Livius’s brows rose. “Truly? Well, I shall be interested to meet her myself.” He paused. “Cloelia. Of the Cloelius family? Estate on the Esquiline?”
“Sister of Tertius Cloelius Crispus,” I said. “Cassia and I were his guests the night before last.”
“And you are alive today?” Livius’s lips twitched. “The man is a villain of the first order, I hear. His lineage is ancient, so he believes he can do anything he likes, to anyone, for any reason.”
His vehemence interested me. “You’ve had dealings with him?”
“Unfortunately.” The tightening of his mouth signaled that the dealings had not been good. “Yet you claim his sister is kind and sensible? How can this be?”
“She married Vibius and went to live with him on the Aventine,” I explained. “She doesn’t like Cloelius either.”
“Not many do. Even his clients have disappeared over the years.”
I’d noticed the lack of them the morning we’d left. “Why have they? He has prominence even if he has no money.”
“Because he makes promises he does not keep.” Livius’s tone held disapproval. “He claims he’ll vouch for a man, in whatever venture that man is attempting, and then does not. Or he vows to make certain money is lent to a client—not his own money, you understand, but another’s—and then this evaporates as well. It is as though he either enjoys breaking his word, or he no longer cares. Men have ceased trusting him after a while.” He paused. “This may be rumor only. I am repeating what I have heard.” Livius, like his father, felt the need to be fair.
A patrician who’d broken his word would be derided if he wasn’t shunned outright. Promises were taken very seriously. The virtue of fides—good faith or trust—was one much valued by Romans, especially of Cloelius’s class.
“His sister was happy to leave him.” Probably Cloelius’s lake of fides embarrassed her. “He is angry at her for going, but I think because it hurts his pride more than for any affection for her.”
“He is not known for his warmth,” Livius agreed, then his sunnier mood returned. “Tell me, Cassia belongs to this benefactor you know nothing about, does she not?”
I drew a breath at the abrupt question but nodded. “I tried to buy her but was stopped. If I owned her, then I could set her free.” I wanted that more than anything, but I’d started to believe it wasn’t possible.
Livius studied me without speaking. My face felt strangely hot.
“Hmm.” Livius broke the silence. “Perhaps I could help with that. Your benefactor might be persuaded to sell her to me. Scribes command a high price, in any case, even a woman scribe.”
“None of that matters,” I said. “I have no idea who the benefactor is. Even Cassia doesn’t know.”
“Truly?” he asked in amazement. “Well, if Cassia does not know, then he has indeed hidden himself well. Perhaps I can be of service on that end too. I have a large network of people in Rome who are good at finding out things.”
I would not dismiss his help, but I had to wonder at his benevolence. “Why? You might endanger yourself asking such questions. Or at the least, waste much time or money.”
Livius relaxed into a smile. “I don’t think you understand how great a favor you did for me, Leonidas. I can never explain. It is enough to say that you can count on my assistance wherever I can give it.”
I was appreciative, but still baffled. No matter how entertaining the gladiator, no matter how excited men and women were to meet me, they owed me nothing. I was not used to such gratitude.
However, if Livius wished to help find out who our benefactor was and bring me a step closer to freeing Cassia, I’d let him.
“The warehouse site,” I said, returning to my original purpose. “Do you know what was on it before this? Marcianus says it was another warehouse that collapsed.”
“Is that important?” Livius asked with interest.
“I think someone wanted me—or Vibius or Gallus—to find this body. For us to search for more trinkets when we found the ring, or to be curious about why they chose that place to leave it for Vibius.”
“Lucky you found it then,” Livius said with humor. “Your friend Vibius sounds like an incurious man.”
True, Vibius had wanted the fee to retrieve the ring, nothing more. He’d have handed it over and forgotten all about it.
“We were meant to wonder who this dead man is and why he was left there,” I said. “Knowing what structure was there before might give us an idea.”
“I agree. Though I must ask why whoever wanted you to find that body didn’t go to the cohorts or the vigiles and report it. Have them dig up the field, find out how the man died, and who killed him.”
“Maybe he did,” I said, going through my plodding thoughts. “Maybe the cohorts didn’t care, or didn’t want to dig up a site belonging to a former proconsul.” I wasn’t certain how long Tertius Vestalis Felix had owned the land—I needed to find that out as well.
“If the dead man was a slave, it’s likely no one would have investigated.” Livius’s words were tinged with bitterness. “Same result if the person reporting the murder was a slave.”
