This last word was a legitimate one, but it seemed somehow foreign and distasteful. In polite society, words such as “merchant” and “businessman” have always been pejorative. Buying and selling for profit have always been activities perceived as fit only for foreigners and freedmen: enormously profitable, perhaps, but dishonorable. Lowest of all were bankers and auctioneers, who made money without actually producing anything—activities that, to right-thinking people, had the aspect of a species of magic.
“I follow you so far,” I told him.
“There are three major businesses, Decius: import-export, the slave trade, and construction. Import-export is mainly owned by foreigners, usually operating here with Roman citizen partners; the slave trade is greatly depressed because of all the foreign wars; but the City is booming. Construction is the most profitable business here by a huge margin.”
“So,” I said, “there can be very few men in public life who are not beholden to these builders?”
“And none more so than the aediles and, every five years, the censors.”
“They haven’t approached me with bribes,” I protested. “I’m sure I would remember.”
He smiled wryly. “You’ve acquired a reputation for—I won’t say incorruptibility. It is more that you have an eccentric interpretation of what constitutes corruption along with your unswerving adherence to duty.”
“I suppose there are worse reputations to have. I’d hate to be thought another Cato.”
He laughed aloud this time. His men laughed too, although they couldn’t hear what we were saying. “Nobody thinks that, never fear. But most of your colleagues in the Senate have far fewer scruples.”
“I’ve always known that. Are you saying they’ll unite against me if I prosecute the crooked contractors?”
“When do they ever unite for anything? No, but there will be a few who see their own fortunes threatened. It doesn’t take many of them.”
“Clodius?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Much as I hate to absolve him of anything, the infiuence of the builders is not enough to move him. He has plenty of other sources of wealth, and Caesar has instructed him to leave you alone. He won’t endanger his alliance with your uncle-by-marriage.”
“Who am I to watch out for?” I asked him.
“I’ll compile a list of names and send them to you. Keep in mind that I don’t know all of them. I think you should leave this matter alone.”
“This isn’t just theft, Milo, it’s murder. I can’t overlook it.”
He sighed. “When did you ever accept good advice?” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go discuss the upcoming fights.”
An hour later, Hermes and I were on our way back into the City proper. The messenger from the Temple of Aesculapius caught us crossing the bridge. “Aedile,” he said, “the physician Harmodias sends me to tell you that the slave from the insula of Lucius Folius has died.”
I performed a colorful, multilingual curse for the edification of all within earshot. “Did he speak?”
“Harmodias has charged me to tell you that he made no coherent statement before he expired.”
That seemed an odd way to put it. “Where is the body?”
“I am instructed to tell you that the temple will take care of its disposal.”
It all sounded very wrong, but I wasn’t going to discuss it with a temple slave. “Come on, Hermes, let’s go back to the Island.”
“What is it?” he asked. “He was the only survivor from the ground fioor. It’s no surprise that he croaked as well.”
“I’m more interested in why they are so anxious to take charge of the body,” I said.
We hurried to the Island. It was getting late, but I was in no mood to quit for the evening. The eyes of Harmodias widened to see me back.
“Aedile, you honor us again. Is anything wrong?”
“A number of things. For one, I was looking forward to what that slave had to say.”
“Alas,” he said, spreading his hands, “some things are beyond our power. The man died without regaining consciousness. He spoke no understandable words, merely mumbling in terminal delirium. He died perhaps two hours ago.”
“I want to see the body,” I said.
“The body of a slave dead in an accident? Why?”
“That is my business. Where is it?”
“I am afraid it has already been taken away for burial.”
I knew it. Something was wrong here. “Isn’t it customary to wait long enough for someone to claim the body?”
He assumed the prissy, fastidious air we expect from physicians. “Sometimes, but not when the corpse is that of an inferior slave following a disaster in which mortality has been high. And, as I understand it, Aedile, there has been some difficulty in finding a responsible person to claim the bodies of the owners. Had you wished to retain the corpse, you should have issued orders to that effect before you left.”