Steven Saylor - A murder on the Appian way

"Tell me," I said, "do you know of any prisoners who were taken by Milo?"

"Prisoners?" said Mopsus. He shook his head. "Not that we ever heard about. Milo killed quite a few of the master's men, but everyone who wasn't killed came back sooner or later, at least the men from this villa."

The cramped, dark passageway had begun to close in around me. I was ready to be outside again. The boys led the way back through the winding corridors and down the stairways. When we finally stepped through the hidden door and emerged into bright sunlight, I heard distant voices calling out from up the hill: "Mopsus! Androcles!"

"You see, I told you they'd be worried," said Mopsus.

"These so-called guards — were they here the day that Milo came?" I said.

"No. They're all new, all from the city. They hate it here. They're always complaining, saying they're bored and there are no women about except the witches in the house down the hill, and they won't have anything to do with men."

"Then I've no need to talk to them. Will you and your brother be all right? They won't be angry at you?"

"Afraid of that bunch of drunks and cowards?" said Mopsus. He had regained his former bravado. "I'll tell them we heard a funny noise in the woods and went to take a look, and they'll all go scurrying back to the mill."

"Very well. Then I have a request: tell them nothing of our visit-"

"I certainly wouldn't tell them about the secret entrance!"

"Exactly. And when I get back to Rome, I shall make sure that your mistress knows what a clever and valuable pair of boys she has serving her, here at her Alban villa."

We left Mopsus and Androcles and returned up the hill, skirting the courtyard in front of the villa's entrance to avoid the guards. As we made our way around a pile of stones and rubble, I stubbed my toe against something and looked down in some surprise to see the face of a goddess staring back at me.

It was the marble head of Vesta, separated from the headless statue we had seen at the remains of the House of Vestals. Her expression was warm and serene, as befits the protector of the family hearth, but as I looked at her more closely I could not help thinking that there was the faintest glimmer of malevolence in her lapis lazuli eyes, and in the set of her mouth a hint of satisfaction at the way Fate had dealt with the mortal who had treated her and her attendants so shabbily.

We returned to Pompey's villa the way we had come. After a midday meal we mounted our horses to pay a call on Senator Sextus Tedius, the man who had found Clodius and sent his body back to Rome in his litter.

"Well, Davus," I said, "it looks as though you shall get in some riding today after all."

"This morning's walk worked out all the stiffness, Master." Davus smiled, but when his bottom made contact with his horse I heard a stifled groan.

To reach the villa of Senator Tedius, we passed through Aricia, where Clodius had addressed the local magistrates on the day of his death. Though the town is larger and more hospitable than Bovillae, being the traditional first night's stop for many southbound travellers from Rome, a man could still pass through and hardly know he had been there.

Pompey's foreman had given us directions to our destination, which turned out to be a much more rustic and humble dwelling that those of Clodius or the Great One. Sextus Tedius was clearly a man of wealth, as the extent of the property surrounding his house testified, but his dwelling was altogether lacking in ostentation. It looked large enough to serve the purpose of a country villa, with room for guests and gatherings, but no statuary lined the road, no mosaics decorated the porch, no elaborate lamps hung above the door. Judging from his house, I suspected that Tedius's money was very old, his taste in literature and art austere, and his politics staunchly conservative.

Pompey's foreman, when he had given me directions, had informed me that the senator had long been a supporter and admirer of the Great One. Considering the personality suggested by his house, and the fact that he was partial to Pompey, I decided that a candid and formal approach would be best. When the doorkeeper inquired after my business, I handed him my letter of commission from Pompey and told him I wished to speak to his master.

After a short interval the slave summoned Eco and me to the senator's private study, where the shutters had been thrown open to admit a view of the town of Alicia below. The view was sunlit, but the air was bracing. Our host sat in an old-fashioned backless chair, holding himself very upright for a man of his years. The only concession to comfort was a blanket thrown across his lap to keep his legs warm. His hair was white, tinged with just enough yellow to suggest that he had once been blond. His face and hands were darkened and leathery, suggesting that he had spent much of his life outdoors, and the lines around his mouth were deeply etched; even so, it occurred to me that he might still be a handsome man if he would only relax the severity of his countenance.

"You're one of Pompey's men?" he said.

"My name is Gordianus. I come on the Great One's behalf."

"In this house, we call my good neighbour the general by the name he was born with," said Tedius, not harshly but firmly. "A man's greatness, or his smallness for that matter, is best left for posterity to determine. While he lives, a man's acts speak for themselves." He looked at me shrewdly and allowed something like a smile to bend his lips. "But the man who sent you knows my sentiments well enough; Gnaeus Pompey and I have often discussed such matters over a cup of wine in this very room. He knows that I am a Republican through and through, and that I believe in the great institution of the Senate, not in great men. If I did not believe that he was ultimately loyal to the Senate himself) I should be very disturbed by the way he elevates himself above the rest of us by the use of that name, Magnus. Tell me, have you just come from Rome?"

"We set out before daylight yesterday morning."

"Then you left before the Senate was to meet at Pompey's Theatre. I hoped to attend myself, but my leg won't allow it." He frowned at his left leg, as if to communicate his disappointment with it. "I understand that a proposal to rebuild the Senate House was to be put forth, with the contract going to Sulla's boy, Faustus."

"I believe that is correct," I said, remembering what Pompey had told me.

"And I hear there was also to be a proposal to issue the Ultimate

Decree, empowering Pompey to raise troops to quell the disorder in the city."

"Perhaps. As I said, I left before dawn."

"You have no news for me, then? Yet you say that Pompey sent you."

"I come on behalf of Pompey, yes, but not as a messenger. I come to seek information, not to convey it." Tedius raised an eyebrow. "I see."

"The Great One — Gnaeus Pompey — has commissioned me privately to discover everything I can about the death of Publius Clodius."

"Surely Rome has talked of nothing else for days." "Yes, but talk and truth can be far apart. Pompey would know the truth."

"Does he intend to administer justice himself?" Tedius still seemed intent on drawing information from me.

"I think he wishes to see clearly. No general can proceed through a landscape obscured by mist. Is it true that you and your daughter found Clodius lying in the Appian Way?"

"Who does not already know this? I sent his body on to Rome in my litter."

"Let me understand the sequence of events clearly. When did you depart from this house?"

The senator gazed at me for a long moment, his face as unreadable as a leather mask. I think he was unused to being questioned by anyone, let alone a man so far beneath his rank, but at last he spoke. "My daughter and I and our retinue left this house at about the ninth hour of the day. I had planned to be in Rome by nightfall."