Julia was Julius Caesar’s niece and my betrothed. Since all marriages among the great families were political, they were waiting for the political atmosphere to be correct before setting a date for the wedding. It was pure accident and a matter of no concern to my family or hers that she was the one lady I truly wanted to marry. The Metelli wanted a link with the Julii and we were to provide it. I am not sure whether these arranged marriages did any good or not. Creticus had married his daughter off to the younger Marcus Crassus, and they were deliriously happy. Caesar’s daughter married Pompey, and they seem to have gotten on well enough until she died in childbirth. Celer married Clodia for the sake of a temporary alliance with the Claudians, and I was there to find out whether she had decided to divorce him with drastic finality.
I was in the dark about one matter, and I decided to rectify it before proceeding further. I turned my steps west toward the river and began the long walk to the Transtiber district.
I found Asklepiodes in his spacious surgery in the ludus of Statilius Taurus. His intelligent face broke into a smile when he saw me come in. His hair and beard were a little grayer than when I had last seen him in Alexandria, but otherwise he was unchanged. He was directing a slave, who was rubbing liniment into the shoulder of a massive Numidian.
“Rejoice!” he said, taking my hand. “I hadn’t heard of any recent, interesting murders in Rome. What brings you home so suddenly?”
“The usual,” I said. “Just not recent.”
“You must tell me all about it.” He dismissed the slave and the injured gladiator. “Wrenched shoulder,” he commented. “I keep telling Statilius that training with double-weight shields causes more injuries than can be justified by any good that they may do, but it is traditional and he will not listen.”
I took a seat by his window. The clatter of arms drifted musically up from the exercise yard below.
“It is upon the mysteries of your profession that I wish to consult you,” I told him.
“But of course. How may I help?”
“What do you know of poisons?”
“Enough to know that I am forbidden by oath to prescribe them.”
“Sophistry,” I said. “You use them all the time in your medicines.”
“True, the line is a fine one. Many beneficial medicines, in excessive quantities, can kill. A drug that slows the heart can stop the heart. But I presume that your interest is in those poisons favored for homicide?”
“Exactly. My family wants me to look into the death of Metellus Celer.”
“I suspected as much. Like everyone else, I have heard the rumors. An important man, married to a notorious woman, a sudden, unexpected death, ergo, poisoning.”
“I must snoop,” I said. “I must ask questions. But what am I looking for?”
Asklepiodes sat and pondered. “First, you must discern the symptoms. Were there convulsions? Did the victim foam at the mouth? Did he complain of stomach pains or chills? Did he vomit ejecta of unusual form or color? Was there a bloody flux of the bowels?”
“That sounds simple enough,” I said.
“It is perhaps the only simple part. You must realize that, when the subject is poisoning, there is far more superstition than learning involved.”
“I know,” I admitted. “Here in Italy the whole subject is associated with witches more than with physicians or apothecaries.”
“As you say. Few poisons act with terrible swiftness, few are lethal in minute quantities, few can be administered undetected. In fact, some are given in very small quantities over a very long time. Their effect is cumulative. Thus the victim may appear to have died of a lengthy illness.”
“You are saying that poisoning is a job for experts.”
He nodded. “Or for a murderer with access to expert advice. There are always a few professionals in the field, and they are never without practice. Remember, many approach poisoners for purposes of suicide. Among those not under the oath of my profession, this is a quasilegitimate practice. Neither gods nor civil authorities forbid suicide.”
“How do real poisoners get their victims to take the stuff?” I asked him.
“The most common fashion, one you are familiar with since it has been tried upon you without success, is orally. This is almost always accomplished through food or drink as the transmitting agent, although it is not unheard of for poison to be disguised as genuine medicine. The difficulty with oral transmission is that most poisons have powerful, unpleasant flavors.”
“That’s where disguising it as medicine would help,” I commented. “Most medicines taste awful.”