Bugger. Questions, sure; after that talk with Tattius I had them in spades. As far as answers were concerned, though, everything added up to one big zilch.
Puzzling was putting it mildly.
To get to the villa where we were staying, I had to go through the town centre. Baiae isn’t as crowded as Rome, sure, nowhere near it, but by mid-morning - which it was now - there were a fair number of people around. Not the gilded-wonder set, mind. That time of day, in Baiae, most of them are still sleeping off the night before or being variously prinked, painted and clipped for the strenuous evening ahead. Plus the fact that too-direct sunlight and fresh air are so bad for the complexion, and what’s the point in going out when there’s no one to see you, darling? There were just the ordinary working punters, the sort you’d see in any small town: old biddies with string bags full of vegetables, slaves doing the household shopping and guys driving laden donkeys and/or carrying an assortment of hardware or chickens on poles. Real people, in other words.
Under these circumstances, riding’s not a good idea, not when the streets are narrow, the poles are at groin height and most of the guys who are carrying them are selectively blind to pushy buggers on horseback. I dismounted and led the mare by the bridle.
I was passing through the market square - nice marble statues of Augustus and old Julius, if you’re interested, which I wasn’t - when I thought of Priscus’s gambling hall. He hadn’t told me exactly where it was, of course, but these places aren’t common, even in Baiae, and I knew the rough direction. I might as well check it out - and check out its owner Philippus - while I was in the area. That was one guy I really wanted to talk to.
I left the mare at a handy water-trough outside the baths and headed down the most likely-looking side street. This close to the centre, most of the buildings have shops of various kinds on their ground floors while the owners live above. Or, of course, use the whole place for business: the girls on two out of three of the balconies I passed obviously weren’t there to hang up the family washing, and like I say in that part of town the entrepreneurial ethos is alive, well and ready to give anyone a good time at any hour.
I stopped by a vegetable-seller’s, waited politely until the old biddy in front of me had bought her leeks and had a long conversation with the shopkeeper about her martyrdom to Feet, and asked for Philippus’s place.
‘It’s over by the baths,’ the vegetable-seller said. ‘You can’t miss it.’
‘You mean the baths by the square?’
‘Nah. The ones in that direction.’ She pointed.
If Baiae has a lot of anything for its size, it’s baths. The locals might cater for the worst excesses Rome’s gilded holidaymakers can ask of them, but at least they do it clean. ‘Got you,’ I said. ‘Thanks, Grandma.’
I hadn’t gone far wrong: another street down, one to the left, then back up a hundred yards or so the way I’d come. I found the place no bother, largely because of the door-slave out front: a huge German with braided hair and moustache and a gut on him so big that pedestrians were having to take a detour to get round it. It wasn’t all beer and sausage, mind: the guy was seriously muscled, and he had a mean look in his eye. Evidently Philippus didn’t take any nonsense from unwanted customers. I’d reckon that if Big Hermann here bounced you you’d stay bounced for a month.
I checked with him that it actually was Philippus’s, getting a slow stare and a final supercilious nod in answer, and went in.
The place was impressive. Like I say, gambling in public’s technically illegal most of the time, and although as long as the owner pays his taxes and adds a generous sweetener there isn’t much chance of the local authorities closing him down that doesn’t mean he can be too obvious about things. Most gambling dens are pretty basic, no more than a back room in a wineshop with two or three tables set aside for bones or dice, or if they cater for the more sophisticated punter a couple of Twelve Lines or Robbers boards that the landlord keeps behind the bar until they’re asked for. Definitely, in other words, a low-key business, and one where - if need be, and the law comes knocking - the owner can hide the evidence of his nefarious practices pretty smartly.
How Philippus had swung it I didn’t know, but we were in a totally different league here. Forget the wineshop back room: barring the furnishings and fittings, the place could’ve been a top-of-the-range private house or a high-class brothel, with frescoed walls and inlaid marble flooring. The central atrium was twice the size of mine at home, easy, and the pool had a Venus-and-her-nymphs fountain that could’ve graced a Janiculan villa. That wasn’t all, either. A staircase in polished cedar led up to a mezzanine level under a dome painted with assorted watching gods and goddesses, and at the far end of the room a set of pillars gave out onto a porticoed garden, while two or three side doors showed that there was a lot more that I hadn’t seen yet.
