John Roberts - The Sacrilege

"How unthinkably proper," she said. "You are always so dutiful."

"Attention to duty is what made Rome great," I said, quoting my second old saying of the day.

She smiled. "You know, Decius, every time I've counted you out of the game, you show up again with more friends, more influence and just a tiny bit more rank. I won't say power."

"Slowly and steadily," I said. "That's the best way to advance."

"The safe way."

"Safe is the best way to stay alive," I said. "At least, I've always thought so. Lately, someone has been trying to kill me for no reason I can imagine. It wouldn't be you, would it?"

"Just because I tried to have you killed before?" She looked truly hurt. "You were in my way then. I'm not frivolous. I don't try to kill people out of spite. Why do you suspect me?"

"Your little cousin Appius Nero tried to poison me a few nights back. Afterward he was seen coming here. You and Celer are the only people of consequence in this house, and that narrowed things somewhat."

"You're an idiot. He had no cause to poison you, and he came here because he'd had an argument with my brother and needed a place to stay. They must have patched things up, because I haven't seen him since yesterday morning."

"You won't be seeing him," I told her. "Someone killed him right in front of my house last night."

Her face froze in mid-smile. "Killed?" she said. Her control was great, but I was sure that she was shocked.

"Yes. Done in just like Capito."

She turned away from me so I couldn't read her expression. "Well. Poor Nero. I didn't know him well, but he was a kinsman and rather young."

"Old enough to try to poison me," I said.

"It's all distressing, but that isn't why you came here today, is it?" She turned back, and her mocking face was in place once more.

"No. What I came to ask about was your brother's indiscretion at the rites of Bona Dea. The city is shocked. There must be an accounting."

"Oh, you know Clodius. He loves to make fun of our religious guardians. He's never grown up and loves to make his elders angry."

This was an amazing thing to hear from Clodia because it was so perfectly true. Her adulation of her brother was legendary. She had even changed her name when he had changed his. She was often angry with him, but it was unlike her to belittle him in front of an enemy. I was already suspicious. Suspicion was a habit when dealing with Clodia. But this was intriguing. Could she be a bit upset with her beloved brother? Then someone called from another room.

"Clodia? Who is it?"

"Am I intruding?" I asked.

"Yes, but I forgive you. Come, Decius, you must meet Fulvia."

"Fulvia? Is she back in Rome?" I knew only one prominent woman of that name, but she had fled Rome after the Catilinarian debacle.

"No, this is a kinswoman of hers. She's just come to Rome from Baiae."

We went into a bedroom, this one betraying Clodia's taste for erotic art. It resembled the decor of a brothel in subject matter, but here as elsewhere everything was of highest quality. A young girl sat up in a silk-cushioned bed and I made a formal obeisance, careful to be impassive, because once again Clodia was trying to upset my equanimity.

The girl was exquisitely beautiful, her hair as blond as a German's. She was so slight and tiny that she might have been a child, but she wore another of the Coan gowns, and that dispelled any such illusion. Her eyes were huge, her mouth startlingly full-lipped. She appeared to be no more than sixteen, but her face, despite its purity, had that indescribable yet unmistakable stamp that bespoke depthless depravity.

"My dear," Clodia said, "this is Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger, son of the Censor."

"I am terribly honored to meet such a distinguished man," Fulvia said. It was against such a voice that Ulysses had his men stuff their ears with wax. Unlike Ulysses, I was not lashed to a mast, but it required some effort not to leap onto the bed with her.

"All Rome rejoices to have so lovely a visitor among us," I said. "Is this just a visit, or can we hope you are here to stay?"

"Fulvia," Clodia said, "is betrothed to Clodius."

I looked at her with an eyebrow sardonically arched. I could not resist. "Aren't you jealous?"

She didn't flinch. "People such as we have a flexibility you cannot imagine, Decius."

She was underestimating my imagination, but I let it pass. "And was young Fulvia in Caesar's house on the now-infamous evening of the rites?" I asked, dragging her back to the subject at hand.

"The rites are only for married women, Decius," Clodia said. "Fulvia accompanied me there, but she could not take part in the rituals."

"And how did it come about that Clodius got in?" I demanded. "The mind boggles at the thought of him pretending to be a woman. Whom did he claim to be married to?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Clodia said. "He didn't tell me he was coming."

"I see. And just how was he found out?"

"Oh, that occurred during a:" She paused. "No, I'm afraid I am forbidden to tell you."

"Don't be absurd. When did you ever care about laws or rules, whether of human or divine origin? The cloak of piety doesn't fit you well, Clodia."

"Who speaks of piety?" she said. "This is a matter of law. Are you not sworn to uphold the laws of the Senate and People of Rome?"

"That is a debatable point," I said. On a sudden inspiration, I embroidered upon a recent conversation. "As a matter of fact, I recently was present at a debate involving some of the highest figures of government, where there was some question whether the cult of Bona Dea is of Roman origin at all. It may be that it is lawful to demand testimony concerning the rites." I had promoted our idle dinner chitchat to the status of senatorial debate, but she didn't have to know that. A look very much like fear flitted across Clodia's beautiful face.

"If that proves to be the case," Fulvia said, "then Clodius can scarcely face a charge of truly serious sacrilege."

I turned to her. "I see that you are a perspicacious as you are lovely." You meddling little slut, I thought. It hadn't occurred to me. But when I turned back to Clodia, she still looked upset. Quickly, she composed herself.

"I believe dear Fulvia is correct. The Censors may frown upon offenses against foreign gods, but the courts surely could not exact stiff penalties in such cases. That is reserved for the gods of the state. I must consult with Cicero on this."

"I hadn't thought that Cicero was kindly disposed toward Clodius," I said.

"Oh, but Cicero and I have become great friends lately," she said, her smile back in place. This was bad news. At first I was not inclined to believe her, but then I remembered Cicero's recent rather hasty insistence that Clodia could not be involved in the scandal. "Why would he say such a thing unless he, too, had fallen to her wiles? I was disappointed in Cicero, but I knew that I was in no position to judge. I had certainly been under Clodia's spell in the past.

"Can you go so far as to tell me who it was that discovered your brother?"

"It was a slave woman from the household of Lucullus. I think I can say that without risking divine wrath."

"Slaves attend the rites?" This was news to me.

"The musicians. I believe it was a harpist who betrayed him."

This seemed to me an odd choice of words.

"I wish I could have seen him," Fulvia said. She brought her legs from beneath the coverlet and sprawled belly-down on the bed. The Coan gown revealed her dorsal contours to be as shapely as her front. "Achilles was discovered in women's clothing, you know, and Hercules had to wear women's garments when he was enslaved to Omphale. She got to wear his lion's skin and carry his club. I've always found that exciting."

"You're very young for such recondite tastes," I observed.