Murder on the Appian Way (19 page)

"Where were your husband's bodyguards?" I asked.

"Those particular bodyguards?" said Fulvia. "I don't know where they were that day, but I know where they are now — off working in me mines." There was a glint in her eyes that made her look, for that instant, almost as hard as her mother. "Anyway, Publius got away unscathed."

"Except for his dignity!" said Sempronia. "Ducking into a cabinet under a stairway in some rat-infested warehouse on the river — like a cowering slave fleeing from his master's whip in some second-rate comedy."

"That's enough, Mother." Fulvia turned her flinty gaze to Sempronia. The test of wills between the two of them was almost palpable, like the grating sound of steel against a whetting stone. Sempronia visibly relented, sinking back beneath her red blanket. Fulvia, protector of her dead husband's dignity, sat upright. What sort of man had Clodius been, to contend with the two of them on a daily basis, and with his sister thrown in for good measure? No wonder he had thought himself worthy to run the city, if he had learned to keep control of his own household.

"What was the nature of this quarrel between your husband and Antony?"

"I told you, I never really knew what started the incident." "But surely you have some idea."

Fulvia became distant again, gazing out of the window. Was this oscillation between harsh clarity and withdrawal calculated to keep me off balance, or was it simply her nature, or a kind of malady induced by the shock of her husband's murder? "You needn't be concerned with such specifics, Gordianus. All I want is to find out whether Marc Antony played any part whatsoever in what happened to Publius on the Appian Way."

"First, I think I would need to determine to my own satisfaction exactly what did happen on the Appian Way."

"Does that mean you'll accept the task?"

"No. I'll have to think about it first."

"When can you give me your answer?"

I rubbed my chin. "Tomorrow?"

Fulvia nodded.

"In the meantime," I said, "I want you to tell me exactly what happened that day, so far as you know. I want to know what Clodius was doing away from Rome, who might have known of his movements, who brought his body back to Rome, and how the skirmish began."

Fulvia drew a deep breath. "In the first place, this talk of an ambush is complete nonsense, unless it was Milo who ambushed Clodius. It was certainly Milo's men who began the fight, without any provocation whatsoever. My husband was completely blameless. And the atrocities Milo's men committed at our country villa afterwards, terrorizing the servants..."

An hour later our interview came to an end.

I still had not made up my mind about helping Fulvia, though a remuneration in silver had been mentioned that was sorely tempting, especially considering the damage that had been done to my house and the fact that I needed more bodyguards. It seemed that the more prosperous I grew, the more costly it became to live — literally, to stay alive. Simple necessity made Fulvia's offer attractive; it would also give me an excuse to go poking about into the incident that had set Rome aflame and ended in the death of a man very close to me. On the other hand, as always, there was the degree of danger to be considered. Bethesda would say I was mad. So would Eco, probably, before he insisted on sharing the danger with me.

My head was full of these thoughts as I rode home beside Clodia in her litter, but not so full that I failed to notice her perfume and the warmth of her leg where it pressed against mine.

"Did you accept my sister-in-law's commission?" she asked.

"Not yet."

We arrived at my house. As I moved to step out of the litter, Clodia gripped my arm. "If you do accept, Gordianus, I hope that you'll share with me whatever you may discover. It matters to me very much, to know all I can about my brother's death."

It was the sixth hour of the day and I was hungry for the midday meal. I headed towards the kitchen, but Davus approached me in the hall and told me that Eco was waiting for me. I gathered from the look on Davus's face that someone had severely scolded him for letting me go out without him.

I found Eco in my study, and also Bethesda. "Husband, where have you been?"

"Didn't Davus tell you? I was called away on business."

Bethesda's nostrils twitched. She cocked her head. Self-consciously I raised my sleeve to my nose and breathed a faint scent of spikenard and crocus oil.

"Clodia," declared Bethesda. "Oh, I knew already. Davus told me about seeing her litter."

"What did she want, Papa?" Eco looked almost as disapproving as Bethesda.

"Actually," I began, and then was interrupted by the reappearance of Davus at the door.

"Another visitor, Master." "Yes?"

