John Maddox Roberts - [SPQR Roman Mysteries 8.6]-Mightier Than The Sword (3 page)

"I'll just take
this with me, if you don't mind," I said.

"But I do mind,"
Calpurnius said. "You have no subpoena from a
Praetor
demanding documents from this office." One always has to deal with such
persons, on public duty. After much wrangling and talking with his
superiors and swearing of sacred oaths upon the altars of the State, I
got away with the wretched document, to be returned the next morning or
forfeit my life.

Thus armed, I
made my leisurely way toward the river and crossed the Aemilian Bridge
into the Trans-Tiber district. There, among the river port facilities
of Rome's newest district, was the
ludus
of
Statilius Taurus, where the best gladiators outside of Campania were
trained. I conferred with Statilius for an hour or so, making
arrangements for the Games that had already bankrupted me. Then Cicero
arrived to do the same on behalf of his friend Balbus. He was
accompanied by five or six clients, all men of distinction in their own
right.

With our business
concluded, we went out to the gallery that overlooked the training
yard. It was an hour when only the fighters of the first rank were
working out, while the tyros watched from the periphery. These men
despised practice weapons, preferring to train with sharp steel. Their
skill was amazing to see. Even Cicero, who had little liking for the
public shows, was impressed.

Asklepiodes
arrived as we were thus engaged, holding a folded garment. "This is the
oddest task you have ever asked of me," he said, "but you always
furnish amusement of the highest sort, so I expect to be amply
rewarded." He handed me the thing.

"Excellent!"I
said. "I was afraid the undertaker might have thrown it away."

"Aedile"
Cicero said a bit testily. "I do hope this is leading somewhere. My
time is not without value."

I saw a man in a
dark toga come through the archway leading to the practice yard. "I
promise not to disappoint you. Here's my man now."

Young Cosconius
looked around, then saw me gesturing from the distinguished group on
the gallery. He came up the stair, very stiff and dignified. He was
surprised to see Cicero and his entourage, but he masked his perplexity
with an expression of
gravitas
befitting one
recently bereaved and seeking high office. He saluted Cicero, ex-Consul
and the most important man currently residing in Rome.

"I am here on a
matter of business," Cicero said. "I believe your business is with the
Aedile."

"I apologize for
summoning you here," I said. "I know that you must be preoccupied with
your late father's obsequies." When I had last seen him, he had been
busy grubbing votes.

"I trust you've
made progress in finding my father's murderer," he said, coldly.

"I believe I
have." I looked out over the men training in the yard below. "It's a
chore, arranging for public Games. You'll find that out. I suppose
you'll be exhibiting funeral games for your father?"

He shrugged. "He
specified none in his will, which was read this morning. But I may do
so when I hold the aedileship."

Confident little
bastard, I thought. I pointed to a pair of men who were contending with
sword and shield. One carried the big,oblong legionary shield and
gladius,
the other a small, round shield and curved shortsword.

"That's Celadus
with the Thracian weapons," I said, referring to the latter. "Do you
support the Big Shields or the Small Shields?"

"The Big
Shields," he said.

"I've always
liked the Small Shields," I told him. "Celadus fights Petraites from
the School of Ampliatus at next month's Games." Petraites was a ranking
Big Shield fighter of the time. I saw that special gleam come into his
eye.

"Are you
proposing a wager?"

"A hundred on
Celadus, even money?" This was more than reasonable. Petraites had the
greater reputation.

"Done," he said,
taking out his tablet and stylus, handing the tablet to me. I gave him
mine, then rummaged around in my tunic and toga.

"I've lost my
stylus. Would you lend me yours?"

He handed it
over. "Now, I believe you called me here concerning my father's murder."

"Oh, yes, I was
coming to that, Quintus Cosconius, I charge you with the murder of your
father, Senator Aulus Cosconius."

"You are insane!"
he said, his dark face going suddenly pale, as well it might. Of the
many cruel punishments on our law books, the one for parricide is one
of the worst.

"That is a
serious charge,
Aedile,"
Cicero said. "Worse than
poisoning, worse than treason, even worse than arson."

Cosconius pointed
a finger at me. "Maybe you aren't mad. You are just covering up for
another of your friend Milo's crimes."

