“Any sons?” asked Catulus.
“No. Two daughters, both married. I will notify them as well.”
“Nothing more to be done here,” said Calpurnianus. “Good evening to you all.”
The others sent for their slaves. Our behavior might seem haphazard, but remember that in those days Rome had no police or regular investigative officers. A iudex might investigate, or an ambitious young politician might take it upon himself to look into the matter and bring charges against someone. But murderers were often of humble status, and therefore nobody’s reputation was to be made by prosecuting them.
I saw Nero gather his slaves together. He had brought no fewer than four. The Claudians were a well-fixed family. I was greatly his senior in years, experience and reputation, and all I could afford was an amoral wretch like Hermes. I summoned that observant youth and whispered to him:
“Follow that little bastard and see where he goes; then report to me tomorrow.”
He looked indignant. “Is that all?”
“What do you mean, is that all?” I demanded.
“I just saved your life. That ought to be worth something.”
“So you claim. For all I know, you’ve just accused a perfectly innocent young man. Just follow him. If it turns out you really did save me, I’ll be nice to you come Saturnalia.” He stalked off. Actually, I had no doubt he had told the truth. If Nero was associating with Clodius, then he had to be guilty. But I knew better than to flatter Hermes. Slaves like that will take advantage of you if you let them.
The pool of blood around the body was growing rather large, but most of it was on one side. I stepped closer on the less bloody side and crouched for a better look. The murderer had cut Capito’s throat, but from what I could see of the wound, it was amazingly small, rather like a stab wound. Then I noticed a slightly depressed mark between the brows, as if he had been struck by some sort of cudgel. Most killers find one death-blow sufficient, but I supposed that a little insurance would not come amiss. I stood and backed away from the corpse, my sandals making slight, sticky sounds as I did. I had not been able to entirely avoid the blood.
“Well,” I muttered, “that’s one who won’t be Celer’s colleague.”
“What’s that you say?” Afranius said. The others had already left, but he had been busy berating his linkboy, who was too drunk to keep his torch alight.
“Oh, a political matter. My kinsman Metellus Celer is standing for the Consulship, and I was to talk with Capito about a possible alliance.” It was not the sort of thing that had to be kept confidential.
Afranius’s eyes lit up. “A coitio? Well, Capito is out of the picture. You know, I think the wine-bowl is still full in the triclinium. Why don’t we go back there and talk while my boy sobers up?” We ambled back into the dining room as all around us the house was filled with wails of mourning.
4
“Lucius Afranius, eh?” Celer said. We stood on the steps of the Curia in the dismal light of early dawn. “He wouldn’t be a bad choice. I could count on him not to give me any trouble or try to override my acts. In fact, he was one of the ones I planned to have you sound out, eventually. Good work, Decius.”
“Always happy to serve,” I assured him.
“Pity about Capito, though. The janitor, too, you say?”
“Killed with the same two blows, still chained to his gate.”
“The killer was probably an ex-gladiator, then. The gangs are full of them, and the stab in the throat is the arena deathblow.”
That had occurred to me as well. I had known many gladiators, and among that stalwart confraternity it is a matter of honor to kill the defeated with swiftness and dignity. With a sword, this is best accomplished with a quick jab to the jugular. It is believed to be nearly painless as well, but since none who receive the blow ever talk about it afterward, this is difficult to confirm. Also, there is lots of blood, and the crowds like that.
“Probably a jealous husband and a hired killer,” Celer pronounced. “That’s what it usually is. Political matters haven’t reached the killing stage lately.”
“I’m not so sure,” I said. “Business disagreements can get just as vicious.”
“He was a patrician,” Celer said. “They’re not supposed to engage in business. Not that they don’t anyway.”
While we spoke the Senate was assembling. The curule magistrates, accompanied by their lictors, climbed the steps, stifling yawns like everybody else. Cato was there, virtuously barefoot. The adherents of Pompey formed a grim, determined knot, ready once again to press their suit for his triumph. The usual gaggle of Metellans formed around us. Creticus was there, and Pius the pontifex, although he was an adopted Metellus, actually a Scipio. Of the prominent Metellans only Nepos was not with us. He was always to be found among Pompey’s faction. For a wonder, there was not a single prominent Metellan governing in the provinces that year.