The Sacrilege(46)

She didn’t flinch. “People such as we have a flexibility you cannot imagine, Decius.”

She was underestimating my imagination, but I let it pass. “And was young Fulvia in Caesar’s house on the now-infamous evening of the rites?” I asked, dragging her back to the subject at hand.

“The rites are only for married women, Decius,” Clodia said. “Fulvia accompanied me there, but she could not take part in the rituals.”

“And how did it come about that Clodius got in?” I demanded. “The mind boggles at the thought of him pretending to be a woman. Whom did he claim to be married to?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Clodia said. “He didn’t tell me he was coming.”

“I see. And just how was he found out?”

“Oh, that occurred during a…” She paused. “No, I’m afraid I am forbidden to tell you.”

“Don’t be absurd. When did you ever care about laws or rules, whether of human or divine origin? The cloak of piety doesn’t fit you well, Clodia.”

“Who speaks of piety?” she said. “This is a matter of law. Are you not sworn to uphold the laws of the Senate and People of Rome?”

“That is a debatable point,” I said. On a sudden inspiration, I embroidered upon a recent conversation. “As a matter of fact, I recently was present at a debate involving some of the highest figures of government, where there was some question whether the cult of Bona Dea is of Roman origin at all. It may be that it is lawful to demand testimony concerning the rites.” I had promoted our idle dinner chitchat to the status of senatorial debate, but she didn’t have to know that. A look very much like fear flitted across Clodia’s beautiful face.

“If that proves to be the case,” Fulvia said, “then Clodius can scarcely face a charge of truly serious sacrilege.”

I turned to her. “I see that you are as perspicacious as you are lovely.” You meddling little slut, I thought. It hadn’t occurred to me. But when I turned back to Clodia, she still looked upset. Quickly, she composed herself.

“I believe dear Fulvia is correct. The Censors may frown upon offenses against foreign gods, but the courts surely could not exact stiff penalties in such cases. That is reserved for the gods of the state. I must consult with Cicero on this.”

“I hadn’t thought that Cicero was kindly disposed toward Clodius,” I said.

“Oh, but Cicero and I have become great friends lately,” she said, her smile back in place. This was bad news. At first I was not inclined to believe her, but then I remembered Cicero’s recent rather hasty insistence that Clodia could not be involved in the scandal. Why would he say such a thing unless he, too, had fallen to her wiles? I was disappointed in Cicero, but I knew that I was in no position to judge. I had certainly been under Clodia’s spell in the past.

“Can you go so far as to tell me who it was that discovered your brother?”

“It was a slave woman from the household of Lucullus. I think I can say that without risking divine wrath.”

“Slaves attend the rites?” This was news to me.

“The musicians. I believe it was a harpist who betrayed him.”

This seemed to me an odd choice of words.

“I wish I could have seen him,” Fulvia said. She brought her legs from beneath the coverlet and sprawled belly-down on the bed. The Coan gown revealed her dorsal contours to be as shapely as her front. “Achilles was discovered in women’s clothing, you know, and Hercules had to wear women’s garments when he was enslaved to Omphale. She got to wear his lion’s skin and carry his club. I’ve always found that exciting.”

“You’re very young for such recondite tastes,” I observed.

“Some of us start earlier than others,” she said. How very true, I thought. Her voice caused an uneasiness in the testicles. Clodia sat beside her and took her hand.

“Will that be all, Decius? Fulvia and I have things to discuss.”

“And I would not think of interfering. I shall take my leave and let you ladies get back to … whatever it was. My condolences, Clodia, for your recent loss.”

“Thank you, Decius. Poor Nero. So many of us die untimely.” And with that cryptic but ominous pronouncement in my ears, I left.

As I walked from Celer’s house I passed someone going the other way. It was a woman swathed in veils, and something about her seemed oddly familiar. I restrained myself from looking at her, but when she was past me I turned in time to see her step through the door of Celer’s house.

A short way down the street I found a wineshop with an open front. The barkeep dipped me a cup from one of the big jars recessed into the counter, and I carried it to a table near the front. There I could sit and ponder what I had learned while keeping an eye on Clodia’s door.