John Roberts - The Year of Confusion

“Maybe it was a temporary interest and he grew disillusioned with them,” Hermes said.

“That could be it, I suppose. One more anomaly to cloud the waters.”

“So what next?”

“Something I’ve been trying to avoid. Now I have to talk to Fulvia.” Hermes began to grin broadly. “It won’t be much fun this time,” I told him. “She lives in the house of Antonius now.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, his face falling. “I’d forgotten that.” In previous years, when we had called on Fulvia she had lived in a house famous for the beauty of its female and male slaves. The house of Antonius would undoubtedly be different.

We made our way to the Palatine where that domicile lay. The doorkeeper looked like a professional wrestler and the major domo who received us was clearly one of Antonius’s soldiers. The atrium was full of war trophies, weapons, and other masculine accoutrements. On the other hand, the courtyard to which he led us was full of beautiful sculpture, some of which I remembered from Fulvia’s other houses. Clearly, interior decoration was a matter of some contention in this household.

The lady herself came out to greet us and we went through the usual formalities. Fulvia was tiny, voluptuously formed, and had a husky voice. I had thought she was the most alluring woman in Rome, but having just come from the presence of Ashthuva, she seemed no more seductive than a rather pretty statue.

“Polasser of Kish?” she said, eyebrows going up. “Wasn’t he murdered recently?”

“Exactly,” I told her, “and Caesar has commissioned me to discover who killed him and another stargazer named Demades. How well did you know Polasser?”

“Scarcely at all. I met him at one of Cleopatra’s gatherings, but I’d heard of him before then.”

“Heard of him? How?”

She frowned with thought. “Let me see, somebody mentioned him … you realize that astrologers are all the rage in my social circle, don’t you?”

“I’ve heard of little else since this business began.”

“So the ladies I know are always babbling about this one or that one. Anyway, I heard about him, and when I met him at Cleopatra’s, he seemed so fascinating and knowledgeable that I decided to consult with him about my dear Antonius’s future.”

“Weren’t you put off by the fact that he was a Greek dressed as a Babylonian?”

She shrugged, making her abundant breasts quiver. “I’ve never seen a Babylonian. For all I know, that’s what they look like.”

“So you got Antonius’s horoscope. I take it that Polasser predicted a glorious future for your husband?”

She beamed. “He said that Antonius would become the greatest man in Rome.”

“Did he say for how long?”

“No.”

“A grain merchant named Balesus has told me that you recommended Polasser to him.”

“Did I? I suppose I might have. That would have been when I sold off the last harvest I had from poor Curio’s estate. It’s the only time I ever went to the grain market.”

“It surprises me that a patrician lady would stoop to such a transaction. Why didn’t you send a steward?”

“The only steward I had at the time was Curio’s, and he was sure to be on the side of Curio’s family. Selling grain is far from the most scandalous thing I’ve done.” Fulvia was totally indifferent to her bad reputation.

“In any case Balesus didn’t do as well as you. Polasser told him to buy when it was time to sell. He lost a fortune.”

“Did he? Serves him right. Why should an astrologer be expected to give accurate advice to a petty businessman? The stars proclaim the fortunes of great men, not little money grubbers like Balesus.”

“Spoken like a true patrician,” I said.

“And why not? It’s what I am.”

“Now that Polasser is no longer among us,” I said, “whom do you consult upon celestial matters?”

“Recently I’ve been seeing Ashthuva. I think her knowledge of the art is even more comprehensive than Polasser’s and she is the most delightful company.”

“I daresay,” I said, remembering.

“Do we have visitors?” said Antonius, entering the courtyard from the direction of the street. He was dressed in his usual brief tunic, sweating abundantly, and covered with sand, straw, and grime.

“Marcus, have you been fighting again?” Fulvia said.

“Just wrestling. Hello Decius, Hermes.” With this perfunctory greeting he stepped into the pool, sat, and began washing himself down. The word informal does not begin to describe Marcus Antonius.

“Marcus, dear, Senator Metellus has been asking me about that murdered astrologer.”

“He’s been pestering everyone in Rome about the matter,” Antonius said. He ducked his head beneath the water and came up blowing like a porpoise. “But Caesar ordered him to do it so there’s no help for it. Are you any closer to finding the guilty party, Decius?”

“I hope so. I’ve learned a great deal, it’s just a matter of putting it all together coherently.”

“Well, that’s your specialty.” He stood up, dripping. “I just went three falls with Balbus.”

“Who won?” I asked. So much for Asklepiodes’ advice, I thought.

“He did. He’s the only man in Rome who can beat me consistently.”

“From the look of you, you weren’t wrestling at the baths or the gymnasium,” Fulvia noted.

“No, I encountered him at the cattle market and proposed a match right there.”

“How entertaining it must have been for the market idlers,” Fulvia said.

“I suppose it was. You don’t get to see two real experts contending every day. I don’t suppose there’s any wine in the house?”

“I will take my leave of you, then,” I said. “I must be about Caesar’s business.”

“Oh,” Fulvia said. “I just remembered.”

“Yes?”

“I remember now who told me about Polasser. It was Servilia.”

We left the house and I stood in the street a moment, pinching the bridge of my long, Metellan nose. “My head hurts.”

“This business is fit to give Hercules a headache,” Hermes said.

“Everywhere I turn I encounter Servilia, the one woman in Rome I don’t want to face without a legion at my back.”

“Not to mention she’s the woman Caesar doesn’t want you to suspect of complicity in the murders. If she doesn’t have you killed, he will. ”

“You do know how to brighten my day. What are we to do now?”

“It’s as if we’ve walked down a blind alley with enemies chasing us,” Hermes said, “and there we are staring at a blank wall and no place to go.”

“A simile worthy of Homer,” I commended. “So, what do we do when we’re stuck in a blind alley?”

He grinned. “We duck into the nearest doorway.”

“Right. Let’s stop attacking this problem head-on and approach it obliquely.”

“Whatever that means, I’m all for it. What now?”

“I’ve set a number of things in motion. Let’s check on one of them. Let’s go down to the docks and visit Ariston.”

The big seaman looked surprised when we walked through his doorway. “Senator! This is convenient. I was just about to send a boy to track you down.”

“You’ve found something?” I said eagerly.

“I may have. Take a seat.” We sat and he bawled to a servant to bring wine for his distinguished guests. Moments later we were sipping a fine rose-colored Judean. These wines lack the body for drinking with meals, but they are an excellent light, refreshing afternoon pick-me-up.

“I put out the word as you asked,” he began, “and pretty soon a sailor named Glaucus came to me with an odd story. A year ago he was on a ship called the Ibis , that sails a regular route between Alexandria and Rome, going up the eastern seaboard to Greece, then across to Italy. Seems that in Tyre they picked up a pair of passengers, easterners of some sort, a man and a woman. The woman was so swaddled in veils that they couldn’t get a real idea of what she looked like. The man was tall and sort of willowy, in robes and a headcloth. The two of them spent a good part of each day sitting crosslegged on the deck, chanting long, monotonous prayers that got to setting the sailors’ nerves on edge.” He took a drink of his wine.