"He says his name is Tiro " It was like the old Etruscan adage,

I thought. No rain for a month, and then a downpour. "He says that you're invited to come and share a midday meal with Marcus Tullius Cicero."

"And Eco is invited, too, of course," said Tiro, suddenly looking over Davus's shoulder. What had become of the retiring, perfectly behaved slave who would never have thought of taking the liberty of wandering unaccompanied through a citizen's house? Tiro had become a brash freedman, it seemed, and proof of the general consensus that manners in the Republic had all gone to Hades.

"I am hungry," Eco conceded, patting his belly.

"And I'm starving," I said.

Bethesda crossed her arms and said nothing. Imperious she might be, but she was not Sempronia or Fulvia, after all. Thank Jupiter for that.

IX

Armed men stood guard at the door of Cicero's house and patrolled the roof. More men were stationed inside the foyer. I felt as if I were entering a general's camp.

The shutters had been closed in the dining room to keep out the cold. Pallid winter light seeped in from the garden, warmed by the glow of hanging lamps. Cicero was already settled on a dining couch with Marcus Caelius beside him. Tiro gestured for Eco and me to take places on the couch opposite, which was long enough for all three of us to share.

Caelius was looking smug about something, as usual, which irritated me, as usual. "Marcus Caelius, you've come up in the world since I last saw you."

He lazily raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, you appear to be a free citizen now. When our paths last crossed in the Forum — in that shed behind the temple -1 took you and Titus Annius Milo for runaway slaves."

Cicero and Tiro frowned. Eco glanced at me uncertainly. Caelius's face became a blank mask for a moment, then he burst out laughing. "Oh, Gordianus, I wish I'd thought of that one myself! 'Caelius has come up in the world.' " He wagged his finger. "If one of my rival tribunes uses it against me, I shall know you've taken to writing speeches for the enemy."

"Gordianus would never consider doing that, surely," said Cicero, fixing his eyes on me. "Shall we plunge straight into the meal? I can hear your stomachs growling from here. Only simple fare, I'm afraid. The cook tells me it's impossible to find provisions in the markets. But it's best for a man to keep his diet simple, anyway."

Cicero had suffered from chronic dyspepsia for as long as I had known him.

The food was superb, nonetheless. A fish soup with dumplings was followed by bits of roasted chicken wrapped in pickled grape leaves with an aromatic cumin sauce. Cicero had learned to appreciate the finer pleasures which befitted a man of his stature.

He ate cautiously, nonetheless, scrutinizing each spoonful and slice before putting it into his mouth, as if he could tell by looking which morsel might set off his indigestion. "Speaking of coming up'- or going down — in the world, Gordianus, it strikes me that accepting a ride in the litter of a certain lady these days would cause many people to think that the passenger had lowered himself considerably."

"How could that be? A litter goes to and fro, Cicero, not up and down."

Caelius laughed. "It all depends who's in the litter with her."

Cicero looked at Caelius shrewdly. "Not a prudent comment, my friend, considering your own history with the lady in question. Or the role you played in her -"

"Comeuppance!" said Caelius, almost choking on a bite of chicken to get the word out ahead of Cicero. I gathered it was a sort of game between them, punning at the expense of their enemies, particularly the Clodii.

"I assume you're referring to a visitor I had earner today," I said.

"The lady who swept you away," said Caelius.

"How is it that you know who my visitors are, Cicero? I'd hate to think that my house is being watched."

Cicero put down his spoon. "Now really, Gordianus! We live on the same street. I have slaves and visitors coming and going all day. They all know the lady's litter. Everyone does. She could hardly park the thing in front of your house without people noticing." He picked up the spoon again and toyed with it. "But the curious thing is that you should have gone off with her. I don't know where - you see, I don't have anyone watching you, or else they'd have followed."

"But you'd like to know?"

"Only if you care to tell me."

"As a matter of fact, it wasn't the lady in question who — well, she does have a name, doesn't she, so why not use it? Yes, I left in Clodia's litter, but it wasn't Clodia who wanted me."

"Pity," said Caelius.

"Is it? I wouldn't know." The edge in my voice surprised me.