The place wasn’t crowded - it wouldn’t be, this early in the day - but it wasn’t empty, either. Atriums are usually pretty sparsely furnished, as a rule, but besides a fair sprinkling of statues and bronze candelabra this one had at least a dozen tables, each with its full complement of chairs or couches. About half of them were occupied, and there was a sort of busy hum that you get when you’re somewhere that people are taking what they’re doing seriously. No one looked up.
A girl came over - probably African, from one of the nomad tribes that worked the territories inland of the Roman-run coastal strip - and I could see why Priscus had been dribbling down his mantle. Sure, she wasn’t exactly showing the family jewels completely upfront, but you could see where they were all the same, and they weren’t fakes, either. Dark skin but not too dark, eyes like a deer’s and a body under the tight filmy tunic that was all curves in the right places.
‘Good morning, sir,’ she said. ‘You’re alone? You’d like to play?’
‘Ah...no,’ I said. ‘Not today, thanks. I was just looking.’
She smiled - perfect, regular teeth, white as ivory - and ducked her head. ‘That’s quite all right, sir. Perhaps another time. Would you care for some wine? The house Rhodian is excellent.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great.’ She turned to go. ‘Uh...the boss isn’t around, is he? Licinius Philippus?’
‘I’m afraid not, sir, although he’ll probably be in soon. You wanted to talk to him?’
‘If he can spare me a minute or two, sure.’
‘Corvinus! Valerius Corvinus!’
I looked round. Two guys had just come through one of the side doors. I didn’t recognise the first, but the one behind was Aulus Nerva. He was out of his mourning clothes - well, that hadn’t lasted long, had it? - clean-shaven and wearing a sharp mantle with the folds impeccably draped over a pricily-embroidered tunic.
‘How’s the sleuthing going?’ he said, holding out a hand and beaming.
‘Okay.’ I shook, cautiously: when I’d seen Brother Aulus the day before he hadn’t exactly rolled out the welcome mat, and I couldn’t see why the situation should’ve changed much, let alone reached the bosom-buddies stage. Still, you take things as they come. ‘I’m plugging along.’
‘This is a friend of mine, Sextus Aquillius Florus.’
Uh-huh; Mother had mentioned him in connection with Gellia. Very much in connection. I could see why she’d be attracted. Florus was mid-thirties - about her age - , tall, well-built with chiselled aristocratic features and crisply-curling dark hair glistening with scented oil that must’ve cost half a gold piece a squirt. A typical rich Baian playboy, in other words, and a bored matron like Gellia’s wet dream. Priapic rabbits came to mind.
He looked like he’d have about as much brain-power as a rabbit, too.
‘All right, are you, Corvinus?’ he said. ‘How’s the boy?’
‘Not bad,’ I said.
Meanwhile Nerva was still beaming at me, but there was a tightness to his smile and his eyes were slightly wary. ‘How did you find out about this place?’ he said.
I shrugged; if he wanted to
pretend that neither of us knew about Philippus’s connection with his father, then that was fine with me. For now, anyway. ‘My stepfather dropped in for a while yesterday. I was just checking it out for myself.’
‘That so, now? We were here yesterday ourselves. What was his name?’
‘Priscus. Helvius Priscus.’
Nerva gave a chuckle that I didn’t quite like. ‘Ah, yes. An elderly chap, isn’t he? Scholar. We had a bit of a chat. I didn’t know he was a relative of yours, though.’ He glanced round the room. ‘What do you think?’
‘I’m impressed.’
‘Not bad, is it? Better than you’d find anywhere in Rome, or even Alexandria.’ The girl arrived with a goblet of wine on a tray. ‘Bring another two of these for Sextus and me, Marta. Or - hang on! - bring us the half-jug.’ He turned back to me. ‘Care to join us, Corvinus?’
‘Yeah, sure. Why not?’ I took the goblet - it was silver, and heavy - and followed them over to a table. ‘You come here often, then?’
‘Often enough. I’m not playing this morning, though. Sextus and I have business later and we just stopped in for a drink on the way.’
