place. I’d looked it over the last few nights and never saw anyone here, nor any lights.”
“Always good to do repair work when the owner is away,” Hermes commented. “That way he’s not disturbed by all the noise.”
“That’s how it is,” Pelotas agreed.
“Does anyone know which rich man owns this house?” I asked. All I got were some shrugs. “Where did you hear that a rich man owned the place?”
“From the neighbors. I never asked his name.”
“Er, Senator,” Felix said, “what’s all this about?”
“It’s how he works,” Hermes assured him. “He collects all the available facts before he makes any assumptions.”
“Philosopher, eh?” Felix said. “I never would’ve expected.”
I looked around. The house was of modest size, but even the houses of the rich were relatively small in those days. The wealthy spent money on lavish country houses, maintaining a pose of antique virtue in Rome. There was more room for sprawl in the Trans-Tiber, but this house was on one of the smaller streets near the river and was typical of the district.
Not that it was all that modest inside. The walls in the room where we sat were adorned with frescoes of the highest quality and the floor was tiled in intricate geometrical patterns. There was a statue of Apollo just outside the door that opened onto the impluvium. It looked like a very superior copy of the original by Praxiteles, probably a product of Aphrodisias, and I knew from experience how expensive Aphrodisian sculptures could be.
No sense putting it off any longer. “Well, let’s have a look at him,” I said.
We got up and passed through the colonnade surrounding the impluvium. In the rear of the house we took a stair to the second floor and walked a few paces along the balcony to where another armed man stood guard at a door. We went inside.
As Pelotas had hinted, the smell was awful. It usually is when someone has been tortured to death. The late Postumius had been bound naked to a chair and worked over by an expert, or more likely by a team of them. He had been burned, beaten, partially flayed, and bits of him hung loose, apparently torn by pincers.
“As a soldier and magistrate,” I said, “I’ve witnessed a good many military and judicial tortures. I’ve never seen anything this comprehensive.”
“Somebody wanted some answers from him,” Felix said. “From the look of it, he didn’t know what they wanted him to tell them.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“I knew the man. He didn’t have the backbone to hold his tongue under a working over like this.”
“Very likely. Hermes—”
“I know. Go get Asklepiodes.” He turned and left the room, for once all too eager to run off on an errand.
There was a single window at the rear of the room. I went to it and opened the shutters and leaned out to breathe some clean air. Below was a short embankment, and beyond it the river. It was a good place to torture someone. It was upstairs in the center of the house, with a number of walls between this room and the neighboring houses. It was as far as you could get from the street and nothing was to the rear but the river. A man could scream as loud as he liked a
nd not be heard.
“Any idea who owns this house?” I asked.
“None,” Felix said. “I could find out.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll just ask the neighbors as soon as the neighborhood is awake. Well, there’s nothing to be gained standing around here.”
We went back downstairs and I took another cup of the hot, spiced wine. I needed it. “It’s dawn,” I said. “You and your men can go now. I won’t forget this favor, Felix.”
“Always happy to be of service to the Senate and People,” Felix said. He knew that I might again be a sitting magistrate and in a position to spare him serious punishment. His class and mine had an understanding in these matters. They left me alone with my thoughts and the remaining wine. It was almost gone when Asklepiodes arrived.
He was as cheerful as usual, despite the hour. “Murder never waits upon our convenience, does it, Decius?”
“I fear not. Hermes will show you where he is. Have a look and tell me what you think.” They disappeared upstairs. From outside, I heard morning sounds as the neighborhood embarked upon the coming day. Birds sang and I heard distant hammering. They were not upstairs for long.
“That’s enough to put a man off his breakfast,” he said.
“Have some wine,” I advised. “There’s a bit left.”
He held up a hand. “I don’t drink wine before noon.”
“That’s an odd habit,” I commented. I peered into the bottom of the pitcher. “Just as well. There really isn’t all that much left. Were you able to learn anything?”
“Only that the torture was carried on far too long. Painful though they were, his injuries were not sufficient to kill him by themselves. Signs of suffocation are absent. He died from the pain or terror or a combination of the two.”
“From the look of him they would have been sufficient for the task,” I observed. “It seems Felix the Wise was right. He didn’t have whatever information they wanted from him.”
“You assume that this was a torture for information?”
“Naturally. That’s the most common reason to give a man a working over like that.”
SPQR XIII: The Year of Confusion Page 17