The Venus Throw (27 page)

As I stood before the fountain, studying the Venus from Adonis’s point of view, I began to notice the echoing sounds of chanting and music from somewhere nearby, rising and
falling and obscure by the splashing of the fountain, but now growing abruptly louder and faster. I heard the piping of flutes, the rattling of tambourines and the jangling of bells, along with a strange ululation that was nothing like normal singing. I thought I heard words, but the splashing fountain kept me from making them out. The music grew louder, the tempo accelerated. I stared at the face of Venus. The longer I looked into her lapis lazuli eyes the more it seemed as if the statue might actually move or speak. She blinked—or I blinked—and I felt a sudden tremor of apprehension. I was not alone.

But it was not the goddess who had joined me. The voice behind me was decidedly masculine. “They’re at it again!”

I turned around to see a man on the low stage, dressed in a toga. He had been naked the last time I saw him.

“Every year it’s the same.” Clodius shrugged and made a face. “If I were Clodia, I’d complain, but I suppose my dear sister is too fascinated by the galli to want to stop their fun. And it
is
only once a year.”

“What’s only once a year?”

“The Great Mother festival, of course. The Temple of Cybele is just over there,” Clodius said, pointing behind him. “The House of the Galli is right beside it. For days before the festival they practice, practice, practice. It all sounds hopelessly wild and discordant to a Roman ear, doesn’t it? And the singing—hardly better than screaming. But then, I’d scream too if they’d cut my balls off.” He hopped off the stage onto the lawn and sauntered toward me. “You know, it’s absurd, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Gordianus.”

“Oh yes. Clodia’s new man, the one to get the goods on Marcus Caelius. Been busy?”

“Busy enough.”

“Clodia’s not here at the moment. Some errand or other. The door slave should have told you. He’s getting old.”

“He did say something, actually. But Chrysis suggested I wait here.”

“I see. Oh, that’s right, today was to be the little drama down at the Senian baths. How did it go?”

“That’s why I came. To tell Clodia.”

He stared at me with green eyes uncannily like those of his sister. “And? What happened?” When I hesitated, he scowled, which made his face impossible to read. Was he feigning boyish petulance, or showing genuine anger? The scowl did nothing to spoil his good looks; it merely rearranged them. “Oh, I see,” he said. “You’re here to report to
Clodia
, not to me. She said you were the loyal type. Rare enough in Rome these days. But my sister and I have no secrets from each other. No secrets at all. And I should hope you have nothing to hide from me, Gordianus. I’ve certainly hidden nothing from you.” He gave me a knowing look. When I said nothing, he laughed. “That’s a joke. About what I was wearing the day we met.” He shook his head. “She also said that you have no sense of humor.”

“You seem to have discussed me at length.”

“My sister likes to get my opinion of the men she’s dealing with. She could use some advice! Clodia hasn’t always exercised the best judgment, choosing whom to trust. As in the case of Marcus Caelius, which brings us back to the Senian baths. How did it go? Here, we’ll sit on the bench in the shade, and if we’re lucky Chrysis will come walking by and I’ll send her for some wine.”

As we sat I noticed that another man had stepped onto the stage, a giant whose face glinted like a broken shard of ebony in the sunlight. He leaned against the painted wall with his arms crossed, watching us from a distance. He was incredibly ugly, with a bullish neck and enormous arms. Beside him Belbo would have looked like a child. He curled his upper lip in a snarl that made my blood turn cold.

Clodius saw my reaction and glanced over his shoulder. “That’s the Ethiop. Clodia gave him to me last year. Goes
everywhere I go. Keeps an eye on me. The loyal type, like you. A couple of months ago, one of Milo’s men came up to me in the Forum and waved a knife at me. He never saw the Ethiop coming—don’t let his size fool you, he’s fast as lightning. The Ethiop grabbed the fellow from behind and broke both of his arms, just like that.” Clodius snapped his fingers twice. “No one’s threatened me in the Forum ever since. But don’t worry, he’s completely harmless to my friends. Oh, that noise! If those galli aren’t mad already, they’ll surely drive each other crazy by nightfall. Can you imagine being in the same room with them? What sort of goddess would want to go into a temple with such a racket going on? Now, about the baths . . .”

