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 connected.
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.
"You mean they're in the city?"
I was taken much aback. "Who? Who do you mean by 'they'?"
She jumped up, clutching her basket. "Nobody I want to be involved with. Take my advice and don't you fall afoul of them, either. Good day to you, sir." She shouldered past me and headed for the street.
"Stop!" I said. "I want to:" By that time, I was addressing her back, She was not just walking away. She was running. I began to chase her, but I quickly gave it up. The toga is a wretched garment for performing anything strenuous, and I did not dare throw it off. Someone would steal it for certain.
I shrugged, thinking that I could always find her in her booth. Then I trudged back home, where I found two notes waiting for me.
One was from my father, informing me that the following morning the Senate would go to Pompey's camp to give him formal permission for his triumph. I was to dress properly for the occasion.
The other was from Julia. It read: I have important information. Meet me tomorrow evening at sunset en the portico of the Temple of Castor.
Chapter IX
It was a fine morning, and we assembled in the Forum dressed in our best togas. It was not an official holiday, but there was a holiday spirit in the air, as there always is when routine is broken. Hortalus got up on the Rostra and proclaimed our mission, and the crowd cheered, praising the Senate's wisdom.
Of course, Pompey had known for days of the Senate's decision, but his flunkies had insisted that we revive the ancient custom of the entire Senate trooping in a body to the victorious general's camp to give him the good news personally. Since they had adequate historical precedent to cite, there was no way the rest of us could get out of it.
As we went down the Via Sacra to the city gate, we all kept good, impassive senatorial faces, but there was plenty of grumbling all around. I did a bit of it myself.
"It had better be the triumph to top all triumphs," somebody groused near me, "since he's putting us to all this trouble."
"Just like Pompey," said somebody else. "Not enough to get his triumph; he has to see the whole Senate come out to him to kiss his glorious backside." This was all to the good, to my way of thinking. In those days the Senate still had a great deal of pride and was an assemblage of peers. We did not like anyone who puffed himself up and gave himself kingly airs. A triumphator received semi-divine honors for a day, and that was thought to be enough for any man.
Pompey's lackeys had been petitioning the Senate to grant him the right to wear his triumphal regalia at all public functions, a piece of abject toadying that horrified all right-thinking Romans. Unfortunately, right-thinking Romans were getting fewer all the time.
Pompey's camp was laid out identically to a legionary camp, but without the customary fortifications. That would have been an intolerable provocation. His soldiers were still under arms, but they showed the lax discipline Pompey allowed between campaigns. Few bothered to wear armor or bear shields, and those detailed to guard the treasure merely belted on their swords and leaned on their spears, most of them passing the time with dice and knucklebones. There were some flaming faces as we made our way to his praetorium. Many felt mortally insulted that Pompey had not bothered to have his men turn out for an inspection parade to honor a visit by the massed Senate.