Steven Saylor - A murder on the Appian way

"And my dear husband dreaded what would happen next," added Fausta, "now that blood had been spilled and Clodius would be mad for revenge. Milo didn't know that Clodius was dead until he sneaked back into the city the next day. Then of course we heard the story about how Sextus Tedius had found the body, and we figured out what must have happened."

"Did you really?" I said. "And the next step was for Milo to concoct his own fanciful version of the incident — all that nonsense about Clodius setting an ambush for him."

"It was a good try," said Fausta wistfully. "But there was no way for him to wriggle out of it in the end, was there? Not even with Cicero on his side — and what a mess he made of things! The irony, you see, is that Milo never intended to have Clodius killed, nor to harm his little boy. Once Clodius was wounded — by you, Birria, you very, very naughty boy — Milo simply wanted Clodius to be taken alive, to keep him safe and quiet until we could figure out what to do next. But Philemon drew the men away from the inn. Either Clodius's wounds were worse than everyone thought, or else…"

"Yes?"

"Milo suggested to Cicero that someone else might have actually finished him off."

"How could that have happened?"

"Clodius had plenty of enemies on Mount Alba. He'd stirred up a lot of trouble. Any local person passing by, who happened to see that Clodius was wounded and alone, might have been tempted to take advantage of the situation. And there were reports that Clodius had strangulation marks on his throat-you mentioned them yourself, to Cicero. Eudamus and Birria both swear that they never touched his throat — so where did those marks come from, unless some unknown party throttled Clodius while they were off chasing Philemon? That would explain why Sextus Tedius found him lying dead in the road, when he was still alive in the tavern when Birria and Eudamus took after Philemon." She sighed, sounding more bored than weary. "That was a theory that Milo proposed, anyway, but Cicero said there was no use in pursuing it. 'Why try to convince the jury that you're technically innocent by some convoluted logic, saying your men only wounded Clodius and someone else killed him? They'll never believe it, whether it's true or not. Make no apologies and argue self-defence!' If Philemon hadn't appeared, we might have taken Clodius alive. But

Sextus Tedius showed up at just the wrong moment, and then he sent the body on its way to Rome without our knowing it. Do you grasp the irony, Gordianus?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "More than you know."

Fausta sighed. "All this dwelling on the past is depressing me. You should run along now, Gordianus. I'd just finished my bath when you arrived, and now it's time for my massage." She brightened. "Unless you'd like to join me…"

"I think not."

"Are you sure? Eudamus and Birria give quite an extraordinary massage. Twenty fingers between them — nineteen actually, since Eudamus lost one in a fight — and such power! They could break me in two like a twig, but they leave me feeling as light and airy as a cloud. They could handle two of us as easily as one. It might be rather interesting." The look on her face left no doubt about her meaning.

"And your husband?"

"He won't be back for hours."

"Are you certain?"

"Reasonably certain…"

I remembered Fausta Cornelia's penchant for getting caught in compromising positions, and imagined Milo walking in on the four of us. It was not the kind of confrontation I cared to have with Milo on the eve of his exile, though it might have amused Fausta Cornelia a great deal.

"Alas, I have a final errand I must attend to before the day is done."

She pouted her lips and shrugged. "Regrets, then, Gordianus. Shall I tell my husband that you came by to bid him farewell?" "Please do."

On such a magnificent spring afternoon, with flowers in bloom and the sun spreading warmth from a cloudless sky, I knew where I would find her.

We made our way through the cattle market west of the Palatine and across the old wooden bridge. "Where are we going, Master?" said Davus.

"To the other side of the Tiber. I should have thought that was obvious."

Davus frowned. It was time for me to stop teasing him, I thought. I would not be his master much longer. I would miss the particular relationship that had grown up between us.

"Actually, Davus, we're going to a garden villa on the west bank of the Tiber across from the Field of Mars. A beautiful spot with a rustic little villa and a green meadow surrounded by tall trees, and a strip of land on the riverbank excellent for swimming. I would prefer that you told no one of this visit, not even Eco. And certainly not Bethesda. Can you keep a secret?"

"I should have thought that was obvious, Master," he said with a sigh.

After a while we left the road. We passed beneath a shade-dappled canopy of berry bushes and emerged onto a wide green meadow alive with hovering insects and butterflies. The long villa was to the left, just as I remembered. But she would not stay inside on a day such as this. I told Davus to find a shady place to wait for me and I crossed the meadow, the high grass pulling at my feet. Through a stand of tall trees I glimpsed fleeting patches of sunlight on the river. I also saw her tent on the riverbank with its red and white stripes shivering in the breeze, and nearby the matching red and white stripes of her litter where it had been set down on higher ground If the litter was here, then so was she.

No one noticed my approach; no one was posted to watch. All her litter bearers and bodyguards were down in the river, swimming and splashing each other and playing some sort of game with a leather ball. I came to the tent and circled around to the side which faced the river and the swimmers. All the flaps had been rolled up to let in the breeze and the view. She half sat, half reclined on a high, pillow-strewn couch, swathed in a gown made of some diaphanous golden fabric, with a cup of wine in her hand and a forlorn expression on her face. She looked as if she might be watching a tragic play instead of a group of naked slaves cavorting in the water.

She saw me and gave a start, then recognized me and managed a wan smile.

A handmaiden seated on the rug at the foot of her couch scrambled to her feet as I approached, then looked to her mistress for instructions. At a nod from Clodia, the girl left the tent.

"Gordianus," said Clodia. Her voice was like the languid music of the river. Her scent, of spikenard and crocus-oil, suffused the warm air inside the tent. Her flesh seemed to glow in the soft filtered light.

"I hurt your feelings the other day," I said.

"Did you?" She turned her eyes back to the bathers.

"I think so. For that, I apologize."

"No need. I'd already forgotten. Pains and pleasures have all been dulled for me, since — " "Since your brother died?"

She lowered her eyes. "The one pain that never grows less sharp." "I suppose you must take some comfort from what happened at the trial."

"I have no taste for trials any more."

"But Milo was punished, and Cicero barely stumbled through his speech."

She laughed softly and nodded. "Yes, I should like to have seen that. But none of this will bring him back to me."

"No. But sometimes people are willing to settle for justice, or revenge."

"I learned my lesson when I tried to take revenge on Marcus Caelius. What use is any of it, in the end?"

I spoke carefully. "Taking vengeance on those who killed him — would that bring you no satisfaction?"

"Why do you keep bringing this up, Gordianus? I have no appetite for revenge." She took a deep breath and exhaled it. "My brother gave a great many people a great many reasons to want him dead. I'm not a fool, or blind; I know the way he was and the life he lived. I loved Publius, more than anything else in the world. There was nothing about him I would have changed. But sooner or later, given the game he played and the rules he broke, a bad end was waiting for him. They're all playing the same game, and I suspect they shall all meet a violent end — Pompey and Caesar, Caelius and Antony… even Cicero. So long as Publius was a player, I had some interest in the contest. But now…" She sighed. "I simply He here and watch my beautiful young men enjoy themselves in the water. I don't even see the young men any more; I watch the water, the way it sparkles and slides off them. The way it flows towards the sea, never stopping, never turning back. It all used to mean something to me, I think, but I can't remember what."