I told Clodius about the farce I had witnessed. He listened in silence, making expressions of disgust and amusement. “So Licinius got clean away?” he finally said.

“yes.”

“And the pyxis with him?”

“I’m afraid so.”

He sneered. “I wish I’d been there. I’d have grabbed Licinius by the balls and squeezed until he croaked out everything he knew. Then I’d have stuffed the poison down his throat, pyxis and all. Hung the corpse up by the heels and dragged it into the trial that way—an exhibit for the prosecution! You want evidence, Cicero? Here’s our evidence!”

Up on the stage, the Ethiop heard the anger in his master’s voice and looked at me as if mulling over which arm to break. I shifted uneasily on the bench. “I suppose your sister will be quite displeased.”

Clodius’s demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. He laughed. “Don’t count on it. She adores a bit of drama, you know. Loves comedy even more. Well, just look at what she’s done to this garden. Made it into her private theater so she can bring in mimes from Egypt to amuse her friends, and host recitals for whatever poet has caught her eye lately.
No, once Clodia has thrown a priceless vase or two across the room and given a few slaves a good beating, I think she’ll see the humor in it. Well, look who’s here—and just when my throat was getting dry.”

Chrysis appeared at the top of the steps, beneath the Venus. When she saw us she began to turn back, but Clodius clapped his hands and waved her over.

“Chrysis, darling, bring us some honeyed wine—I’m in the mood for something sweet. And perhaps some dates. And some of those little seed cakes that Clodia’s cook always keeps in the kitchen. Will that suit you, Gordianus?”

I nodded.

“Will that be all?” said Chrysis, lowering her eyes.

Clodius growled. “Don’t tease me, little one.”

“I don’t intend to tease you,” said Chrysis, keeping her head bowed.

“Harpy! Go on and fetch the wine, before I grab you and ravish you right here, in front of the guest. Or better yet, I’ll put the Ethiop to the job and Gordianus and I will watch while the two of you make a baby up on the stage.” Chrysis turned pale and quickly departed. “So young,” Clodius murmured, gazing after her. “That auburn hair, that pale flesh. Delicious—I should like to pour honeyed wine all over her and lick it up. But Clodia forbids it. Won’t let me touch the girl. I suppose she thinks it would spoil her. Or maybe Chrysis is in love with another of the slaves; Clodia is sentimental that way. Anyway, I keep my hands to myself. My sister and I always respect one another’s property.”

I noticed that the chanting of the galli had stopped for a moment. Suddenly it started up again with shrill piping and a clashing of cymbals. Clodius made a face. “Well, I suppose we can somehow work around the loss of the pyxis,” he said, gazing abstractedly at the statue of Adonis. “This crazy attempt to poison Clodia is just further corroboration of the charge that Caelius tried to do the same to Dio at Lucceius’s house. He used Clodia’s money to buy the poison and bribe
Lucceius’s slaves, she came to suspect him, and now he’s trying to stop her from telling what she knows by poisoning
her
. A reckless, desperate man—that’s the picture we’ll paint for the judges. Clodia says you’ve tracked down some slaves that Lucceius has hidden away in a mine somewhere.”

“Perhaps.”

“Didn’t she give you some silver, in case you’re able to find these slaves and buy them?”

“That was mentioned,” I said uneasily. “It may not yield anything worthwhile.”

“It had better. We need stronger evidence. It’s our job, you see, Clodia’s and mine, to get the goods on Caelius concerning the poison attempt on Dio. Others are concentrating on the crimes Caelius perpetrated against the Egyptians on their way up to Rome. Let’s hope they’ve come up with something stronger. Witnesses! That’s what we need. Credible witnesses—we could walk through the Forum right now and find ten men who’d swear to Caelius’s guilt, but they’d be about as reputable as a drunken general; bad witnesses merely water down a good oration. The strongest thing in our favor is the thought that’s on everyone’s mind: if Marcus Caelius didn’t murder Dio, who did?”

“I’ve been pondering that myself.”

“We don’t want the judges to ponder too much. They might come up with someone else!” Clodius smirked.

“You don’t believe Caelius is guilty?”

“Of course I do,” he said sharply. “You really don’t have a sense of humor, do you?”

“How is it that you’re both involved in this affair, you and your sister?”

