Food for the Fishes (Marcus Corvinus Book 10)

by David Wishart

  Gellia shot him a vicious look but said nothing.

  ‘There was someone else in the house?’ I said.

  ‘No, of course there wasn’t,’ Gellia said tightly, her eyes still on Chlorus. ‘Barring the slaves.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Nerva muttered. ‘No doctors, for instance?’

  The lady’s glare flashed back to him, but this time she didn’t speak.

  We were on sensitive ground here. The reason was obvious: Chlorus and company, or he and his brother at least, because it would seem that Penelope was staying out of things, suspected that their stepmother was having an affair with this doctor and that the pair of them were responsible for Murena’s death. Not all that likely, on the face of it, not from what I’d heard so far, anyway: common sense said Gellia would hardly invite a lover round for a nightcap with her husband at home, especially if she intended to stiff Murena before they turned in for the night. On the other hand, this was Baiae, and morals were looser in the fleshpots of the south. Common sense, in Baiae, didn’t always feature. The murder aside, it was a big villa. I wondered how far apart their separate bedrooms were and what were the chances of interruption.

  There again, there was a lot of mud-slinging going on here. Far too much for on-the-spot assessment.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. Let’s get back to something we knew about. Or at least something there didn’t seem to be much argument over. I’d given Nerva his chance, and if he didn’t want to take it then that was up to him. ‘So Murena was, ah, “upset” when he went down to the fish farm? By events earlier in the day?’

  Silence; long silence. Chlorus coughed and glanced sideways at Nerva. If looks could kill then the one Nerva was giving Gellia would’ve fried the lady to a crisp.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. She looked back at Nerva and smiled. Then she said slowly: ‘He had had a terrible argument with Aulus, you see. Just before dinner. Isn’t that so, Aulus?’

  Nerva sat up straight on his couch and tried a smile of his own. It didn’t work. ‘It wasn’t an argument,’ he said. ‘I was just –’

  ‘It sounded like an argument to me. I could hear the raised voices all the way from the study,’ Gellia said. ‘Gambling debts again, was it? Or one of your business schemes? Lucius wouldn’t tell me.’

  Nerva had coloured up. ‘What we talked about had nothing to do with my father’s death!’

  ‘Possibly not.’ Gellia’s eyes came back to me, and she smiled again. ‘However, the fact remains that you were closeted with him for a good half hour and you parted on most unpleasant terms. That’s quite enough for me.’

  ‘I was gone long before he was killed!’

  ‘Of course you were.’ Gellia sniffed. ‘In such a temper, too. I was almost frightened.’

  Nerva turned away. I heard him murmur ‘Bitch!’ into his winecup.

  ‘Of course, Corvinus,’ Gellia carried on sweetly, ignoring him, ‘Aulus isn’t the only one in the family to have money problems. Titus here has a daughter getting married in three months’ time, little Hebe, quite a society affair, and now with poor Lucius dead as the eldest son he can easily afford to –’

  ‘That’s enough!’ Chlorus was on his feet. Cold fish or not, he was as angry as his brother. ‘Gellia, you’ll stop this...this ridiculous –!’

  ‘There’s no need to get excited, dear. I’m just apprising Valerius Corvinus of the facts.’

  ‘True enough, Titus,’ Nerva said. ‘Dowries come pretty expensive. Especially in Hebe’s case.’

  I looked from one to the other. Gods. Forget a three-way ball game; I felt like I was watching one of those free-for-alls in the arena where the aim is to end up still breathing when everyone else is a bloodied corpse on the sand. We’d got way beyond ordinary family sniping and backbiting here, and in nothing flat, what was more. It was almost as if the three of them had had their knives ready-whetted, and just been waiting for the chance to plant them. The accusations might be veiled, sure, for the most part, but they were accusations none the less, made deliberately with one eye on me and with a cool viciousness that had nothing to do with simple point-scoring. This was for real.

  The only member of the group who didn’t seem to be playing the game was dumpy Penelope. She hadn’t spoken or even moved since Chlorus had introduced her, and she’d been watching the proceedings from her chair on the sidelines with an expression of complete contempt. Now she turned to me.

  ‘As you can see, Corvinus,’ she said mildly, ‘we’re a very close, loving family. We all thought the world of Father, and his death has come as a terrible shock to all of us.’

