‘I’m afraid not, no. Only that it was of the utmost importance.’
Well, bully for Alexander. This thing needed nipping in the bud before it went any further. ‘Now look, lady …’ I began, just as Perilla breezed in from her honey, wine and poetry klatsch.
‘Hello, Marcus,’ she said. ‘Bathyllus said you had a visitor. How lovely to see you again, Naevia Postuma. And how is your husband, the consul?’
‘Gaius is very well, thank you, my dear. He would send you his regards.’
‘What a beautiful mantle. Is it new?’
‘Actually, yes, as it happens. From a little shop that’s just opened in the Saepta. Next to Argyrio’s. You know it?’
‘Fabatus’s? Oh, yes, although I haven’t been there yet myself. Calventia Quietina told me about that when I talked to her a few days ago. She said—’
Jupiter on wheels! ‘Ah … Perilla,’ I said. ‘Naevia Postuma here thinks her uncle has been murdered. She wants me to—’
‘I don’t think it,’ Postuma snapped, turning back to me. ‘I know. And I have explained why, fully and concisely.’
‘Because Alexander the Great told you so,’ I said neutrally, with one eye on Perilla. The lady had parked herself on her usual couch. She looked remarkably unfazed at the news, which I thought under the circumstances was pretty odd.
‘Quite.’ Postuma reached into the fold of her mantle and took out a small book-roll. ‘However, I’m glad you’re here in person, Rufia Perilla. It makes things much simpler. As I told your husband, my visit had two purposes. This is the second.’ She handed the roll to Perilla. ‘As you can see, there’s a letter attached.’
Perilla took the roll and read the tag.
‘Hipparchus’s commentary on the Phaenomena of Eudoxus,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand.’
Postuma sniffed. ‘To tell the truth, my dear, I haven’t the faintest idea of the whys and wherefores myself. My uncle left it to you in a codicil to his will which he added only a few days ago, and in this instance I am simply the messenger. Perhaps the letter will explain.’ She got to her feet. ‘Now, I’m afraid I have a very tiresome committee meeting to attend at Queen Juno’s temple this morning, and I must be running along.’ The mind boggled: Queen Juno’s temple was halfway across town, on the Tiber side of the Aventine, and running was something the lady just wasn’t built for. ‘So nice to see you both. You will, of course, accept the commission, Valerius Corvinus. I will see to it personally that my uncle’s family give you every cooperation.’
And she was gone.
TWO
‘Alexander the Great?’ I said.
Perilla smiled. ‘Oh, yes, dear. Everyone knows about Naevia Postuma’s little eccentricity. The wives, anyway. It’s a harmless aberration, really, and in every other respect she’s absolutely normal.’
‘Jupiter!’
‘Of course, there was the occasion when she saw a white horse come through the floor at a diplomatic dinner. The king of Commagene was most surprised.’
‘Yeah, I’d imagine he would be.’
‘He’d thought it was a camel.’ I gave her a look, and she laughed. ‘I’m joking, Marcus. About the camel, that is. The horse was real enough, if you know what I mean.’
Bathyllus reappeared. ‘Can I get you something to drink, madam?’ he said.
‘Fruit juice, please, Bathyllus.’
‘You, sir?’
‘No, I’m fine, pal.’ Then, as he turned to go: ‘Hey, Bathyllus. That goat’s milk. Neither of us touches the stuff. So where did it come from?’
‘I understand Meton uses it to bathe his feet in, sir. He says it does wonders for softening hard skin.’
‘Ah … right. Right.’ Well, that cleared that one up. I just hoped he’d used fresh, but knowing the evil-minded bastard as I did, I wouldn’t take any bets. Southern-slopes-sourced Hymettus honey my, ah, foot. ‘Off you go, sunshine.’
He went.
‘So,’ Perilla said. ‘What’s this about a murder?’
I told her what little I knew. ‘Only six gets you ten it was no such thing. If the man was silly enough to go furkling about at the foot of an old tower when his builders told him it wasn’t safe, then it’s not surprising he got himself brained. Oh, sure, I’ll go through the motions, talk to the family like Naevia Postuma wants, but if everything seems above board then Alexander of Macedon can go and chase himself.’
