“Titus was seventeen, a strong young man.” Cloelius studied the dry fountain next to him, sunk in melancholy. “I had him working on a warehouse I’d invested the last of my money in. He was the foreman and ensured everything ran smoothly. I trusted him. He made me so proud.”
Tears filmed his dark eyes. Aelia sat down next to him, reaching for his hand.
Cloelius snatched it from her. He leaned toward his sister, however, as though his body sought her comfort even if he couldn’t admit he needed it.
“A vigile called Scaevola killed him,” I said. “He confessed it not an hour ago.”
“Ah,” Cloelius said. “So now the world knows.” The statement was hollow, as if any satisfaction he might have found had been drained from him long ago. “He took everything from me that night.” His gaze fell on the cracked mosaics at his feet. “I have nothing now.”
He still had his sister, but I did not remind him of this. A man like Cloelius would value only sons and brothers, not the women of the family. He hadn’t hatched up this plot because of the death of his lover, but to avenge his son.
“Why did you wait so long?” I asked. “Titus died ten years ago.”
“I didn’t know he’d been murdered,” Cloelius said in a dull voice. “He disappeared—I suspected him dead, but I never knew. He’d gone to the warehouse site one evening to do whatever it is he needed to do, and never returned. I reported him missing to the cohorts and vigiles on the Aventine. They cursorily checked over the site, but found nothing, the fools.”
I recalled Vatia, the captain of the Aventine house, saying his old captain had been told about a murder, but had found no sign of one.
“I waited to hear of his body found, or for him to turn up,” Cloelius went on, “telling me of some adventure, maybe with a woman …” He made a falling gesture with his hand, as though demonstrating how his hopes had died. “I left Rome for a time. I had a villa in the mountains, east of here. I returned a few years later, when my sister told me she wanted to marry.” A hint of Cloelius’s disdain returned as he swiveled his gaze to Vibius.
Aelia hadn’t asked his permission, I gathered. She’d decided and told him as a courtesy.
“I wanted to know who this plebeian was she’d set her mind on,” Cloelius went on.
“Equestrian.” Vibius’s faint-voiced correction was ignored.
“I found out where he went to the baths. On the Aventine. Near the very apartment where my family had lived. I went there too, to watch this upstart who’d taken my sister, but also to be near where …” He broke off and drew a breath. “I was in the tepidarium one afternoon, and I heard a vigile, on his day off, mention to another that he used to patrol the Emporium a few years before. They didn’t see me, and they were passing by. Much theft there, said the other vigile. Yes, said the first, then described how he’d find thieves there, and beat them rather than report them. When I heard that, I knew.”
“You guessed,” Vibius said.
“I knew,” Cloelius snarled. “I realized that this vigile had found Titus one day, decided he was a thief, and killed him.”
“But you had no proof,” I said quietly. “What did you do?”
“I followed the vigile. He frequented a popina on the Quirinal. The landlord, Secundus, told me much about him. How he was excited whenever a fire appeared, so he could prove his might at besting it. The vigile’s pride was overweening.”
Scaevola had been adamant that the fire at the base of the tower would do little damage, with no fear that it might grow out of control. He’d likely been correct, but that would not absolve him.
“I watched the man called Scaevola for years,” Cloelius went on. “Saw him rise through the ranks and become an esteemed captain. I hoped he’d do something to reveal his guilt, but he never did,” he finished bitterly.
“When did you decide to lead everyone to the site?” I asked.
Cloelius switched his gaze to me, as though finally realizing I was the one voicing the questions. “When Vibius told me he’d been hired to build a new warehouse there, it brought all my grief back. I was certain Titus had died at the site, in the last place he was seen going, but I had no evidence. Whenever workers began digging up the field, Titus might be found, but I could not be sure. Work was delayed because the ground there has always been marshy, but it gave me time to plan. I spotted the ring when I was at the Forum Romanum for other business one day, the vendor outside the Basilica Julia boasting it had been handed down from the ancient kings. Idiot. He’d been told that by whoever had sold it to him. But it made me wonder. If Vibius found it lying in the dirt where I left it, he’d simply give it to Aelia, or sell it for the cash. So, I came up with the idea of the play and the prop, knowing Vibius would happily go along with fetching it from the site and handing it off to the acting troupe. He’s an easy dupe.”
Vibius began to splutter, but Aelia quieted him with a wave.
“The play was supposed to be performed, or at least rehearsed,” I finished. I imagined Cloelius laboring over the scroll Cassia had found in the silence of this house. “Nero would hear of it and send down his praetorians to arrest the troupe, especially Laurentius, who Nero couldn’t be certain wasn’t trying to claim descent from the Tarquins. Duilius and his family would tell Nero all about the so-called playwright, and the ring found at the building site. His attention would go there, and the site would be searched for more evidence of this pretender—you’d make certain with a rumor here and gossip there that it was. Titus’s body would be revealed.” I let my voice go stern. “Duilius and his family, as well as Secundus and maybe Vibius, might have been executed for it.”
“Possibly.” Cloelius spoke the word with no concern. “I paid Secundus and the acting troupe very well. Had to sell the last of the gold plate to do it, but it was worth it.”
Aelia made a noise of distress, but I spoke over her. “Everything went wrong when I found the ring instead.”
“Yes.” Cloelius glared at me. “A gladiator, pretending to be a builder. You should never have been allowed near the site at all. Vibius couldn’t cease prattling on about you. You had the ring, and Vibius didn’t care. Seemed to think it fair you’d found it.”
Vibius scowled. “I didn’t know what it meant. You hadn’t confided in me.”
“Why should I confide in you?” Cloelius fixed his brother-in-law with a withering gaze. “You took my sister from me. The last of my family. Leonidas was right when he said I hoped you’d be caught in the mess as well. I’d have saved Aelia from it.”
I doubted he could have. Nero’s wrath would have extended to Cloelius himself, who sat on a fine piece of land high on the Esquiline.