  That stopped the other three in mid-flow, and they all turned to glare at her. Nerva set down his cup.

  ‘You hated his guts,’ he said brutally.

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded. Her tone didn’t change. It was completely matter-of-fact. ‘Yes, you’re quite right. I hated him and I always will. In that I’m no different from the rest of you, but at least I admit it. Whoever killed Father he only got what he deserved. I’m glad he’s dead and I hope he rots in hell.’

  ‘Penelope!’ Gellia snapped. ‘You’ll take that back!’

  ‘No I won’t.’ She stood up. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll be getting off home. A pleasure to have met you, Valerius Corvinus.’

  She left. We stared at each other in silence. Finally, Chlorus cleared his throat. ‘You’ll have to forgive my sister,’ he said. ‘She’s...naturally, she’s upset, very upset by Father’s death, as we all are. And I hope I don’t need to tell you that there’s absolutely no truth in –’

  ‘Right.’ I stood up too. The hell with more questions; my brain was whirling, I felt faintly nauseated, and all I wanted to do was get away and think. ‘Well, maybe I should be going myself. Unless there’s anything else you can tell me?’ I hoped not; I really hoped not: I’d had enough of this vicious shower to last me until the Winter Festival, and then some.

  Their relief was palpable; obviously, after Penelope’s little outburst, a truce was in progress. Nerva grunted, picked up his wine-cup and took a hefty swig.

  ‘That’s all, Corvinus,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry.’ Gellia gave me a brittle, company-manners smile, as if the four-way spat had never been. ‘I’m afraid we know little more about Titus’s death than you do. If we can help in any way in future, of course, then please don’t hesitate to ask.’

  Nerva grunted again.

  ‘I’ll show you out,’ Chlorus said.

  6

  Bathyllus was outside the door when I got back, doing something to the knocker involving a small brush and the contents of a pottery jar. He turned round, brush poised.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said. ‘Did you have a pleasant morning?’

  ‘It was interesting.’ I climbed the steps. ‘Any chance of a cup of wine?’

  ‘Certainly, sir. I’ll bring it out at once.’ He laid the brush and jar down. The jar was half-full of a thick honey-coloured gunk that even at that range was playing hell with my sinuses. Not normal brass polish, that was sure. And you didn’t paint doorknockers.

  ‘Just out of curiosity, Bathyllus,’ I said. ‘What’re you doing here, exactly?’

  ‘Painting the doorknocker, sir.’

  ‘Ah...right. Right.’

  ‘It’s in the nature of an experiment. A mixture for preserving the shine on outside brasswork involving naphtha, pine resin, gum arabic and various other substances.’

  ‘That so, now?’

  ‘Indeed. Did you realise that brass exposed to the elements will only retain its full shine for seven or eight hours after polishing?’

  ‘No, I can’t say that I did.’

  ‘Most unsatisfactory. And that’s not taking actual physical contact into consideration. On the other hand, applying a protective coating of this mixture once a month will extend that to a whole day, probably more. In theory, at least.’

  ‘Really?’ Jupiter on a bloody tea-tray! I wished I hadn’t asked now. Meton’s obsession was
food, which was bad enough but understandable. Cleaning substances were something else. Only Bathyllus could get orgasmic over metal polish. ‘That’s...that’s pretty good, Bathyllus.’

  ‘Mind you, there are problems. I’m not completely sure about the proportions of terebinth oil to resin, and the drying rate is not all that I’d wish. Perhaps –’

  ‘Fine, fine,’ I said. Bathyllus doesn’t go on these jags often, but when he does encouraging him is not a good idea. ‘I’ll take your word for it, little guy. Just go and fetch that cup of wine, okay?’

  ‘Very well, sir.’ He was looking definitely unchuffed.

  ‘Is Perilla around?’

  ‘She’s in the garden, sir. With your mother.’

  ‘Great.’ I reached past him for the doorhandle. ‘In that case I’ll –.’

  – at which point my brain caught up with the rest of me.

  Slowly, I relaxed my grip. Nothing happened; I was still holding the knob like my fingers were glued to it. Which, in fact, they were.

  ‘This is, uh, one you prepared earlier, right?’ I said.

  Bathyllus cleared his throat. ‘I did just tell you, sir. About the drying rate.’

