He took the rolled up papyrus. “Quite well. I thought the man very promising, the sort of conscientious official we rarely see any more. He disappointed me, though. Died quite squalidly.” He began to read loudly, but his voice lowered as consternation replaced his usual expression. He handed it back. “All right. Tell me about this.”
Then Cato sat by me, and we began some serious plotting. I gave him a quick account of my findings of the past few days. He said nothing while I spoke, but I could tell by his various nods and snarls at events and names that he was paying attention and had deep feelings about at least some of it.
“It may not have been such a good idea to send Metellus Scipio a copy of the letter,” he said, when I was finished. “Not only is he implicated in this, but he is interrex. The powers of that office are not entirely clear. They are certainly not those of a dictator, he has no imperium, and he can’t command armies and won’t go out to govern a province; but in civil matters he is in a better position than any pair of consuls. He has no colleague to obstruct him, and some authorities maintain that an interrex can even override a tribunician veto. He might take action against you.”
“I don’t believe he will.”
“Don’t count on family loyalty,” Cato warned. “He is a Metellus by adoption, not by birth.”
“I’m perfectly aware of that. I think he will comply for three reasons: First, he is prouder of his heritage as a Scipio than of his adoption as a Caecilian—”
“That is perfectly understandable,” Cato said.
“—and everyone expects a Scipio to act as a savior of the Republic. Second, he will be stepping down soon anyway and isn’t likely to abuse the powers of the office at this late date. Third, I don’t think he was directly involved anyway.”
“I am glad to hear it, but why don’t you think he’s one of the conspirators? Lucilius seemed to think he was.”
“The morning after the insula collapsed, Scipio came to observe; and at that time he was eager for me to bring charges against the builders. He even saw it as a good case for his son to make his reputation as a lawyer. It was only the next day, after Messala had been at him, that he came to try and discourage me. I suspect that he was unaware that inferior materials bought at his estate downriver were being used illegally here in Rome. It’s going to be an embarrassment, but he has an out. He can produce some conniving steward who was selling the goods and salting away the profits and have the man publicly executed.”
“That could make a good midday entertainment at your Games,” Cato pointed out.
“I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe we could get rid of all the criminals that way: build a big, fake insula in the arena, one with no walls, so they can be seen. Have it collapse and crush them all to death. Pure poetic justice. The audience would love it.”
“That has possibilities. Wouldn’t they die too quickly, though? They deserve something lingering.”
“I’m not as traditional as you are, Cato. Just find the guilty parties, try them, condemn them, and execute them, that’s how I do things. Besides, we need to arrest them before we can dole out punishments, so let’s stick to that. We must move very quickly if we’re to bag them. I want you to grab the freedman, Justus, and hide him in your own house. He’s by far our best witness, and I’m only hoping that he hasn’t been killed already. He may not like testifying against his patron, but he’ll do it to save himself from execution.”
“It will be done.” Cato beckoned a pair of his high-born brawlers forward, and I told them how to find the salvage yard.
“It should be above water,” I told them, “and he will almost certainly be there because people will be buying wood to build barges or shore up endangered buildings. If not, he almost certainly lives nearby. Find him and arrest him on my authority. He already knows I want his testimony.”
“Take him to my house,” Cato told them, “and sit by him with swords in your hands until I relieve you. Don’t let him get away, and don’t allow anyone near him.” They saluted and ran off.
“I want the Trans-Tiber and points west combed for the slave-priest Harmodias. He can identify the killers of the big slave I entrusted to his care, and he can tie Messala to that deed.”
Cato snorted. “You know Messala kept his own hands clean.”
“If I can implicate enough of his friends and slaves and freedmen, he will have a large task weaseling out of it. But you’ve named the biggest task: getting verdicts against the aristocratic likes of Valerius Messala Niger and Aemilius Scaurus.”