A Murder on the Appian Way

by Steven Saylor

  “Utter trash!” declared Fulvia.

  “I should think your late husband’s wide circle of friends must have acquainted you with many people no better or worse,” I said.

  “Watch your tongue, Finder!” snapped Sempronia.

  Fulvia waved a hand to caution her mother. “Gordianus is our guest. And we have unfinished business with him.”

  “Do we?” I said.

  “I realize that you never formally agreed to the proposition I made to you. Yet you set out to investigate my husband’s death, anyway. I suspect you must have been employed by a certain other person; how else to explain the presence of his bodyguards at your house? But in light of the fact that you directed valuable witnesses to come to my house for protection—”

  “I did it as much for their sake as for yours,” I said.

  She paused, taken aback by my bluntness. “Maybe so, but the action still marks you as a friend to our cause. Did you accept my proposition, after all? Do you have anything to report to me?”

  “About Marc Antony, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  I hesitated. “What was the figure you promised?”

  She named the sum.

  “I’ll settle for half that amount,” I said. “To make up the difference, I want you to give me two of your slaves.”

  She looked dubious. “If you’re looking for more bodyguards, I should tell you that the best of my men are each worth considerably more than the sum I just named.”

  “No, Fulvia, it’s not protectors I’m looking for. I only want two small boys who reside at your Alban villa. Brothers; their names are Mopsus and Androcles.”

  “What, the stableboys?”

  Sempronia smirked. “Is that how your tastes run, Finder? Clodia must be telling the truth when she says that you’ve never tried to touch her, despite all her rubbing up against you.”

  I bit my tongue. I sighed and shrugged. “I can only say that I intend to put the boys to better use than you have, Fulvia. Did you realize that they saved your son’s life when Milo and his men stormed the villa?”

  “What, because they happened to be in that secret passageway with him and managed to keep from blubbering?”

  “Is that how your son explained it? I think neither of you give the boys enough credit.”

  “They’re only stableboys, Gordianus.”

  “Perhaps, but I’ll wager that they grow up twice as clever and resourceful as anyone else in your household.”

  Fulvia raised an eyebrow. “If you want the two slaves as part of your payment, Gordianus, you may have them.”

  “Good. Shall I make my report?”

  “Yes.”

  “Marc Antony had nothing whatever to do with your husband’s death.”

  “As simple as that?”

  “You have my word.”

  “Your word?” said Sempronia icily. Fulvia began to pace before the open windows.

  “What else can I offer you? Certainty is a strange thing. Aristotle showed that no man can prove that a particular thing did not happen. I carried your question with me everywhere on the Appian Way, Fulvia, and into the pit where I resided for forty days, and even to Antony himself in Ravenna. I traveled back to Rome beside him, making my own judgment. Antony is completely innocent of spilling your husband’s blood, despite his feelings for you.”

  Sempronia looked disgusted. “The scoundrel seduced you, then, as well!”

  Fulvia glared at her. “Leave the room, Mother.”

  Sempronia made a great show of gathering up her blanket and straightening her weary limbs. She did not deign to look at me as she left.

  For the first time, I found myself alone with Fulvia. I sensed a difference in her at once. When she stopped her pacing and turned toward me, her face seemed to belong to a different woman, younger and more vulnerable. “You’re sure of this, Finder?”

  “Antony is innocent, of this crime at least.”

  She smiled, but there were also tears in her eyes. What emotions raged inside her, always held in check to keep others from seeing? “There’s hope, then. I may have a future, after all.”

  “With Antony? But he’s already married, to his cousin. Does he intend to divorce Antonia?”

  “No, that’s impossible. A divorce now would destroy him. He’s suggested that I consider marrying Curio instead.”

  “His boyhood friend?”

  “His boyhood lover. You can say the word. I think of the two of them as fabled Greek warriors, like Achilles and Patroclus.”

  “But would you settle for being Briseis?”

