A murder on the Appian way rsr-5

by Steven Saylor

  "Darkness fell. There was a howling in the woods. Wild beasts crept out of the forest into the clearing. They could smell his fear, sense his helplessness. They only nipped at him at first, but when they saw that he couldn't defend himself, they clambered onto him, fangs flashing. They tore him apart. They devoured him alive.

  "The next morning, the horrified woodsmen found what was left of Milo of Croton." Pompey sipped his wine. "Need I belabour certain obvious parallels to the peril in which our Milo finds himself?"

  "No, Great One. You seem to know a great deal about both Milos."

  "My Either used to tell me stories about Milo of Croton when I was a boy. As for Titus Annius Milo, he and I have been allies now and then."

  "But not any longer?"

  "Clodius and I were allies once, too," he said, deflecting the question, "just as Caesar and I were once allies, and still are, for all I know."

  "I don't understand, Great One."

  "Some things only the Fates seem to-fathom.- No matter. What about you, Finder? Who are your allies? Whom do you serve? You seem to be a man who moves through every camp but belongs to none."

  "It would seem that way, Great One."

  "That makes you a rather unusual fellow, Finder. A valuable man to know."

  "I'm not sure how, Great One."

  "I want you to do a bit of work for me."

  I felt several things at once — excitement, wariness, a sinking sensation. "Perhaps, Great One. If I can."

  "I want you to take a trip down the Appian Way, to the place where Clodius was killed. Take along your son, if you like. Have a look at the site. Talk to the local people. See what you can find out. If you're as good as your name, perhaps you'll discover a few things that others have overlooked."

  "Why me, Great One? Surely there are other men you could send."

  "There's no one who could move as freely as you seem to move between Fulvia's house and Cicero's. As I said, you're an unusual fellow."

  "The Fates seem to have landed me in a curious spot."

  "You're not the only one. We must all submit to the Fates." He drained his wine slowly, never taking his eyes off me. "Finder, let me explain something to you. As a general, I have been very nearly infallible. I've moved from triumph to triumph without a misstep, with hardly even a moment's hesitation. I have the instinct for it, you see. A peculiar genius, all my own. I could do it with my eyes shut. But politics — politics is another matter. I approach the Forum the same way I approach a battlefield. I marshal my forces, I lay out a plan — but things never seem to go exactly as I want. I'll think I'm headed straight for the prize, and suddenly I find that I don't know where in Hades I am, or how I got there. I lose all sense of direction.

  "Julia always said I had bad advisors. Probably right. On a battlefield, your troops are here, the enemy is there, and a man either gives you the right information or else hell be dead the next day. But in this hazy murk, a dagger can be aimed at your heart and you never know it, and so-called advisors have a habit of telling you what they think you want to hear, never mind the facts. I wouldn't care to tell you how many times I've charged down a path using a map that led me straight into a brick wall. That mustn't happen now — not now! No false advice, no fawning lies, no blind spots. I must know the lay of the land, the disposition of the enemy, the precise movements of all the forces around me. First of all, and above all else, I want to know exactly what happened on the Appian Way. Do you understand?"

  "I think so, Great One."

  "Can I trust you, Finder?"

  I looked at him for a long moment, wondering if I could trust Pompey.

  "No need to answer," he finally said. "My general's instinct senses no deceit in you. So: will you do what I ask?"

  Fulvia had already asked me to investigate the circumstances of her husband's death. Now Pompey was doing the same. I felt Eco's eyes on me. I took a deep breath.

  "I'll go down the Appian Way. I'll find out whatever I can about Clodius's death."

  Pompey nodded. "Good. I'm sure we can agree on terms; I've never asked a man to march for me without proper payment. As for lodging, you can stay at my villa while you're down there. It's not far from Clodius's place. Probably just a stone's throw from the spot where he was killed."

  He took a sip of Falernian and gazed down at the city. "I shall be leaving Rome myself in a day or two. When I come back, I shall put an end to all this nonsense."

