A murder on the Appian way rsr-5

by Steven Saylor

I suddenly understood the strange look I had seen on Philemon's face in the Salacious Tavern. I had asked why he had not appealed to Tedius's daughter for help when he was herded in bondage up the Appian Way, past the place where Tedius was resting below the House of the Vestals. What I had taken for offence was merely puzzlement. Philemon had never seen Tedia, for Tedia had been up at the House of the Vestals.

  "You hid your face from the Virgo Maxima," I said. "You disguised your voice."

  "Yes. Otherwise the Vestals would have known me."

  "Weren't you proud of what you'd done?"

  "I felt no need to boast or show, my face. I was a mere vessel for the goddess, and it was to the goddess alone that I wished to offer the ring. But the Virgo Maxima refused to take it. She said that such an offering would be impious."

  I shook my head. "Everyone thinks it was Milo's wife who — "

  Tedia laughed. I could tell she was not accustomed to laughing. "Fausta Cornelia? That blasphemous cow? It's hard to imagine her making a prayer for anything, except perhaps for the gods to bring her a new lover every day. What a great joke, that anyone should have mistaken her for me."

  "Where is the ring now?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Because I should like to return it to the family. You admit that taking it was a mistake. The goddess has no use for it. To keep it as a trophy surely would be hubris, a curse on your own house."

  Tedia considered this and seemed about to speak, but her father shook his head. "The ring is the only real evidence against us. All that we've told you is only a story from our own lips. Your witness at the tavern — that girl in the window, I suppose — may have seen that Clodius was still alive, but she couldn't have seen into the litter. No one saw the actual moment of his death except my daughter and me. The Vestals know that a woman brought them Clodius's ring, but they never saw the woman's face. Only the fact that we possess the ring offers any proof of what we did. Why should we give it up to you, Gordianus? What will you tell the family of Clodius, that you recovered the ring from the true killers of their beloved, a woman and a lame old man? Shall we have to suffer their revenge?"

  "What should I tell them, that I happened to find it by the side of the road? Think, Tedia, of the tears you shed when you heard the testimony of Fulvia. Do you really want to keep the ring?"

  She took a breath and began to move, but her father clutched her arm.

  "Only if you make an oath, Gordianus," said Tedius. "No promises!"

  "There will be, if you want the ring. You'll make an oath never to repeat what you heard here today, and in return we shall give it to you. Think, Gordianus, what purpose will it serve to incite the Clodians against my daughter and me? The mob has finally been assuaged by Milo's conviction; you’ll simply make fools of them and set them rioting again. Think how irritated Pompey will be, to discover that his court failed to find the whole truth and that the conviction of Milo is flawed! Rome has been ripped apart by what happened here on the Appian Way. But now the people have been pacified and the wicked on both sides have been punished — Clodius is dead, Milo is exiled. What purpose could there possibly be in delivering a last revelation, except to massage your own vanity, to show off your perseverance and cleverness? Make the oath I require; return the ring to the one who loved Clodius best, and leave the rest to the gods."

  I walked to the window. Below, the town of Aricia, where Clodius had given his final address, had darkened to a jumble of deep blue shadows. I thought for a long time. What did I owe to Milo, who had committed such a grievous offence against me, and would have killed me outright if Cicero had not restrained him? What did I owe to Cicero, who acquiesced to my abduction? Or to the friends and heirs of Clodius, who instigated the riots that resulted in the sacking of my house and the death of Belbo? What did I owe to Rome itself — for who could say any longer what Rome was, or would become in the next few years? All was in flux, all was chaos and confusion. I found myself confronted by what I most craved, the truth, but I also found myself utterly alone; even Eco was not there to share the discovery or advise me. That was just as well; I doubted that he would have approved of the decision I made. I turned back to Sextus Tedius.

  "You have my word; I swear by the shade of my father that I'll keep your secret. Bring me the ring."

  Tedia left the room. While she was gone, a slave entered with a burning taper and lit the lamps, dispelling the growing darkness. Tedia returned and dropped the ring into my open palm, looking glad to be rid of it.

