beckoned him to my side.
"Who called upon your master this evening?" I asked him.
"It was a man in a dark-colored cloak. He had a fold of the cloak drawn over his head, so I did not see his face. He spoke in a low voice."
"Didn't that seem strange?"
"It is not my place to screen my master's visitors. He said that he was expected."
"Has you master received many such visitors lately?"
"I do not know. I was just working in the atrium when he arrived. The gatekeeper would know."
The Consul's slave retinue came in. Except for a personal valet, each of the greater guests had sent his attendants to the rear of the house. Calpurnianus had at least a dozen, who all tried to pretend that they hadn't been drinking. He summoned a boy who wore the tunic, belt and hat of a messenger. The boy held out a tablet and stylus that were connected to his belt by thin chains. The Consul opened the wooden tablet and began to write on its wax surface.
"Take this to the house of the Praetor Urbanus Voconius Naso. He is unlikely to be at home, but wait for him there and see that he gets this. No need to wait for his reply. I'll speak to him tomorrow in the Curia." The boy dashed off and the Consul addressed the rest of us. "I suppose he'll want to appoint a iudex to investigate."
I spoke to the slave again. "Were you here during their talk, or was anyone else?"
"My master dismissed me and instructed that he and his visitor were to be left alone."
At that moment, the messenger ran back in. "The gatekeeper's dead," he reported, then ran back out.
"So much for other witnesses," I said.
"The mistress is at Picenum," said the majordomo, "where they maintain a country house. I will see that she is notified and make arrangements for the funeral." From elsewhere in the house began those extravagant mourning noises with which slaves bring a little drama into their lives.
"Any sons?" asked Catulus.
"No. Two daughters, both married. I will notify them as well."
"Nothing more to be done here," said Calpurnianus. "Good evening to you all."
The others sent for their slaves. Our behavior might seem haphazard, but remember that in those days Rome had no police or regular investigative officers. A iudex might investigate, or an ambitious young politician might take it upon himself to look into the matter and bring charges against someone. But murderers were often of humble status, and therefore nobody's reputation was to be made by prosecuting them.
I saw Nero gather his slaves together. He had brought no fewer than four. The Claudians were a well-fixed family. I was greatly his senior in years, experience and reputation, and all I could afford was an amoral wretch like Hermes. I summoned that observant youth and whispered to him: "Follow that little bastard and see where he goes; then report to me tomorrow."
He looked indignant. "Is that all?"
"What do you mean, is that all?" I demanded.
"I just saved your life. That ought to be worth something."
"So you claim. For all I know, you've just accused a perfectly innocent young man. Just follow him. If it turns out you really did save me, I'll be nice to you come Saturnalia." He stalked off. Actually, I had no doubt he had told the truth. If Nero was associating with Clodius, then he had to be guilty. But I knew better than to flatter Hermes. Slaves like that will take advantage of you if you let them.
The pool of blood around the body was growing rather large, but most of it was on one side. I stepped closer on the less bloody side and crouched for a better look. The murderer had cut Capito's throat, but from what I could see of the wound, it was amazingly small, rather like a stab wound. Then I noticed a slightly depressed mark between the brows, as if he had been struck by some sort of cudgel. Most killers find one death-blow sufficient, but I supposed that a little insurance would not come amiss. I stood and backed away from the corpse, my sandals making slight, sticky sounds as I did. I had not
"Who called upon your master this evening?" I asked him.
"It was a man in a dark-colored cloak. He had a fold of the cloak drawn over his head, so I did not see his face. He spoke in a low voice."
"Didn't that seem strange?"
"It is not my place to screen my master's visitors. He said that he was expected."
"Has you master received many such visitors lately?"
"I do not know. I was just working in the atrium when he arrived. The gatekeeper would know."
The Consul's slave retinue came in. Except for a personal valet, each of the greater guests had sent his attendants to the rear of the house. Calpurnianus had at least a dozen, who all tried to pretend that they hadn't been drinking. He summoned a boy who wore the tunic, belt and hat of a messenger. The boy held out a tablet and stylus that were connected to his belt by thin chains. The Consul opened the wooden tablet and began to write on its wax surface.
"Take this to the house of the Praetor Urbanus Voconius Naso. He is unlikely to be at home, but wait for him there and see that he gets this. No need to wait for his reply. I'll speak to him tomorrow in the Curia." The boy dashed off and the Consul addressed the rest of us. "I suppose he'll want to appoint a iudex to investigate."
I spoke to the slave again. "Were you here during their talk, or was anyone else?"
"My master dismissed me and instructed that he and his visitor were to be left alone."
At that moment, the messenger ran back in. "The gatekeeper's dead," he reported, then ran back out.
"So much for other witnesses," I said.
"The mistress is at Picenum," said the majordomo, "where they maintain a country house. I will see that she is notified and make arrangements for the funeral." From elsewhere in the house began those extravagant mourning noises with which slaves bring a little drama into their lives.
"Any sons?" asked Catulus.
"No. Two daughters, both married. I will notify them as well."
"Nothing more to be done here," said Calpurnianus. "Good evening to you all."
The others sent for their slaves. Our behavior might seem haphazard, but remember that in those days Rome had no police or regular investigative officers. A iudex might investigate, or an ambitious young politician might take it upon himself to look into the matter and bring charges against someone. But murderers were often of humble status, and therefore nobody's reputation was to be made by prosecuting them.
I saw Nero gather his slaves together. He had brought no fewer than four. The Claudians were a well-fixed family. I was greatly his senior in years, experience and reputation, and all I could afford was an amoral wretch like Hermes. I summoned that observant youth and whispered to him: "Follow that little bastard and see where he goes; then report to me tomorrow."
He looked indignant. "Is that all?"
"What do you mean, is that all?" I demanded.
"I just saved your life. That ought to be worth something."
"So you claim. For all I know, you've just accused a perfectly innocent young man. Just follow him. If it turns out you really did save me, I'll be nice to you come Saturnalia." He stalked off. Actually, I had no doubt he had told the truth. If Nero was associating with Clodius, then he had to be guilty. But I knew better than to flatter Hermes. Slaves like that will take advantage of you if you let them.
The pool of blood around the body was growing rather large, but most of it was on one side. I stepped closer on the less bloody side and crouched for a better look. The murderer had cut Capito's throat, but from what I could see of the wound, it was amazingly small, rather like a stab wound. Then I noticed a slightly depressed mark between the brows, as if he had been struck by some sort of cudgel. Most killers find one death-blow sufficient, but I supposed that a little insurance would not come amiss. I stood and backed away from the corpse, my sandals making slight, sticky sounds as I did. I had not
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