“We each have reasons to want to see Marcus Caelius get what he deserves. As do you.”

“I?”

“Caelius murdered your old teacher. Isn’t that why you’re here? Your reason is personal, like Clodia’s. Mine is political. Each has his own incentive. What do the judges care?”

I nodded. “What I mean is, do you and your sister do
everything
together?” The double meaning struck me as soon as I spoke, which was too late to call back the words.

“I believe that our wine and seed cakes have arrived,” said Clodius.

Chrysis descended the steps bearing a tray, followed by another slave who carried a folding table. While they set the food and drink before us, the chanting from the House of the Galli stopped for a moment, then resumed at a different pitch and tempo. The priests were singing a new song, if indeed the keening noises constituted a song.

Clodius sipped from his cup and looked thoughtful. “I never drink honeyed wine without thinking of the bad old days.”

“The bad old days?” Clodia had used a similar phrase.

“After Papa died. The lean years. We were expecting him to come home from Macedonia with wagons full of gold, and instead he left us saddled with debts. Well, that sort of crisis can happen even in the best families. A good thing in the end: it sharpened our wits. You do what you must. You prove to yourself that you can get by on your own, and you’re never afraid of the world again. It made us closer, we learned we could depend on each other. Clodia was the oldest, and the keenest. Like a mother to the rest of us.”

“You already had a mother.”

“Clodia was closer than a mother. At least to me she was.” He gazed into his cup. “But I was talking about the honeyed wine. We were poor, you know, but the dinner parties never stopped. That was our investment in the future, those dinner parties. My sisters needed husbands. My older brothers needed to launch their careers. And so the dinner parties, every night. For the guests, honeyed wine. But not for us. Into our cups the claves would secretly pour the cheapest wine. We drank it with a smile. The guests were fooled, and never knew that we couldn’t afford honeyed wine for everyone. That was excellent training for a career
in the Forum, learning to put on a pleasant face even when something disagreeable is going down your throat.”

He put the cup to his lips and drank. I did the same. “The wine is excellent,” I said. “But if your sister isn’t here, there’s really no reason for me to stay.”

He shrugged. “She may come back at any moment.”

“Where is she?”

“Probably gone to her horti, or off to visit someone. She took Metella with her.”

“Her daughter?” It seemed hard to imagine Clodia as a mother, or to imagine what her daughter would be like.

“My dear niece. Willful, like her mother. But also beautiful, like her mother. And she adores her uncle.”

“Like her mother does?”

He took a bit of seed cake. “Perhaps not quite that much. Damnation, they’ve started singing again!”

“I think I’m getting used to it,” I said. “There’s one phrase they keep repeating that’s rather pretty. There, that’s it.” The music floated above our heads.

Clodius laughed and shook his head. “Watch out, or the next thing you know you’ll have a strange urge to run off to Phrygia to have your balls lopped off.” He poured himself another cup and insisted on pouring another for me.

The wine spread through me with a delicious warmth. “As long as I’m here, there is something I should ask you,” I said.

“Go on.”

“A few days ago I was out after dark and noticed someone following me. I think I spotted the same man outside my house last night, and today he spoke to me at the baths. I’d decided he was one of Clodia’s men, but then found I was mistaken. Would you know anything about it?”

“About a man following you? No.”

“You seem to be rather protective of your sister. I thought perhaps—”

“That I’d have you followed, to investigate my sister’s
hireling? Don’t be ridiculous. I offer Clodia advice when she asks for it, but she deals with whomever she chooses. I have no control over her associates, friends or lovers. ‘What did this fellow look like?”

“Young—not quite thirty, I’d say. Medium height. Slender, dark. A scraggly beard, but he’s just back from a trip; maybe he was at the baths to have it shaved. Good-looking, in a hungry sort of way. His eyes—there’s something sad about them, almost tragic. But today at the baths he seemed anything but sad. Sharp-tongued.”

Clodius looked at me curiously. “Did he tell you his name?”

“No, but I overheard someone call him—”

“Catullus,” said Clodius.

“How did you know?”

“There’s only one: Gaius Valerius Catullus. So he’s back already?”

“His friend at the baths said something about him returning early from a government post out East.”

“I knew he’d hate it. Catullus loves Rome too much. Those country boys always do, once they’ve gotten a taste of the big city.”