Saturnalia(82)

I could have kissed him. “So you delivered it to him, and he took it into the praetor’s court?”

“I delivered it all right, but he just took it and walked away, toward the cattle market. It was nothing to me. My job was to fetch it.”

I tipped them both and bade them be about their business. My soles barely touched the pavement as I walked, once again, back around the base of the Capitol, skirting the northern edge of the cattle market, until I was once again in the precincts of the Temple of Portunus, amid the dense smells of our wonderful but all too fragrant sewers.

For the second time that day I ascended the stairs with their medical symbols and, upon the terrace, found the freedman Narcissus seated at a small table, eating a late lunch or early dinner. He was surprised to see me.

“Good day, esteemed physician Narcissus,” I said, all good cheer.

“Senator! I did not expect to see you again so soon. Will you join me?”

“Are you certain it is no imposition?” I suddenly realized how long ago breakfast had been.

“A distinguished guest is never an imposition.” He turned to a slave. “A plate and goblet for the senator.” The man was back before I had arranged my toga to sit. For a few minutes we munched in silence, observing the proprieties; then I sat back as the slave refilled my cup.

“How went the operation?” I asked.

His face brightened. “It was perfect! Asklepiodes is the most marvelous physician. Marcus Celsius should make a complete recovery if infection does not set in. Asklepiodes actually lifted out the detached piece of bone and cleaned out clotted blood and some small bone splinters from the brain itself before replacing it and securing it with silver wire.”

“He is a god among healers,” I said, pouring a bit of wine onto the pavement as a libation so the gods should not take my words as a challenge and grow jealous of my friend Asklepiodes.

“And,” Narcissus said, leaning forward confidentially, “he actually did much of it with his own hands, instead of just directing his slaves. I only say this because I know you are his friend.”

“It will be our secret,” I assured him. “Now, my friend Narcissus, it occurred to me just now that I neglected to ask you something this morning touching upon the demise of your late patron.”

“What may I tell you?”

“I understand that he fell from a bridge and was drowned. Do you happen to know where the banquet was held where he imbibed too much?”

“Why, yes. He dined out most evenings, often at the house of someone distinguished. That afternoon, just before he left, he said, should he be needed for an emergency, by which he meant a sudden illness in a very rich and prominent family, he was to be found at the house of the aedile Lucius Calpurnius Bestia.”

“Calpurnius Bestia,” I said, all but purring.

“Yes,” he said, a little puzzled at my tone. He pointed to the south. “It’s up there someplace on the Aventine. He must have come down late, long after dark, and didn’t think to ask the aedile for a slave to accompany him. He was usually a moderate man, but most people drink too much at a banquet.”

“A common failing,” I noted.

“Yes. Well, when he came down onto the level area, instead of walking straight home, he must have accidentally turned left and not realized it until he found himself on the Sublician Bridge. It was a very dark night, I remember that. It is easy to lose one’s way, even near home. He probably went to the parapet to get his bearings, or perhaps he had to vomit. In any case, he leaned too far over and fell in, striking his head. He was found just a few paces downstream on the bank.”

I stood and took his hand in both of mine, cheered by both the wine and the recitation. “Thank you, my friend Narcissus, thank you. You have been of inestimable help, and I shall recommend you most heartily to my family.”

He beamed. “Any service I may render to the illustrious Metelli, I am overjoyed to provide.”

I left his terrace, chuckling and whistling. I must have looked a perfect loon, but I was past caring about my appearance. I walked back toward my house, not feeling the many miles my feet had carried me that long day. I would have more walking to do before I went to my well-earned sleep.

As I walked I thought about Bestia. Bestia, Pompey’s cunning spy in Catilina’s conspiracy. Bestia, who would do anything to advance himself with Pompey. And how better than to eliminate Pompey’s rival for the Gallic command, Celer? Bestia hadn’t known that Pompey and Caesar had already reached an agreement on that. But perhaps not. Pompey might have wanted Caesar to go and fail and thus secure the command after the enemy had been softened up by his fellow triumvir. In any case the neat framing of Clodius through his sister could only help Pompey’s position in the city, while cutting down Caesar’s by destroying his henchman.