John Roberts - The Year of Confusion

“A number of your colleagues have called upon me and have expressed the same thing. I will not take it as characteristic of the Senate of Rome as a whole.”

“Nor of the Roman people,” I said. “They love Caesar but few Romans are keen on another war with Parthia. They loathed the expedition of Crassus and think he got what he deserved at Carrhae. It was a great shame that so many good Romans died there as well, but it is to be expected when a fool is in charge. I, too, would like to get our eagles back through negotiation.”

“That is understood. Do you bring me a private message from Caesar?”

Everybody expected me to be Caesar’s messenger. I suppose it was a logical assumption. “I’m afraid not. Actually, I come on a matter concerning my investigation of the murdered astronomers.”

“I was wondering how that was progressing. Poor Demades. And he was soon followed by Polasser of Kish, I hear.”

“That is the case. You recall that the neck of Demades was broken in a most singular manner?”

“Vividly.”

“Polasser died in an identical manner. I have reason to believe that both were murdered by a professional assassin who hails from the eastern parts of the world.”

He considered this. “And I, although a Roman citizen, am from the east, but why would I want two astronomers killed?”

“Oh, please don’t misunderstand. I do not suspect you of any complicity. I think this killer is most probably a freelancer who has hired himself out, probably to a Roman employer. You have recently arrived from the east. You represent a great monarch, so I assume you traveled with an entourage befitting your station?”

“The king wanted me to have a much larger one,” he said, “but I urged upon him that in the west embassies are expected to be modest. However, he insisted that I take what he considered an absolutely minimal escort of guards and servants. I managed to avoid the entertainers and huntsmen and dog handlers.”

“Are any of those men with you here in Rome?”

“Just one or two here in the house. The rest are in quarters across the river, on the via Aurelia.”

“I will wish to go out there and have a look at them,” I told him.

“Assuredly. I shall send instructions that you are to receive fullest cooperation. Do you wish to inspect the household staff?”

“I hate to put you to the trouble, but I must. Only those who came with you from the east. Not your personal staff, but those pressed on you by Phraates.”

“No trouble at all.” He summoned his steward and ordered the staff be assembled. He did this with the greatest graciousness, but that was because he was a professional diplomat. Personally, I would have been offended by such a request, but my duties overrode personal feelings.

A short time later the steward reappeared, followed by a small group of men and women who wore puzzled expressions. Some of them had markedly eastern features. I dismissed the women. I had known a number of women to commit murder, usually by poisoning, a few who killed their victims with daggers, even one strangler, but I could not imagine a woman as a neck-breaker. It’s difficult enough for a man to do.

Of the men one was clearly too old so I dismissed him. The three who remained looked young enough and strong enough for the task. One in particular struck me as suspicious. He was a short but burly man with a scarred, pockmarked face and a massive beak of a nose. He wore a long eastern robe and he had the look of a man handy with weapons. Across his forehead lay a pale welt, such as is caused by wearing a helmet for many years.

“Where are you from?” I asked him.

He bowed and touched his spread fingertips to his breast. “I am from Arabia, my lord, but I have served in the army of King Phraates for many years.”

“Were you at Carrhae?” I asked him.

“No, my lord. I rode in the desert patrol until I was assigned to the bodyguard of Ambassador Archelaus.”

“What is the nature of your duty here in the City?”

“When my master must go out at night, I accompany him as a bodyguard, my lord.”

“Show me your hands.”

Mystified, he complied, displaying his hands palm-up. I took them in mine and examined them visually and by touch. They were callused from long practice with sword, spear, and shield, but they lacked the marks common to a wrestler’s hands, and the base between the wrist and the smallest finger was not hardened as on the hand of a pankratist.

“Your people do not practice unarmed fighting, do they?”

“No, Senator. Forgive me, but we consider such brawling beneath the dignity of a warrior.”

“I was afraid of that. All right, Archelaus, you may dismiss these to their duties.”

He saw me to the door. “I am sorry I could not be of more help.”

“Oh, one never knows what may turn out to be helpful. I thank you.”

“When will you wish to see my people on the via Aurelia?”

“Oh, I shall find time soon. Do not concern yourself.” Of course I did not wish him sending word ahead that I was coming. I had little suspicion of him or his people, but it always pays to be cautious.

By now the afternoon was well advanced. On most days I would have made my way to the baths and idled away the rest of the day with ease and gossip, but needed something more active. I felt that my waistline was going soft, and that I was getting slow. That would not do. Murder investigations can often be fraught with the danger of personal violence. Ordinary daily life in Rome at that time presented even more such danger. And, as Julia never tired of pointing out, Caesar might at any time put me in command of an army and send me off to fight Sextus Pompey or conquer Ethiopia or something of the sort. As a propraetorian I was supposedly qualified for such martial distinction, but I felt that merely having held the requisite offices did not make anyone a competent general, however hallowed with antiquity the custom might be. Still, the choice would not be mine to make.

There were exercise facilities at the baths, of course, but I needed something livelier, so I crossed the river and went to the ludus. Hermes was still there, and for once I wasn’t displeased. He was supposed to be attending upon me by noon, even if I didn’t want him with me but he would spend his life at the ludus if I let him. Since I had imprudently given him his freedom, he abused his new status shamefully.

Just then I needed a sparring partner and the gladiators were seldom satisfactory for this purpose. Either they were overawed by my senatorial status and wouldn’t give me a good fight or they were vicious brutes who would beat me bloody for the fun of it. Hermes had long experience of both my abilities and my temper.

When I entered the training yard the head trainer strode up to me. “Are you here to see the doctor, Senator? I’m afraid he went off somewhere this morning and he’s not back yet.” This man, like all the trainers, was an old champion. His arena name was Petraites and his many dreadful scars displayed Asklepiodes’ expert stitching. He belonged to what we still called the Samnite school in those days. That meant he fought with the large, legionary-style shield and the short sword, usually with a helmet and at least one leg guard, and always wearing the wide, bronze belt of our old Samnite enemies. The biggest and strongest men fought in this category. Since the Samnites have been citizens for the last generation, the First Citizen has renamed this style of fighter the Murmillo. He has a passion for putting everything into strict categories.

“No, Petraites, I’ve come for a workout. I’m getting soft.”

“Always a good idea to keep up your sword work. Some of your fellow senators are here today. With a big war coming up, a lot of them want to sweat a little lard off before they have to go off to Parthia.”