Finished Business

by David Wishart

  ‘The name’s Corvinus. Marcus Corvinus.’ Definitely a flicker there; if I’d had any doubts that Herennius Senior was involved I didn’t have them any more. ‘I understand from his brother that the quaestor here was with Papinius when he died.’

  ‘That’s correct. In a fall from his horse on Mars Field. They were out riding together, and young Sextus’s horse shied and threw him. A terrible business, terrible.’

  ‘Was there anyone else around?’

  ‘No, as it happened. They were in the top corner of the field, near the river, beyond Augustus’s Mausoleum.’ He was frowning. ‘What’s this about? And what has it to do with you?’

  ‘I’m looking into the death – the murder – of Lucius Naevius Surdinus.’

  He blinked; that name had registered, too.

  ‘So?’ he said.

  ‘Papinius told me, yesterday, that he had certain information he thought I should have. We’d arranged to meet this afternoon, only of course he never turned up.’

  ‘That was unfortunate, but—’

  ‘He never turned up because your son here killed him. Or rather, probably, he engineered things so that someone else could do the job.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’ Bassus was white with anger. ‘Sextus was one of my best friends! We grew up together! If you think—’

  His father reached out and put a hand on his wrist. He was still staring at me, but he’d gone noticeably pale. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  ‘Corvinus,’ he said, ‘that accusation is not only nonsensical, unfounded, and unwarranted, but actionable in a court of law. Which is where I and my son will see you as soon as I can lay a charge before the city judge. Now, get out of my office.’

  Weak. I recognized bluster when I heard it, and I could see a bead of sweat on his forehead. I didn’t move. ‘You haven’t asked why,’ I said.

  Capito’s brow furrowed. ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why he did it.’ I shrugged. ‘Oh, sure, you know the answer perfectly well already, but I’ll give you it nonetheless. There’s a plot to kill the emperor. Papinius was involved; your son Bassus here’s involved. You’re involved yourself. How Surdinus fits in I’m not sure yet, but that’s why he was killed, and Papinius knew about it. Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong.’

  They were both staring at me: Capito like an actor who’d suddenly lost his place in the script, his son in pure wide-eyed terror.

  ‘That’s …’ Capito stuttered.

  ‘The simple unvarnished truth,’ I went on easily. ‘Right. Of course, you’re wondering just how much I know in the way of detail, and who else knows besides me. Whether it’s enough to take to the emperor himself, and whether I’m in a minority of one. Maybe whether I have taken it to the emperor already, in which case you’re all dead men walking. That includes your pals Longinus and Cerialis, plus the two Gauls. No doubt quite a few others that I don’t yet know about, yes, but never mind, because once you’re in the bag, the emperor has ways of getting the names out of you. Not very pleasant ways, but there you are. And believe me, if you are thinking of passing the fact that we’ve had this little talk on to your heavies so that they can take appropriate action, the secret isn’t a secret any longer. The horse is out, the stable door’s wide open, and you’re living on borrowed time. Trust me on this, absolutely.’ They were grey with fear now, both of them. ‘So the good news is that I’m cutting you some slack. Not much, but it’s the best offer you’ll get.’ I folded my arms and leaned back against the door. ‘As far as I know, Gaius doesn’t—’

  I’d been half-expecting it, so it didn’t come as a complete surprise; besides, Bassus was no fighter. He came at me swinging, but I ducked and planted a fist in his midriff, then when he doubled up I followed it with a sock to the jaw. He folded like a wet rag and lay there groaning.

  Capito had got to his feet, but he didn’t move.

  ‘Like I was saying,’ I continued, ‘as far as I know – although I may be wrong – all this’ll come as news to the emperor. Me, well, I’m an outsider, a nobody, but if someone he trusts, one of his own senior admin staff, say, were to go to him off his own bat and tell him the whole story up-front, first to last, he might just decide to overlook the details of where the guy had got his information. He might even be grateful, although I wouldn’t count too much on that possibility, myself.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s a gamble, sure, but I’d think the odds would be pretty good. Better, certainly, than if you let things slide, or if you’re stupid enough to stay on the losing team, because if you do and you are, then you have no future at all. Your decision completely, pal, and you might be lucky. Think about it.’ I opened the door. ‘As for the mechanics of the thing, well, Gaius couldn’t be more handily placed, since you’re virtually neighbours, so I’ll only give you until tomorrow morning before I make an appointment myself. I’ll see you around. Hopefully.’

