A murder on the Appian way rsr-5 Page 14

I shrugged, not sure whether to respond to the compliment or the insinuation.

  "I understand that you've paid some calls on Cicero recently." She fixed her eyes on me.

  "Not in the last few days."

  "But since my husband's murder."

  "Yes, on a couple of occasions. How did you know?"

  "Let's just say that I inherited my husband's eyes and ears."

  And his calculated manner as well, I thought. She was all in black, to be sure, but I saw no other signs of mourning. Had her hysterical outburst before the crowd in the forecourt that night been purely for show, or was it a genuine release of the anguish that she otherwise held in check? She certainly seemed controlled at the moment. Clodia was more like the grieving widow, I thought, and Fulvia more like the impassive heir, wasting no tears as she took on her husband's mantle.

  "You're trying to figure me out," she said. "Don't bother. And I won't try to figure you out. Your business with Cicero is your own affair. I won't ask you to do anything that compromises whatever relationship you have with him. Or with Milo, for that matter." I raised my hand to object, but she went on. "Everyone knows that Milo was responsible for my husband's death. That's not what I want you to find out for me."

  "What, then?"

  For the first time there was a glimmer of discomfort on her race — a slight wrinkling of the forehead, a trembling of the lips. "There's a certain man, a friend of my husband. An old friend of mine as well, actually. He's approached me, offering his services when the time comes to prosecute Milo. I could use his help, his… support. But…"

  "Yes?"

  "I'm not sure that I can trust him." "Can you tell me his name?"

  "Marc Antony." She raised an eyebrow. "You know him?" "No."

  "But the look on your face — "

  "I know his name, yes. One of Caesar's men — oh yes, now I remember. Our paths crossed that very night. As I was leaving your house, he was on his way here. He happens to know one of my sons. We exchanged a few words."

  "Only a few?"

  "Let me think. He asked me if the rumour was true. About Publius Clodius. I told him it was."

  Sempronia rustled her blanket. Would her daughter ever acquire such a hardened face?

  "And how did Antony react?" said Fulvia.

  "It was dark. I could hardly see his face. But his voice was rather wistful, as I recall. He said something like, 'Ah, it's all over, then. The end of Publius, for good or ill." Then he went on his way."

  Fulvia gazed out the window at the distant Capitoline. It was Sempronia who answered. "He ended up here. But Fulvia was in no condition to see him, or anyone. Antony spent some time talking with the other men in the anteroom and then left. So we know that Antony was here in Rome that night."

  "Yes," said Fulvia, keeping her eyes on something far away. "But where was he earlier that day?"

  "Are you saying that you believe he had something to do with your husband's death?"

  Fulvia didn't answer. Sempronia clutched at the red blanket. "The fellow tried to murder Clodius with his bare hands only a year ago!"

  Fulvia returned from wherever her thoughts had taken her. "My mother exaggerates." "Do I?"

  "What's this about?" I said.

  "You never heard the story?" said Fulvia. "I should have thought it would have made the rounds, such a juicy bit of gossip. Perhaps for once the people concerned managed to keep their mouths shut. There was no cause for scandal, just a dispute between two old friends, nothing more."

  "It would have been considerably more if Antony had succeeded!" said Sempronia.

  "But he didn't," insisted Fulvia. "Perhaps you should explain," I said.

  Fulvia nodded. "It happened out on the Field of Mars last year, on one of the election days that ended up being cancelled. All the candidates were present, haranguing their supporters. I'm told there was the usual milling about, some scuffling, men with moneybags offering last-minute bribes, a few minor skirmishes. You know what it's like. I mean, being a man, you must have been to elections and seen for yourself Perhaps you were there that day."

  "No. Actually, the last time I voted in a consular election was ten years ago, when Catilina ran."

  Sempronia was suddenly interested. "You voted for Catilina?"

  "No. Actually, I voted for a fellow with no head called Nemo."

  The two women regarded me curiously.

  "It's a very long story. Never mind. No, I wasn't there on the day you're talking about. But I can picture the scene. What happened?"

  "Antony and my husband had words," said Fulvia. "As I understand it, the exchange began in a friendly manner, but it didn't end that way. Publius was always a bit vague as to who said what to whom."

  "But we know how it turned out," said Sempronia, with equal parts of disdain and amusement in her voice, "with Antony drawing his sword and chasing Publius from one end of the Field of Mars to the other."

  "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 ve
ry 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.

  XI

  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 ke
eping 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."