Murder In-Absentia

by Assaph Mehr

  In the beginning of the case, when I came to the forum without a clear idea, without a name to follow or a subject to gossip, I got nowhere. Now that I had specific names to drop, I got much relevant information. A bit too much in fact. It seems like there were a few possible persons, with differing cognomens, of each of the people I was after. Going between groups of gossips, crossing information, comparing notes, doing the mental calculations of age, descriptions, current postings, I got two things by evening — a headache, and a much shorter list.

  Now to make the list even shorter, and night-time was the perfect time for it. I had two Tiberius of the Pomponii on the list of a likely background, the backbencher senator that Corpio knew and a slave merchant. However, since I knew not if the name was of one of the cabal or not I decided to leave them aside for now.

  Next were the Gaius of the Marcii. I found the analysis by Corpio quite good as well. Of those that were Viri Militares — career military men — one was too old and one posted abroad. Others of the same name were two merchants and a senator. None possessed the military background, though, which my gut insisted the man at the cabal must have. With the absence of further evidence, I trusted my feeling.

  That left me with Quintus Fufidius the incantator, the man Corpio could offer me the least amount of information about. I heard of two incantatores bearing the name, both rather obscure and so came accompanied with little information from the gossips. The first was cognominated Calvus, balding, and the second cognominated Verres, swine. Considering the man I have seen at the cabal meeting had a bad comb-over and that his house was closer, I went after Calvus first.

  First order of business was to find their addresses. Off I went to the Collegium Incantatorum at the eastern end of the forum, to skulk by side entries. It was not long before a young messenger slave made his way out, looking busy and important beyond his years. Such boys, from my short time at the Collegium, knew everyone. Running errands all day long, delivering messages and summoning people to contios. Of course the smarter the boy the more self-important he will be, but what kind of a Fox would I be if could not bribe a ten year old?

  * * *

  I walked past the house of Fufidius Calvus, a small domus up from the forum towards the Clivi Inferior. A modest private residence with the outside walls washed in pale blue, the shutters in the high windows painted green. I kept walking past, and ducked into an alley. The hour was late, the last light still lingering in the west behind the dark mass of Vergu, torches and lamps now lit inside houses, families sitting down for dinner.

  Most people would be home by now, with slaves attending to night duties. I had no idea what kind of man Fufidius was, whether he had family, whether he had business this night elsewhere. The lights inside could mean anything. I considered my options as I stood in shadows. I needed to ascertain the man’s identity, see if I recognised his face, without him recognising me in turn.

  I moved further down the side streets until I saw a passing citizen, hurrying home. I put on my best country accent and stepped well into the middle of the street with a bewildered expression. “Excuse me, my good man! Would you be able to help a lost fellow Egretian?”

  “Push off, citocacia!” he said as he shoved past me and sped up his pace walking away from me. “Fellator asini,” I muttered at his back.

  The next citizen to pass was a kinder soul. “I am looking for my city friend, Fufidius Calvus, who I was told lives nearby. Perhaps you know him?”

  “Fufidius the incantator? He lives one street up I think,” said the man.

  I cast a look at the steep street. “Only, I have been chasing around the town all afternoon, as there seem to be a number of that gens who have taken the title of incantator. My friend was older than me, and fonder of sweet pies. His thinning hair back in our youth earned him his cognomen.”

  “Then I am afraid you are out of luck, my friend,” said the man, “for the man I know to live there got his cognomen from his father but his hair from his mother.”

  I tried a few more passing men just to be certain; by the time I pieced together a description of the Fufidius Calvus who lived in that house I was convinced he was not the one I was after.

  By the time I found the place where Fufidius Verres lived, the stars were out in all their numbers across the heavens. It was an insula, but not the large tenements of the Subvales. This one was an upmarket affair, only three stories high and I knew the apartments would be bigger and better appointed.

  I was faced with the same problem again — how to see without being seen — however, luckily insulae have many more open stairways and access points than a private domus. Another thing that the better insulae possess, are the guardians at the door. While private domiciles mostly keep their street doors barred and employ a door slave on the inside, the apartment buildings mostly have open hallways and employ a burly slave or freedman to stand guard.

  I found the man sitting on a stool next to the doorway, sipping watered wine. A quick appraisal of his clothes and the state of the foyer, and I measured few sestertii into his hands. It turned out that the incantator Quintus Fufidius Verres who lived on the second floor was my man. The guard was altogether too happy to gossip, the man apparently never tipping him properly and treating him as a slave even though he was a free man. I learnt much from the guard, confirming Fufidius’ identity from his description, his habits, the slaves he kept, the friends he entertained. I learnt that he mistreated his two slaves, though not as badly as some masters; and that he was recently forced to sell the third slave he used to own to pay for his rent. I learnt that he had few friends come over, and spent many nights away. I even learnt about his favourite brothel. Very importantly, I learnt that one of his regular visitors matched the description of the Hellican foreigner I’ve seen at the cabal.

