Steven Saylor - A murder on the Appian way

"You say that Milo spent the night here?" I said.

Cicero nodded. "Yes. While the Clodians paraded Clodius's naked corpse all over the Palatine, Milo waited outside the city. Not afraid to come back, mind you, but cautious, sensible, testing the wind, like a general checking the lay of the land before he proceeds. When I saw that the Clodian fools were setting fires, I sent a messenger to inform him. If he wished to come back to the city, he should do so stealthily, I said, and stay away from his own house. I offered him my hospitality, but the decision to return was his. I rendered no advice either way. Milo saw the path before him and took it. Titus Annius Milo, I have never known a braver man than you." Cicero gazed at the subject of his words with an intensity that would have made a more modest man blush, but Milo's only reaction was to stiffen his jaw and raise his head higher. His features did not appear to me remotely heroic, as we are accustomed to seeing heroes portrayed in marble or bronze, but he did know how to strike a defiant pose.

"I could never have abandoned Rome in her hour of need," he said, with a rhetorical quaver in his voice. "I came back to save her!"

"Excellent!" said Caelius. "Tiro, copy that down, will you? We must remember to use that."

I thought he was being rude or facetious, but Milo took no offence. Instead he leaned towards Caelius with a quizzical expression. "Or do you think it should be, 'I never abandoned Rome, not even for a day-'"

"No, no, it was perfect the way you said it the first time. Tiro, did you get it?" Tiro scribbled and nodded.

I realized that the discussion was taking place at more than one level, and for more than one purpose. "You're in the middle of writing a speech, aren't you?" I said.

"Not yet," said Gicero. "We're still working out the basic ideas. You can be of enormous help to us, Gordianus." "I'm not sure I want to be."

"I think you do," he said, giving me a look that must have been familiar to Caelius and to all the others who had been his proteges and pupils. The look said, Do not disappoint me. "Look at us here, locked away in my study, unable to take a step out of doors without a troop of gladiators to protect us. We're blind and deaf We have a fierce, brave heart — Milo here. An eloquent tongue — Caelius. A hand to write — Tiro. And I dare say, a cool head — myself. But we have no eyes, no ears. It's a delicate business, gauging the mood of the people in the street. One must look. One must listen. Miscalculations, at moments of crisis like this, can be…"

He did not utter the word disastrous. To speak of disaster would invite an ill omen. Besides, everyone in the room understood precisely what he meant. From bitter experience Cicero knew only too well what the outcome could be when the mob turned against a man.

"I only want your opinion on a few things, Gordianus. The race for consul, for instance. It looks as though the elections may finally be held. How would you gauge the-mood of the people towards Milo's candidacy?"

I stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Well? Are his chances better now than before, or worse? It's a simple enough question."

"Yes, but I can hardly believe that you expect a serious answer."

Milo nervously tapped his empty cup against the arm of his chair. "He means to say that it's hopeless."

"Is that what you mean, Gordianus?" Cicero peered at me earnestly.

I cleared my throat. "Clodius is dead. Someone killed him, with great violence — I saw the body myself." "Saw it? Where?" snapped Milo.

While I hesitated, pondering whether to tell them about my visit to Clodius's house, Cicero spared me the decision by interrupting.

"Gordianus saw the body from his rooftop, just as I saw it from mine. I told you, Milo, how they paraded the corpse all over the Palatine."

"Yes, I saw it from my rooftop," I said. It was not, after all, a He. "And if any Roman didn't see it, he's certainly heard about it."

"And what exactly are people saying about the matter?" said Cicero.

"What do you mean?"

"How do they think Clodius died? Who do they think was responsible?"

If Cicero wished to feign obtuseness, I would oblige him. "The word on everyone's lips is that Milo killed him. Or Milo's men." "Where?"

"On the Appian Way. Somewhere near Bovillae." Cicero nodded moughtfully. "How?"

I paused. "Judging by the wounds, I would say that daggers were used." I thought of the puncture wound at the shoulder. "Perhaps a spear, as well. And he may have been strangled."

"You must have had a clearer view of the body than I did!" said Cicero.

"Perhaps my eyes are trained for such details."

"But you've heard no actual details of the… fatal incident… and how it came about?"

"No."

Caelius nodded vigorously. "And neither have most people, I'll wager. How could they have heard details? Who could possibly supply them?"

Milo worked his stubbly jaw back and forth and drummed his fingers against his cup. "Still, rumours spring up like weeds in a crack. If a story has a hole in it, people will fill it up with anything that fits."

"Have you heard rumours, Gordianus?" said Cicero. "About a battle, an ambush, an accident?"

"I've heard all sorts of rumours. An ambush, a battle, a single assassin, a traitor among Clodius's men…"

"I think that's hopeful," said Caelius, sitting back and raising an eyebrow. He held out his wine cup and a slave hurried to fill it. "People haven't yet made up their minds. There's still a chance for us to tell them our side of the story. But we'll have to do it quickly. Gossip sets like mortar in people's heads. Once it's hardened you have to chisel it out. Best to pour your own gossip into their ears first."

"And of course there's the fire," said Cicero. "Surely that's cracked open some hard heads. People who were hostile to Milo before will surely listen to reason now. Only the most lunatic radicals could take the side of that mob of pyromaniacs against Milo." He sighed, exasperated. "I don't understand why the death of Clodius should stir such a controversy, anyway, except among the small core of his most rabid followers. Any sensible man can see that Rome is better off without the scoundrel. It's so obvious! If we go before the people and say 'Yes, Milo killed Clodius,' aren't we simply saying that Milo is a hero? We're essentially proclaiming him the saviour of the Republic!"

Cicero looked to me for a reaction. I answered carefully. "I can't speak for most people, but I think there are plenty of Romans who are simply tired of all the chaos and disorder — "

"Exactly," said Cicero, "and it was Clodius who was behind all that disorder, fomenting unrest among the rabble, shaking up the natural order of things. Get rid of Clodius and you're halfway to getting rid of chaos. Tiro, take that down: 'Get rid of Clodius — ' "

"You may be going too far," said Caelius, shaking his head. "It begins to sound like gloating. Even people who are glad to see the last of Clodius may have serious concerns about the circumstances' of his death. You can't make Milo out to be a champion of law and order if at the same time you proudly assert that he broke the law by killing a man."

"Ah, but it takes on a different light if you show that Milo was the victim of an ambush and merely defending himself," said Cicero, waving a finger.

"Was it an ambush?" I said, looking from face to face. "Was Milo the intended victim?"

Tiro, busy scribbling on his tablet, didn't look up. The others looked at me curiously.

Cicero brightened. "Well, what do you think, Gordianus? Is it credible that Clodius might have set an ambush for Milo down on the Appian Way?"

I shrugged. "Their hatred for one another was well known."

Caelius looked at me sceptically. I felt like a witness under cross-examination. "But then isn't it just as likely that it was Milo who set a trap for Clodius? What would you say to that idea, Gordianus?"