  She looked at me blankly. The allusion escaped her, and so failed to insult her. She was not the literary type.

  “Are you thinking of marriage again so soon?” I said.

  “Curio and I shall wait until an appropriate time.”

  “But such a marriage—”

  “Why not? The two of us love Antony and always have. And Antony loves the two of us, more than anything else. Certainly more than he loves Antonia.”

  “But Clodius—”

  “Clodius is dead,” she said grimly, “and I intend to see him revenged. But Antony is alive. And Curio is alive, and unmarried. I have to think of the days to come. Who knows what the future will bring?” Her smile was gone. So were her tears. “Do you want your payment now?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “I’ll have the silver brought up and counted. And the two stableboys?”

  “I’ll collect them at my leisure.”

  I left Fulvia’s house in high spirits. It was the ebullience of being free again after having been captive, of being back in the city where I was known and others had need of me. The heft and jingle of new silver in my purse also helped, as did the satisfaction of having acted on pure impulse when I requested the two boys from Fulvia. I felt quite content with myself and with my place in the world at that moment.

  My mood changed abruptly when I saw that Clodia’s litter was gone.

  Her haughty, handsome young slave remained, along with a sufficient bodyguard to see me safely home. “I hope you won’t mind walking,” he said, practically sneering.

  “But where is Clodia?”

  “She remembered more pressing business.”

  “But I had things to tell her. Things she wanted very much to hear.”

  “I suppose she decided they weren’t so important after all.” The slave was absurdly patronizing. “Shall we be going? You can manage the walk, can’t you? Or shall I send someone to hire a litter?” Now he was being deliberately insulting.

  I considered giving him a friendly lecture. He was young and beautiful now, and he had his mistress’s favor. But for how long? Had he seen what became of the long line of those who had pleased his mistress before him?

  But what was the point? The slave was simply deluded. What he took to be my humiliation, Clodia’s abrupt departure, was precisely the opposite. I had wounded her after all, so badly that she fled. I, Gordianus, had hurt Clodia. It was a triumph, I told myself; and answered myself, yes, of the sort that Pyrrhus was famous for. The light inside the litter, the warmth of her body, that elusive, unforgettable scent—something told me I would never experience these things again.

  29

  Over the next few days, as had been the case all through the period of our absence from Rome, there were continual contios in the Forum at which the radical tribunes railed against Milo. I myself stayed safely bolted behind the doors of my own house, but Eco, who made a point of attending these contios, assured me that they were peaceable affairs, kept that way by the presence of Pompey’s troops.

  “I don’t know which would dismay me more,” I told him, “seeing a contio erupt into a riot, or seeing Roman citizens being cowed by Roman soldiers.”

  “Papa, something had to be done about the violence.”

  “Then we might as well have a king. That’s what it feels like now, seeing soldiers in the streets—it’s like being in Alexandria, where you see King Ptolem
y’s men everywhere you go.”

  “Well, let’s hope Pompey’s soldiers do a better job of keeping the peace,” said Eco. “Really, Papa, you sound almost nostalgic for the good old days of blood in the streets.”

  “I’m not sentimental about the past, Eco, only fearful for the future.”

  “Meanwhile, Papa, the rest of us are living in the present. Nobody else objects to seeing a few soldiers in the Forum.”

  “Not yet.”

  When I told Bethesda about my acquisition of Mopsus and Androcles, she took the news that there would soon be two more mouths to feed—children, no less, and boy-children, at that!—with more equanimity than I expected. Did I seem so frail that she felt obliged to indulge me, no matter what madness I came up with? Had the spirit of Minerva entered her when the statue fell and broke, making her permanently serene?

  Her own explanation was simpler. She had always enjoyed Eco and Meto when they were boys, she said. If the Fates had led two more boys to my household, then she would do her best to welcome them. Managing to feed the household had always been a challenge—especially at present, since Davus seemed to eat even more than Belbo had—but she would manage.

