Finished Business

by David Wishart

  ‘Suit yourself, but it’s Falernian. Good Falernian. Damion’s brother is in the wine trade, and he supplies some of the best houses in Rome.’ I said nothing. ‘No? Ah, well, your loss. Damion, could you give us a moment, please? I think Valerius Corvinus would like a word in private.’

  The freedman grunted, came over, picked up the third cup, filled it to the brim, and went out.

  ‘So.’ Tarquitia was still smiling. ‘Would you like to begin, or shall I?’

  ‘The whole business – your affair with Surdinus – was a set-up, right from the start. You and Hellenus here arranged the whole thing.’

  ‘Yes, we did.’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘Hellenus – Marcus, rather.’ She turned to plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘I really do need to get used to calling you that, dear. Marcus was doing the artwork for the Poppies and we sort of drifted together. I didn’t know he was who he was at the time, mind. Then one day he told me about this brilliant idea he’d had.’

  ‘To screw his rich daddy,’ I said neutrally. ‘In both senses of the word.’

  She coloured slightly. ‘If you’re going to be unpleasant,’ she said, ‘then you can leave. We’re not greedy. Marcus only wanted to make sure of getting what was his by right.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘So you waited for an opportunity to, ah, effect an introduction.’

  ‘It wasn’t easy.’ Hellenus reached for the jug and topped up their cups. ‘My father didn’t go to that sort of party as a general rule. Oh, he wasn’t a prude, he just found it below his dignity, and so did most of his friends. But eventually we struck lucky; one of his younger philosopher pals who was a bit more red-blooded than most. After that it was easy. Tarquitia knew one of the girls who’d been hired, some money changed hands, and that was that.’

  ‘You found out that your father was going to the dinner through one of his household?’

  ‘Yes. Penelope.’ He exchanged an amused glance with Tarquitia. ‘Faithful Penelope. She was one of Mother’s maids. Pleasant little thing, a bit mousey but quite good-looking in her way. We stayed in touch after I left, and she kept me informed about what was going on. Of course, after the divorce, all that stopped, but by that time it didn’t really matter.’

  ‘So if your father didn’t make a habit of furkling pushy dancing girls’ – that got me a glare from Tarquitia, but I ignored it – ‘how did you manage to hook him?’

  ‘Oh, that was all my lovely girl’s doing.’ He hugged her. ‘She’s a smart little thing, Corvinus. But of course you know that. If she’d been pushy, like you say, thrown herself at him literally, he’d’ve run a mile. No, she made it look like a complete accident, and she was most apologetic and embarrassed. Weren’t you, lover?’ He kissed her again. ‘The suggestion that the girls stay on after finishing their act, naturally, came from my father’s friend, and she went to Dad’s couch straight away. With suitable modesty and reluctance, I might add.’ Beside him, Tarquitia giggled and buried her face in her wine cup. ‘And despite what the friend and the other girl were getting up to on the other couch, there was absolutely no funny business.’

  ‘We talked,’ Tarquitia said. ‘He wanted to know about my family. I told him my father lived in Padua, where he made cheap jewellery, but he was losing his sight and I’d come to Rome so I could make enough to support him. Complete hogwash, of course; the closest my father ever got to being blind was blind drunk, and we haven’t been in touch for years, but Lucius lapped it up. When the evening ended he said he wanted to see me again, and that was it.’

  ‘Did you ever sleep with him?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. Not often, though. Like Hellenus – Marcus – told you, he found the whole sexual thing a bit beneath his dignity. But he thought I’d expect it, so he did it. Tried his best to, anyway.’ She frowned. ‘Corvinus, Lucius was a nice man. A very nice man indeed; the kindest and most generous I’ve ever met. I told you that before, and I meant it. Don’t go away thinking I didn’t see it, or that I wasn’t grateful.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ I said. ‘Perish the thought.’

  That got me another glare.

