Saturnalia(37)

Hermes and I toiled our way up four flights of stairs amid the noises of squalling infants and arguing children and adults. The smells of poverty were not pleasant, but I was so familiar with them that I didn’t bother to wrinkle my nose. Most of my neighbors lived no better. When I found the door, Hermes pounded on it, hard. For a long time we heard nothing.

“Maybe he’s not in,” Hermes said.

“He’s in. He’s a watchman. He sleeps days.”

After repeated knocking we heard shuffling and scraping noises from inside. In time, the door opened fractionally and I got a vague impression of a bleary-eyed, unshaven face.

“What is it?” Then he recognized my senatorial insignia and the door swung wide. “Oh. Pardon me, Senator. How may I help you?” He seemed to be equal parts bewilderment and trepidation, unable to fathom what this strange visitation could portend. Also, he was still half-asleep.

“I am Senator Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger, and I am engaged upon an investigation. Are you Marcus Urgulus?”

“I am.” He nodded vigorously. He was a middle-aged man, once robust but running to fat, with more lines in his face than teeth in his mouth.

“Did you, on the ninth day of last month, discover the body of a murdered herb woman named Harmodia?”

“Yes, yes, I did.” He looked uncomfortable and embarrassed. “Ah, Senator, I hesitate to invite you into my crib. One reason I took the job of watchman was so I wouldn’t have to spend my nights here.”

I, too, had little eagerness to enter.

“Is there a tavern nearby? If so, I’ll stand you to a cup or two while I hear your report.”

“Just a moment, sir.” He went back in and I could hear water splashing into a basin. A minute later he reappeared. His eyes were clearer and his hair had been smoothed to a semblance of order. “There’s a little dive at the corner of the insula next door,” he said, leading the way.

We descended and walked out of the tenement with a sense of relief. A walk to the corner and across a tiny street brought us to a low doorway, above which was carved a relief of a charioteer driving a quadriga, the four horses depicted in full gallop and painted in garish colors. The area around the Flaminius had for many years been the only developed part of the Campus Martius, and the building was an old one.

“This is the Charioteer,” Urgulus said. “It’s where most of the men who work at the Flaminius hang out.”

We ducked beneath the lintel and went inside. The shutters were propped open, lightening the gloom of the smoky interior. The smoke came from a number of charcoal braziers that warmed pots of spiced wine and pans of sausage. The smell hit my nostrils, and my stomach reminded me that I was neglecting it. I handed some coins to Hermes.

“Fetch us a pitcher of wine and something to eat,” I told him, making a mental note to count the change when he came back.

“There’s a good table back here where we can talk,” Urgulus said, walking back to the murkiest corner, where a square table was placed beneath a sign warning against loud arguing and disorderly dicing. We walked past the tavern’s half-dozen or so other patrons. If they were impressed by the presence of a senator in their midst, they didn’t show it. Circus people are a notably tough and aloof breed.

We took our seats and a minute later Hermes arrived with a pitcher, a platter of bread and sausage, and three cups. He was taking liberties, but I did not bother to upbraid him for his presumption. It was almost Saturnalia, after all. The wine was not bad at all, only lightly watered, with steam rising from it and flecks of spices floating on its surface. I tasted clove and fennel as I drank, and the hot drink warmed my insides agreeably.

“Now,” I said, “tell me about your discovery.”

“It was just getting light,” Urgulus began, “and I went to the circus watchmen’s office to turn in my club and my keys. I’m in charge of the passageways and the gates on the second level, south side.” He rolled the cup between his hands and gazed as if into a great, far distance. “I left the circus and walked out from beneath the arches, and I hadn’t gone three steps before I tripped over the woman’s body.” He gave me a strained, sheepish grin. “I was already half asleep, and this side of the circus,” he nodded toward the hulking structure visible through the open door, “was still in deep shadow. I landed right in a big puddle of blood.”

“Did you recognize her?” I asked.

“Not just then. It was still too dark. I tell you, sir, I almost went home and didn’t report it. There I was with blood all over me, and I thought people might think I’d killed her. But I got over my first scare and realized the blood and the body were both plumb cold and the woman had gone stiff. She must have been lying there all night.