‘What about this?’ Perilla held up the book-roll. ‘Don’t you find that a bit odd?’
I shrugged. ‘If you knew the guy, then—’
‘But I didn’t, Marcus. Or only very slightly, because his interest was philosophy, not poetry. We may have met at the occasional literary get-together and exchanged a few words, but that was all. I certainly haven’t seen him recently.’
‘So why should he leave you something in his will? Particularly at such short notice?’
‘I have no idea. Perhaps the letter will explain.’ She broke the seal, opened it and scanned the lines. ‘No. No, it doesn’t. See for yourself.’ She handed it over.
I read it through. It was frustratingly short and to the point.
The day before the Ides of November, Lucius Naevius Surdinus to Rufia Perilla, greetings.
I send you this in the hope that it may prove interesting. My best wishes to your husband, Marcus Valerius Corvinus. I have not seen him since he was a boy, barring that one occasion when we exchanged a few words at his cousin’s daughter’s wedding, but I have the fondest memories of his father. He was a most agreeable gentleman, and the best of neighbours.
I laid it aside, frowning. ‘Dated four days ago, the day before he died. And it doesn’t make any sense,’ I said. ‘Dad’s house was on the Palatine, not the Vatican, so unless the guy has moved, they were never neighbours. And if Dad was anything, he certainly wasn’t “agreeable”.’
‘Come on, Marcus! Just because the two of you didn’t get on together, at least not until latterly, that doesn’t mean to say that everyone shared your opinion. Personally I found him perfectly charming.’
I grinned. ‘Yeah, well. Maybe. But it’s still not an adjective that springs readily to mind. And I can’t remember Surdinus being at the wedding at all, let alone chatting to the guy.’
‘There were over three hundred guests, dear, so that’s hardly surprising, is it? And you know what kind of condition you were in by the end.’
‘Even so.’
Messalina’s wedding had been the year before, a month after our adopted daughter Marilla had got hitched to Clarus over in Castrimoenium. Me, I don’t normally go for these big society bashes, and I’ve never had much to do with that side of the family: when he was alive (he’d been dead now for just shy of twenty years), Cousin Barbatus had been too much like Dad in many ways, a poker-rectumed pillar of the establishment, and we’d had absolutely nothing in common. Messalina I’d just kept clear of, particularly when she’d hit marriageable age, because that lady was pure mad and bad. This was her second marriage, and what had come as a surprise to everyone was the identity of the groom. The emperor’s uncle Claudius didn’t seem much of a catch on the face of it – he was more than twice her age, to begin with, and a twitching, stammering idiot into the bargain – but no doubt the link with the imperial family made up for that. I doubted whether it would last, though, at least on his side, because the phrase not suited was putting it mildly: my guess was that young Messalina would’ve been looking around for better entertainment than her new husband could provide practically as soon as the nuts were thrown. As far as the actual wedding itself went, Perilla was right: all I could remember of it was being bored out of my skull, downing too much booze, and spending the next two days heaving my guts out after being stupid enough to try the bears’ paws braised in wine lees and honey. All in all, not a memory to treasure.
‘What about the book?’ I said. ‘Thingummy’s Commentary. Anything odd about that?’
Perilla unrolled it and skimmed her way throu
gh – it was only a couple of dozen pages long – while I waited.
‘No,’ she said finally. ‘Or at least nothing I can see. It’s exactly what it says it is, and rather a cheap copy at that. Certainly not one worth leaving specifically in anyone’s will.’
‘Annotations? Margin notes?’
‘Absolutely none. In fact, judging from its general condition it may never have been opened.’
‘Maybe eccentricity runs in the family.’
‘Naevius Surdinus wasn’t particularly eccentric, dear, at least as far as I could judge from scant acquaintance. Egotistical, self-opinionated, domineering and bad-tempered, yes, but not eccentric.’
Well, nobody’s perfect. ‘Hmm. A puzzle, then. File and forget, for the present, at least.’ Bathyllus had come back in with her fruit juice. ‘By the way, sunshine,’ I said to him as he set it down, ‘you happen to know where old Naevius Surdinus’s place is? Exactly, I mean.’
