“Good day, Senator,” said the man in the toga praetexta. He was perhaps forty years old, with a serious face and reddish hair. “I am Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, curule aedile. This woman was murdered sometime this morning. Did you know her, or were you just curious to see what the fuss was about?”
I told him my name and enough of my lineage to let him know who I was. “I have questioned her in recent days concerning an investigation I am engaged upon.”
“Under whose auspices?” he asked sharply.
“Metellus Celer,” I said.
“He has no authority, but we both know he’ll be one of next year’s Consuls, and I’ll be out of office then, so I won’t dispute his right to appoint you.”
“How was she discovered?” I asked.
“Several people entered this booth this morning but left thinking she was not here. A man who keeps a sausage-stand nearby came in to see if she had any garlic among her herbs, and he saw her foot sticking out from behind a pile of baskets. Whoever killed her covered the body.”
“Is anything known about her?” I asked.
“Nothing but her name and occupation,” Domitius said.
“I don’t suppose she had a license to practice her trade here?”
“How could she?” he said. “It’s illegal.” He caught my reproving look. “All right, I know it’s our duty to expel them from the Forums and markets, but the office of aedile was assigned when Rome was about one-tenth the size it is now. We have to test weights and measures, guard against usury and counterfeiting, put on the public games, keep all the public works in repair, clean and pave the streets—” He threw up his hands. “I could devote my whole year just to inspecting the wineshops and whorehouses, another of our duties, and never get to all of them!”
“The burdens of office are great,” I agreed. “Any idea whether she was freeborn? If she was a freedwoman her former master may want to claim the body for burial.”
“I intend to find out. One of my secretaries will go from here to the Archives.”
“When you find out, could you send me word? I didn’t get to finish questioning her, and there is a great deal I would like to know. I would esteem it a great personal favor.”
He had been bored with the onerousness of office, but this brightened him. This meant he would be able to call on me for a favor someday, and that was not a small thing when the parties had names like Domitius and Metellus.
“I shall be most glad to, Senator.”
“Thank you. My house is in the Subura. Your messenger can ask anyone there where to find me.” I took my leave and went outside. I checked to make sure that my caestus was handy and my dagger was loose in its sheath. The way things were progressing, it couldn’t be long before the man with the knife and the hammer came for me.
The Temple of Castor is the most beautiful in Rome. It had been built over four hundred years before, in gratitude for our victory at Lake Regillus. Actually, its full name was the Temple of Castor and Pollux, but nobody bothers with poor old Pollux, who, like Remus, is the forgotten brother of the Twins.
I found Julia standing atop the steps, between two of the tall, slender columns. She wore a belted gown of pale saffron and a shawl of darker yellow. Her only jewelry was a string of gold and amber beads. She was as different from Clodia as it was possible for a woman to be, and that was the highest praise I could think of. She smiled as I came up the steps toward her. She had wonderful teeth.
“You’re early,” she said. “The sun isn’t quite down.”
“I was anxious to see you again.” I looked around the portico, which seemed to be deserted. “No grandmothers lurking in the shadows?”
“We’re safe,” she said. “I’m supposed to be visiting an aunt in the House of the Vestals.”
“I have an aunt there myself,” I said inanely.
“Actually, I went there,” she said. “I wouldn’t lie about it. I just didn’t stay as long as I hinted I might.”
“That’s nothing to anger the gods,” I assured her. “Before I forget—when you said that Fulvia was at Caesar’s house on the night of the Mysteries, did you mean the younger one, the one who is betrothed to Clodius?”
“Yes, that’s the one. The elder Fulvia left the city in disgrace last year. I met Fulvia that night, before the unmarried women had to withdraw. She’s a beautiful creature. I’ve heard rumors about her, but I would not believe them. Nobody that young can be that bad.”
“Oh, yes, they can,” I affirmed. “Some people are bad from birth. Age merely confers experience and discretion upon their youthful promise. I met her yesterday, and I couldn’t have picked a better match for Clodius. With luck, they’ll kill each other, but I tremble for the fate of Rome, should they produce children who live.”