  Bastard. I unprised my fingers, which wasn’t easy. ‘Bathyllus...’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Read my lips. Experiment over. The rest of that gunk goes out now.’

  ‘Very well, sir. If that’s how you feel.’ He sniffed. ‘I’ll fetch a cloth and some hot water.’

  ‘You do that. And if I don’t have my right hand back as was within the next ten minutes then you, sunshine, are hamburger. Clear?’

  That got me another sniff as he exited. Bugger; a threat like that from any other slave-owner would’ve had the bought help pissing in their sandals. Maybe I should re-read the manual.

  The garden was quite a feature of the villa: Lucia D, who owned the place, was a sucker for flowers and greenery in general, and there must’ve been a dozen big beds, easy, laid out in a diamond shape round a central pergola with a trellised vine growing up it.

  ‘So, Marcus, how did your meeting go?’ Perilla asked.

  ‘Like a refight of Cannae. The house slaves’re probably still mopping the blood off the floor.’ I kissed her, pulled up the third of the pergola’s wicker chairs and set the wine-cup Bathyllus had filled for me on the ground. ‘Afternoon, Mother. Where’s Priscus?’

  ‘I haven’t the slightest idea.’ Mother twitched a fold of her impeccable mantle irritably into place. ‘He said he was off to visit that oil-lamp friend of his, but that was hours ago. He’s been acting very strangely of late; “shifty”is the word I’d use. Personally I wouldn’t put too much credence in the statement.’

  ‘Ah...right. Right.’ Hell; what was the mad old buffer playing at? Still, it wasn’t my concern. Or I hoped it wasn’t. I’d got enough problems of my own at present.

  ‘How do you mean, “a refight of Cannae”?’ Perilla said.

  ‘They were at each other’s throats from the moment I walked in. Serious stuff, too. They all think it was murder and they were all trying like hell to persuade me that one of the others had done it. Me, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them wasn’t right. If we want suspects apart from Trebbio we’ve got them by the bucketful. With relatives like that the poor bugger was lucky to last as long as he did, and the eels’re pussy-cats in comparison.’

  ‘But that’s terrible!’

  ‘Yeah.’ I took a swig of the wine. ‘Look, Mother, I’m going to need your help, okay?’

  ‘With what, dear?’

  ‘Background information. I’ve got four names.’ I ticked them off on my fingers. ‘The widow, Gellia. Elder son Titus Chlorus. Younger, Aulus Nerva. Plus the daughter. She goes by the name of Penelope. They’ll do for starters. You know anything about them? In the dirty linen way, I mean.’

  Mother drew herself up. ‘Marcus, dear, I do not listen to gossip! And I certainly do not repeat it.’

  I grinned; sure, and I was Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus. Mother might be a very sharp lady, but she’d been holidaying in Baiae on and off for years and she’d taken to the town like a fish to water. Baian society is all about gossip. After all, if you can’t amuse yourself by tearing a friend’s reputation to shreds over the canapés and honey wine then what’s the point in coming to the place?

  ‘Steel yourself,’ I said.

  ‘Well, if you think it really will help.’ She ducked her head to hide a smile. Like I say, my mother’s a smart cookie. Token protests are one thing, but hypocrisy’s another, and she’s a natural Baian through and through. ‘The daughter I know nothing whatsoever about; she obviously doesn’t mix in society. Chlorus is some sort of financial lawyer.’ Yeah, that made sense: he’d told me himself that he was the farm’s accountant, and he’d got ‘lawyer’ written all over him. ‘Rather a dry stick, I understand. Unlike his wife, who is’ - she hesitated - ‘completely the opposite.’

  Uhuh. ‘Yeah? Who’s she?’

  ‘Her name’s Catia. I’ve met her several times. Not the world’s greatest brain, but with her looks and interests she doesn’t have to be.’ Miaow. ‘I gather their daughter is marrying young Manlius Torquatus in the autumn. Quite a coup, although the Manlii Torquati aren’t what they were these days, financially speaking.’

  I sipped my wine. Right; that fitted in with what I knew, too. Although the Licinii were a good family, as far as pedigree went they weren’t by any means in the Manlii Torquati bracket; at least, Chlorus’s branch wasn’t. Gellia had mentioned (mentioned, hell: she’d thrown it in my face!) that he was strapped for cash. He would be: an engagement like that would mean a heavy dowry, and I’d bet under the circumstances the Torquati, being short of a copper piece or two themselves, would drive a hard bargain.