‘Of course, sir.’ Silly question; any major-domo worth his salt – and Bathyllus rated a good ton of it – carries a list of the top five hundred’s addresses around in his head. ‘On the Vatican. The hill itself, at the southern end, bordering on Agrippina’s Gardens.’
Prime site: Agrippina’s Gardens were an imperial estate as of six or seven years back, and consequently any property bordering on them had social cachet in spades, not to mention top-rate resale value. We were talking serious money here.
‘So you’re going over there, are you, Marcus?’ Perilla sipped her juice. At least it wasn’t buffalo’s milk. Or goat’s.
‘Yeah. I’ll do that tomorrow. Like I said, it’s probably a fool’s errand, but if it means getting Naevia Postuma off my back, I may as well give it a shot. Besides, I haven’t got anything better to do, have I?’
Alexander, wherever he was, would be delighted.
THREE
The next day was one of the good ones, for November – clear sky, hardly a breath of wind, and pleasantly warm. Which was just as well, if I was to hoof it all the way across town, over the river and up to the Vatican. The only really practical alternative would’ve been to take the litter, and that I don’t do unless it’s really pissing down and the journey’s absolutely vital. Even then, I hesitate: we’re a one-litter family, us, and I generally leave it for Perilla, who’s the social animal of the partnership and prefers not to turn up wherever she’s going soggy, spattered with mud and definitely not soingée. If push really comes to shove, there’s a public litter-rank on Head of Africa, just up the road, and I can pick one up from there.
Still, like I say, there was no need at present, and once you’re over the Sublician and through the more built-up parts of the Janiculan Marsh district, and the ground starts to rise, the city – if you can call it that any more – opens out. Me, I’m a left-bank man myself, with a preference for crowds, narrow twisting streets and proper pavements, and west of the river is just somewhere I don’t usually have any reason to go. But if you like greenery, fresh air, relative peace and quiet, and the closest Rome comes to countryside, then Transtiber’s the place. Certainly it’s the hot end of the property market, with more private estates than you can shake a stick at, and if you’ve got ten million or so to play with and want to avoid the riff-raff then a little place on the slopes of the Janiculan or the Vatican is just the thing.
The Naevius place was pretty typical: several acres of bosky woodland with a drive leading up through a network of formal gardens to a villa that you could’ve put our house on the Caelian into a small corner of. I gave my name and business to a gate-guard big enough to have bounced me off the wall without breaking sweat, and carried on towards the villa itself.
I’d got to within a hundred yards or so when a woman came through the arch of what looked like a walled garden just to the right of the main drag and cut me off.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’
Mid-twenties, a looker, well-enough dressed in a smart tunic and cloak, but not OTT. The accent, though, didn’t really fit the setting. Certainly not upper-class Roman. I’d’ve guessed middle of the range, at best, and there was a distinct northern twang. She didn’t quite look the part, either: when she got closer I noticed the too-obvious make-up and the reddish hair. Gallic blood; north Italian was right.
No sir, mind, and she had a certain assurance about her that didn’t fit with, say, a freedwoman attached to the family. I was puzzled.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘The name’s Valerius Corvinus. Naevia Postuma sent me.’
‘Oh.’ The friendliness dropped down a distinct notch. ‘Yes, she did send a slave yesterday to say you’d be coming. A load of complete nonsense, but that’s the Lady Postuma for you. She does get these bees in her bonnet. Well, we’d best get it over with.’
Not a good beginning, although I supposed I couldn’t expect much more, under the circumstances. And I had a certain sympathy with the lady’s feelings, if she was part of the family after all.
‘And, uh, you are?’ I said.
‘Tarquitia.’ I must’ve looked blank. ‘She didn’t mention me to you? Not surprising, really. I’m – was, I suppose now – Lucius Surdinus’s mistress.’ I blinked, and she laughed. ‘Don’t look so shocked, Valerius Corvinus. It was all perfectly above board, and I’ve nothing to be ashamed of. Quite the reverse. Now, you’ll want to talk to me, no doubt.’
