John Roberts - The Sacrilege

"What happened, you little idiot?" I demanded.

"I slipped! There's something slippery on the cobbles." He cursed mightily as he struggled to his feet.

"Someone's probably dumped a chamberpot here," I said. "See if you can get that torch going."

"Doesn't smell like shit," Hermes insisted. "It's sticky, though." He whirled the torch around his head and the flames sprang to life again. By their light he examined the stains on his hands, legs and tunic.

"If you've ruined that tunic, I'll flog you to-"

"It's blood!" he cried, interrupting rudely. Now we both saw a whitish heap on the cobbles a few steps ahead. "A body!" he cried again.

"You'll see lots of them after you've been in the Subura a while," I informed him. "I wish the gangs wouldn't do their dirty work so close to my door." We went closer and Hermes lowered the torch. That was when I saw the red sandals decorated with the ivory crescent at the ankle. I gripped my weapons more firmly.

"Uh-oh. Not an ordinary corpse after all. Well, let's see who we have here." I crouched by the head and Hermes lowered the torch further. "Well, well," I said. "Here's somebody we know. Pity it isn't Clodius, though."

"Pollux!" the boy exclaimed. "It's that little patrician shit who tried to poison you!"

And sure enough, there lay young Appius Claudius Nero, with a neat puncture in this throat and a circular dent in his brow.

I left him there until morning. He'd been no friend of mine, and I saw no point in waking up a lot of citizens just to come and gape at the little lout. Still less did I feel like losing a night's sleep on his account. I'd had a long day and I was tired. So I just tossed a handful of earth over him and went inside. I bade Hermes soak his tunic in a bucket of water before he retired. As usual I was low on funds and did not want to have to buy him a new tunic.

I slept like a corpse myself and woke feeling much better. Cato brought in a basin and my breakfast at first light. I splashed my face and downed a mouthful of bread and cheese as I laboriously recalled the previous day's sequence of events. As the cobwebs of sleep cleared, I realized that it had been a more-than-usually-eventful day. I ordered my thoughts while I munched on boiled eggs and fruit and finished off with a crust soaked in sweet wine. My father always told me I was a degenerate for eating breakfast in bed. Eating breakfast at all, for that matter. He thought it was an un-Roman practice and effete to boot. He was probably right, but I did it anyway. Just as I finished, Cato came back in.

"Master, there's some sort of commotion out front."

"Whatever might it be?" I said innocently. I had decided to keep quiet about finding the little wretch the previous night. "Where is Hermes?"

"Sick. Says he has a bellyache. I found his tunic soaking in a bucket this morning, so he must have fouled it last night."

"Tell that malingering little swine to get in here immediately," I said.

"He's not faking it, master," Cato insisted. "He's puked all over his room."

"How does that boy find so many ways to annoy me?" I said. I got up and went to his room. The reek of vomit was strong as I opened the door to his cubicle. The boy lay on his side on a pallet, his body curled around his fists, which in turn were pressed into his stomach. I squatted by him and felt his brow. He was not feverish and I sighed with relief. All I needed was pestilence in the house.

"When did this start?" I asked.

"In the middle of the night," he groaned. "I woke up with cramps." His scarlet face drained and turned pale. He sighed and sat up. "They come and go. I'm all right now, but it'll start again in a few minutes."

"Are the spasms getting worse?" I asked him.

He shook his head. "No. They're not as bad as they were a few hours ago, and they're farther apart."

"Did you eat at Milo's last night?"

"Yes. A couple of his men took me to the kitchen and I ate better than I do here."

"They probably slipped an emetic into your food. They have a rough sense of humor. Be careful around them. Milo may be my friend, but his men are all murderers and criminals of all kinds."

"Yes, sir," he said weakly. He didn't fool me. He yearned to be just like them.

"Listen, Hermes. I've decided to keep finding Nero's body last night secret. Say nothing to anyone about it."

"Yes, sir," he said meekly. Apparently he was too miserable to protest.

"Good. I'm leaving now. You'll probably have the runs next. If so, Cato will help you to the public jakes down the street. No sense making the smell in here worse than it already is."

"Yes, sir."

I left feeling relieved. It wasn't contagious, and he seemed to be recovering from whatever it was. In spite of everything, I had taken a liking to the boy. The world is full of humble, obedient slaves who rob you blind when you turn your back. Having one who didn't pretend to be anything but a villain was amusing.

I went out into the street and saw that a crowd had gathered around the body. It now lay completely stripped, the clothes lying in a heap nearby. Apparently, somebody had come across it during the night and had removed all valuables. The clothes were too blood-soaked to bother with. In morning light the body just looked frail and rather pathetic. He might have tried to poison me, but he was just a boy who had got involved in matters too great and too dangerous for him.

My neighbors looked to me for instructions. I was, after all, the neighborhood Senator. I spotted a vigil who had apparently just got off duty. His bucket still dangled from his hand.

"Go to the Praetor Urbanus," I told him. "Report the murder of a patrician in the Subura." The thief had not taken the red sandals. Even the stupidest thief would know better than to try to sell those.

"What was he doing down here?" a man asked. The question had occurred to me as well. I knew that my mental faculties had been uncommonly slow of late, but I also knew it was no mere coincidence that Nero had been murdered a few steps from my door. Had he been sent to finish the job he had botched at the house of Capito two nights before? If so, why had he been murdered instead? It had to mean that the murder of Capito and the attempt on my own life were somehow connected.

"Neat bit of throat-slitting there," someone commented. There were connoisseurs of such things in my neighborhood.

My clients began to arrive and we retired within my house. There was one duty I knew I could not avoid. One of my clients had brought a slave boy with him, and I borrowed the youth.

"Do you know where the mansion of Clodius is?" I asked him. The boy nodded. "Then go there and tell him that he has a dead relative lying in the street here."

"Me? Talk to Clodius?" His eyes bugged with fear.

"You will probably only talk to his majordomo. If Clodius wants to question you, don't be afraid of him. He knows better than to harm another man's property. Now be off with you."

The boy ran out, and a few minutes later an official arrived accompanied by a single lictor. I did not know him.

"I am Lucius Flavius," he said, " iudex of the Urban Praetor's court. Did you discover the body, Senator?"

"My neighbors found him this morning," I prevaricated. "But it looks as if a robber found him earlier."

"Do you know him?"

"Appius Claudius Nero. I met him at the house of Metellus Celer four days ago. He was with Publius Clodius, and I've sent a messenger to Clodius so that he can come to claim the body."

"That saves me a task, then. He seems to have been killed in the same fashion as Mamercus Aemilius Capito."

"He was at Capito's house the night of that murder. I don't know what the connection might be, if there is any."

Flavius shrugged. "Friends of Clodius often die violently. I imagine the lad just fell into bad company. If you'll forgive my saying so, this is a rough neighborhood. Probably he was looking for some of the low amusements available hereabout and ran into the killer by chance. It doesn't pay to be both well-dressed and alone in some parts of the city."