"Asklepiodes
pronounced that death was the result of a wound inflicted by a thin
blade piercing the heart. He found a bit of foreign substance adhering
to the wound, which he took to his surgery to study. I thought at first
that the weapon was a bodkin such as prostitutes sometimes carry, but
this morning it occurred to me that a writing stylus would serve as
well, provided it was made of bronze." I held up the piece of paper
Asklepiodes had sent me with its one word: "wax."

"This confirms
it. Aulus Cosconius was stabbed through the heart with a stylus
uncleaned by its owner since its last use. A bit of wax still adhered
to its tip and was left on the wound."

Quintus Cosconius
snorted. "What of it? Nearly every literate man in Rome carries a
stylus!"

"Actually, I
didn't really forget my own stylus today." I took it out. "You see, the
common styli are round or quadrangular. Mine, for instance, is slightly
oval in cross-section." Cicero and his friends drew out their own
implements and showed them. All were as I had described. Cicero's was
made of ivory, with a silver scraper.

"Yet
Asklepiodes's examination indicated that the weapon used to kill Aulus
Cosconius was triangular. You will note that young Quintus's implement
is of that geometrical form, which is most rare among styli." I handed
it to Cicero.

Then I shook out
the tunic the dead man had been wearing. "Note the three parallel
streaks of blood. That is where he wiped off the sides of the stylus."

"A coward's
weapon," snorted one of Cicero's companions.

"But young
Cosconius here is standing for office," I pointed out. "He couldn't
afford to be caught bearing arms within the
pomerium.
But most Romans pack a stylus around. It isn't much of a weapon, but no
one is going to survive having one thrust through his heart."

"Why should I do
such a thing?" Cosconius demanded. You could smell the fear coming off
him.

"Yesterday," I
said, "you told me you didn't know what use your father intended for
that town house. Here is the deed from the Archive." I took the diptych
from a fold of my toga and opened it. "And here he states plainly that
it is 'to serve as a residence for his only surviving son, Lucius.' He
didn't bother showing you this deed or getting your seal on it because
he was a very old-fashioned man, and by the ancient law of
patria
potestas
you were a minor and could not legally own property
while your father was alive. He took you to show you your new digs, and
that is where you argued and you killed him."

Everyone glared
at Cosconius, but by this time he had gained enough wisdom to keep his
mouth shut.

"Killed the old
man for his inheritance, did he?" Cicero said grimly.

I shook my head.
"No, nobody gets killed over money these days. It's always politics.
Aulus Cosconius was generous enough with his wealth, else why give his
son a whole town house to himself? But he supported Crassus and Quintus
here is Pompey's man. Aulus wouldn't stick his neck out for Crassus,
but he could keep Pompey from getting another tame Tribune without
risk, or so he thought."

I addressed
Cosconius directly. "Sometime during the tour of that townhouse he told
you that he forbade you to stand for Tribune. As
paterfamilias
it was his legal right to do so. Or perhaps he had told you before, and
you waited until you were together in a lonely spot to kill him. The
law admits of no distinction in such a case."

Cosconius started
to get hold of himself, but Cicero deflated him instantly. "I shall
prosecute personally, unless you wish to, Decius Caecilius."

"I shall be far
too busy for the balance of this year."

Cosconius knew
then he was a dead man. Cicero was the greatest prosecutor in the
history of Roman jurisprudence, which was precisely why I had asked him
there in the first place. He took few cases in those days, but a
parricide in a senatorial family would be the splashiest trial of the
year.

I summoned the
owner of the school. "Statilius, lend me a few of your boys to escort
this man to the basilica. I don't want him jumping into the river too
soon."

Cosconius came
out of his stupor. "Gladiators? You can't let scum like that lay hands
on a free man!"

"You'll have
worse company soon," Cicero promised him. Then, to me:
"Aedile,
do your duty." I nodded to my borrowed lictor. He walked up behind
Quintus Cosconius and clapped a hand on his shoulder, intoning the old
formula: "Come with me to the
Praetor."

That's the good
part about being
Aedile:
You get to arrest people.

These were the
events of two days in the year 703 of the city of Rome, the consulship
of Marcus Valerius Messalla Rufus and Cnaeus Domitius Calvinus.