I glanced over at the villa. ‘Sure. If you’ll just lead the way.’
‘No, I think we’ll have the conversation out here, if you don’t mind. It’s a pleasant-enough morning, there are seats in the rose garden, and we’ll be perfectly comfortable there for however long it takes. You can go up to the house and pursue your enquiries there later. I’m not, as you can imagine, exactly flavour of the month with Lucius’s surviving nearest and dearest, and I’d rather avoid any unpleasantness.’
Said without a trace of expression, except maybe for the slightest tinge of contempt. I was more puzzled than ever.
‘Fine with me,’ I said. ‘Lead on.’
We went back through the arch and into a formal garden planted with rose bushes, with a late bloom or two showing through the greenery.
‘We’ll sit here, if that’s all right,’ she said. There was a stone bench against the nearside wall. I sat on one side, and she perched on the other, leaning her back against the wall. ‘Now, where would you like to start? I warn you, I don’t know anything about the actual circumstances, because I wasn’t here at the time. But about anything else, please feel free to ask. I’m not shy.’
Yeah, well, that was putting it mildly: the lady just radiated self-confidence, and apart from that little hiccup over not wanting to go up to the villa, she was perfectly at ease.
‘You were Naevius Surdinus’s mistress,’ I said.
‘Yes. For the last year or so. I’m a … I suppose the best word is “entertainer”. I sing a little, dance a little, play the double-flute, not very well. Juggle. Do acrobatics.’ She glanced sideways at me. ‘I do the most amazing set of cartwheels. I could show you, if I weren’t wearing this tunic.’
I grinned; I was beginning to like Tarquitia. ‘Yeah, well,’ I said. ‘We’ll take that on trust for the present, shall we?’
‘If you like. I work – worked – at the Five Poppies club, mostly. That’s near the temple of Juno the Deliverer, off the vegetable market. Do you know it?’
‘No. I’m afraid not.’
‘Pity. It’s a good place, and they give good value. You should go there some time. Tell them I sent you.’
‘Yeah,’ I said equably. ‘Yeah, I might just do that.’
‘Anyway, I also did freelance, which is how I met Lucius. I was contracted to one of his friends’ dinner parties as part of the after-dinner entertainment; our eyes met across a not-so-crowded room, and that was that. More or less, give or take a month or so of what you might call casual dalliance. He set me up in my own flat and we became a regular item. End of story.’
‘Did his wife know?’
<
br /> She laughed. ‘The Lady Sullana?’ She stressed the word ‘lady’, and I could just hear the capitalization fall into place. ‘Of course. Practically from the first. Lucius told her himself, and frankly I don’t think she could’ve cared less. Except for the scandal aspect of things, that is. Sullana was always very prim and proper. So long as Lucius didn’t flaunt me in public, I didn’t exist.’
‘What about the rest of the family? Did they know?’
‘Oh, yes. Given that by “the rest of the family”, you mean Lucius’s son, Naevia Postuma and a few other odds and sods. But then the same applies. As long as I didn’t get above myself and become a social embarrassment, I could be ignored, and everything was just peaches and cream.’
‘So what changed things?’
She frowned. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, you’re not exactly tucked away now, are you? Or am I wrong?’
Her face cleared. ‘Oh. That’s because of the sale.’
‘What sale?’
‘Of the Old Villa.’
‘Old Villa?’
‘It was the original building, in Lucius’s grandfather’s time. He was the one who made the family fortune.’ She grinned. ‘Not legitimately, I suspect, because the family are very tight-lipped on the subject. Anyway, he decided to build a new villa, much grander, with the original forming one of the wings. Only like Lucius, he and his wife didn’t really get on, so he kept it for her as a separate property. The only link between the two is a single corridor, which I’m having bricked up.’
‘You’re having bricked up?’
‘Oh, yes. At my end, at least, and as soon as I can, really. I own it, you see. Lucius sold it to me last month, when the divorce came through.’
‘Sold it to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You, ah, mind telling me how much for?’
Finished Business Page 2