  I also learnt that he was not at home tonight. I decided to stop at his favourite drinking and whoring place, as it was but a short detour on my way home. The place was quite easy to find, on the slopes above the forum, just off the Via Crispa that leads towards the Porta Alta. Down an alley between two temples on the side of the road, I found a door over which hung a bronze fascinum. The image of the winged phallus has long been considered a protective charm amongst our people, an ancient numen power that wards off the evil eye. The proprietor must have tried to make it appear a more up-class establishment and assure his patrons that no harm shall come to those who visit. Still, hanging a penis over a door is an international sign of what to expect inside.

  Nor was I mistaken. The interior was lit by many oil lamps, though the numerous gauze sheets in bright colours of saffron, orange and red hung around from the ceiling and gave a diffuse quality to the light as well as obscure the view of what happened further in. The door slave which showed me in indicated to a couch and turned to fetch his master, but I put my hand on his arm and held him back.

  “Tell me,” I said and pressed a silver denarius to his hand, “Does the name Quintus Fufidius Verres mean much to you? An incantator, aged around fifty, with bad hair and with bad manners?”

  The man palmed the coin quickly and nodded.

  “And does he have a favourite girl?”

  “Helvia,” the man replied.

  I let go of his arm and sat down as he disappeared inside. I did not have long to wait. A young man entered from a back room, and made his way to me with a smarmy smile. A pretty slave girl with bare breasts followed him in bearing a bronze tray and laid a wine cup next to me.

  “Ah, my good man. Your first time with us? I assure you, you will not be disappointed. We provide the best quality and cater for all requirements,” said the man. “What services can I arrange for you?”

  “The usual comforts,” I replied. “Though I have heard good things about a woman called Helvia in your employ.”

  “Ah yes, a most talented girl. Busy now unfortunately, yet I am sure I can offer you her equals.” He clapped his hands twice and three women entered in a single file, then stood to face
me. Their ages ranged from mid to late twenties I estimated, and all had an air of experience. I guessed he first estimated his clients’ desires, before summoning a selection of girls or boys.

  “I really would rather wait until she is free,” I said.

  He tried to dissuade me and have me take another, but eventually just shrugged and said, “I will send her here when she finishes.”

  I sat there for a while, sipping my wine, listening to the moans and screams, the banging of beds against walls and other sounds of pleasure that were coming from inside the house. Fortuna must have been smiling at me — or perhaps grinning maliciously — for not long after in stepped Quintus Fufidius himself. I sat very quietly as he adjusted the belt of his tunic and made his way to the door, hardly sparing me a glance. Then he stopped, turned around and gazed at me for a long moment.

  “I know you,” he said. Definitely grinning, Fortuna.

  “I think we met, although perhaps in circumstances that are best discussed elsewhere.”

  “What brings you here then?”

  I waved my hand towards the decor. “The usual business. I heard good things about this place, and thought to visit it.”

  He stared at me a moment longer. Helvia must have provided exceptional service, for he said, “Come, let us share a drink.” He was definitely in a better mood than the last and only time I saw him. He looked at me now more curious than disparaging.

  “I know a place nearby,” he said, “where we will be guaranteed privacy.” He led me towards the lower slopes of the Clivi Ulterior, above the Porticus Aemilia. “The clientele here tends to be of senatorial rank, or other people of influence. Discussions of import are carried there almost daily, yet none leak beyond the walls. Ah, there it is!”

  The place was certainly upmarket. Three steps led up from the street to a wide doorway, a well-groomed slave standing to attention just inside. The interior was lit by many bronze lamps of various designs, set above individual tables arranged spaciously around the room. Towards the walls and the back, private booths were arranged with couches and partitioned with wooden screens. Rather unconventionally the ceiling was decorated with paintings of bouquets of roses. I felt a slight tingle in my hair, telling me that perhaps the implications of sub rosa were not enforced merely by convention.

  We settled down at a table of polished wood. A slave appeared almost immediately and placed before us pitchers of spiced wine and water, and bowls of olives and salted nuts. The place exuded high quality, the likes of which I was not used to. I became aware of the noise around us, yet the quiet murmur of people talking in other tables quite near to us was somehow always unintelligible.

  Quintus Fufidius settled down in his chair and turned to me “How did you find us? I think you are the first to come without being invited first.”

  “Word does travel around. Even the best kept secret leaves traces for those who know where to look.”

  “And where did you look?” he asked.

  “I deal with supplies of exotic paraphernalia. From locally grown herbs to imported components of rare high quality. When certain things come into demand, I hear about them.”

  “And how did that lead you to us?”

  “My turn, I think,” I said. “Tell me what brought you to Zymaxis.”

  He paused for a moment, eyes narrowed, and I read on his face a conflict between haughtiness and curiosity.

  Haughtiness won. “You will need my vote, if you want in,” He said. “So you had better answer my questions truthfully and in full. Otherwise you will end up on the street. Or worse.”

  I was too tired to be subjected to an investigation. “This will be your loss then,” I said. “Just think. If I found you out, and have returned bearing gifts to impress the cabal, there would be others. And not all might be as kindly disposed as me.”

