“May I have a moment of your time, Aedile?” I asked. He turned, smiling. Murena was a man a few years older than I, with an engagingly ugly face. “How may I help you, Senator?”
I went through the usual introduction and explained the bare bones of my mission. “In my inquiries concerning possible vendors of poison I came across the name of Harmodia, a Marsian woman who had a stall beneath the arches of the Circus Flaminius. She was discovered on the morning of the ninth of November, murdered. A watchman from the circus reported the killing at the Temple of Ceres, and you went out to investigate. Upon your return you dictated a report to a secretary and it was filed. Is this correct so far?”
“I remember the incident. Yes, you are correct so far as my part in it goes. Why is the woman significant?”
“I have strong evidence that the woman sold the poison used in the murder I am investigating, and I believe she was killed to silence her.”
“Those people are notorious. The City would be improved if they were all driven off.”
“Perhaps so. Now,” I went on, getting to the heart of the matter, “about two or three days after the murder, you sent a slave to the Temple of Ceres to fetch your report of the woman’s death for a presentation to the praetor urbanus, is this correct?”
Murena frowned. “No, I made no such report.”
“You didn’t?” Another unexpected twist in a case already full of them.
“No, it was the last full month of the year for official business and the courts were extremely busy. Nobody was interested in a dead woman from the mountains.”
“And yet the report is missing.”
“Then it was misfiled, as often happens at the temple, or else the slave picked up the wrong report, as also happens rather commonly.”
“Possibly. Could you give me the gist of your report? It might have some bearing not only upon the murder but upon the reason for the report’s disappearance.”
“Inefficiency requires no reason, Senator Metellus,” he pointed out.
“Profoundly put. But, if you will humor me …”
“Very well. Let me see …” He concentrated for a while. “This was several weeks ago, and the incident was a trifling one, so please bear with me if my memory lacks its usual keenness.”
“Quite understandable. A mere murder, after all.” It was a pretty fair assessment of a homicide in Rome in those days, at least when the victim was a person of no importance. At the moment, though, I could feel little sorrow over the death of Harmodia. She was a seller of poisons. Ariston had been equally despicable. As far as I was concerned, their murders were just an impediment to my investigation. As, of course, they were intended to be.
“The murder was reported by one Urgulus …”
“I have spoken with him,” I said.
“Then you know the circumstances under which she was found and I was summoned. I went to the Flaminius and found the body of a fairly stout woman in her thirties or forties lying in a large pool of blood. The cause of death was a deep knife wound to the throat, nearly severing the head. Questioning revealed no witnesses to the deed, which had occurred several hours before, judging by the condition of the body.”
“Were there any other wounds?” I asked. “Urgulus was unsure.”
“While I was asking questions, the Marsian women prepared her for transport to her home for burial. They took off her bloody gown, washed her body, and wrapped her in a shroud. I saw no other wounds, but I suppose if she’d been knocked on the back of the head with a club there might have been no obvious sign of it.”
“No evidence found nearby? The murder weapon, that sort of thing?”
“In that district? Thieves would have stolen the blood if they could have gotten anything for it.”
“That is so. Anything else?”
He thought for a moment. “No, that is what I reported. As I said, there was very little to report. When I went to court that morning I made a brief mention of it for the morning report.”
“Yes, I found that at the tabularium. Tell me, Caius Licinius, weren’t you in Gaul a few years back?”
“Yes, it was four years ago, when Cicero and Antonius were consuls. I was legate to my brother, Lucius. I was left in charge when he returned to Rome for the elections. Why, were you there at the time?”
“No, it’s just that Gaul is on everybodies’ minds these days.”
“It may be on everybodies’ minds, but it’s in Caesar’s hands now, though he may come to regret that, and serve him right.”
“You favor Pompey then?”
“Pompey!” he expressed utter scorn. “Pompey is a jumped-up nobody, who earned his reputation over the bodies of better men. And before you ask, Crassus is a fat sack of money and wind who once, with help, beat an army of slaves. Is that satisfactory?”