  Diana’s reaction was even more surprising. She had hated it when Eco and Menenia’s twins supplanted her as the baby of the family, but she had matured a great deal since then, and I had no intention of making her accept Mopsus and Androcles as little brothers; they would simply be household servants. Still, I anticipated that Diana might be diffident or even averse to the idea. I had no idea that it would cause her to break into tears and run from the room.

  “What in Jupiter’s name was that about?” I said to Eco.

  “She doesn’t seem to like the idea.”

  “But why the tears?”

  “She’s seventeen. She’ll cry at anything.”

  “Bethesda says Diana never shed a tear while we were gone.”

  “Then I should have said: she’s seventeen, she’ll cry at nothing. You know, it’s time she married, Papa. That’s probably what it’s about. The idea of new children in the house makes her realize that she probably won’t be here much longer herself.”

  “Do you really think that’s it?”

  “I have no idea. Have you given any thought to finding her a husband lately?”

  “Eco, when have I had time? You’re the one who’s been out and about, going to all these contios.”

  “I hardly think I’ll find a fit husband for my little sister among that rabble.”

  “Maybe Menenia has a cousin the right age,” I suggested.

  “Or maybe Meto knows of an officer who’s eligible.”

  “I suppose it is something we need to start working on,” I admitted. “But you know what I really need to get done? I need to have the statue of Minerva repaired …”

  A few mornings later, one of Eco’s bodyguards returned to the house in a state of great excitement. Davus showed him into my study. “There’s a contio about to start down in the Forum,” he said, a little out of breath from running up the Ramp, “and the master says you must come.”

  “But why?”

  “He only says that you must. He’s waiting for you there.”

  Davus and I followed the man back to the Forum.

  A considerable crowd had gathered. The tribune Plancus was already speaking. Not far from the Rostra, a squadron of armed soldiers were stationed on the steps of the ruined Senate House. The sight of them did lend a certain gravity to the proceedings, I had to admit.

  We found Eco in the crowd. “What’s this about?” I whispered.

  “If the rumors are true, Plancus is going to introduce—but look, he’s just brought them onto the platform with him.” Four men led by another walked onto the Rostra, all of them looking nervous and out of place.

  Plancus reached for the leader and pulled him to the center of the platform. “Citizen, tell these good men your name.”

  The man answered with an inaudible mumble. The crowd jeered and laughed. “Citizen,” said Plancus good-naturedly, “you’ll have to speak up. See those soldiers over on the Senate House steps? Pretend you’re speaking to them.”

  “My name is Marcus Aemilius Philemon!” the man shouted. There was a round of cheering and applause.

  “Tell us, Philemon,” said Plancus, “do you remember where you were on the day that Publius Clodius was murdered?”

  “Indeed I do. I was with these four other men on the Appian Way. We were traveling on foot, headed for Neapolis.”

  “And how far did you get that day?”

  “To Bovillae.”

  “What happened there?”

  “We came upon what looked like a battle.”

  “Where was this?”

  “At the inn.” The crowd now listened with rapt attention. Philemon cleared his throat and continued. “There seemed to be a group inside the inn and a group outside, and the ones outside were after the ones inside. They’d broken down the door. They kept forcing their way in and dragging out the men one at a time and stabbing them to death, right there in the road. There was blood all over the place.”

  “A horrifying sight, I’m sure,” said Plancus. “What did you do?”

  “We shouted at them, ‘What are you doing?’ And they said, ‘We’ve got Publius Clodius trapped like a rat and we’re going to cut his tail off!’ They were laughing quite a lot, having a good time of it.”

  “ ‘They,’ you say. Did you recognize any of these men?”

  “I knew two of them right away. We all did. Those two famous gladiators of Milo’s, Eudamus and Birria. They were the ones who seemed to be doing most of the killing. Blood all over them.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “We shouted at them to stop what they were doing. I may be only a freedman, but I wasn’t going to stand by and watch while slaves murdered a citizen!”

