Last Rites (Marcus Corvinus Book 6)

by David Wishart

  ‘Thalia wasn’t there, was she?’ Jupiter! I was on to something after all! ‘But there were a dozen of you. So who was the twelfth girl?’ Silence. ‘Aegle, do you want me to go back to Celer? Tell him one of his team didn’t show and ask him to find out who took her place?’ Still silence, but her teeth snaggled at her lower lip and she was watching me like I was going to jump up and bite her. ‘Look, I don’t want to cause trouble, right? All I want is the girl’s name and where to find her.’

  She strode over to the bed, bent down with her back to me and began pulling the blankets straight with short, sharp jerks. ‘I don’t know her name,’ she snapped. ‘I’d never seen her before, had I? Nor had the rest of us.’

  ‘She was a stranger?’ Oh, dear sweet Jupiter! ‘So where did she come from?’

  ‘Thalia sent her. Something had come up at the last minute, she couldn’t make it. It was too late to contact Celer, and this girl was a friend.’ The bed looked even worse than it had done. Aegle gave the top blanket a last vicious tug and turned to face me. ‘Don’t tell Celer, Corvinus. That little rat handles the bookings and unless someone asks for one of us by name he can pick who he likes to send out. Get a reputation for being unreliable and you don’t work too often.’

  I hadn’t moved. ‘Is Thalia unreliable?’

  ‘No! I told you, she just couldn’t make it. It happens now and again to all of us; not often, but enough. The rest cover, and Celer’s none the wiser.’

  ‘But this time you didn’t cover. The girl was an outsider.’

  ‘She could play the flute. Well, too, good as me, and I’m good, Corvinus, very good. That was all that mattered. And Thalia was off the hook.’

  ‘Okay.’ I held up my hand. ‘Relax. I won’t tell Celer, I promise. Now why don’t you sit down?’

  She did. We faced each other. She was glowering, the birthmark red and angry.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Okay. Now what did this girl look like?’

  ‘Tall, well-built. Muscular, even. Husky voice. Not old but older than me, maybe late twenties. Very dark hair. Wore a lot of make-up.’

  ‘That usual?’

  There was that fleeting smile again, breaking through the scowl. I wondered how much of the attitude was just hard shell or if there was a soft centre somewhere. ‘Sometimes. Depends what’s underneath that you want covered. Me, for obvious reasons I lay it on with a trowel. Maybe she had the same problem.’

  ‘Maybe.’ And maybe not; my brain was buzzing. ‘She leave with the rest of you?’

  Aegle was silent for a long time. Then she said, ‘I don’t know.’

  The prickling was back with a vengeance. ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘She could’ve done. I just didn’t notice. When the dead Vestal was found things got pretty confused. Then the Lady Junia bundled us all out together. I didn’t see her around, but then I wasn’t looking.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw her?’

  ‘That’s easy. She was sitting on the floor next to me at the meal. She said she was going out into the garden for a crap and a breath of fresh air.’

  The garden. My stomach went cold. ‘And she didn’t come back?’

  Aegle shrugged. ‘Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, I don’t know. Maybe her business took longer than she thought it would and she was still out there. Anyway, then the Vestal’s maid found that the lady had killed herself in one of the back bedrooms and all hell broke loose. And that was that.’

  That was that. Sweet merciful gods. I stood up. ‘One more thing. You happen to know where Thalia lives?’

  ‘Sure. In Public Ponds near the Capenan Gate. First tenement on the gate side of the wineshop, fourth floor. She probably won’t be there, though. She has a better social life than me.’ That came out naturally, without rancour.

  I put a half gold piece on the stool as I left. She’d earned it.

  6.

  It was a long hike over to Public Ponds, but at least once I was there I’d have a shorter walk home. I called in at Watch headquarters on the off-chance that my pal the local commander Flavonius Lippillus was around to split a jar of wine, but he was out on a society burglary and the guy on the desk didn’t know when he’d be back, so I just left my regards and headed for the Capenan Gate.

  I found the tenement. It was slightly more upmarket than Aegle’s, but not much; meaning you could see what colour the shops fronting it had been painted a dozen years or so back and the graffiti on the entrance walls was better spelled. Same smell, though: public latrines aren’t too plentiful in the Ponds, and bladders are the same size everywhere. I walked up to the fourth floor and knocked on the first door I came to.