  I left.

  That had been risky, sure, but it’d been a calculated risk, and I reckoned it would pay off because those two were no hardened conspirators – that had been obvious practically from the first. Someone with backbone like Longinus, or even Graecinus, would’ve laughed in my face and brazened it out, then quietly arranged to have me chopped. Them, I’d never have tried it on with, not in a million years, because it would’ve been just too damn dangerous. Capito and his son, though, were running scared, particularly the son, and if I’d been bluffing when I’d implied that other people were in on the secret, it’d been in the certainty that they wouldn’t call the bluff and arrange for the chopping themselves. Besides, I’d been totally honest about their options. Spilling the beans voluntarily to the emperor wasn’t by any means a guarantee that they’d live through this, especially in the current climate, but the chances of it were a hell of a lot better than if they’d just been two more names on the list. And given my deadline of tomorrow morning, which allowed them no time to think, it would be by far the best and fastest way of letting Gaius know what was going on; I could spend months putting a watertight case together, and whatever the plot’s timetable was, months were something I’d bet I didn’t have. Nowhere near it.

  So, a good day’s work, and if I was lucky the first real crack in the case. I hadn’t lost sight of the fact that my remit was to find whoever had killed Surdinus, and a little thing like unmasking a conspiracy against the emperor was just an incidental feature. Oh, yeah, sure, there was a connection; there had to be. The simplest explanation was that, like Papinius, Surdinus had been involved in the plot himself, got cold feet, and taken the best indirect way he could of blowing the whistle. Or ensuring, rather, that if he were to die prematurely, the whistle would still be blown. Still, I didn’t actually know that, not yet, and there were factors militating against it. Like – given the other conspirators were either serving senators or Praetorians, or had strong imperial connections – why should an apolitical sort like him be mixed up in it at all? However, if I was lucky, when the whole boiling were hauled in for questioning, the case would solve itself. You might not like them – I didn’t, particularly – but as I’d said to Capito, Gaius had ways of getting even the most reluctant suspect to talk. And with a planned assassination in the pipeline, he wouldn’t pull his punches, either.

  Anyway, I reckoned we’d call it a day. I headed through the Palatine complex towards Staurian Incline, the flight of steps that was the quickest way, if you were on foot, of getting from Palatine to Caelian. The easiest, too, because especially at this time of day they were pretty quiet. There was a punter a flight or so ahead of me, and another about the same behind, and that was about it.

  I’d got almost to the foot, where there was one of the public litters parked with its two litter-men leaning against it shooting the breeze, when I noticed that the guy ahead of me had stopped and turned round. He reached into his belt and drew out a knife, while the two off-duty litter-men stopped lounging and did the same.

  Oh, shit. I turned – or half-turned, rather – just in time to see that chummie behind me had
closed the gap …

  Which was when something that felt like a decent-sized marble column smacked me behind the ear, and I went out like a light.

  TWENTY-ONE

  I woke up with my back to a wall, a thumping headache, a definite no-go area on the back left-hand side of my head where I’d been clouted, and my slinger pal from the Janiculan looking down at me. We were indoors, I could see that much, although vision wasn’t exactly my best feature at the moment and my eyes were actually telling me said slinger pal was overlapping identical twins. I could see we were somewhere with no windows, because the only light came from lamps.

  I reached up and gingerly touched the no-go area on my head. There was a lump there the size of a goose egg, but my fingers came away dry. A sandbag, then, or a blackjack – chummie had been careful, which, considering the knives his three mates had been carrying, was interesting.

  ‘You’re awake,’ the big guy said.

  Nine out of ten for observation, with one point deducted for stating the totally bloody obvious.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘More or less.’ I felt like something the cat had dragged in, and woozy as hell, but apart from the pain in my head and the double vision, everything else seemed OK. ‘Why am I still alive? Not that I’m complaining, mind.’

