“How was my astronomer killed, Decius?” he asked bluntly.
“And a gracious good morning to you, Caius Julius,” I said, nettled. “I am working at that very question. He seemed a harmless old drudge, hardly worth killing, and his neck was broken in some mysterious fashion.”
“Yes, Cassius mentioned it. I want to know who killed him, Decius, and why. I want to know all about this very soon.”
“You seem to be taking it to heart,” I noted.
“He was working on the new calendar. That is my project, Decius, and whoever killed him was indirectly attacking me.”
How like Caesar. “You don’t think it might have been personal, then?” I said. “Perhaps a jealous lover or husband?”
“Would it matter?” he said, and I suppose to him it did not. The slightest shadow cast upon the personal dignitas of Caesar, inadvertent or not, was not to be tolerated.
“That calendar is no more popular than it was a week ago,” I told him.
“They will get used to it,” he assured me. “Soon something else will come along to distract the public.”
“Let us hope so.” At that time, Caesar was rapt in admiration for his new building, and indeed it was magnificent. The vast, vaulted ceiling soared high overhead. I had never believed that an interior space could be so high. I had toured some of the immense buildings of Egypt but even in their mind-numbing hugeness they always felt cramped inside with their forests of squat columns and they were dark and gloomy. This building was spacious and bright, illuminated by its generous clerestory. Its walls were faced with colorful, costly marble, its metalwork was gilded, its entrances unprecedentedly wide, and its porches capacious. All this magnificence was his gift to the people of Rome for their public use. All he wanted in return was that they should worship him even more than they already did.
I went out into the City with only Hermes attending me. During my years of office holding, I had usually been accompanied by dozens or even hundreds of supporters, and I had never liked it. I much preferred to roam about by myself or with only one or two attendants. Julia thought this was very unworthy of me, that a Roman of importance should have a following. She never convinced me. Besides my personal convenience, it was not a good time to be showing off too much importance. Important men were dying in great numbers during those years. My years of public importance were behind me. I was a humble private citizen though a member of the Senate and that was how I liked it. I had salted away enough of a fortune to live comfortably and I needed no more: no more wealth, no more offices, no more honors.
I did, however, need to keep on Caesar’s good side, so I set about my investigation with vigor. That is to say, I put Hermes to work.
“Go to the home of last year’s praetor peregrinus,” I instructed him. “Find his secretary and learn if Demades ever came before his court, or any of the other astronomers Caesar brought from Alexandria, in any capacity whatsoever.”
“I’ll give it a try,” he said, “but don’t get your hopes up. Last year the courts were pretty chaotic, what with praetors out of Italy commanding armies for or against Caesar. I doubt the praetor peregrinus spent more than a month or two in Rome.”
“Still, it’s a possibility. Maybe Demades had an argument with a citizen. I need to find some sort of motive in his death.”
“What will you be doing?”
“I’m going to visit Callista.”
“Will that sit well with Julia?” he said dubiously.
“Julia and Callista are great friends,” I told him.
“What difference does that make?” he said.
“Run along and see what you can find out,” I said, shutting off discussion.
I turned my own steps toward Callista’s house in the trans-Tiber district. Callista was a teacher of philosophy and a leading light of Rome’s Greek intellectual community. This made her a great curiosity in Rome where women were rarely teachers, though they were quite common in Alexandria. She was also one of the most beautiful women in Rome, which may have been why Hermes thought Julia might be suspicious. Of course, I was only answering the call of duty-and on behalf of her beloved uncle-so she had no cause for complaint.
The truth was, I seldom needed much of an excuse to call upon Callista. Besides her great beauty she was gracious and astoundingly intelligent. Though it pains me to say it, I had been involved with so many bad women that it was a great pleasure to have dealings with a good one.
Her beauteous housekeeper, Echo, led me inside the house, where Callista sat by her pool. When I was announced she looked up with genuine delight. Callista never faked her affections and would have considered such a thing philosophically unworthy. She lacked the capacity for any sort of deceit, a very un-Greek quality, in my estimation.
“Senator Metellus! This is a pleasure and an honor. You haven’t called upon me in far too long!”
“The service of Rome has kept me too busy,” I said pompously. “Besides, the intellectual quality of your company intimidates me. Cicero is more on your level.”
“You are too modest. And how is Julia? I haven’t seen her in at least a month.”
“She is quite well and I am sure that she will call soon,” I said. As soon as she found out that I had been here. They were friends, but there are limits.
“And how may I be of service?” She gestured me to a chair by a little table and she sat across from me while servants brought refreshments.
“I am investigating a murder at the particular behest of Caesar, and since the victim may have been among your circle of acquaintances, I thought you might be able to tell me something about him.”
“A murder? And it was someone I know?” She was genuinely shocked.
“You may have known him. Demades, one of the astronomers who has been working with Sosigenes on the new calendar. Asklepiodes told me that he was sometimes to be seen at gatherings of the Greek philosophical community, so I immediately thought of your salon.”
“Poor Demades! Yes, I knew him, although not very well, I confess. For a philosopher he was not very loquacious.”
“Asklepiodes has attested to his reticence.”
“And he was interested in little except astronomy.”
“Again, exactly what Asklepiodes told me.”
“Of course the subject of astronomy comes up from time to time at my gatherings, but there is far more discourse on other subjects. He took little part in those discussions.”
“Could you tell me when you last saw him?”
“Let me see, it was the evening of the last day of the year just ended. He had more to say because the new calendar was about to go into effect. There were several of the astronomers present at that meeting.”
“Do you recall which ones?”
“Sosigenes, of course. Some of them were foreigners, which surprised me. There was a pseudo-Babylonian who argued for the merits of astrology, and an Arab who knew a great many things about the stars unfamiliar to me, and a fascinating man from India who spoke for a long time on the transmigration of souls. Marcus Brutus found this enthralling, because he has been studying the philosophy of Pythagoras, whose theories involve just such metamorphoses.”
“Brutus was there? He was here the first time I called upon you, years ago.”
“Oh, yes. He has attended nearly every meeting since he returned to Rome.”
Brutus was another of those enemies of Caesar who had been unaccountably recalled from exile. Caesar treated the whole thing as a boyish lapse of judgment. He always showed a great affection for Brutus, whom I only saw as a rather tedious drudge. Perhaps it was because of Caesar’s old liaison with Servilia, Brutus’s mother. There were even rumors that Caesar had fathered Brutus, but I never credited these. In any case, Brutus had philosophical pretensions and was often to be found at such gatherings.
“What other Romans were present?” I asked. “It might help to know with whom he mingled in his final days.”