  ‘So, anyway,’ Hellenus said, ‘here we are. Project successfully completed and, I should point out, perfectly within the law. Like Tarquitia said, we’re not greedy, either of us. Tarquitia’s sold this place back to my brother for, in effect, the difference between my third of the estate and a full half share, which is, admittedly, on the pricey side, but we had him over a barrel and he would’ve paid far more to remove the embarrassment. Hence’ – he raised his cup – ‘the celebration, because she’s just signed the contract. She has, of course, as the owner, although the money will come to me; the only reason I’m here is that I wouldn’t have missed for worlds the look on Lucius’s face when he saw us together. The other properties my father gave her – sold her, rather – well, they’ll be hers as they already are absolutely. She’s certainly earned them, and as far as I’m concerned they’re just the icing on the cake. Call it an advance wedding present.’

  ‘What about Otillius?’ I turned to Tarquitia. ‘By the way, I promised him that when I saw you again I’d tell you he’s willing to have you back. There, that’s done.’

  She laughed. ‘Oh, I finished with poor Titus long ago,’ she said. ‘What I ever saw in that brute, let alone why I married him, I don’t know.’ (‘Beefcake,’ Hellenus murmured, grinning, and she elbowed him in the ribs.) ‘But I repeat, we’re not greedy. If he agrees to a divorce, I’ll make over Lucius’s bequest to him in toto. The whole fifty thousand. We don’t really need it, after all, Marcus and me, we have plenty to keep us going, and believe me, Corvinus, he will jump at it.’

  Yeah, he probably would. And, to my mind, he’d be getting the best of the deal. Still, it was sad.

  ‘So what happens now?’ I said.

  ‘I told you.’ Hellenus took a swallow of wine. ‘We travel, and we do it in style. Athens, Pergamum, Alexandria, the complete eastern tour, as soon as the shipping lanes open again in spring. Everything should be settled by then. I may even buy a yacht. Hiring is so middle class, and bunking down in a cargo ship isn’t to be thought of.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ I turned to go; I wanted out before I threw up. ‘Good luck to you both.’

  ‘Corvinus!’ He called me back. ‘Just remember, we’ve only taken what’s due to us. Tarquitia made the old man happier in his final months than he had been for years. And I reckon as an artist I’ve made a bigger contribution to society and human happiness than my brother ever did, or ever will. I deserve my share. And I’ll make better use of it than he ever could.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you around.’

  And I left.

  So. That was done, at least for the time being. It was a long hike to the Quirinal, where Longinus hung out, practically the other side of Rome, but I could shorten things by crossing the river on one of the little ferry-boats that plied for hire level with the top end of the Janiculan and then cutting through Mars Field. At least the weather was good, cold but dry, with only a few drifting clouds to remind me that Jupiter was only holding off for the present.

  As far as the actual murder was concerned, I had to admit that the home team wasn’t doing so well; in fact, we’d hit a stone wall. Oh, sure, with the Tarquitia/Hellenus side of things stitched up – or at least looking that way for now – we’d made some progress, but not all that much. Me, I still fancied Surdinus Junior as the killer; certainly he’d got by far the best motive, in fact he was practically the only person who had a motive at all: pace Perilla, I couldn’t really see old Gallio as a criminal mastermind out to save the family inheritance at the cost of its current prime representative. Still, time would show. Or maybe – and this was the bummer – it wouldn’t. Not unless we could get a lead on Cilix’s scarface freedman.

  Assuming, of course, that he was the actual perp after all, and hadn’t just been after Surdinus’s game-birds …

  Bugger.

  Longinus, despite what I�
�d said to Perilla, I didn’t hold out too much hope for. Yeah, well, he could’ve had a motive in line with the one I’d given him, but the chances that he’d done the deed, or had it done for him, rather, were pretty slim. It’d have to be fast work, for a start, if he’d only been back in Rome for half a month or so, and from Secundus’s description of him he didn’t seem the killing type. Still, he was all that was on offer currently, and I couldn’t turn my nose up at him.

  I made my way across the Saepta to the old Sanqualis Gate and onto High Path. Near the Shrine of Mars, Secundus had said, the Armilustrum. A quick stop at a corner baker’s shop selling sesame twists and poppy-seed pastries to get final directions plus a much-needed late-morning snack, and I found the house itself.

  Very nice, which was par for the area. Own grounds, surrounding wall, gateposts with sphinxes on the top. We were talking serious money here; evidently this branch of the Cassii had taken up the slack in the three generations since the Cassius Longinus had blotted the family copybook. Although, in all probability, the family themselves wouldn’t see it that way, and the villains of the tale would be old Julius and his parvenu successors. The fact that Great Grandfather Gaius had gone down the tubes of history at Philippi fighting against the guy who would later become the Divine Augustus wouldn’t make him, to them, any less of a hero. Quite the reverse.

