A Point of Law(18)

“I trust your lady, Julia, is well? Is she still bothered by her family complaint?” By this he meant the famous difficulty the Caesars had with conception and pregnancy. Since our marriage Julia had conceived three times and miscarried by the fourth month in all three cases.

“Still. I try to comfort her, tell her that this is her heritage and there is no disgrace in it, but she feels humiliated nonetheless.”

He shook his head. “I do hope she is not going to unscrupulous physicians and wise women to cure the problem. They are all frauds, and their remedies are sometimes dangerous.”

“I warn her not to, but I fear she does it anyway.”

“I know of no treatment for infertility other than maintaining her health through a good diet and moderate living. Beyond that, one can only sacrifice to the gods of fertility and hope for their favor.”

“I thank you for your concern, old friend.”

At that moment Hermes returned with a bag and a slave. With the gory clothes bundled up, we took our leave of Asklepiodes and left the temple.

Julia was ready when I got back home. “What’s this about you being involved in a murder?” she said, even as the door swung open. She caught sight of Hermes behind me. “And what’s in that bag?”

“Just some bloody clothes,” he said. “What the murdered man was wearing.”

“You will not bring any such thing into this house!”

“Oh, come now, my dear,” I said reasonably, “I’ve bled all over this house and no harm has come of it.”

“Your blood attracts nothing but flies,” she answered. “A murdered man’s garments can attract his vengeful spirit, and that man wasn’t well-disposed toward you when he was alive!”

I turned to Hermes. “Go stash that bag with the tavern keeper down the street. He won’t ask questions.” Most of my neighbors were under obligation to me. “And don’t hang around drinking either. We have a lot still to do today.” I went on inside.

Julia had laid out baked fish, sliced melon, and bread. Between bites I told her of the morning’s doings. She didn’t pale much when I described the condition of the body. She’d seen worse.

“So it wasn’t just one man out for a reputation,” she said. “I didn’t think so. But now there seems to be a whole crowd involved. A conspiracy. I think it’s to be expected if it’s a move against your family.”

“Possibly against the great families in general,” I pointed out.

She raised a hand to her brow. “Let’s try to limit this. If it’s a prelude to class war, it’s too big for us.”

“Do you know anything about this tribune, Manilius?” Julia had spent far more time in Rome than I in recent years.

“Just another young climber. Do you think he’s involved?”

“He was on the scene awfully fast, and of all the tribunes, he’s the only one I’ve heard of who has declared neither for Caesar nor Pompey.”

“That is odd. Will you attend this contio he’s called?”

“My presence might be seen as disruptive. Besides, I want to use whatever time I have left free to investigate. If he gets a decision to go to trial before the whole assembly, he may call for my arrest.” Usually, that meant that I would be confined to the house of one of the praetors until trial. I could always flee the City; but that would be an admission of guilt and I would just be tried in absentia, found guilty, and exiled.

I pushed away the plates. “Now tell me what you learned yesterday.”

She picked at her own lunch, which consisted mostly of fruit. I wondered if this were another of her fertility-inducing fads. The pome-granites suggested I was right.

“I called on Fulvia yesterday evening. As I suspected, she was glad of company. Clodius’s old friends are mostly staying away from town, and she won’t be received in decent society. Her brother-in-law, Appius, is even making noises about taking the house back.”

“Unfortunate woman,” I said idly.

“She’s brought it on herself. Anyway, she says she was about to give up and go back home to Baiae, but now she’s thought better of it since she’s to remarry.”

“I don’t expect to see Antonius back from Gaul anytime soon,” I said, raising a cup of her heavily watered wine.

“But she isn’t to marry Antonius. She’s going to marry that man you asked about this morning: Curio.”

I all but choked in midswallow. “What!”

“Exactly,” she said, pleased with her timing and effect. “Curio was one of Clodius’s friends who stayed in Rome. He’s on the rise, which is where Fulvia likes to catch them. He’s standing for Tribune of the People, and if he’s elected, he can’t leave Rome for two consecutive nights during his year in office, so she can’t very well leave Rome, can she?”