  It was heavy, made of solid gold. I saw the name p. clodius pulcher engraved on it, but was at a loss to see any other ornament. Surely there should be some reference to the glories of his illustrious ancestors? Then I held it to the light and noticed the honeycomb pattern scored into the glittering surface of the ring itself, inside and out, little interlocking polygons like the perfectly fitted stones which paved the Appian Way. The ring was the very image of the great road, cast in a circle without beginning or end, a homage to the place where its wearer had fallen to his enemies and breathed his last with a blue ribbon wound tight around his throat.

  That night we slept in an inn in Aricia. The tavern below was loud and smoky, and the bedding had ticks in it, but I slept better there than I should have in Bovillae, with all its phantoms, living and dead.

  I was up before dawn, and woke the boys. All three of us had to shake Davus to get him up. We were on the. road before the first hour, and made swift progress. We reached the city before midday. I had three last calls to pay, and then I could turn my back for good on all that had happened on the Appian Way.

  XXXVI

  Mopsus and Androcles grew increasingly excited as we made our way through the Forum and up the Ramp to the Palatine. Both were wide-eyed at the sight of so many buildings and people. Davus put on a slightly snobbish air — the city slave condescending to the country slaves. I remembered his own consternation at finding himself in the countryside for the first time in his life, but said nothing.

  All three of them grew quiet as we neared the house. Davus's face grew long. The boys drew closer together. We had hardly stepped into the foyer before Bethesda appeared.

  "So these are the new slaves," she said, ignoring Davus.

  "Yes, this is Mopsus, and this is his brother, Androcles. Boys, this is your new mistress."

  The boys lowered their eyes and sneaked glances at her. Androcles whispered in his older brother's ear, "She's beautiful!"

  Bethesda's lips almost formed a smile. She was resplendent in a saffron-coloured stola and a simple silver necklace, with hair done up very high on her head in such a way that the strands of grey looked like white veins snaking through shimmering black marble. I was almost as awed by her as the boys were.

  "You both look agile and energetic," she said, making the words sound more like a judgment than a compliment. "I suppose we shall find ways to keep you busy. You might be good at carrying messages, I imagine, except that you must be ignorant of the city. You shall have to do a great deal of exploring in the next few days, to acquaint yourselves with the seven hills. Right now, you must be hungry after your trip. Davus will show you where the kitchen is — won't you, Davus?"

  "Yes, Mistress." Davus was the most awed by her of anyone. It was remarkable how small a space such a large fellow could seem to occupy, and how quickly he could make his exit from a room.

  Bethesda and I were left alone.

  "Husband, I did a great deal of thinking yesterday."

  "So did I."

  "You and I must have a serious talk."

  "Can it wait? I have a few more errands to finish today, and then-"

  "I suppose. But by the end of the day, I want a resolution to this matter of Diana and your… and Davus."

  "I agree. Shall we talk this evening, then?"

  "Yes." Our eyes met, and it hardly seemed necessary to talk at all. We were agreed about what to do. I had lived with her long enough to be able to read that much from her eyes.

 
; I ate a quick meal of olives, cheese and fresh bread, then headed out again. I took Davus with me, though a protector hardly seemed necessary. The streets seemed almost preternaturally calm after the furore of recent days.

  The Great One had moved into the city and was in residence at his house in the Carinae district, as I had hoped. He agreed to see me almost at once.

  The house in the Carinae was a sprawling old villa surrounded by newer, taller buildings. It had been owned by Pompey's family for generations. There was a musty smell everywhere in the house, and in the room where Pompey gave audiences there were no fabulous views, only a glimpse of an inner courtyard with a modest fountain. The room was full of old trophies from various military campaigns, some brought back by Pompey from the East, some acquired by his father — exotic weapons and bits of armour, statuettes of obscure gods, shadow puppets from the Parthian borderlands and antique theatre masks from Greece. Lurking discreedy in the corners and shadows, as always, were the soldiers responsible for his safety.