‘Seeing a man about a grain barge.’ Florus laughed too loudly. Nerva shot him a look.
‘That so, now?’ I took a sip of the wine - it was pretty good, and cooled to perfection -, put the goblet down on the table and stretched out on one of the couches. ‘How does it work? The setup here, I mean?’
Nerva took the couch opposite. ‘You can play privately, in which case the house takes its cut from the winner. A tenth of his winnings, which believe me at Philippus’s amounts to a lot more than peanuts. Or of course Marta or any of the other girls will be glad to take you on, in which case it’s just straight win or lose. They’re good, though, so if you choose that way you have to watch yourself, and there’re no limits.’ He grinned. ‘On the other hand, you get the pleasure of their company for the duration. Either way, the booze is free. It’s first-rate booze, too.’
‘Sounds pretty good,’ I said. ‘Uh...it’s all above-board, is it?’
‘Sure,’ Florus said. ‘No loaded dice here, Corvinus. And the girls - well, they’ll play for something else than money if you ask them nicely.’ He chuckled and winked. ‘Pay on the nail if they lose, too.’
I glanced around the room. There were a couple of tables with girls at them - real lookers, good as Marta - but most of the punters were obviously taking the private option. And from what I could overhear of the conversation Nerva was right: Philippus’s clientele were no pikers. A ten-percent cream-off would be serious gravy, even if wine was included.
Priscus - if he hadn’t been lying to me, which was always a possibility - had been lucky to get out still wearing his shirt right enough. Maybe the old guy had hidden talents after all.
Marta came back with the wine order. Nerva raised his goblet to me.
‘Cheers, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘Success in your investigations.’
‘Yeah. Right.’ I sipped.
‘So. How are they coming on?’
I know when I’m being pumped. ‘Like I said, I’m plugging along. It’s early days.’
‘No suspects yet?’
I shrugged.
Nerva was turning the goblet in his hands. He frowned into the wine. Then he looked up. ‘If I were you I’d think about my brother Titus,’ he said.
Jupiter! The bugger didn’t believe in the subtle approach, did he? Even Florus looked taken aback, and I reckoned that guy had all the subtlety of a sock in the jaw.
‘Uh...why’s that, now?’ I said carefully.
‘Gellia told you. He’s strapped for cash at the moment; seriously strapped. His daughter’s marrying young Manlius Torquatus in a few months and he has to find a dowry of a cool half million which I know for a fact he hasn’t got. Dad’s death is...very convenient.’
‘I understood you weren’t too solvent yourself, pal,’ I said. ‘If we’re talking money.’
‘True.’ Nerva smiled. ‘But then I know I didn’t kill him. Where Titus is concerned I know nothing of the kind. And he’s always shown...shall we say violent propensities.’
‘Such as?’ I said.
‘A few years ago he had one of his slaves flogged to death for breaking a fluorspar wine-dipper.’ He glanced at Florus, who was looking nervous. ‘You’ll confirm that, Sextus?’ Florus grunted. ‘The slave was well past his best, naturally, or Titus wouldn’t have wasted him. All the same, it might be relevant. And I was told - although I can’t vouch for the truth of it - that if his major-domo hadn’t talked him out of it he would have carried out the flogging himself. As it was, he insisted it be done in his presence. He’d’ve enjoyed that very much, knowing Titus.’
I was staring at him. Lack of family loyalty was one thing - I wouldn’t’ve expected it from him, no more than I would have from any of that bunch - but this was something else; a gratuitous planting of the knife. Obviously the reason for inviting me over, plus the false matiness. Nerva was shaping up to be a really unpleasant bugger, one of the most unpleasant I’d ever come across, which was saying something. I put my goblet down. ‘I think I’ll be going,’ I said.
‘No, don’t hurry off.’ Nerva smiled. ‘It’s just a suggestion, and if it doesn’t fit with your own thoughts then forget I mentioned it. However, do give Titus your consideration, won’t you? He’s not a very nice person, believe me, and certainly not the moral, upright soul he pretends to be.’
‘The last time I saw you, pal,’ I said evenly, ‘you were siding with him against your stepmother. You can’t have it both ways.’
