The Sacrilege

"Go to the Praetor Urbanus," I told him. "Report the murder of a patrician in the Subura." The thief had not taken the red sandals. Even the stupidest thief would know better than to try to sell those.

"What was he doing down here?" a man asked. The question had occurred to me as well. I knew that my mental faculties had been uncommonly slow of late, but I also knew it was no mere coincidence that Nero had been murdered a few steps from my door. Had he been sent to finish the job he had botched at the house of Capito two nights before? If so, why had he been murdered instead? It had to mean that the murder of Capito and the attempt on my own life were somehow co

"Neat bit of throat-slitting there," someone commented. There were co

My clients began to arrive and we retired within my house. There was one duty I knew I could not avoid. One of my clients had brought a slave boy with him, and I borrowed the youth.

"Do you know where the mansion of Clodius is?" I asked him. The boy nodded. "Then go there and tell him that he has a dead relative lying in the street here."

"Me? Talk to Clodius?" His eyes bugged with fear.

"You will probably only talk to his majordomo. If Clodius wants to question you, don't be afraid of him. He knows better than to harm another man's property. Now be off with you."

The boy ran out, and a few minutes later an official arrived accompanied by a single lictor. I did not know him.

"I am Lucius Flavius," he said, " iudex of the Urban Praetor's court. Did you discover the body, Senator?"

"My neighbors found him this morning," I prevaricated. "But it looks as if a robber found him earlier."

"Do you know him?"

"Appius Claudius Nero. I met him at the house of Metellus Celer four days ago. He was with Publius Clodius, and I've sent a messenger to Clodius so that he can come to claim the body."

"That saves me a task, then. He seems to have been killed in the same fashion as Mamercus Aemilius Capito."

"He was at Capito's house the night of that murder. I don't know what the co

Flavius shrugged. "Friends of Clodius often die violently. I imagine the lad just fell into bad company. If you'll forgive my saying so, this is a rough neighborhood. Probably he was looking for some of the low amusements available hereabout and ran into the killer by chance. It doesn't pay to be both well-dressed and alone in some parts of the city."

"All too true," I said. At Capito's house he had been accompanied by a pack of slaves, but if he'd come to kill me, he would not have wished to bring witnesses.

"I suppose I'd better wait for Clodius to come fetch the body," he said. I sent Cato for some food and wine and asked Flavius to join me in my study. He accepted gratefully. Apparently the murder of Nero did not interest him greatly, but I soon found out what did.

"I know we haven't met, Senator," he said, "but new friends are always valuable, even if met under unorthodox circumstances. You see, I am standing for a tribune-ship for the coming year, and the support of the Metelli would not come amiss." This was an understatement. We controlled a tremendous voting bloc in the plebeian tribal assembly.

"I am not high in the family assemblies," I said, "but I am not totally ignored. What is your stand on the land for Pompey's veterans?"

"I intend to introduce an agrarian law in support of the land distribution using a combination of public lands and land purchased from revenues. I've outline it to Cicero and he agrees it's workable."

"Good. Will you oppose Clodius's efforts to change his status to plebeian?"

"I'll interpose my veto to stop any such attempt. And it will be needed, because I happen to know that Clodius is pushing Caius Here

"I've heard that Clodius is using some unheard-of tactics to curry favor with the mob," I said.

"And very successfully. To hear the tavern-talk now, you'd think that Clodius was Romulus come again."

This sounded ominous. "If that's the case, you may count on my support." I had no idea whether I could trust his word, but I resolved to find out soon. We spoke of political matters for some time, until a client came to tell me that a party had come to retrieve the body. I rose and went to my front gate, my clients close behind me. I had little fear of a real fight with Clodius. Whatever his growing power in the slums, my district was strictly Milonian.

Outside, Clodius's crowd had brought a bier and waited by the body while the Libitinarii went through a perfunctory lustrum so that the body could be handled without contamination. The priest touched it with his hammer to claim it for the goddess, then went through the usual rigmarole with liquids and powders. Then he nodded to Clodius, who had been standing by, studiously ignoring me.

Clodius then performed his duties. The body was lifted onto the bier and he leaned over the dead boy's face, almost kissing him, miming the action of catching his last breath as it escaped the body. A little late for that, I thought, but it had to be done. He straightened, clapped his hands three times and shouted the conclamatio:

"Appius Claudius Nero! Appius Claudius Nero! Appius Claudius Nero!" After the last calling of the name, a crowd of female relatives and slaves set up the usual shrill lamentations and Clodius placed a coin under the boy's tongue, to pay the ferryman. As the bier was raised he turned to glare at me, but he said nothing until bier and body had been carried away and the mourning wails faded into the distance.

"Metellus! You murdered my cousin and I intend to bring charges against you in the Court for Assassins!" Obviously, he didn't really believe what he said. He preferred to kill his enemies without benefit of a trial.

"You're babbling even more dementedly than usual this morning, Clodius," I said. "Even if I wanted to murder the boy, I wouldn't do it in front of my own gate. Anyone can see that he was killed by the same murderer who killed Mamercus Capito, and I was in Capito's triclinium when that happened, as several of the most distinguished men in Rome will bear witness." I made no mention of the poisoning attempt. People might infer from it that I bore a grudge against the boy and had a motive to kill him.

"I didn't say you did it with your own hand!" Clodius yelled. "You're not that good with a dagger. The assassin was your hireling!" Behind him, a gang of his thugs growled, but all the rooftops were crowded with my neighbors, armed with enough stones to build a small city.

"If you want to make formal charges, you know how it's done," I said, "but a man under accusation of sacrilege cuts a poor figure in court." At this my supporters roared with laughter while Clodius grew scarlet in the face.

"Then perhaps we shouldn't bother the courts with this!"

I saw the glint of daggers being drawn among his mob, and behind me, my own followers gripped cudgels, stones and, no doubt, a few swords. I reached into my tunic and gripped my caestus. We had the makings of a full-scale riot here, and I was ready for one. The past few days had been frustrating, and a street brawl is a fine way to relieve tension, despite what the philosophers say. I have always held that excessive equanimity is unhealthy. We were about to come to blows when something unexpected happened.

The crowd in the street parted as if by magic as a herald came forward in his white robe, parting the mob with his ivy-wreathed staff. "Make way!" he shouted.

"Make way for the Pontifex Maximus!" The daggers disappeared as if they had never existed. I released my grip on my caestus and the crowd fell silent.