  Pompey sat beside a little table stacked high with scrolls. At my approach, he put aside the document he was reading. "Finder! I was surprised when the doorkeeper announced you. I didn't expect to see you again."

  "And I didn't expect to be able to see you so soon."

  "You happen to have come at the one hour of the day when I do not already have some prior obligation. Do we have unfinished business?"

  "I came to ask a favour, Great One."

  "Good. I always like it when I'm asked for favours, whether I grant them or not. It gives me a chance to live up to my name. What is it you want, Finder?"

  "I understand that a part of the penalty against Milo will be the confiscation of his estate."

  "Not quite his entire estate; I think we may allow him to take along a few personal slaves and such to begin his new life in Massilia. First, everything's to be liquidated to pay off his creditors, which number into legions. After that, we shall see how much is left for the treasury. The estate shall be picked quite clean before the scavenging is finished."

  "I should like to be listed among his creditors."

  "Oh? I have a hard time imagining that you lent him money, Finder. Or did you render services that were never paid for?"

  "Neither of those things. I have a grievance against Milo. He was the man responsible for abducting me and my son and holding us prisoner for over a month. Since I last spoke to you, I acquired proof of this."

  "I see. Practically speaking, you have no legal recourse against him. The man's been convicted and will soon be gone for good. He wouldn't be here to stand trial if you did bring charges against him."

  "I realize that, which is why I came to you, Great One."

  "I see. What is it you want?"

  "I wish to be recognized by the state as one of Milo's creditors. I want a settlement from his estate."

  "And what is the price for what you and your son suffered at his hands?"

  "That can hardly be estimated. But there is an amount I'll settle for." I named it.

  "A rather precise sum," said Pompey. "How did you come by it?"

  "During the worst of the Clodian riots, my house was ransacked. A statue of Minerva in my garden was overturned and damaged. That's the cost to repair it."

  "I see. Is that fair, asking Milo to pay for damage that was done by his enemies?"

  "Not fair in a legal sense, true. But perhaps I could paraphrase something you once said, Great One."

  "What's that?"

  "'Stop quoting laws to us. We carry past-due-bills.' " Pompey found this richly amusing. "I like you, Finder. In coming years, I should like to think that you will be on my side." "I don't understand, Great One."

  "Oh, I think you do. Very well, then, how shall we do this?" He called for a secretary, who composed a memorandum in duplicate. One copy was pressed flat and added to an already high stack in a cabinet against the wall. Pompey signed the other. His secretary rolled it tightly and applied a daub of red wax into which Pompey pressed his ring. "There, have that delivered to Milo's house. Good luck collecting it. There are quite a few rather important people ahead of you. On the other hand, yours is likely to be the smallest bill. Perhaps the estate will pay it off first, simply to get rid of it."

  "Thank you, Great One."

  "Certainly." He smiled, made a gesture of dismissal and strolled across the room. A moment later he turned back, surprised to see that I was still there. "What now, Finder?"

  "I feel a certain conflict, Great One, between an oath I took, and a prior obligation to yourself."

  "Yes?"

  "Now that the trial of Milo is done, do you have any further interest in discovering what happened on the Appian Way?" "I'm not sure what you mean."

  "If I were to tell you that Milo's men gravely, perhaps fatally, wounded Clodius, but that someone else-someone entirely removed from their mutual sphere of enmity — actually finished him off…"

  "Are you saying that the final blow was delivered by a third party?"

  "I have taken an oath not to speak of the details." "I see." Pompey considered this. "Then I suggest that you keep your mouth shut."

  "Should I, Great One?"

  "Yes. By all means, don't break an oath on my account. Clodius

  is dead and burned to ashes. Milo is ruined and about to leave Rome for good. So much for those two. My next task shall be seeing to the punishment of the parties responsible for burning the Senate House:

  The state must deal evenly with all disturbers of the peace, you see,

  or there can be no law and order. Could this revelation of yours

  have any effect on that?"