  He grunted and stood up. ‘Not by my choice, friend,’ he said. ‘If I’d had my way you would be fucking dead. You prat!’

  Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to argue: I hadn’t exactly covered myself with glory here. Which reminded me …

  ‘So where exactly am I?’ I said. ‘If it’s not a stupid question.’

  ‘In a wine cellar.’

  Great. Very informative. ‘You care to elaborate a little, chum?’

  ‘No. That’s all you need to know, Corvinus. Except that it’s under a house that’s been empty for the past six months and that there’s only the one way in or out, through a three-inch-thick reinforced oak door with a lock and a couple of iron bolts on the other side. So this is where you fucking well stay.’

  Uh-huh. That would just about do it; curiosity satisfied. ‘Until when?’

  ‘Until it’s all over. Boss’s instructions. As I said, me, I’d’ve gone for the more permanent option and left you back there on the Stairs with your throat cut.’

  Ouch. Well, at least I could be thankful that I was still breathing. ‘The boss?’

  He ignored me. ‘Up you get.’ He pulled me to my feet and I felt my head explode. ‘Just don’t try no fucking funny business, right? Killing you might be out, but the boss didn’t say nothing about loosening a few teeth or breaking a couple of fingers. And believe me, after the trouble you’ve caused, I’d whistle while I did it.’

  ‘Pal, the way I’m feeling just now, I couldn’t get past your white-haired old grandmother.’ I wasn’t kidding, either; the room was swimming round me, and the inside of my skull felt like someone was hitting it with a mallet. Wine-cellar the place might be, but it looked more like a prison cell. Which, evidently, was what its present purpose was: no more than ten feet square, with a table and stool against one wall, a cot and blankets against another, and a chamber-pot in the corner with a bucket and sponge-stick beside it. Right; at least we had all the amenities. No windows, of course, and like the guy had said a door that looked like it’d need an army battering-ram to get through.

  So much for any dramatic escape plan I might think up. Hell.

  The table, mind …

  It wasn’t empty, not by a long chalk. There were three loaves of bread, a whole chicken, three or four covered pottery bowls, a couple of jugs, and the full complement of tableware. Plus a mixing bowl and strainer, and – leaning against the wall beside it – two sizeable flasks in their iron foot-rests.

  I certainly wouldn’t starve, and given the presence of the flasks, the mixing bowl and wine strainer, I wouldn’t go thirsty, either. The accommodation might be pretty basic, but I couldn’t complain about the catering. The boss, whoever he was, had done me proud.

  What the hell was going on?

  Chummie walked across to the table, filled a cup from one of the jugs and brought it over.

  ‘Here,’ he said.

  It was wine. I tasted it …

  Shit, that was Caecuban! Good Caecuban! The best, in fact, that money couldn’t buy, because it all went to the one place. I took a proper swig, and it kissed my tonsils on the way down like liquid velvet …

  Things began to make sense.

  ‘You should be OK now,’ he said, turning away and moving towards the door. ‘The oil for the lamps is in the corner by the latrine. Enjoy your stay.’

  And he was gone, slamming the door behind him. I heard the key turn in the lock and the bolts slide home.

  Damn!

  Yeah, well, I might as well see what I’d got here, because there was bugger all else to do. The loaves and the chicken were self-evident, but I took the lids off the bowls. Cold bean stew, braised mixed vegetables, assorted pickles and some dried fruit and nuts for dessert. Not bad, well beyond the bread-and-water stage. Not up to Meton’s standard, of course, but better than I’d get in most cook shops. I topped up my wine cup and investigated the other jug and the flasks. Water and – whoopee! – more of the Caecuban.

  There was a leather case for book-rolls beside the bed. I opened it up and took out the first roll. Plautus’s Captives. Oh, hah; someone had a sense of humour, anyway. I put it back and pulled out the others: Cato’s On Farming, the first couple of books of Ennius’s Annals, and Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations. Good solid reads, all of them, bloody dry as dust, except for the Plautus, and I’ve never found that bastard particularly funny. Boredom, I could see, was going to be a major problem. If it’d been the lady stuck down here for the duration, then …

  Oh, fuck. Perilla. I hadn’t thought about her. She’d have no idea where I was, let alone whether I was alive or dead, with the probability being the latter.