  There was a door slave in a natty blue tunic sitting on the bench outside. I gave him my name, though not my business, and he went to check if the master was At Home.

  He was, seemingly, and I was shown through to the study.

  Mid-fifties, tall, broad, fit-looking, with strong features and short wiry grey hair going white at the temples. He wasn’t alone; there were three other men with him of much the same age, all wearing senatorial broad-striper mantles.

  We were in heavy company here. Bugger. Possibly not the time to broach the topic of an illicit love affair and an illegitimate son.

  ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Valerius Corvinus,’ Longinus said. ‘Knew your father well. Fine man. Now. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Uh … I’m sorry, sir,’ I said. ‘You’re busy and it’s not urgent. I’ll call again later when you’re alone.’

  I half-turned to follow the slave back out, but his hand grasped my shoulder.

  ‘Nonsense, my dear fellow, I wouldn’t hear of it!’ he said, letting the shoulder go and patting it. ‘And my friends certainly won’t mind. They only called to welcome me back to Rome. Here.’ He pulled up a spare stool. ‘Sit yourself down.’

  Hell. ‘Really, sir, I’d rather—’

  ‘Sit!’ I sat. ‘I’m forgetting my manners. Julius Graecinus, Anicius Cerialis and Valerius Asiaticus. No relation of yours, I hasten to add. Hails from Gaul originally, poor devil.’

  As, from the looks of him, did Graecinus: they both had typically Gallic fair complexions and the tell-tale reddish hair. Cerialis, on the other hand, was pure upper-class Roman. I nodded, and they nodded back. Pretty frostily, I thought. Despite what Longinus had said, they didn’t look too pleased at the interruption.

  ‘Right, Corvinus. I’m fully at your service,’ Longinus said. ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Ah … it’s about the death of Naevius Surdinus,’ I said. ‘He was your consular colleague, ten years back?’

  ‘Yes, indeed he was. And before that a good friend of long standing.’ Longinus frowned. ‘Terrible thing, that accident. Terrible. What a way to go. Poor old Lucius.’

  ‘It wasn’t an accident, sir. He was murdered. I’m, uh, looking into it as a favour to his niece, Naevia Postuma.’

  Now, I have to be very careful about the next bit. There was shock, yes, that was to be expected. But I had the distinct feeling that there was something else, a stillness and a sharpening of interest, like the atmosphere in the room had changed somehow. Trouble was I couldn’t tell where it originated; it could’ve been with any one of them, or with all four. All I knew was that it was there.

  ‘You’re joking,’ Longinus said.

  ‘No, there’s no mistake. The evidence is quite clear. He was killed deliberately.’

  ‘Have you any idea who did it?’

  ‘Who the actual killer was, yes. One of the garden slaves saw a freedman coming from the direction of the tower at about the right time, and acting suspiciously. A middle-aged guy with a scar or a birthmark on his left cheek.’ I shrugged. ‘That’s more or less all I know at present. Who organized the murder and why, well, your guess is as good as mine.’

  ‘Sweet holy Jupiter!’ Longinus was staring at me. ‘So how can I help you? I haven’t seen Lucius since I left for Asia almost a year ago. And not for a good two months before then, either.’

  This was the tricky bit. ‘Uh … it’s rather personal, sir. I think perhaps we’d better talk in private.’ I turned to the others. ‘No offence, gentlemen.’

  ‘Nonsense, Corvinus. I’m sure you can’t ask me any questions that I’d be embarrassed to answer. And Graecinus here was a very close friend of Lucius’s as well.’ Yeah; now he happened to mention it, I remembered that Leonidas, the estate manager, had given a Julius Graecinus as one of Surdinus’s bosom philosopher mates. ‘You carry on, my dear fellow; ask away. Anything I can tell you I will, and gladly.’

  Well, he’d had his chance. Even so, I wasn’t looking forward to this. ‘I understand you’d been friendly with the family for a long time, sir.’