  "I think not, Great One."

  "Then it's irrelevant and of no interest to me. The murder of Clodius is old business. Do you understand, Finder?" There was a note almost of menace in his voice.

  "Yes, Great One, I think I do."

  The inside of Milo's house seemed oddly familiar, though I had never been there before. The mosaics on the floor, the pale ochre colour of the walls, as well as various objects in the foyer and what I could glimpse of the nearby rooms reminded me at once of Cicero's house. Having no sense for such things himself) Milo had slavishly emulated his great friend's impeccable taste.

  The place also reminded me, in an odd way, of Clodius's great house on the Palatine, for it was clearly in a state of chaos. But where I had seen Clodius's house in the process of being decorated and refurbished, Milo's house was the reverse, in the process of being undecorated and dismantled. Paintings had been removed from the walls and stacked upright. Precious objects were being boxed up. Curtains had been removed from doorways and neatly folded on little tables.

  Like Clodius's mansion on the night of his murder, there was an air of distraction and abandonment in Milo's house. Occasionally a slave would pass by on some errand, looking unhappy and hardly glancing at me. I began to think I had been forgotten. Finally, the slave who had admitted me returned and gestured for me to follow him deeper into the house.

  Was I a fool, leaving Davus outside and going to face Milo alone? I braced myself for the confrontation. I was not sure how I would feel when I saw him. He had done me a great wrong, and I had every reason to despise him, and yet, oddly, the experience of my incarceration made me feel a kind of sympathy for him. It is a terrible thing, for a man to lose all his dreams, to have everything taken away from him except the bare means of sustenance. Milo had risen from obscurity to a position of great power. The consulship itself had been within his grasp — then his world had been shattered in a moment and his destiny had gone spiralling out ofhis control. He had played a dangerous game, and in the end had lost eveiything. Whether he deserved his fate or not, the totality ofhis ruin moved me. Nevertheless, I intended to tell him what I thought ofhis treatment of me, and to demand restitution.

  The slave showed me to a room with a decidedly feminine atmosphere. The walls were painted with scenes of peacocks in full fan strutting across wildly blooming gardens
. A low dresser was covered with little cosmetics boxes, jewellery cases, brushes and burnished hand mirrors all made of fine woods and metals inlaid with precious stones. Across the room, a riot of colourful gowns and stolas spilled from an open wardrobe. Dominating the room was a large sleeping couch with a diaphanous red canopy. The air was scented with jasmine and musk.

  Sounds of splashing and laughter came from a doorway at the far side of the room, which evidently led to a private bath. I could hear both male and female voices. Where had the doorkeeper taken me, and why had he gone off without announcing me? I cleared my throat as loudly as I could.

  The laughter and splashing stopped. There was dead silence. I cleared my throat again and called out, "Milo?" The response was silence, then a burst of laughter and splashing louder than before.

  "Wait there," called a woman's voice. I heard whispered conversation and more laughter. Finally she appeared in the doorway, wearing a loose, unbelted gown which did very little to conceal the plump, voluptuous contours of her body. Masses of ginger-coloured hair were piled and pinned atop her head. Whatever she had been doing in her bath, she had managed not to get her hair wet.

  I had met her father once long ago. The dictator Sulla had been near the end of his life; Fausta Cornelia must have been no more than a child then. Thirty years later, she was still too young to show the ravages of severe dissipation, which had ruined her father's looks, but there was a decided family resemblance — the same fair complexion, the same carnivorous smile, the same wilful fire behind the eyes. She was not graceful; when she moved, some part of her body always seemed to jiggle or sway. Instead of grace, she exuded a ripe fleshiness, and even from a considerable distance I could feel the radiant heat of her body, flushed and pink from her hot bath. Her high birth had attracted two promising husbands; other attributes had attracted a steady string of lovers, and I was being given a good look at them.

  "So, you're the Finder," she said.

  "Yes. I came to see your husband on a matter of business." "My husband isn't here."