  Well, there was nothing I could do about it now. Except worry, of course, about her being worried. I settled down to wait.

  I’d no way of measuring time exactly, but I estimated there were three days between the door shutting and it opening again. By which point – leaving aside the fact that I was practically climbing the walls – I’d more or less worked everything out: when you’re faced with a choice between ratiocination and Marcus Porcius bloody-skinflint Cato rabbiting on about how to squeeze as much oil as you can out of an olive or work out of a slave, suitably anaesthetized beforehand with Caecuban or not, it’s no contest.

  So. After three days of solitary confinement, the door finally opened. Not my slinger pal this time; instead through it came a little guy wearing a freedman’s cap and a sharp lemon-coloured tunic. The boss in person.

  No surprises there. It just had to be him, didn’t it?

  ‘Hi, Felix,’ I said. ‘How’s it going?’ He was alone, which, I supposed, was a safe enough risk to take, given that I knew who he worked for, although even knowing that after three days of being banged up in a cellar with only an increasingly pervasive latrine smell and Cato and his jolly mates for company, I could cheerfully have beaten the little bugger to death with his own chamber pot.

  Which, given who he was, would not have been a good idea. I hadn’t seen Gaius’s freedman sidekick – spymaster, intelligence chief, whatever you liked to call him – for three years, not since the last conspiracy against his master had gone down the tubes, but he hadn’t changed. Still the fastidious, dapper little bugger we had grown to know and love for his unfailing cheerfulness, ruthless efficiency, and bacon-slicer brain.

  ‘Things are going very well indeed, sir,’ he said. ‘May I sit down?’

  ‘Sure. Why not? Make yourself at home.’

  Sarcasm is lost on Felix. He never even batted an eyelid.

  ‘Thank you.’ He sat on the bed. ‘And do let me say what a pleasure it is to see you again, Valerius Corvinus. You haven’t been too uncomfortable, I hope? Had everything you needed?’

&
nbsp; Stupid bloody question, but I took it in the spirit it was meant.

  ‘I could’ve done with a razor,’ I said. ‘Apart from that – and of course apart from the fact that my wife will be worried fucking sick about where I’ve got to – no, not too many complaints. You total sadistic bastard.’

  He looked pained. ‘Really, sir, give me some credit for humanity, please! That is most unfair! I sent a message right away telling the Lady Perilla that you were perfectly safe and well. As for the razor, that was an oversight, and you have my most abject apologies. I will speak to Trupho about it in no uncertain terms.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ At least I was glad that I could stop worrying about Perilla. She’d’ve been anxious, sure, but I had to admit that under the circumstances, Felix had done his best. ‘Couldn’t you just have told me to lay off?’

  ‘Would you have done it?’

  ‘I might have, if you’d asked nicely and explained the situ-ation.’ Still, it was a fair point, and we’d been there before in our past dealings together. Plus the chances were that, no, I wouldn’t have, and we both knew it. ‘Trupho’s the big guy who brought me here, yes?’

  ‘Indeed. An ex-auxiliary, and one of my best men. Rather a rough diamond, but he is generally very efficient. Particularly at killing, as you no doubt saw. When did you know, by the way?’

  ‘That the conspiracy was already blown and you had things in hand? Almost straight off. It was the wine. Imperial Caecuban, right?’

  He was beaming. ‘Oh, well done, sir!’ he said. ‘I thought that might do it, or at least provide you with a major clue, if you needed one. The flask was from the emperor’s own cellars. His idea, not mine, so when you see him, please be appropriately grateful.’

  Bugger, that did not sound good: the last thing I wanted was a face-to-face with that psychotic bastard. Even so …

  ‘So what happens now?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing, as far as I’m concerned. You’re free to go, of course, absolutely free. The conspirators are all rounded up and in custody.’