A Murder on the Appian Way

by Steven Saylor Narrated by Scott Harrison

Overview

Ancient Rome has been in a state of turmoil as the rival gangs of Publius Clodius, a high-born, populist politician, and his arch-enemy, Titus Milo, have fought to control the consular elections. When Clodius is murdered on the famed Appian Way and Milo is accused of the crime, the city explodes with riots and arson, and even the near sacrosanct Senate House is burned to the ground.

As accusations and rumors fly, Gordianus the Finder, whose famed investigative skills and integrity make him sought after by all sides in the escalating conflict, is charged by Pompey the Great with discovering what really happened. Who is really responsible for Clodius' death? And should his murderer be despised as a villain or hailed as a savior of the Republic?

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly

Cicero hires first-century sleuth Gordianus the Finder to track down the killer of a politically dangerous rabble-rouser. (May)

Kirkus Reviews

It's 52 B.C.: an evil time for Rome. As the great generals Caesar and Pompey warily circle each other for control of the Empire, Pompey's underling Titus Milo, a senator representing the interests of the so-called Best People, and his rival Publius Clodius, the patrician turned radical populist, duel for power in the city itself. The elections that will decide the issue have already been put off several times because of ill omens and sporadic rioting when Clodius is murdered along the Appian Way, and the evidence of witnesses points to Milo and his followers. As the news plunges leaderless Rome into chaos, both Clodius's widow Fulvia and Pompey, the Great One himself, press Gordianus the Finder (The Venus Throw, 1995, etc.) to quell the public violence by investigating what really happened on the Appian Way. Leaving the city with only his son Eco and a single green bodyguard, Gordianus sets out to interview the witnesses and iron out a few telltale contradictions—and finds himself sinking into a coverup as many-layered as Watergate. But it's only after a climactic trial oration by Milo's defender, Gordianus's unscrupulous former patron Cicero, that the whole truth will come out.

As always, Saylor sketches the real-life historical background with a masterly hand. But the mystery itself, despite a stellar supporting cast ranging from Cicero and Pompey to Caesar and Marc Antony, is muddled and profoundly undramatic. Maybe some bones should just be let lie.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940169718713
Publisher:	Blackstone Audio, Inc.
Publication date:	04/28/2009
Series:	Roma Sub Rosa , #5
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

"Papa! Wake up!"

A hand gripped my shoulder and shook me gently. I pulled away and felt cold air on the back of my neck as the blanket slid away. I snatched it back and snuggled against it, burrowing for warmth. I reached for Bethesda, but found only a warm vacancy where she should have been.

"Really, Papa, you'd better wake up." Eco shook me again, not quite so gently.

"Yes, husband," said Bethesda. "Get up!"

What sleep is as deep as the sleep of a cold Januarius night, when the sky is a blanket of lowering clouds and the earth shivers below? Even with my son and wife yammering at me, I slipped back into the arms of Morpheus as easily as a boy slipping into a bottomless, downy bed of goose feathers. It seemed to me that two magpies were chattering absurdly in a tree nearby, calling me "Papa" and "Husband." They swooped down, fluttered their wings, pecked me with their beaks. I groaned and waved my arms to fend them off. After a brief battle they retreated into the frosty clouds, leaving me to dream in peace.

The frosty clouds burst open. Cold water splashed my face.

I sat upright, sputtering and blinking. With a satisfied nod, Bethesda placed an empty cup beside a flickering lamp on a little table against the wall. Eco stood at the foot of the bed, gathering up the blanket he had just pulled off me. I shivered in my sleeping gown and hugged myself.

"Blanket thief!" I mumbled grimly. At that moment it seemed the foulest crime imaginable. "Stealing an old man's rest!"

Eco remained impassive. Bethesda crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. By the dim lamplight thetwo of them still looked suspiciously like magpies.

I closed my eyes. "Have pity!" I sighed, thinking an appeal to mercy might gain me just one more blissful moment of sleep.

But before my head reached the pillow, Eco gripped my shoulder and pulled me upright again. "No, Papa! It's serious."

"What's serious?" I made a desultory attempt to shake him off. "Is the house on fire?" I was irretrievably awake now, and grumpy—until I realized who was absent from the conspiracy to wake me. I looked around the room, blinking, and felt a sudden thrill of panic. "Diana! Where is Diana?"

