I had to demand the presence of Macro himself before the daggermen would let me in. After a considerable period of bickering during which my official dignity suffered mightily at their insolence, Macro finally arrived. He took one look and began to bark: “Don’t you fools know a Commissioner when you see one? Let the gentleman in!” With ill grace, the thugs admitted me.
“I must apologize for those two,” Macro said. “You understand, it’s hard to get good boys these days. Not like in the old days.” Everybody was lamenting the decadence of the times.
“Those two arena-cheaters had better not appear before me in court,” I remarked affably. “The Sicilian sulfur mines are shockingly understaffed, I hear.”
“Probably a good place for them,” he said. Macro was about forty-five years old, big and bald-headed and covered with more scars than I ever saw on a man who wasn’t an old veteran of the legions or the arena. We had had dealings in the past. His connections protected him and my office protected me, so we could talk easily.
“I trust your father is well,” he said.
“Perfectly,” I answered. “I understand that your man Aemilius will be up before him just after the Nones.”
We came to the peristylium, open to the blue sky, where incense burned continuously to combat the smells from outside. We reclined at a table and a slave brought wine and sweetmeats. The wine was Caecuban. Macro could afford the best.
“I’d been meaning to look you up on that matter,” Macro said. “A good word from the right quarter might keep the boy out of the ludus.” I had been hoping to hear that. I needed a bargaining point. I said nothing. “Much as we always enjoy each other’s company,” Macro went on, “I presume this is more than a social visit.”
“As a matter of fact, I am investigating a number of matters in which you might be able to assist me.”
“I am always at the service of Senate and People.”
“And very grateful we all are,” I said. “What might you know concerning a fire at the warehouse belonging to one Paramedes of Antioch?”
Macro spread his hands and shrugged. “Just another fire, as far as I know.”
“And the murder of Paramedes?”
"He was murdered?”
“And the murder of one Marcus Ager, once known as Sinistrus?”
“Marcus who?”
“Enough of this!” I snapped. “Nobody cuts a purse or a throat in this district without your knowledge. I’m not after you, I just want to clear up some matters that fall within my jurisdiction. If you can help me, do so. If not, then I may not be able to help you with young Aemilius.”
Macro brooded in his winecup for a minute. “All I can tell you, Decius Caecilius, is that these are matters I would prefer not to be associated with.” This was disturbing news, indeed. For a matter to be so foul that Macro wanted nothing to do with it portended something truly awesome.
“However,” he continued, “I shall make inquiries. Anything I can find I shall put at your disposal. If,” he amended hastily, “I can do so safely.”
That was better than nothing. “I would like to have the information as soon as possible,” I said. “It isn’t long until the Nones.”
“We all depend upon political favor, Decius Caecilius. I shall do for you what I can without endangering mine. I want to save Aemilius, he’s my sister’s boy, but neither for him nor for you can I commit suicide.”
“No need to,” I assured him. “Do me this favor: Sinistrus was bought from the Ludus of Statilius Taurus by someone who identified himself as the steward of someone named H. Ager. The slave rebellion was in full swing two years ago, so if someone bought this slave under false pretenses, one of your colleagues must have had a hand in it. Find out who bought him and send me the name, as secretly as you like. I’ll try to prevail on my father to go easy on your nephew.”
“I shall have the name by this time tomorrow,” Macro said.
“Oh, one more thing.” I told him of the break-in at my house.
He thought it over for a while. “I have heard nothing of this. Why anyone should want a bronze amulet I cannot imagine, unless it had some magical power. As for the thief— how did he come in? Over the roof and into the peristylium?”
“So I suspect. There was no forcing of doors or windows.”
“A lightweight, then, to come in over rooftiles without making noise. That would go with the eyesight, too. Few can see so well in the dark past the age of fifteen. I think your intruder was probably a young boy.”
I massaged my scalp, wincing. “He hit hard, for a child.”