  It was opened by an old woman in a tattered dressing-gown. Behind her a kid of indeterminate sex stood chewing on a bread-ring.

  ‘What d’you want?’ the old woman snapped. Ouch; as far as friendly greetings went this obviously wasn’t my day. Yeah, well; at least it told me a second career as an itinerant brush-seller wasn’t really a viable proposition.

  ‘Uh, I’m looking for a flutegirl,’ I said. ‘Name of Thalia.’

  She nodded at the door opposite. ‘That’s hers.’

  ‘Right. Thanks, mother.’ I crossed to the door and knocked. No answer. I tried again, louder. Not a cheep.

  The woman was still watching me. ‘She’s out,’ she said.

  Gods; I’d pulled the sharpest analytical mind in the empire here. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘So it would seem. You know where she might be, by any chance?’

  ‘No idea, son. I hardly see her one month’s end to the next. You tried the guildhouse?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I hadn’t, not again, but saying so would’ve complicated matters. Maybe I should’ve called back there first when I left Aegle’s and left a message for Thalia to get in touch with me, but you can’t think of everything and I wasn’t traipsing all the way back over to the Subura now. ‘You sure you don’t know where she might’ve gone?’

  She bridled. ‘I’ve got better things to do than watch out for sluts,’ she said. ‘Decimus, stop picking your nose.’ The kid behind her had inserted a grubby finger in his left nostril. He was staring at me like I had three heads. ‘Them musicians is all alike. If they aren’t bringing boyfriends back all hours they’re bed-hopping elsewhere. Now I’ve work to do, and so should you. You’re too old to be chasing flutegirls. Why don’t you go home to your wife? She pushed the nose-picking kid inside and slammed the door behind her.

  I grinned; neighbours like that are a joy perennial. Well, there was nothing more to be done here for the moment, that was sure, although certainly Thalia was one person I had to talk to before much longer. It’d have to be the guildhouse, or maybe Aegle again, but it had been a long hard day already and that could wait until tomorrow.

  I took the old woman’s advice and went home.

  Perilla was in the atrium, curled up on the couch with a book. Surprise.

  ‘Hey, lady.’ I kissed her. ‘How are things?’

  ‘All right.’ She set the roll aside. I didn’t even look at the title: it would only have made my eyes water. ‘How was your afternoon?’

  ‘Not bad.’ I put the jug and cup Bathyllus had given me on the side table and lay down next to her. ‘The new clock behaving itself?’ I could hear the drip … drip … drip clearly all the way across the room. Well, as I say maybe you got used to it but if that was an example of cutting-edge technology then give me a marked candle any time.

  ‘Oh, it’s going perfectly. I’m quite looking forward to the first changeover. That should be in about an hour’s time, at sunset.’ As if on cue, a bell went ting! as the titan belted his anvil. ‘There we are, you see. The start of the twelfth hour. It’s quite exciting, really.’ She beamed.

  Jupiter! I’d never seen Perilla like this; she was like a kid with a new toy. But then the lady always did have a scientific bent to match her literary talents. Me, I think some things are best left alone. Start monkeying around harnessing the power of complex, elemental fo
rces like wind and water and the gods knew where it would end.

  ‘There’ve been developments,’ I said. I told her about the visit to Aegle and the phantom flutegirl. ‘And we’ve got a good description. Seemingly our spurious musician was youngish with very dark hair. She was also tall, well-built and muscular, and she had a husky voice and three inches of make-up.’ I paused. ‘All these things suggest anything to you, lady?’

  Perilla was staring at me open-mouthed, horror-struck; obviously it did. ‘Oh, Marcus!’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, right. That’s exactly what I thought.’

  ‘Clodius Pulcher!’

