Roman blood

'And the two sons— they must have been born almost twenty years apart. To the same mother?'

'No. Didn't I explain? Gaius and young Sextus were half brothers. The first wife died of some illness years ago.' Caecilia shrugged. 'Perhaps another reason the boys were never close.'

'I see. And when Gaius died, did that bring Sextus Roscius and his elder son closer together?'

Caecilia glanced away sadly. 'No. It was quite the opposite, I'm afraid. Sometimes tragedy has that effect on a family, to deepen old wounds. Sometimes a father loves one son more than the other — who can change such a fact? When Gaius died, Sextus blamed the boy's brother. It was an accident, of course, but an old man in the throes of grief isn't always strong enough to blame the gods. He came back to Rome and frittered away his time — and his fortune. He once told me, now that Gaius was dead, he had no one to whom he cared to leave a legacy, so he was determined to spend it all before, he died. Cruel words, I know. While Sextus filius ran the estates, Sextus pater blindly spend everything he could. You can imagine the bitterness on both sides.'

'Enough bitterness to lead to murder?'

Caecilia gave a weary shrug. Her vivaciousness had deserted her. The disguise of hernia and makeup abruptly faded, revealing the wrinkled woman beneath. 'I don't know. It would be almost unbearable to think that Sextus Roscius was killed by his own son.'

'That night last September — on the Ides, wasn't it? — Sextus Roscius dined here. . before his death?' 'Yes.'

'When did he leave your house?'

'He left early, I remember. It was his habit to stay on until well into the night, but that evening he left before me final course. It was the first hour after nightfall.'

'And do you know where he was headed?'

'Home, I suppose..' Her voice trailed off in an unnatural way. Caecilia Metella, having lived so many years alone, lacked at least one skill that all Roman wives possess. Caecilia Metella had no ability to lie.

I cleared my throat. 'Perhaps Sextus Roscius wasn't on his way home when he left you that night. Perhaps there was a reason he left eariy. An appointment? A message?'

‘Well, yes, actually.' Caecilia furrowed her brow. 'It seems to me there was a messenger who came. Yes, a very common sort of messenger, the kind that anyone might hire off the street. He came to the servants' door. Ahausarus came looking for me, explaining there was a man outside the kitchens with a message for Sextus Roscius. I was hosting a small party that night; there were only six or eight of us in the room, not yet done with dinner. Sextus was relaxing, almost dozing. Ahausarus whispered in his ear. Sextus looked a bit startled, but he rose at once and left the room without even asking my leave.'

'I don't suppose, in some way or other, you happened to know what that message was?'

Cicero groaned, very faindy. Caecilia stiffened, and the natural colour rose in her cheeks. 'Young man, Sextus Roscius and I were very old, very dear friends.'

'I understand, Caecilia Metella.'

'Do you? An old man needs someone to look after his interests, and to show some curiosity when strange messengers arrive to disturb him in the night. Of course, I followed. And I listened.'

'Ah. Then could you tell me from whom this messenger came?'

"These were his exact words: "Elena asks that you come to the House of Swans at once. It's very important." And then he showed Sextus a token.'

"What sort of token?'

'A ring.’

'A ring?’

'A woman's ring — small, silver, very plain. The sort of ring a poor man might give to his lover, or the sort of petty token that a rich man might give to a..'

‘I see.'

'Do you? After Gaius died, Sextus began spending a great deal of time and money in those sorts of places.. I'm talking about brothels, of course. Do you think it pathetic, a man of his age? But don't you see, it was because of Gaius. As if there were a sudden, overwhelming desire in him to create another son.. Absurd, of course, but sometimes a man must bow to nature. Healing takes place in mysterious ways.'

We sat in silence for a moment. 'I think you are a wise woman, Caecilia Metella. Do you know anything else about this Elena?'

'No.'

'Or the House of Swans?'

'Nothing, except that it's somewhere in the vicinity of the Baths of Pallacina, not very far from Sextus's house by the Circus Flaminius. Well, you don't think he would have patronized some tawdry establishment in the Subura, do you?'

Cicero cleared his throat. 'I think it may be time for Gordianus to meet young Sextus Roscius.'

'Only a few more questions,' I said. 'Sextus Roscius left the dinner party immediately?'

'Yes.'

'But not alone.'

'No, he left with the two slaves who had accompanied him. His favourites. Sextus always brought them.'

'You wouldn't happen to remember their names?'

'Of course I do, they were in and out of my house for years. Chrestus and Felix. Very loyal. Sextus trusted them completely.'

'Suitable slaves for a bodyguard?'

'I suppose they may have carried knives of some sort. But they weren't built like gladiators, if that's what you mean. No, they were there mainly to hold the lamps and to see their master to his bed. Against a gang of armed thugs I don't imagine they would have been much use.'

'And did their master need seeing to bed, or help walking through the streets?'

'You mean was he that drunk?' Caecilia smiled fondly. 'Sextus was not a man to stint himself of pleasure.'

'I suppose he was wearing a fine toga.' 'His finest.'

'And did he wear jewellery?'

'Sextus was not modest in appearance. I imagine there was gold showing on his person.'

I shook my head at the audacity of it: an old man walking virtually unguarded through the streets of Rome after dark, drunk on wine and showing off his wealth, answering a mysterious summons from a whore. His luck had finally abandoned Sextus Roscius on the Ides of September, but who had been the instrument of Fate, and for what purpose?

7

Sextus Roscius and his family had been installed in a distant wing of the great house. The eunuch Ahausarus led us there through a network of increasingly narrow and less resplendent hallways. At last we entered a region where the paintings on the walls badly needed restoration, then vanished altogether to be replaced by ordinary plaster, much of it decayed and crumbling. The tile beneath our feet became uneven and cracked, with holes the size of a man's fist We were far from the formal gardens and the intimate dining room where Caecilia had received us, far beyond the kitchens and even the servants' quarters. The odours here were less delectable than those of roast duck and boiling fish. We were somewhere near the indoor privies.

Like a true Roman patroness of the ancient mould, Caecilia seemed willing to undergo embarrassment and even scandal to protect a family client, but it was clear that she had no desire to have young Sextus Roscius anywhere near her within the house, or to spoil him with luxury. I began to wonder if Caecilia was herself convinced of the man's innocence, to have given him such begrudging shelter.

'How long has Roscius been living under Metella's roof?' I asked Cicero.

'I'm not sure. Rufus?'

'Not long. Twenty days, perhaps; he wasn't here any earlier than the Nones of April, I'm sure. I visit her often, but I didn't even know he was here until the guards were posted and Caecilia felt she had to explain. Before that she made no effort to introduce him. I don't think she cares for him very much, and of course his wife is so very common.'

'And what was he doing here in the city if he loves the countryside so much?'

Rufus shrugged. 'I'm not sure about that either, and I don't think Caecilia knows for certain. He and his family simply showed up on her doorstep one afternoon, pleading for admittance. I doubt she had ever met him before, but of course when she realized he was Sextus's son she opened her house immediately. It seems this trouble over the old man's death has been brewing for some time, beginning back in Ameria. I think they may have run him out of the village; he showed up in Rome with practically nothing, not even a household slave. Ask him who's caring for his farms back in Ameria and he'll tell you that most of them were sold, and some cousins are running the rest. Ask him to be specific and he throws one of his fits. Personally I think Hortensius dropped the case out of sheer frustration.'