  ‘That’s right. I told you, for thirty years and more. Lucius and I were quaestors together, cut our political teeth on the same teething ring, you might say. We’ve kept up the friendship ever since.’

  ‘I, ah, don’t mean just with Naevius Surdinus. I mean with the family as a whole.’ Jupiter! ‘Specifically with Surdinus’s wife, Cornelia Sullana.’

  That got me a straight look. ‘Corvinus, just exactly what are you saying?’ Longinus snapped.

  I was beginning to sweat. Easy this wasn’t, and I could see now how the guy had got to the top of the senatorial appointments tree. Cassius Longinus, for all his good-old-boy manner – or maybe because of it – was no pussycat. I’d imagine he and his great grandfather would’ve had a lot more in common than just their names.

  ‘I was told that, uh, the two of you had an affair,’ I said. ‘Some twenty-five years back. Maybe a bit more.’

  He was goggling at me. I didn’t dare even look at the other three.

  Then he laughed.

  ‘Who the hell told you that?’ he said.

  ‘Actually, it was the lady herself. Cornelia Sullana. It isn’t true?’

  ‘Have you met the woman, Corvinus? She has a face like a hatchet and a voice like a bloody saw! Of course it isn’t bloody true!’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Look, get this through your head once and for all, here and now. I can’t stand bloody Cornelia Sullana. Never could. Pompous, overbred, whining. I’d no more take her into my bed than I would my farm bailiff’s prize sow. The gods know why Lucius married her in the first place. Oh, she’d name and money, yes; in that sense she was a good catch, but he never liked her. And I was quite definitely his friend, not hers.’

  ‘Then why should she claim you had an affair when you didn’t?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. You’d best ask her.’ He got up. ‘And now if that’s all you came for, my dear fellow, we’ll call the visit at an end, shall we? Nice of you to come. You can find your own way out, can’t you?’

  Gods!

  FIFTEEN

  It was still a long way from dinner when I got back to the Caelian, and Perilla was working in her study. Or, at least, she had a book-roll open and was taking notes.

  ‘Oh, hello, Marcus,’ she said absently. ‘Just a moment. I want to get this down first.’ I waited while she scribbled a line or two on the note tablet beside her then laid the stylus aside. ‘There we are.’

  ‘What’s the book?’ I said. Not that I was really interested, but it’s always politic for a man to show an interest in his wife’s little hobb
ies. Besides, we were on her territory here. Unfortunately. Being in Perilla’s study always makes me nervous. Oh, sure, studies should have a book-cubby or two included, no argument, that’s what they’re for – at least for appearances’ sake. But not a good dozen of the buggers stacked full of books whose titles make your eyes water. Particularly when they’re there for more than decoration.

  ‘Aristarchus of Samothrace’s recension of the “Iliad”. Julia Procula lent it to me.’

  ‘Is that so, now?’ I paused. ‘Uh … what the hell’s a recension?’

  ‘Oh, Marcus! A critical revision. Sort of … well, a bit like cleaning the accumulated grime off a painting and restoring it to its original appearance. Removing all the interpretations and amendments made by later scholars operating on premises based on what was, to them, contemporary usage and getting back to what the author really meant. Aristarchus works on the principle that you can only understand what an ancient writer is saying by interpreting the words or sentiments by comparison with other, similar passages in the author’s own works, and not by anachronistic reference to present import. Or, of course, with passages in the works of his contemporaries, should these exist. Fascinating!’

  ‘Ah … yeah. Yeah.’ Jupiter alive! Well, I had asked.

  ‘For instance, did you realize that for Homer the word phobos didn’t mean “fear” but “rout”, as in rout in battle? And the verb phobeisthai meant to flee, to be routed?’

  ‘Uh, actually, no. No, strange as it may seem, that one must’ve slipped past me, lady.’

  She grinned, put the note tablet inside the roll to mark her place, laid the book on the table beside her, and sat back. ‘Very well, dear. So, how did your day go? I’m all ears.’

  I sat down on the other couch, cradling the cup of wine Bathyllus had given me when I’d got back. ‘We were right about Tarquitia and Hellenus,’ I said. ‘They cooked up the scam between them. Or at least Hellenus set things up originally and Tarquitia took it from there.’ I told her about the visit to the Old Villa.