  Trust Perilla to go for the historical parallel straight off, even if it was the obvious one; so obvious that even I’d drawn it. Young Clodius Pulcher had been a well-born dandy about a hundred years back. He’d had the hots for Julius Caesar’s wife – some people said it was mutual – and he’d dressed up as a flutegirl to gatecrash the rites of the Good Goddess held that year at Caesar’s house. Pulcher had been caught, sure, but although he’d got off the subsequent sacrilege rap by bribing the jury the scandal had stunk so much you could still smell it four generations down the road. One got you ten history had just repeated itself; at least partly so. I’d bet a jar of imperial Caecuban to a used bunion plaster that our phantom flutegirl – and so the murderer – had been a man.

  ‘But this is appalling!’ Perilla was still in shock. ‘It means the rites were profaned! Does Torquata know yet?’

  I blinked. Damn; that aspect of things I hadn’t thought of. The chief Vestal would burst a blood vessel. ‘No. That’s a pleasure in store,’ I said. ‘And as far as the murder’s concerned it opens up a whole new can of worms. Like who was he and what the hell was going on.’

  ‘So what was going on, do you think?’

  ‘The gods only know.’ I took a swallow of wine. ‘Okay. Let’s consider the angles. The whys first. What was the guy doing gatecrashing the rites to begin with?’

  ‘But that’s obvious. He came to murder Cornelia. Why we may not know, but –’

  ‘Hang on. It’s not that simple. Maybe he did, but there are other possibilities. For a start, what’s wrong with taking the Clodius Pulcher line to its logical conclusion?’

  Perilla sat up. ‘You’re saying he had an assignation with the senior consul’s wife? In her own house, during one of the most sacred ceremonies of the religious year? Corvinus, have you taken leave of your senses? This isn’t –’

  ‘With her or one of the other ladies, sure. But Aemilia’s a prime candidate. That sweet little bubblehead’s got an itch in her girdle, take my word for it. And from all accounts Galba’s no Hercules. Maybe she’s not scratching yet but it isn’t for the want of trying.’

  ‘That is wineshop bilge! You have absolutely no grounds for accusing Sulpicius Galba’s wife of infidelity!’

  I shrugged. ‘Okay. True. But it would explain a lot. It’d get Cornelia off the hook, for one thing.’

  ‘Quite.’ Perilla sniffed. ‘Cornelia. She was the one who was murdered, after all. Or has that slipped what I can only loosely term your mind?’

  Jupiter on a seesaw! ‘Lady, if you’ll just get off your high horse for one minute and shut up so I can explain then maybe we’ll get somewhere, okay? I’m as much in the dark as you are, but we won’t solve this thing by ignoring possibilities. Or calling each other names, for that matter.’

  Perilla coloured up, then ducked her head. ‘Very well, Marcus. You’re quite correct. I’m sorry. Carry on.’

  ‘Right.’ I took an inspirationary belt of Setinian. ‘Let’s say the guy – call him X – has made an arrangement with Aemilia to scratch the lady’s itch for her. Despite what you said, Perilla, if you ignore the sacrilege aspect the situation’s ideal. She’s in her own home and she’s her own boss, on the one night of the year when she can be sure her husband’s not going to walk in at an embarrassing moment waving a horsewhip and demanding a divorce. More, the thought that his wife might be using her evening off to press the sheets with some young stud who has more under his belt than he does doesn’t even cross Galba’s tiny mind, because it’s an all-women shindig.’

  ‘Corvinus, don’t be crude, please; it isn’t necessary. Just give me the theory.’

  I grinned. ‘Okay. Sorry. Anyway, that’s the other thing. When the rite itself is finished and the eating and drinking start, not to mention the sleep-over, no one’s going to notice where anyone else is, and no one’s going to care, either, because what’s the point? The house is sealed until dawn, they’re all girls together and the chances for an extramarital tumble upstairs are zero because there ain’t no men around to fill the other half of the bed.’

  ‘You’re beginning to convince me,’ Perilla said slowly. ‘Stop it.’

  I grinned again and kissed her nose. ‘Yeah. Fine. So X has planned a rendezvous with Mrs Galba. He’s inside, he’s off and running. At the prearranged hour he slips out into the garden and round to the hall door. Either they’re going to slake their burning passion in one of the spare bedrooms off the hall or – more likely – he’s going to use the back staircase and nip up to Aemilia’s own room while the lady herself takes the corridor stairs when her duties allow her to retire gracefully to bed. Only at that point something screws up.’

