The Sacrilege

"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 a 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.

It was always inadvisable to draw hasty conclusions when dealing with Clodia, but I thought I knew a few things now: Clodia had not known of Nero's death, and therefore was unlikely to have ordered it. She had been visibly upset when I suggested that there might be a legal way to subpoena testimony about Clodius's doings at the rites. Fulvia had queered my plan when she pointed out that in that case he could scarcely be charged with serious sacrilege. I had been a

This opened whole new vistas to delight my vindictive spirit. I wanted nothing more than a chance to prosecute Clodius for something really serious. Up to now, I had been engaged on a rather frivolous investigation, the principal aim of which had been to keep Celer's wife out of it. Now this bare-bones project was gaining some real flesh. And if I was right about the woman who had just gone into Clodia's house, the sacrilege and the recent murders and the attempt on my own life were intimately co

She reemerged just as I finished my wine, a bit of timing I deem propitious. As she walked toward the wineshop I turned away, then got up when she was past. It is never terribly difficult to follow someone through the streets of Rome in the daytime. The ways are narrow and the crowds prevent any fast movement. They also allow you to keep close without being detected.

Not far from the Forum Boarium, she went into a charming little public garden. Besides its plantings, it featured the usual image of Priapus and one of those quaint, miniature tombs we erect on ground where lightning has struck. She sat on a bench bearing a plaque that gave the name of the rich man who had donated the garden to the city, and another rich man who had undertaken its upkeep. I passed by that same garden not long ago. Now the plaque is gone and there is another, bearing the name and lineage of the First Citizen. He would claim that he founded Rome if he thought he could get away with it.

The woman started as I sat down beside her. "Well, Purpurea, we meet again!"

She got over her startlement quickly. "And not by accident, I'll bet."

"Yes, actually, I was wondering what you were doing in the house of Metellus Celer, which is also the house of his beloved wife, Clodia Pulcher."

"You were following me!" she said, indignant. "Absolutely. Now tell me what you were doing with Clodia, or I'll cause all sorts of trouble for you."

"I'm just a poor, honest herb-woman. You've no call to be harassing me!" She shifted the basket in her lap. Something rustled inside it.

"I haven't the slightest interest in your honesty or lack of it," I told her. "But people are getting murdered all over the city, and I was almost one of them. I suspect you of involvement. Your best course is to implicate somebody else, so speak up."

"Murder! I am involved in no such thing. The lady Clodia sent for me to procure certain herbs and have her fortune told. Her and young lady Fulvia, that is, and isn't that one a hot little piece?"

"She is indeed," I agreed, "and no doubt Rome suffer grievously because of her in years to come, let's return to Clodia. Would whatever is rustling in that basket have anything to do with telling her fortune?"

"Oh, aye." She reached into the basket and hauled out a fat, torpid black snake at least three feet long. "Old Dis here is the best fortune-telling snake in Rome. He's not very lively this time of year, though."

"And the herbs?" I asked.

"Just the usual."

"The usual?"

"You know, aphrodisiacs. You ought to let me mix some up for you. Give you a cock like Priapus there."

"I don't suffer from the deficiency," I said, nettled.

"They all say that, except the ones old enough to be honest about it. I think her husband needs a bit of encouragement now and then."

"Are you sure that is all you delivered to her? No poisons, by any chance?"

"Now, sir, you've tried that one before," she chided. "Do you really think I'm going to admit to a capital offense?"

"I suppose not," I said, rising. Then I let fly an arrow at random, the sort that sometimes strikes an unexpected target. I do not know why I asked her, except that her craft was an ancient one, involving many arcane rituals. "Citizens are being murdered, Purpurea. Someone is stabbing them in the throat and then, after they are dead, smashing them on the forehead with a hammer. What do you know of that?" To my astonishment her face drained of color and her jaw dropped.