"Clodia was only acting as go-between. She took me to her sister-in-law's house, if you must know."

"I see." Cicero didn't seemed surprised. Had he sent a spy to follow the litter after all? "Would it betray a confidence to tell us what Fulvia wanted with you?"

"She wanted my help in a certain personal matter. Nothing unusual."

"Oh, I seriously doubt that."

"Really? I suppose you think she wanted my help in something to do with her husband's death. But we all know the story behind that already, don't we? Milo himself laid out the facts at Caelius's condo for all Rome to hear. Clodius staged a vicious ambush, the dde turned against him, one of Milo's slaves put an end to him. Ask Caelius. He was there. He heard the story just as Eco and I did, though Milo was cut off before he could quite finish." Caelius returned my glance, unblinking and unamused. "No, Fulvia hardly said a word about Milo, if that's what you're thinking. Nor did she have much to say about Milo's friend, Marc Antony."

Cicero looked genuinely nonplused. "Antony? Milo's friend? I doubt that the two of them even know each other."

I looked at Caelius, who seemed as lost as Cicero — no telltale smirk, no twitch of secret amusement.

"Then I must be mistaken. Perhaps I mixed up the names. That happens more and more as I get older. You're only a little younger than I am, Cicero. Don't you find it's a problem, keeping names straight? A man learns so many of them over a long lifetime. Where do all the names go? It's like words on a tablet, you can only fit in so many, and then you have to write smaller and smaller until the letters become illegible and the scribbles all run together. Some people have a gift for names, I suppose, or even a slave especially trained for the task."

Cicero nodded. "Tiro has always had a knack for keeping names straight. He's saved me from making many a gaffe - all those small-town voters from the hinterland who take offence if you can't remember their family tree all the way back to King Numa!" It was a politician's joke. We all laughed, but Caelius practically brayed.

"But this business about Marc Antony ..." said Cicero.

I shrugged. "As I said, he was hardly mentioned at all. You say he's not a friend of Milo. Is he friend of yours, then, Cicero?"

He looked at me thoughtfully. "We're not enemies, if that's what you mean."

It was my turn to look puzzled.

"There's no ill will between Marc Antony and myself" he said, "at least not on my part."

"Come, Cicero," said Caelius, rolling his eyes. "It's obvious that Gordianus is looking for information about Antony. Why, I can't imagine. But there's no reason to be coy. Gordianus is your guest, sharing your food. I suggest we tell him whatever he wants to know. And then, perhaps at another time, he'll return the favour and tell us something he knows."

Cicero looked dubious for a moment, then opened his hands in a gesture of acquiescence. "What do you already know about Marc Antony?"

"Almost nothing. I know that he's one of Caesar's lieutenants, and I understand he's back from Gaul to run for office."

"A quaestorship," said Caelius, "and likely to win a spot, if and when there's a vote."

"His politics?"

"He's allied with Caesar, of course," said Cicero. "Other than that, his only programme so far as I can discern is self-advancement."

"He's an original then, unique among Roman politicians," I said. Neither Cicero nor Caelius responded to this joke. Tiro predictably frowned, taking offence on behalf of his former master. Eco kept a straight face but shook his head almost imperceptibly, wondering at his father's impertinence.

"I understand he's very popular with his troops," I said. "So my son Meto tells me."

"And why not? Antony has the common touch." Cicero's tone was not complimentary. "He's of noble birth, but they say he drinks and carouses with the lowest soldiers from the barracks. He's always been like that. He used to hang out with his mother's household slaves and freedmen when he was growing up. Always the little boy who liked to get dirty. Always attracted to loud, vulgar pleasures. Well, he got a bad start."

"Tell me."

"One would have to go back to his grandfather, at least..." Of course, I thought; the career of any Roman of high birth could never be described beginning merely with his own birth. "The old fellow was quite a power back when I was growing up — one of my tutors in rhetoric, as a matter of fact, and one of the best. Magnificent speeches! Words that rumbled like thunder! But he would never publish them; he said that only a fool would do that, because it just gave your enemies a way to point out your inconsistencies." Cicero, who had made a career of publishing and disseminating his speeches, laughed ruefully.