  "Nonsense, Great One?"

  By a wave of his hand he indicated the pillars of smoke. "This infernal disorder."

  "But how, Great One?"

  Pompey looked at me shrewdly. "I suppose there's no harm in telling you. Tomorrow, the Senate will convene in the portico at my theatre, out on the Field of Mars."

  "Outside the city walls?"

  "Yes. That way I can attend — legally attend — the proceedings. Let no man say that Pompey thinks himself above the law! A lot of business has piled up, as you can imagine. A number of proposals shall be put forth. One of them is to rebuild the Senate House. No controversy there. I shall suggest that Milo's brother-in-law Faustus Sulla be given the contract. Let no man say that Pompey is unfair to the relatives of Milo! Besides, such a commission seems only proper, since it was Sulla, Faustus's father, who remodelled the old Senate House. Thus the Senate shall pay homage to the memory of the dictator Sulla and his achievements. Many Romans flinch at that word, dictator. They forget how important it is to have some mechanism whereby supreme power can be placed in the hands of a single man, when circumstances demand it."

  He took another sip of wine and stared at the pillars of smoke as if he could disperse them by sheer will power. "And there will be another, more important proposal — that the Senate declare a state of emergency and issue the Ultimate Decree. Do you know what that means, Finder?"

  "Yes," I said, remembering the last time such a decree had been issued, when Cicero was consul and had demanded extraordinary powers to deal with Catilina and his circle. "The Ultimate Decree instructs the consuls to do 'whatever may be necessary to save the state.' "

  "Martial law," said Pompey, bluntly. "But there are no consuls."

  "Yes, that's a problem. How can troops be levied from the countryside if there are no consuls to levy them? Well, it's only a technicality, really. Someone other than a consul will have to do the job, of course. Fortunately, as a man who has twice been elected consul and as the current commander of the Roman troops in Spain, I have both the necessary expertise to raise a militia here in Italy, and the skill to deploy it in the most efficient manner to bring order to the city."

  "The Senate will agree to this?"

  "I'm certain they will. It's all a matter of counting the votes ahead of time. Oh, some of Caesar's supporters will make a fuss, as may some of the more hidebound conservatives, like Cato. A terrible precedent, they shall say, but what other solution have they to offer? They won't protest too vehemently. I shall find ways to mollify them. The important thing is that order be restored. If we must resort to certain innovations to achieve that end, if the law must be slightly bent, then so be it."

  He at last turned his gaze from the pillars of smoke, which, for the moment at least, had refused to disperse. "Well then, shall we discuss your fee, Finder?"

  XIII

  A man commences a journey on the Appian Way with the smell of fish in his nostrils and the sound of dripping water in his ears.

  The smell comes from the fish markets just outside the Capena Gate, at the southern end of the city. Fishermen from the Tiber and as far away as Ostia string up their catches on lines, presenting row upon row of fish hung up by their gaping jaws, with here and there a basket full of molluscs, octopi or squid. On a normal day, at a normal hour, the place resounds with the jabber of kitchen slaves, housewives and marketers. We set out in the grey hour before dawn, before the markets would normally be open, but even so the place was unnaturally quiet and deserted. According to Bethesda, there had been no market outside the Capena
Gate for days. Like startled minnows, the fishermen had all been scared away. Still, there was a strong odour of fish about the place, as if the sea had penetrated the very stones beneath our feet.

  The sound of dripping water comes from a leak in the Appian aqueduct. It was built by the same Appius Claudius Caecus who built the Appian Way, two hundred and sixty yean ago. When the aqueduct reaches the city it merges with the wall and for a considerable distance flows inside it, a river within a wall, a marvel of design and engineering spoiled by only one defect: at the Capena Gate, the aqueduct leaks. In warm months the great arching blocks of stone overhead are covered with dripping moss, like the ceiling of a grotto. In the dead of winter the moss dies back and sometimes the water freezes into a dully gleaming sheet of ice. On this morning it was not that cold. The water seeped, slowly but freely. As we stepped through the gate, one drop in particular, an especially large, especially frigid drop, struck the back of my neck and wriggled down my spine. I gave a jerk and must have made a curious noise, for Eco gripped my arm and Davus looked at me with alarm.

