“Let’s not forget Crassus,” I said, annoyed at his all-too-accurate assessment of the times. “Men of wealth are of paramount importance, too.”
Clodius shrugged. “When has that not been the case? Even kings are primarily rich men, forget about the blood lineage. But wealthy men who are not also powerful soon lose their wealth to men with many followers and sharp swords. During Sulla’s proscriptions, wealthy men were routinely condemned so their property could be seized.”
“You seem to have all the answers,” I said.
He nodded. “I have.” He stood and his flunkies rushed to bring him towels. “I really must be going, Decius. I have a great deal to accomplish. The transition to the new government is already in process. I will see you this evening at Clodia’s.”
“Is she still living in Celer’s house?” I asked.
“Yes, for the moment. She will be moving back into the Claudian mansion after Saturnalia. It’s more secure.”
I interpreted this to mean that Celer’s will had been read and he had left nothing to Clodia. This meant that the house would probably go to Nepos, who was half-brother to Celer. He was Pompey’s man, and Clodia was aligned with her brother, who was Caesar’s. This was a not particularly complicated matter of property, family, marriage, and politics, and typical of the times.
When Clodius and his men were gone, Hermes came tiptoeing in.
“Master, I never saw them coming. I’d have warned you, but I looked up and there were those gladiators and Publius Clodius and I …”
“Quite all right, Hermes,” I said, studying the ceiling, rejoicing in the fact that I was breathing. “I rather expected that they had killed you. Clodius does so love his little surprises.”
“I thought I’d find you floating facedown,” he admitted. “I’m glad to see he let you live.”
“Then let us rejoice in our mutual survival.” I almost felt that I could get out of the bath without my knees wobbling too disgracefully. I had never been reluctant to fight Clodius one-to-one, or each of us with his own followers behind him, armed or unarmed. We’d had it out in the streets more than once, and I did not fear him on anything like an even footing. But there is something unmanning about being caught by your deadliest enemy when you are alone, hugely outnumbered, cornered without means of escape, and stark naked to boot. From a proud and pugnacious Roman, I had become something resembling a jellyfish.
“What’s happened?” Hermes asked.
“Well, how shall I explain?” I studied the ceiling some more. “The good part is, we are safe in the streets for a while. Clodius has called off his dogs. The bad part is, he, too, wants me to investigate Celer’s death, but only because he wants me to clear Clodia of guilt. I fear a certain conflict here.”
Hermes didn’t take long to figure out the problem. A slave always knows exactly where the danger is coming from.
“Prove her innocent and you alienate your family,” he said. “Prove her guilty and Clodius will kill you.”
“That is how I read it,” I affirmed. “Of course, Clodius plans to kill me anyway, no matter what I do. It’s not as if a threat from him was anything new. And my family at least won’t have me killed. I can, however, look forward to spending the rest of my life draining the swamps on the worst of the family estates.”
“You could throw your support to Pompey,” said Hermes. He was learning fast.
“No, I can’t. I won’t back Pompey or Caesar or Crassus. I am a Republican.”
“Don’t they all claim that?” His grasp of reality was improving.
“Of course they do. But they are lying and I am not. Sulla claimed that he was restoring the Republic, and he proved it by murdering half the Senate and then making his supporters senators whether they’d served in office or not. Pompey was made consul without having ever served in elective office, against all constitutional law and precedent! And Caesar is the worst of the lot because nobody knows what he is up to, except that he intends to be dictator!”
“You know,” Hermes said, “your voice sounds really good in here, the way it echoes off the walls, I mean.”
“Bring my towel,” I told him. Wearily, I climbed from the hot bath and made my way to the massage tables.
An hour later, dressed, massaged, rubbed down with fresh oil, and over my second fright of the day, I felt ready to resume my activities. Life in Rome was nothing if not stimulating. I was already wondering what Clodia would have for dinner.
I STILL HAD A FEW HOURS BEfore going to Celer’s house. Clodia, I recalled, liked to start dinner late. This was regarded as scandalous, which was probably why she did it. That gave me time to make another essential call.