“Caesar wishes?” I said.
“Caesar wishes you would find this killer so Caesar can execute him. Caesar would also like very much to know what all this is about.” No, he was not in a good mood.
“I fear my investigation is not complete, but I have isolated some factors that keep turning up too often for coincidence.”
“Factors such as?”
“Such as astronomers as opposed to astrologers and their manifold differences, native Romans and foreigners and even pseudo-foreigners, certain great ladies and their social circles—”
“Great ladies?” he said in a leaden tone that told me to tread carefully.
“Exactly. Including one whose name I rather expect you will prefer not to hear.”
“Just tell me Calpurnia is not involved.” I supposed that he was still going by that absurd Caesar’s-wife-must-be-above-suspicion nonsense.
“Her name has not come up in any capacity. Actually, I have no real proof that any of these people were involved in the murders, only that they keep appearing in my investigation so I suspect that I may have reason to look into them more closely.”
“Do whatever is necessary,” he said.
“It might be best if you send the astronomers back to Alexandria while some of them are still alive. Their work on the calendar is done. You don’t need them here anymore.”
“That might have been a good idea a few days ago, before the killings started. But one of them may be the killer, though I can’t imagine why.”
“I can’t either, but that signifies nothing. People kill one another for a great number of reasons, it isn’t always for world-shaking stakes or simple, understandable jealousy or points of honor. I’ve known people to kill for reasons that seem perfectly adequate to themselves but defy all understanding by anyone else.”
“Quite true,” Caesar said, already sounding bored. “Very well, get on with it, but bring me some results soon. I am hard-pressed for time these days and I want all business, major and minor, concluded before I depart for Parthia.” He did not indicate whether my investigation was a major or a minor affair.
So I departed. Ordinarily, this was the hour for going to the baths, but that was going to have to wait. I gathered up Hermes and we walked a few streets to Rome’s great grain market. Here was a huge square almost the size of the Forum itself, surrounded by granaries and the offices of grain merchants and speculators. The granaries were giant warehouses where every day of the harvest season wagons came in from the countryside to discharge loads of wheat and barley. It would buzz with activity again when the barges came up the river to unload the Egyptian harvest.
In its center was a spectacular statue and shrine of Apollo. There was also a more modest shrine to Demeter, goddess of the harvest, but Apollo had pride of place. He might seem an eccentric choice as patron of grain merchants and protector of granaries, but in very ancient times, farmers sacrificed to Apollo to protect their granaries from mice, and some learned persons claim that Apollo was originally a mouse-demon from Thrace before the Greeks promoted him to his current glorious status as a solar deity, patron of music, culture, and enlightenment.
Grain is the most volatile commodity on any market. People absolutely must have it to live, and you never know how much of it there will be in any given year. This meant that there were vast fortunes to be made from the stuff and much collusion went into artificially inflating prices.
A few years previously Pompey, as proconsul, had been given an extraordinary five-year oversight of Italy’s grain supply. Part of his task had been to eradicate this sort of business. He had had some success, but it seems to be especially difficult to root out such harmful practices when they are so long established. It didn’t help that so many senators got rich out of it. Senators were not supposed to engage in business, but the fact that it was grain meant that it was actually a part of agriculture, which was honorable. Besides, they always had stewards and freedmen and foreign partners to act as fronts.
We were looking for the offices of one Publius Balesus, grain merchant. I have long thought that life would be greatly simplified by having some sort of system of identifying where persons live and businesses are located. Unfortunately, so far the only way to keep things under control is to concentrate certain trades in a particular district. Then you go to that district and keep asking questions until you’ve found what you are looking for. This we did, and soon found our man. His office was located on the second floor of one of the huge granaries, opening off a balcony overlooking the plaza. The rich, pleasant smell of grain permeated everything.