  I knew what Davus must be thinking: it's an ill omen to begin the first step of a journey with a shudder and a curse from the master. Eco, less superstitious, probably feared that I was having a seizure. Then a drop glanced off the tip of Eco's nose, making him blink in confusion. When Davus tilted his head back and opened his mouth to laugh, another drop struck him square between the eyes.

  "There, now we've all been anointed by the Capena Gate. A very good omen," I declared for the benefit of Davus.

  Eco raised a dubious eyebrow. "Where is this stable that Pompey mentioned? I've never noticed it before."

  I looked around. Towards the left, just beyond the market, stood the dense grove of trees that surrounded the shrine of Egeria with its limestone springs. It could hardly be in that direction. I looked towards the right. "That must be the place, over there. It looks like a stable, doesn't it? Usually all the hanging fish would hide it from view. I see an open door and a light inside. Someone must be up already."

  A narrow path flanked by cypress trees led to the long, low building in the shadow of the city wall. I took a step inside the open door and was met by an odour of horse dung and hay that was a welcome relief to the stink offish, then by a pitchfork aimed at my throat.

  "Who are you? What do you want?" The man held a lamp in his other hand. The glow lit up his gaunt, wary face.

  "We come from your master," I said. "I thought you'd be expecting us."

  "Maybe. What are you called?"

  "Finder."

  "All right, then." The man lowered his pitchfork. "I have to be careful. There's been a lot of trouble lately. Desperate men, damned good horses, and me in between — me the one who'll pay if there's any stolen. Understand? And I'll tell you, the master keeps some fine ones here. Fine horses! Takes a military man to really appreciate what a horse is worth. Keeps them here for convenience, for when he wants to take a ride to his villa down south. Come along and see. Careful, follow the lamp. He said you could have your pick. How many are you? Three? Here, I happen to have three blacks, not a spot of white on them. Those are the ones I'd take if I were you."

  I saw the three he meant and reached towards the nearest. The beast had a long, powerful neck and bright eyes. "Why? Are these the fastest?"

  He shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But they'd for sure be the hardest to see if you do any riding after dark. Something to think about, these days, making yourself hard to see if you're out in the open at night."

  The three horses looked fit and strong enough, and were very black indeed; even in the glow of the man's lamp they tended to vanish into the shadowy stalls. I took his advice.

  Davus had some trouble mounting his horse. It turned out he had never ridden a horse before.

  Eco looked thoroughly disgusted — not angry at Davus but at himself for not thinking of such an elementary detail before we set out. What use was a bodyguard on horseback if he couldn't control his mount? Davus was now my personal bodyguard; I should have been the one to ask if he could ride, but I was so used to Belbo that I took it for granted. "You've never even been on a horse?" I asked.

  "No, Master."

  "You know nothing about riding?"

  "Nothing, Master." Davus peered uncertainly at the ground on either side, like a man atop a rickety table.

  "Then today you shall learn how to ride," I said. And tomorrow you will hardly be able to stand upright, I thought. What good would a bodyguard be, with saddle sores and wooden limbs?

  The hone snorted. Davus gave a start and gripped the reins rightly. The stableman was greatly amused. "Don't worry! I tell you, these hones are the best. Trained to do all the thinking. Battle hones — keep their wits no matter what. Smarter than your average slave, that's for sure. The Great One even lets women ride them!"

  Davus took this as a challenge. He wrinkled his brow, forced the queasy look from his face and sat upright.

  We ambled away from the stables, letting the mounts get a feel for us. Eco was fretful, but not about Davus. "Do you think it was a good idea, bringing strangers into the house?"