"Here, Papa." She entered the room and stepped into the circle of light. Her long hair, let down for the night, hung loose over her shoulders, shimmering like black water under starlight. Her eyes—the almond- shaped, Egyptian eyes inherited from her mother—were slightly swollen with sleep.

"What's the matter?" she said, yawning. "What are you doing here, Eco? Why is everyone up? And what's all the noise from the street?"

"Noise?" I said.

She cocked her head. "I suppose you can't hear it very well, here at the back of the house. You can certainly hear it from my room. They woke me up."

"Who?"

"People in the street. Running. With torches. Yelling something." She wrinkled her nose, which she does when she's puzzled. Seeing the blank look on my face, she turned to her mother, who stepped toward her with embracing arms. At seventeen, Diana is still enough of a child to appreciate such comforting. Meanwhile, Eco kept to one side, wearing the glum expression of a messenger in a play who bears ill tidings.

I finally realized that something must be truly, terribly wrong.

A short time later, I was dressed and walking at a fast clip through the dark streets at Eco's side, together with his four bodyguards.

I turned my head anxiously as a group of stern- looking young men came running up from behind and passed us. Their torches cut through the air with a whoosh. Our shadows danced crazily up and down the street, growing huge as the torches passed close by and then dwindling like wraiths into the darkness as the torchbearers left us behind.

I tripped against an uneven paving stone. "Numa's balls! We should have brought torches ourselves."

"I'd rather my bodyguards keep their hands free," said Eco.

"Yes, well, at least we have enough of those," I said, eyeing the four formidable young slaves who surrounded us, one ahead, one behind, one to each side. They had the look of trained gladiators—stiff- jawed, flinty- eyed, alert to every movement in the street around us.

Good bodyguards are expensive to purchase and expensive to feed. My daughter- in- law Menenia had complained each time Eco added another to their house hold, saying the money would be better spent on kitchen slaves or a better tutor for the twins. "Protection comes first," Eco would tell her. "It's the times we live in." Sadly, I had to agree.

My thoughts settled on Eco's wife and children, whom he had left in his house over on the Esquiline Hill. "Menenia and the twins . . ." I said, walking faster to keep up with him. My breath made clouds in the air, but at least the pace kept me warm. Even as fast as we were walking, another group of men came up from behind and passed us, their torches sending our shadows into headlong flight.

"They're safe. I had a new door put on the house last month. It would take an army to break it down. And I left my two biggest bodyguards to look after them."

"Just how many bodyguards do you own nowadays?"

"Only six—the two at home, and the four with us."

"Only six?" I still had only Belbo, whom I had left behind to look after Bethesda and Diana. Unfortunately, Belbo was really too old to be an adequate bodyguard any longer. The other house hold slaves could hardly be expected to put up much of a fight, if something truly terrible were to happen . . .

I tried to push such thoughts from my mind.

Another group of men came rushing up from behind us. Like us, they carried no torches. As they passed in the darkness, I noticed Eco's bodyguards grow tense and reach inside their cloaks. Strangers without torches in their hands could be carrying something more dangerous, like daggers.

But the group passed without incident. Up ahead, someone flung open the shutters of an upper- story window and leaned out. "What in Hades is going on tonight?"

"They've killed him!" cried one of the men ahead of us. "Murdered him in cold blood, the cowardly bastards!"

"Killed who?"

"Clodius! Clodius is dead!"

The shadowy figure at the window was silent for a moment, then let out a long, ringing laugh that echoed in the cold night air. The group ahead of us came to an abrupt halt.

"Trouble!" said Eco. I nodded, then realized the hushed remark was a signal to his bodyguards. They tightened their ranks around us. We pressed on at a faster pace.

"So where—" gasped the man at the window, barely able to speak for his laughter, "where is everybody headed in such a hot rush? To a celebration?"

The group in the street erupted in angry shouts. Some raised their fists. Others stooped over, searching for rocks. Even on the Palatine Hill, with its immaculate streets and elegant houses, there are loose stones to be found. The man at the window kept laughing, then suddenly yelped. "My head! Oh, my head! You filthy bastards

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