Or maybe I was idealizing the memory. Children have their own cruelties to go with their own terrors. I continued my walk, knowing I was not made to be a poet.
The Temple of Aesculapius had the serenity possible only to a temple that is built upon an island. The majestic, dignified temple towered above the curiously ship-shaped walls that enclosed the long and tapering island, complete with ram and rudder, all of stone. The plantings of the temple grounds were among the finest to be seen anywhere in or near the City. The cedars, imported all the way from the Levant, were especially stately.
I arrived just as the priests and staff were finishing a morning ceremony that included the sacrifice of the traditional cock. The ceremony was in the Greek fashion and was conducted entirely in Greek, in the dialect of Epidaurus, whence the god had come to Rome. I spotted Asklepiodes among those attending and waited until the ritual was over.
“Ah, Decius,” he said, when I caught his eye, “I suppose you are in need of a morning-after remedy?”
“Not at all,” I said proudly.
“At last you learn moderation. That stay on Rhodes must have done you some good.”
“All the gods forbid it. No, I was just too busy last night to indulge. I came to speak with you about my investigation.”
“Wonderful. It was beginning to look like a boring day. Come with me.” We went outside and found a bench beneath one of the cypresses. Asklepiodes brushed a few leaves from it and we sat. “Now tell me all about it.”
I gave him Clodia’s description of the symptoms Celer had evinced prior to his demise, and he listened attentively.
“This tells me very little, I fear. I wish I could confer with Ariston of Lycia, but as you may have heard he is unavailable.”
“All too true. I had hoped to question him closely. Not only about the events surrounding Celer’s death but whether he had been treating him for any other condition. Clodia wouldn’t necessarily know.”
“They were not close?”
“It would be fair to say that.”
“I had little liking for Ariston. He was over fond of money and may have strayed from the strict Hippocratic path in his pursuit of it.”
“I have my suspicions of the man as well.” I told him of Harmodia’s murder and its uneasy propinquity to the supposed drowning of Ariston. “Did you happen to examine his body after it was found?”
“No. I attended his funeral, but there was no suspicion of foul play so we all assumed it to be an ordinary drowning. He had an injury on the side of his head, but it was assumed that he had fallen over the parapet and struck his head on one of the bridge supports before landing in the water. It was after a banquet, and if he had imbibed too much, such a fate is hardly a matter for suspicion.”
“He was our family physician, but I don’t think I ever saw him. He probably attended my mother in her final illness, but I was in Spain at the time.”
“You would have remembered him if you had seen him. He was a striking man, very tall and thin. He smiled more often than necessary to show off his expensive Egyptian dental work.”
My spine sang like a plucked bowstring. “Egyptian dental work?”
“Yes. Right here”—he pulled down his lower lip with one finger—”he had two false teeth bound in with gold wire. Excellent work, I might add. There is no one in Rome skilled in that craft. You have to go to Egypt, and Ariston was always fond of reminding people that he had lectured at the Museum of Alexandria. As,” he added complacently, “have I.”
But I wasn’t listening. I silenced him with a raised hand and told him what I had learned from Ascylta, and he all but clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together with glee. Then, of course, he had to have the rest of the story out of me, and he chuckled with each horrible new revelation. Sometimes I wondered about Asklepiodes.
“This is marvelous!” he proclaimed. “Not a mere sordid poisoning but an ancient cult of human sacrifice and filthy politics as well!”
“Not to mention,” I pointed out stiffly, “what now looks like the involvement of the medical profession.”
That soured his face. “Yes, well, that is rather scandalous. It is a greater straying from the path of Hippocrates than I ever suspected Ariston of undertaking.”
“What about this poison, the one Ascylta called ‘the wife’s friend’?”
“I have never heard of it, but there is no medical reason why it cannot exist. The presence of foxglove alone would make it potent.”
“Did Ariston have assistants, students or others familiar with his practice?”
“Assuredly. I usually saw him with a freedman named Narcissus. Ariston’s offices were near the Temple of Portunus. If Narcissus plans to assume Ariston’s practice, he may still be there.”