  "They're Pompey's men. Don't you think we can trust them?"

  "I suppose so…"

  "It was the only way. Well, perhaps not the only way…" In feet, for the time that Eco and I would be away, Pompey had offered to allow Bethesda, Menenia and Diana and whatever attendants they needed to take up residence in his old family house inside the city wall, in the Carinae district, on the western slope of the Esquiline. It made sense; they would certainly have been safe there, and the place was situated midway between Eco's house and mine. But I didn't want to slip quite so far, quite so quickly into Pompey's camp. Putting my family completely in his care would mean putting them completely in his power, and in a way that outsiders would surely notice. On the other hand, it was out of the question for me to leave Rome even for a few days without doing something to safeguard the family households, especially if Eco went with me, which he insisted on doing. The solution was to borrow a troop of bodyguards from Pompey as part of my fee, sufficient to protect both the house on the Esquiline and the house on the Palatine in our absence. Pompey was agreeable. His men had arrived at my house early that morning before Eco and I departed.

  "I didn't like the looks of some of those fellows," brooded Eco.

  "I think that's the point. They're frightening.''

  "But can we trust them?"

  "Pompey says so. I doubt that there's a man on earth better at keeping discipline in his own ranks than Pompey." "Bethesda wasn't pleased."

  "Bethesda wasn't pleased about any of this. Her household is in chaos, her husband is traipsing off into danger again, and another man's gladiators are tracking mud into her house. But I suspect she was secretly glad to have the protection. Those men who ransacked the house and killed Belbo — that shook her more than she'll admit. And mark my words, by the time we get back, she'll have every one of Pompey's brutes trained to take off his shoes before he steps on the carpets and to ask permission before he goes to the privy."

  Eco laughed. "Perhaps Pompey will take her on as a drill sergeant!" We rode on a bit. "Menenia was reasonable enough about the whole thing," he noted. The wistfulness in his voice made me suspect they had come to more than a mental understanding during the night.

  "Menenia is the soul of reason," I said.

  "And Diana-"

  "Don't say it. I saw the way she was looking at some of those fellows. I'd rather not think about it."

  Davus shifted uneasily and cleared his throat, but Eco pressed on.' "She's seventeen, Papa. She should get married soon."

  "Perhaps, but how? A decent marriage means negotiations between the families, planning, announcements to friends — all the things we went through when you married Menenia. Can you imagine managing all that, with things as they are now?"

  "The riots will pass, Papa. Things will get back to normal soon enough."

  "Will they?"

&n
bsp; "Life goes on, Papa. Things are bound to get better."

  "Are they? This time I'm not so sure…"

  There was not a person to be seen along the road, at least not any living person. Lining the way, as always along the major thoroughfares outside any city, were a succession of tombs and sepulchres, large and small. Burial within city walls is illegal, so the neighbourhoods of the dead begin just outside the walls. Crooked cenotaphs with inscriptions worn smooth by time stood alongside newly sculpted family portraits in marble and limestone. Among the grandest tombs were those of the Scipios, the family whose glory had dominated Rome in the age before my father's birth. They conquered Carthage and began the work of empire; now they were dust.

  Equally grand were the tombs of the Claudii. The Appian Way was their road, or so they considered it, since it had been built by their ancestor. The dead Claudii in their ornate stone tombs were clustered thickly along the way, like jostling spectators at a parade. The Claudii continued to make their mark on Rome; Publius Clodius, affecting the plebeian variant of the name, had been the latest to hold sway. As Pompey had noted, his murder on the road of his ancestors had been a twist of fate of the sort so beloved by melodramatic playwrights and sentimental rhetoricians. The irony might some day provide a theme for schoolboy compositions: Appius Claudius Caecus built the Appian Way. Two hundred and sixty years later his descendant Publius Clodius was murdered there. Compare and contrast the achievements of these two men.