His smile disappeared, and he glanced at Florus to see whether that had registered. It had: the other guy was scowling. ‘Oh, well, I’ve thought again, haven’t I?’ he said quickly. ‘But perhaps you’re right, perhaps we should drop the subject.’
The hell with that; he’d started it and if he wanted to play footsie with hobnailed boots on it was fine with me. ‘So where were you yourself the night it happened?’ I said. ‘Just so’s we can get rid of that possibility and clear the ground?’
He blinked; that he hadn’t been expecting, and I wouldn’t’ve asked the question so directly if the bastard hadn’t changed the rules himself. Still, there it was, and he couldn’t avoid it. There was a long silence; over at one of the other tables someone threw Venus and his opponent swore.
Finally, he said: ‘I was here, as it happens. All night, or until the early hours, at least.’
There wasn’t a trace of friendliness in his voice now.
‘Oh no you weren’t, Aulus,’ Florus said. ‘Not that night. Remember you said –’
Nerva rounded on him. He had coloured up like a beetroot. ‘You keep your –!’ he began. Then he froze.
‘Valerius Corvinus?’ someone said behind me. ‘Marta says you were asking for me.’
I turned. Yeah; this would be Philippus.
11
For one of the richest men in Baiae he didn’t look much.
Five foot nothing in his sandals, face like a squashed overripe plum, wearing a battered freedman’s cap and a tunic that looked like he’d used it to dust the floor with and then slept in it. Plus military-grade halitosis which was already making my eyes water and a set of vowels that would’ve disgraced an adenoidal parrot.
On the other hand, either of the two heavies who were standing behind him could’ve ripped my arms off and beaten me senseless with them without breaking sweat. Little details like that tend to stifle criticism.
‘Ah...right,’ I said. ‘Right.’
He grunted. ‘If it’s about what I think it is then we’d best go up to my office.’
Without another word or having acknowledged Nerva and Florus in any way, he moved off in the direction of the stairs. On top of everything else, I noticed he had a bad limp. All in all, not an odds-on contender for the Charismatic Freedman of the Year title.
I took a hefty swig from my goblet, almost emptying it - I reckoned I was going to need all t
he fortification I could get here - and stood up. Nerva was staring at me like any moment I’d do a Democritus in reverse and disappear in a scattering cloud of atoms.
‘See you later, lads,’ I said.
The heavies fell in behind as I followed Philippus towards the stairs and up them to the mezzanine. Presumably they opened this part up when things got busy in the evenings, because there were more tables and couches. Philippus carried on past them down a short corridor to a door at the end. He took a key from his belt, opened the door and went in. All this without a glance back to see if I was following. Mind you, with the heavies in tow I didn’t have much of a choice.
I’d expected - seeing the state of Philippus - that the office would be a mess. It wasn’t; quite the opposite. The big desk was clear apart from an inkwell and a clutch of pens in a rough unglazed-clay holder. One long wall of the room was lined, side to side and floor to ceiling, with cubby holes, each with two or three docketed tablets poking out; the other was the same, only with half the cubbies empty. The wall opposite the door had a barred window in it, probably - from the lack of traffic noise - overlooking the porticoed garden below. There was a chair behind the desk and another two facing it: plain wood, with no cushions. That was it. No ornaments, no decoration, nothing. The place would’ve shocked a Spartan.
‘Sit down,’ Philippus growled. ‘You two’ - to the heavies - ‘push off downstairs. I’ll call if I need you.’ He parked himself behind the desk. ‘All right, Corvinus. Never mind the formalities because I’m busy enough without this. Let’s get down to brass tacks. It’s about Licinius Murena being eaten by his namesakes, yes?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘More or less.’
‘So talk And spit it out, I’m not interested in pussyfooting around.’
Gods! This was Priscus’s ‘charming gentleman’? Either the dozy old bugger had been coming the uncooked Minturnan prawn again for unfathomable reasons of his own or his ability to sum up character would’ve disgraced a brick. Or, of course - and I didn’t discount this explanation - Philippus had been putting on charm with Priscus that he wasn’t bothering to waste on me.
Food for the Fishes (Marcus Corvinus Book 10) Page 9
