Saturnalia(29)

“Scythians,” said, noticing my interest. “Only the children of the nobility are tattooed like this.” She stroked the tawny hair of one. “The pirates wanted a fortune for them. They claimed they’d lost a number of men kidnapping them, but I doubt it. Even nobles can fall on hard times. They probably sold these two rather than have to feed them.”

“Lovely creatures,” I said, wondering how I would fare as a slave among foreigners. “However, it’s getting late and we must talk of serious matters. Speaking of which, you should keep a tighter rein on Fulvia. She and Antonius were behaving shamelessly tonight.”

“Decius, you are such a prude.” She smiled as she poured wine for us.

“I don’t care if they dance naked on the rostra, but Clodius is apt to take offense.”

“Why should he? They aren’t married yet.”

“Why, indeed?” They were a strange family. “Anyway, Clodia, I must inquire into the death of your husband.” I took a seat on one of the lounge chairs and she took the other. The lamps cast a bronzy glow over us and the room. The air was sweet from the nearby countryside. Luckily, the breeze blew from the northeast. If it had come from the southeast, it would have passed over the notorious lime pits where the bodies of slaves and the unclaimed indigent were disposed of. We were far from the fetid heart of the city.

“And why are you doing this?”

That took me aback. “Why? Just this afternoon, Clodius all but ambushed me at the baths and …”

“Yes, yes, he told me.” She waved it aside with elegantly painted nails. “He thinks you can put an end to the suspicion that I killed Celer. But I am equally certain that Celer’s relatives want you to prove just the opposite. Is that why you are back in Rome?” Her eyes were direct, clear, and steady, even though she had done more than justice by the evening’s liquid refreshments and was even then putting away more.

“You know what my family wants and what Clodius wants. Why don’t you ask me what I want?”

“All right. What do you want, Decius?”

“I want the truth.”

She laughed. “Oh, you’re such an honest drudge, Decius. I don’t know how you manage to lead such an interesting life. You have Cato’s rectitude, although you aren’t as boring.” She laughed again and then stopped and glared at me with dagger-point eyes. “You think I did it, don’t you?”

“I am witholding judgment until I have evidence,” I said. “Why do you think I judge you guilty?”

“Because you haven’t touched your wine, and I know you have a thirst like Sisyphus. And you don’t get to drink wine of this quality every day, either.”

I knew my face was flaming as bright as Antonius’s had earlier that evening. Ostentatiously, I took a large gulp from my cup. It was a wonderful Massic, as smooth as Clodia’s complexion. She leaned forward and studied my face solemnly.

“I do wish we had better light,” she said. “I’m trying out a new one, and I’d like to observe the effects.”

“You bitch!” I said, pouring myself another cupful. As she had said, it might be a long time before I had a chance to taste such a fine vintage again. “Now tell me how it happened.”

She sat back, smiling. “That’s better. You aren’t too objectionable when you’re not pretending to be Romulus. Where shall I begin?”

I thought about what Asklepiodes had said. “Was Celer’s death sudden, or did it come after a lengthy illness?”

“It was unexpected. He was always a powerful, vigorous man, and anger didn’t weary him as it does most men. He was like my brother in that.”

“Anger?” I asked.

“Weren’t you listening at dinner?” she said impatiently. “His whole term as consul was one battle after another, and it didn’t stop when he stepped down. He was being prosecuted continually for his actions in office so that he had to keep putting off leaving for his proconsular province.”

“Which province was he to have?”

“Transalpine Gaul. Afranius, his colleague, was to have Cisalpine. But that tribune, Flavius, was after Celer like a Mollossian hound. Finally, he got Celer’s appointment revoked.”

I made a mental note to visit this firebrand. “Men have been known to drop dead from such provocation. Might his anger have brought on a seizure?”

She shook her head. “No, he never got carried away. His anger was of the cold, deliberate sort. He was a Metellus, after all.”

Meaning that my family was famed for moderation, unlike the Claudians to whom she belonged, who had a streak of criminal insanity.