  This elicited noises of approval from the crowd.

  “Freedman you may be,” said Plancus, “but it’s a worthy citizen who’ll stand up for his fellow Roman. You tried to stop this atrocity, then?”

  “My friends and I went at them, but I’ll tell you, not one of us has ever been a soldier or a gladiator. They beat us back. Then they chased after us. We had daggers, but these fellows were gladiators and armed with swords. I won’t say I did a brave thing, turning and running, but I’ll challenge any man here to stand nose to nose with the likes of Eudamus or Birria and not flinch.” This elicited some sympathetic murmurs.

  “Still, you did a brave thing, citizen, you and your fine friends here. I should hope that if ever some scoundrel like Milo sends his slaves after me or my loved ones, there’ll be citizens like you to come to my rescue!” Plancus led the crowd in an outburst of cheering and applause.

  “But Philemon,” Plancus continued, “how is it that we’re only now hearing about this? Why did you not come forward before, when we were all in a state of confusion about what happened on the Appian Way?”

  “Because we’ve only now had the chance to come forward. For two months, we were all held prisoner by Milo at his villa in Lanuvium.”

  This created a great stir in the crowd.

  “Explain, Philemon,” said Plancus.

  “When Eudamus and Birria and their men came after us, we all split up and headed away from the road. We thought we might be able to lose them in the hills and the woods. But there were plenty of them after us, and they caught us one by one until they’d rounded up all five of us. They tied us up and herded us like prisoners back through Bovillae and up the Appian Way.”

  “Slaves did this? To citizens?”

  Men in the crowd shook their fists and shouted curses at Milo. “Burn his house!” someone shouted. “Burn down the villain’s house!” I looked uneasily at the soldiers who stood rigidly at attention on the Senate House steps.

  Plancus quieted the crowd so that Philemon could go on. “They took us up the hill to Milo. He was standing in the road with a lot of men around him. When he s
aw us he stamped his foot and had a tantrum like a child. I thought that was the end of us, that they’d kill us right there in the road. But Milo ordered his men to gag us and put bags over our heads. Then we were shoved into some sort of wagon or carriage and they took us to a place a few miles away—Milo’s own villa in Lanuvium, as it turned out. They locked us in an underground storage room. And that’s where we stayed for two long months while they fed us on kitchen scraps and moldy bread. Then we heard from one of the men guarding us that Milo had finally made up his mind to have us killed. I don’t want to say too much about how we escaped, as there were those in Milo’s villa who helped us do it.”

  “You said you were prisoners for two months,” yelled someone in the crowd. “But it’s been more like three months since Clodius was killed. What have you been doing in the month since you escaped? Why haven’t we heard from you before?”

  “I can answer that,” said Plancus. “These men have been lying low. Are you surprised? Milo spared their lives once, but what would stop him from killing them if he could catch them a second time? Now it finally looks as if Milo will be brought to justice after all, and so these men have come forward. Truth bides its time.”

  “But is it the truth?” shouted another man in the crowd. “The whole story sounds suspicious to me. You Clodians looked everywhere and you never could find anybody who saw the actual killing, and now you’ve suddenly come up with five witnesses who claim they were there on the spot! And if it seems a bit funny that we haven’t heard from them in all this time, oh, that’s because they just happen to have been held prisoner for a couple of months! It’s all a bit incredible, if you ask me. Do they have any proof that Milo held them captive?”

  One of the four men ran to the front of the platform and shook his fist. “Proof? You want proof of something? I can think of a way to prove whether or not you have blood in your veins!”

  There were more shouts and threats. The mood began to turn ugly. I looked toward the soldiers. Was it my imagination, or had they all moved a few steps closer? Plancus shook his head and gestured for calm, but more and more shouting matches began to break out. I nudged Eco, who nodded his consent, and we made our way out of the crowd.