  ‘Cornelia sees him,’ Perilla said. ‘Marcus, this really is beginning to sound rather plausible.’

  ‘Right. It’d mean she came the wrong way out of the latrine, sure, but maybe she heard him moving around and got curious. Or maybe she was just curious anyway and was taking a look round the back reaches of the property. In any event she sees X climbing the stairs, or about to, and –’

  ‘Wait a moment. Why doesn’t she give the alarm? Or run back to the atrium?’

  ‘Why should she? What she sees is only a flutegirl, remember. Maybe the girl’s lost, maybe she’s been sent on an errand. In any case all the situation demands is for Cornelia to order her back and send her down the corridor to where she belongs. There’s no need to go overboard.’

  ‘Very well. So what happened next?’

  ‘Now we come to the tricky bit. I don’t know; I honestly don’t know. Maybe from that close range she saw through his disguise. She may even have known the man’s name, if he was out of the top social drawer. Anyway, the upshot is that X panics. He grabs Cornelia and hustles her into the nearest bedroom which is only a step or two away opposite the staircase. Then he draws his knife and stabs her. He’s –’

  ‘Wait a moment. Why would he be carrying a knife?’

  I frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘X is on a romantic assignment. Also, he’s disguised as a flutegirl, and as you are well aware flutegirls’ costumes are on the skimpy side. Why should he have provided himself from the outset with a weapon he didn’t envisage using?’

  ‘Shit, Perilla, I don’t know! Maybe he took it in case there was trouble.’

  ‘In a household full of women? Who would he be planning to use it against?’ She sniffed. ‘Hardly chivalrous behaviour, is it?’

  ‘Jupiter, the guy’s a murderer!’

  ‘Not yet he isn’t.’

  ‘Added to which, lady, some men are unchivalrous by nature. While others have unchivalry thrust upon them by their smartass bloody wives raising smartass bloody objections to a perfectly good theory.’

  ‘There’s no such word as unchivalry, Corvinus; the objection is a valid one; and don’t swear just because you’re losing an argument.’

  Hell; she had a point. The knife – particularly that knife – was a major stumbling-block. Not that there mightn’t be an explanation; it was just I hadn’t got it yet. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s call a truce on the knife and finish the scenario.’

  ‘Very well.’ Perilla settled back against the cushions.

  ‘X is stymied. Sure, Cornelia hasn’t had a chance to yell, but it’s only a matter of time before someone finds the body. There’s no point, of course, in going through with the original plan of
meeting up with Aemilia, and for equally obvious reasons he’d be a fool to go back to the party. Besides, judging by the amount of blood on the bedroom floor he must be covered with the stuff. So X doesn’t stick around. He pulls the bolts on the back door and slips off into the night.’ I took a satisfied swallow of wine. ‘So. There you are. Theory number one. What do you think?’

  ‘It hangs together, certainly, although there are problems besides the large one of the murder weapon…’

  ‘Yeah? Like what, for example?’

  ‘…which we won’t go into for the present.’

  ‘Gee, thanks, lady!’

  ‘So. What’s theory two?’

  ‘Theory two has X’s assignation with Cornelia.’

  ‘Oh, Corvinus!’

  ‘Hang on! The difference is that it may not have anything to do with sex. Or not on that occasion, anyway.’

  ‘You told me that both Junia Torquata and Lucius Arruntius were convinced that Cornelia died a virgin. Not to mention the girl’s maid.’

  ‘Look, I’m just covering the possibilities here, right? And the chance that X was her lover is one of them.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘Actually, there’re two major differences between theories one and two. The reason for the assignation is one.’

  ‘And the other?’

  ‘That the meeting wasn’t prearranged. Which is why Cornelia died.’

  7.

  ‘All right, Marcus. Carry on.’ It wasn’t often I had Perilla’s full attention, but I’d got it now. ‘This is fascinating.’

  ‘Okay. First of all I admit theory two is more unlikely because, as you say, Torquata, Arruntius and Niobe are all against the pregnancy angle. However, it does explain the knife, and so far as I can see it fits all the known facts.’

  Perilla’s lips twitched. ‘You’re hedging,’ she said.