John Roberts - The Year of Confusion

“Really? That is intriguing. What is so unique about it?”

I saw no harm in explaining about the broken necks and the odd marks flanking the vertebrae. Like many other aristocrats Brutus fancied himself an expert amateur wrestler, though he couldn’t have gone a single fall with an expert like Marcus Antonius. With his hands he pantomimed various grips and agreed that it didn’t seem possible with the hands alone. “And the garotte is ruled out, you say? I’ve known some Sicilians who are excellent with the garotte.”

“Asklepiodes says it would leave unmistakable marks.”

“I am sure that I heard Demades mention a person or persons with whom he was in dispute, but it doesn’t stick in my memory because I was far more interested in his teachings and discoveries than in his conflicts, which I assumed to be of an academic nature, not something that might cause his murder.”

“Some people take academic matters seriously,” I said, “but I agree that the killer was proficient in more than the studies of Archimedes and the lectures of Plato.”

“Actually, Plato was better known for his dialogues.”

“Well, whatever it was those philosophical buggers did. I think the killer was more likely a professional assassin.”

“Probably hired, then. He would be the most dangerous sort of assassin, too.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“You can’t disarm such a man by searching him for weapons, can you? It looks as if he doesn’t use any. He could get close to his victims unsuspected. If I were a person of power who feared for his life, it would make me most uncomfortable to know such an assassin was at large.”

“That is an excellent point,” I conceded. “I am not certain that it is germane to this particular case, but I would think that a man like this could be very unsettling, indeed. Of course, killing your victim is only half the job. Getting away alive presents special challenges if you’ve just killed a king.”

“Be sure to let me know when you have this man in custody,” Brutus said. “If you don’t find it necessary to kill him upon apprehension, I would like to interview him. I think he must be a very interesting sort of person.”

“I will be most happy to gratify your wish, should he survive. Should I survive, for that matter. Killers often object to being taken into custody, in my experience.”

“Well, take care. I can lend you a few good bullies should you require a little muscle power.”

“Thank you. I have some of my own. Everyone needs them from time to time.” I rose. “Do send word should you remember any names Demades might have mentioned that I might find interesting.”

He stood and took my hand. “I shall be sure to do so. Good luck, and I wish I could be more helpful. And I do apologize for my mother’s behavior. She hasn’t been the same since Caesar returned.”

“None of us have, I fear.”

Back out on the street I tossed some new thoughts around in my mind as I made my leisurely way toward the Forum. Now I had yet another factor to consider: a professional killer loose in Rome who was far more dangerous than the usual, common murderer. He had a way of killing that was unknown in Rome and could foil most precautions taken by those who had reason to fear assassination.

We Romans of the political classes had always disdained extraordinary precautions against attack. It smacked of unmanliness. We are a martial people and a grown Roman was expected to be able to take care of himself. You were a poor prospect for the legions if you couldn’t. Bodyguards weren’t considered a sign of timidity. It just meant that an attempt on your life would mean a street fight and we always enjoyed street fights.

Assassination of the sort that we associated with the Orient was a different matter. We have always had a horror of poisoning, which is associated in Roman law with witchcraft. We reserve some of our most savage punishments for poisoners, who are usually women who wish to eliminate rivals or objectionable husbands. The idea of a professional with an exotic means of killing was repugnant to the Roman mentality.

The question of the dead Greeks was almost driven from my mind by this new possibility. Maybe this assassin was in Rome for something far different. Maybe the astronomers were a ruse. Maybe this man had been brought to Rome to hunt far bigger game. There was only one victim I could imagine being important enough for such a plot.

* * *

I found him in his new basilica, going over some huge drawings spread on a table. “Ah, Decius Caecilius, come here and tell me what you think.”

“Caesar, I-”

“In a moment. First take a look at this.”

I went to the table and studied the drawings. They seemed to be the plan of a city, one with broad avenues and generous open spaces. It was on a river and I saw the unmistakable outline of the Circus Maximus. “Surely this can’t be Rome!”

“Why not?” Caesar said. “This is Rome as it ought to be, not the overgrown, overcrowded, chaotic village we inhabit. I am going to rebuild the city with streets as wide as Alexandria’s and temples worthy of our gods. It will no longer be subject to disastrous fires and will be a much more healthful place to live.”

“But what will you do with the Rome that is already here?” I asked him.

“Much of it will have to be demolished, of course. I am sure there will be objections at first.”

“I can promise you that. Everyone will have to be relocated. It will be like being transported to an alien city.”

“But a much finer city.”

“That will not matter. Romans love the Rome they know, filthy and chaotic firetrap that she is.”

“They will get used to it,” he maintained imperturbably. “Now, you had something for me?”

“Caius Julius, I think there is an assassin in the city who has come here with the intention of murdering you.”

“Is that all?” He did not look up from his plan, to which he was adding notes and sketches with a reed pen.

“Isn’t it enough?”

“People have been trying to kill me for a long time. None has succeeded.”

“But this man is subtle. He is the one who murdered the astronomers and he is skilled at killing swiftly and without weapons. Guards will turn up nothing by searching him.”

“I have never had anyone searched before coming into my presence, you know that. I am going to widen the open area around the Temple of Vesta and plant a grove there.”

“Very pleasing, I’m sure, but I think you are in serious danger.”

“When the gods decree that I shall die, then I shall die. In the meantime I have much to accomplish.”

“Now you sound like Cleopatra,” I said.

“The queen of Egypt and I have much in common. A sense of personal destiny is one of them. It ill behooves us to fret over things like danger and death. The best thing to do with this assassin is to catch him first. I was rather hoping you could take care of that.”

“I am striving to do so. It is just that I had thought his crimes to be more limited in scope, and I thought you should know about it.”

“I am touched by your concern, Decius. Now be about your duties.”

I walked away fuming. The man just didn’t appreciate either his own danger or my value. He dismissed first-class investigative work as if it were some sort of clerk’s function. I was about ready to join the crowd of anti-Caesarians, but then I reminded myself where the real power lay and what a pack of second-raters they all were. I could swallow a little pride if I had to.

Once again I checked my roster of criminals and lowlifes. Who in Rome might have an idea of where I could find a foreign assassin? Back when my friend Titus Milo was the most prominent gang-leader in Rome he could have turned the man up for me within hours. But Milo was long dead and my own influence was lamentably low these days. Then I remembered Ariston. I headed toward the river port.