John Roberts - The King Of Sacrifices

"Senator," Livia said, "you are renowned for your expertise in these things. We want you to investigate this murder and report to us."

"I see. Has a praetor been assigned?"

"Not yet," Octavius said. "Should your investigation produce evidence sufficient for a trial before a praetor's court, I assure you that all the proper forms will be respected. I am, after all. First Citizen, not Dictator." Such piety.

I rose. "The name of the unfortunate gentleman?"

" Aulus Gratidius Tubero. He was discovered dead in his house this morning." His spoiled-brat mouth twisted at the sheer impertinence of this death.

"Then as a former praetor and many times a Iudex ” I said, "I will undertake this investigation." It was mealy-mouthed of me to pretend that I was duty-bound by constitutional tradition to do as he wished. I merely did not want to admit that I did Octavius's bidding like everyone else. One could not be long in his Senate without contracting this disease of pious political hypocrisy.

Livia saw me to the door, a fine-boned hand resting on my equally bony shoulder. "Decius, you know I would never seek to influence your investigation."

I was expecting this. "What do you want?"

"My husband and I would be most grateful if our family were to be kept out of this dreadful mess."

Uh-oh, I thought. "Not Julia again?" Between them, Livia and Octavius had a sizable brood. Most were turning out, strangely, to be fairly decent. Tiberius and Drusus, Livia's boys by a previous marriage, were making their names as excellent soldiers. Julia was another matter. Although only nineteen years old, she was already a widow, her husband and Octavius's designated heir, Marcellus, having died a year or two previously. She had a reputation for extravagance, overweening pride and a taste for liaisons with married men. This was a bit of an embarrassment, since Octavius, in his zeal to restore Roman family values had declared adultery a crime; a laughable concept if ever there was one.

"I'm afraid so," Livia affirmed sadly. "I fear that someone has laid her under a curse."

More likely under every bush and ceiling in Rome, I thought, wisely refraining from chuckling at her unfortunate choice of words.

"However, she is now betrothed to Vipsanius Agrippa." Her lip curled only slightly. There was venom between Livia and her husband's loyal soldier-advisor.

"Agrippa? The man's near my own age!"

"Don't be ridiculous. He's the same age as my husband. She needs a mature man who can keep her on a tight rein. This marriage is important and we can't have her embroiled in some squalid scandal."

"I'll make no promises," I said. I did not fool her. It was why she put up with my show of insolence. She knew that I would not endanger my family to save my wounded Republican pride.

"Nor would I ask you to," she said, smiling. "Your first duty is to the Senate and People." My, how the woman did love to rub it in.

As we walked from the palace Paris said, "So that's the First Citizen. He's not much to look at, is he?"

"Neither is a dagger in the back," I told him. "But you'd be foolish to ignore either one."

The house of Aulus Gratidius Tubero was situated on a slope of the Aventine overlooking the Circus Maximus. In the riots following Caesar's assassination the area had burned to the ground and a number of fine houses were built on the very desirable sites thus provided. There was a splendid view of the beautifultemple of Diana to the north. In front of the gate stood a pair of the chinking men.

"No admittance by order of Imperator Augustus," one of them said. So he already had them using his new title. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the man's thick, German accent.

"I am here by order of that same person," I informed him.

"Who are you?" Clearly, Livia had not bothered to send a messenger ahead.

"I may be the man who killed your grandfather when Caesar was proconsul in Gaul. Let me pass, you Teutonic ox!"

The man reddened, but the other put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't you know a senator when you see one?" This one's accent was at least Italian, although certainly not from Rome. He gave me a perfunctory if reasonably obsequious smile. "Sorry, sir, but our orders were very strict. Are you the Iudex assigned to investigate?"

"I am. I've come here straight from the palace, but if you want to explain to the First Citizen…" I made to go.

"Oh, I'm sure it's all right," the Italian said hastily. "Anyone can see that you are a most distinguished gentleman."

"I should think so," I said, passing between them. Behind me I heard the German grumble something. The other said, in a low voice: "How much trouble can one old winesack of a senator cause, anyway?" Nothing wrong with my hearing, although what I hear does not always please me.

The janitor was chained to the gatepost in the style affected by householders who espouse unwavering adherence to ancestral practices. I've never done it in my house. My janitor always has a hook on the end of his chain. He attaches it to the ring on the gatepost when visitors call. This one announced me and a plump, pleasant-featured woman appeared from within.

"Welcome, Senator Metellus," she said. "I wish your visit could have been at a happier time." She was remarkably composed for a widow of such recent bereavement, but Romans have never been inclined to the sort of extravagant mourning fashionable among barbarians. We have hired mourners for all the wailing and breast-beating. Still, a tear or two might have been appropriate.

"This is such a dreadful occurrence!" she said, actually sounding quite put out. "But I do believe that the First Citizen is being too severe. Those detestable guards out there won't even let the undertaker's men come in. I mean, really! There are rites to be observed, after all!"

This was sounding worse by the minute. If nothing else, Octavius was a stickler for the religious niceties. "So the body is still on the premises?" Since she wasn't grieving heavily, I saw no reason why I should not be blunt.

She shuddered, or pretended to. "Yes, in that disgusting…, well, you will see."

"Then please take me there. I wish to begin my investigation with its prime object." She led me through a courtyard where household slaves stood around looking confused but dry-eyed. When even slaves can't fake a few tears you know that the departed was not a beloved master.

"I was given to understand," I said in a low voice, "that a certain person of the First Citizen's household may be involved." With such circumlocutions did we avoid saying "royal family."

"Oh, that trollop!" she hissed. At least something could rouse her to a pitch of emotion. "She and my husband… The things they… Oh!" The woman had trouble completing sentences.

Somehow, I suspected that the two had been up to more than mere dalliance. I was right.

We approached a door at the rear of the house, an area usually given over to storage, pantries, slave quarters and the kitchen. This was an unusual door, double-leaved, of massive wood construction and strapped with bronze. One leaf was slightly ajar. The smell wafting from within was not agreeable, something like the sort of blood-and-incense aroma you get at a sacrifice, only not as fresh.

"I cannot accompany you within, Senator," the woman said, primly. "It is too ghastly."

I pushed the door open. It was too dark to see much. "1 need light."

Hands folded modestly before her, she turned her head and bawled like a drunken market-woman: "Leonidas! Come here and bring lamps, you lazy wretch!" So much, I thought, for Octavius's new patricians. The menial thus addressed appeared, a few others in tow, bearing lamps.

"You go in first," I said to the slave with the brightest lamp. With a look of extreme distaste, the man passed within.