  We stared at each other for a while, locked in a battle of wills. I wondered if I was taking the wrong approach, if fawning and scraping would have bought me an easier ticket to the cabal. As I was only looking to infiltrate them to learn of Caeso’s death, a position of power was not a strict necessity. Then again, I never liked him from the moment I laid eyes on him.

  He blinked first.

  “Oh very well. I shall play your little game. You would do well to remember though, that satisfying my curiosity now does not guarantee you my vote, or even a prolonged life. I joined for the same reason everybody did — personal advancement. The ruling circles in the collegia and the senate are nearly impossible to break into. The Fufidii Verri are an ancient and respected family, but in recent centuries we have not had a single consul or even a praetor, and hardly any of us has risen to the rank of rhone in the various collegia. The cunni at the top all come from a few families, and keep a strangle-hold squeezing everyone else from attaining position. The elections are a joke, you must know. Oh sure, every so often a novus homo makes it in, just enough for them to keep up appearances that the posts are open to the public. In reality these homines novi are always singularly rich, which is how they get in. Unless you are born to a family of power or somehow manage to ransack a whole province, you will never get elected. Well, I will see this changed.”

  He paused to drink from his wine. “My turn again,” he said. “How and why did you track us? Why do you seek to join us? And make your story a good one.”

  “My father was a dealer on exotic goods, a supplier of necessary materials for many incantatores. I was the first of my family to have joined the Collegium Incantatorum. I did not dream of attaining the rank of rhone and becoming a true novus homo, but I still dreamt I would make my mark. However my father was cheated out of his business, and I was thrown out of the Collegium. I too would see things change, and money matter less than ability. I took up my father’s old line of trade, and when in recent months certain items became in demand I made enquiries and followed the source of the demand. I saw my chance for a change.” I sipped my wine and looked sidelong at Fufidius. He seemed satisfied with the answer, as so often people are when you simply echo them back to themselves. I asked my next question. “And how do you see Zymaxis affecting such a change?”

  “I will not discuss matters of the cabal with you,” he said flatly. “When — and if! — you are accepted as a member, only then will we be free to discuss this.”

  “Tell me at least what do you make of Zymaxis’ chances then?”

  “A pretty good chance of course, or I would not have associated myself with him,” Fufidius replied. “Tell me which materials have so caught your attention?”

  I decided to bait him. “Ferret’s bile to make ink for power tattoos, uncommon herbs and minerals from Mitzrania for the preservation of bodies, slivers of star-stones, lilies and orchids harvested under starlight. Unusual, though perhaps none too impressive. Yet tracked to the same source, and one might conclude you had ideas to attempt something long forbidden.”

  “You are insane if you think that. We want to change the order of things at the top, not burn the whole city down.” He drained the last of his wine, rose, and said, “I grow weary of this game. I got your measure. Meet us three night hence, three nights before the Ides at the same place, and pray that your offering is suitable and you are accepted. We do not take kindly to miserable offerings and failed attempts.”

  He turned and left. I sipped the rest of my wine in silence, and then followed his example and made my way home.

  Chapter XXII

  I started the next day with an overdue errand. After a comforting breakfast of home-cooked farina porridge sweetened with dates, I went to visit my friend Sosius again. I owed him a report about the library in Ephemezica. He would have already gotten one from his agent Baebius, but I owed him the courtesy. And of course, I was still holding on to the scroll with the Rite of Pelegrinus.

  I made my way to his shop at the Basilica Antonia. Once seated in his office, I recounted my review of the library and the haggling Baebius and I carried with Epphelipos. By now Sosius had received a detaile
d report from Baebius as well as a summarised index of the important works. He was quite happy with the result, his calculations indicating that he would be able to turn a nice profit over this.

  “I wanted to thank you again for the service you rendered me,” he said. “Baebius makes a good agent, but his knowledge is of a broader nature, not as specific as yours. I slept better knowing that Spurius Vulpius’ son had given his approval for the deal.”

  “Think nothing of it,” I said. “It helped me tremendously in my current case. I did keep a few scrolls with me, for closer review. Most of the arcane material turned out rubbish, yet a few have promise of real value. One, however, was exactly what I was hoping to find.”

  “I am glad to have helped then!”

  “It does present a dilemma, however…” I said. “You see, the contents are strictly forbidden. The majority of the scrolls are borderline legal, can be classified as research into — rather than instructions how to — the nefastum scientiam. This particular scroll, however… Well, it’s about as far over the border as a Mitzrani camel herder in a fishing expedition to Kebros. You might be able to find a buyer, but you run the risk of being reported to the Collegium Incantatorum. And if that happens, your business — and possibly your life — are forfeit. So my question is, do you wish to keep this scroll? I have gotten what I need out of it. While I have not been open about the matter, I still needed to consult a few other experts on some parts of the text. I would suggest we burn it, before anyone official comes to suspect we possessed it or that indeed it ever existed.”