  ‘Go on,’ I said.

  ‘The second brother, Aulus Nerva, has quite a reputation locally.’ Mother was frowning; she was enjoying this, I could tell, despite the protest. When she and my father were married he might’ve been the career politician of the family, but where marshalling facts and arguing from them was concerned Mother could run rings round him any day of the month. Nowadays she rarely got the chance to practise. ‘Or two reputations, rather. He thinks of himself as a shrewd businessman, and he’s partly right. Certainly, where business is concerned he’s no fool. On the other hand, he is a compulsive risk-taker, and not particularly concerned with the moral aspects of a deal, either. “Flashy” is a good term.’ She paused. ‘He’s also very much the society playboy, especially where gambling and women go. And - which may interest you, Marcus, with your fascination for soiled laundry - he’s rumoured to have more than a brother-in-law’s fondness for Catia, which she reciprocates.’

  I leaned back. ‘Is that right, now?’

  ‘I don’t know about “right”, dear. You asked for gossip, and gossip is what you are getting.’

  ‘Fair enough. What about Gellia?’ This was the big one. If we were talking cui bono here then Murena’s widow was right at the front of the queue.

  Mother was obviously aware of that as well, because she took her time before answering. ‘Gellia is...quite sad, in a way,’ she said slowly.

  My eyebrows rose. ‘Sad’ wasn’t the word I would’ve chosen for that lady; not even in the top hundred. But then Mother didn’t use words lightly. ‘Yeah?’ I said. ‘You care to amplify?’

  ‘Certainly. You get women like her often in Baiae; men sometimes, but these are rarer. She’s common - I’m speaking in Baian social terms, you understand - , she has no style, which would go a long way towards making up for her poor looks, she has a vindictive streak a yard wide, and, worst of all, she’s aware of none of this. She thinks she’s a femme fatale but isn’t, nowhere near it, despite the fact that she is breaking her neck to be one. Which is why she’s so friendly with Catia, who is.’

  ‘Uhuh.’ Well, I’d just have to take that assessment on trust. Not that I doubted it was valid: I’d a lot of respect for Mother’s opinion, espec
ially where people were concerned. ‘How did she get on with her husband?’

  ‘Reasonably well, under the circumstances. As far as I know, at any rate.’ She straightened a fold in her mantle again. ‘Of course, she’s much younger than he was, and in Baiae that leads to the obvious result.’

  ‘Lovers?’

  ‘She is very careful; slightly surprising, given her character, but then Murena had a certain reputation of his own for holding old-fashioned values, and seemingly he controlled the purse-strings. Kept quite a tight grip on them, what’s more. Matters may not have gone beyond simple flirting, but I have heard that she’s rather involved at present with a man by the name of Aquillius Florus. He’s a friend of Aulus Nerva’s, and out of much the same mould. If you’re interested.’

  A friend of Nerva’s, eh? Well, that explained why that particular handful of mud hadn’t been thrown, by one of the brothers anyway. I filed the name for future reference. ‘Not this doctor guy? Diodotus?’

  ‘Diodotus is another name I’ve heard mentioned, yes,’ Mother said cautiously. ‘Although not so often, and not with much...authority. Certainly he’s a good-looking young man, and of course an intimate of the family. Very popular with the better class of patient. He has quite a successful practice near the town baths.’

  Right. And if we were picking and choosing with an eye to a murder accusation then the doctor/wife combination would score every time. Presumably both Chlorus and Nerva - or Nerva, at least - would’ve known about this Florus character, but as an accomplice the doctor had the better mileage. No wonder his was the name that’d been dropped. I’d have to find out more on Florus, though.

  ‘What about Murena himself?’ I said. ‘You know anything about him?’

  ‘Not a lot, dear. Apart from in connection with Gellia. He didn’t go into society much; as I said, in many ways he was quite strait-laced, a businessman rather than a bon viveur. Not a spender, either. Quite the wrong type to be the subject of gossip.’

  ‘He, uh, was planning to build a hotel. On the edge of town, on what was the Juventius estate.’

  ‘Was he, indeed? How unusual. Well, there I’m afraid I can’t help you.’