In at the Death (Marcus Corvinus Book 11)

by David Wishart

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I –’

  ‘Who wants him?’

  I turned. There was a young guy coming down the stairs; twenty, max, Saepta-bought cloak, sharp Market Square haircut and neatly-trimmed lad-about-town beard.

  ‘You Marcus Atratinus?’ I said.

  ‘I could be.’ He grinned. ‘That depends on who you are.’

  ‘The name’s Marcus Corvinus. I’m...ah...looking into the death of Sextus Papinius.’

  ‘Oh.’ The grin faded, and a lot of the lad-about-town bounce went with it, leaving someone behind that wasn’t much more than a kid. ‘Oh, right, then. I’m sorry. How can I help?’

  ‘You got time to talk? Fifteen, twenty minutes?’

  ‘Certainly. Longer, if you like. I was just going along to Publius’s. First chance I’ve had all day.’

  ‘Publius’s?’

  ‘It’s a cookshop on Iugarius. Unless you want to go back upstairs to the office, but it’s pretty crowded up there.’

  ‘No; no, a cookshop’s fine.’ I wasn’t hungry, not this close to lunch, but after being dragged across half of Rome I could murder a cup of wine. Personally, if we were going the length of Iugarius anyway, I’d’ve preferred Renatius’s - it’s a lot less pretentious than most of the places in this part of town - but it was the kid’s shout. ‘Uh...they allow dogs, do you know?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Never mind, pal. Not your problem. Is your boss around today, incidentally?’

  ‘Balbus? No, he had a senate meeting. We don’t expect him back at the office until tomorrow.’

  Damn. Well, there was no great hurry to talk to him anyway, and I’d obviously been lucky to get Atratinus. ‘Okay, Publius’s it is.’

  We went back outside and I unhitched Placida while he stared at her.

  ‘It’s a dog,’ I said. ‘A Gallic boarhound. Her name’s Placida.’

  ‘Is that right, now?’ He was still staring. ‘You, ah, usually bring her with you when you have business in Market Square?’

  ‘Uh-uh. This is the –’ Placida’s head went up and her ears lifted. ‘Oh, shit!’

  I’d just time to take the strain before were off, going like the clappers. The gods knew what she’d seen, but a group of what looked like Egyptian tourists clustered in front of the House of the Vestals screamed and scattered in panic while I pulled back frantically on the leash. A gaggle of elderly senators half a dozen yards further on weren’t so agile. It gave a whole new meaning to the phrase going through committee.

  So much for blasé; well, it’d teach me to be cocky, anyway. Atratinus had been keeping up. Now he grabbed the rope and together we hauled the brute to a tongue-lolling standstill.

  ‘Sorry about that, pal.’ I took a firm grip of Placida’s collar and held on. ‘She almost had me there.’

  Atratinus gave me a strange look. We didn’t talk much the rest of the way.

  Publius’s cookshop wasn’t far, no more than fifty yards down Iugarius from the start of Capitol Incline. The downside was that there were no mooring posts, no handy statues and no staples in the wall.

  Bugger. Ah, well, time for the direct approach, man to...whatever. Worth a try, anyway.

  I was still holding Placida by the collar. I bent down, lifted her ear and said: ‘Listen, sunshine, you’re on trust. Any trouble and you’ve chewed your last bone. Understand?’

  Wagwagwag.

  I straightened. Atratinus was watching me fascinated.

  ‘You okay?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah. Why shouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Right. Right.’

  We went in. It was more or less what I’d expected: one of these chichi places you get in the streets and alleyways around the Square, with fashionable wines at inflated prices and a menu that strains a gut to make itself look unusual and interesting. This late, it was practically empty, but what customers there were sitting at the tables were around Atratinus’s age and obviously, like him, down on their lunch break from the public offices. A few nodded as we passed. A few others - the ones in a direct line between us and the counter - took one look at Placida and pulled their stools in sharply to let us through.

  The guy behind the counter was tearing salad leaves into a bowl. He looked at Placida too, then at my purple stripe, and cleared his throat.

  ‘Afternoon, gents,’ he said. ‘What’ll it be?’

  ‘Corvinus?’ Atratinus said.

  I’d been checking the board. Half the permutations looked dubious as hell and the other half could’ve been contributed by Mother’s whacky chef Phormio. ‘You do simple sausages?’ I said.

  ‘Donkey, mast-fed wild boar or flamingo with walnuts and Sarsina cheese?’

  ‘Flamingo?’

  ‘Very popular, sir. And the walnuts are pickled in balsamic vinegar.’

  I glanced down at Placida. What the hell; so far she was keeping her part of the bargain. And if she chased them then presumably she ate them as well. ‘Make it the boar,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll have the ostrich balls, Publius,’ Atratinus said. ‘With a rocket and radicchio salad.’ He turned to me. ‘Fancy the Massic? It’s pretty good here.’

  ‘Uh...sure. Massic’s fine.’ Don’t ask, Corvinus; just don’t...bloody...ask. ‘Half a jug, pal.’

  The guy behind the counter nodded and gave the grinning Placida - she was sitting nicely, now - another leery look. ‘I’ll bring the food to your table, sir. Would you like to pay separately or together?’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I said before Atratinus could answer for us. ‘I’ll get it.’ I owed a bit of philanthropy: Natalis’s cheque was burning its way through my belt-pouch. I’d have to lodge it with my banker in Julian Square before I went home.

  I paid the tab - pricey, but not as bad as I’d thought it would be - while Atratinus collected the wine and cups and led the way over to the quietest corner.

  Curiosity won out. ‘Ostrich balls?’ I said.

  ‘Meatballs made of ostrich meat.’ Another sideways look. ‘What else would they be?’

  ‘Oh. Right. Right. Placida, settle!’ She collapsed on the floor beside my chair with a long-drawn-out sigh. ‘Good dog. Good dog!’ Hey! Success! Maybe we weren’t doing so badly here after all. Mind you, we’d been over half of Rome in the past couple of hours and she was probably as knackered as I was.

  I turned back to Atratinus, poured wine for both of us and sipped. Not bad; not at all bad. Nowhere near Titus Natalis’s Massic earlier on, sure, but definitely no third-rate rotgut. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Tell me about Sextus.’

  Atratinus took a swallow of his own wine, or more of a gulp than a swallow, like he was steeling himself.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ he said.

  ‘Whatever you’ve got. You were his best friend, weren’t you?’

  ‘That’s right. Since we were six years old.’

  ‘What was he like? As a person?’

  ‘Quiet. When the company was right he’d join in. Otherwise he’d just smile and keep to the background.’

  ‘And was the company usually right?’

  ‘Most of the time. But like I say, Sextus wasn’t the loud type, and he didn’t go out of his way to make himself popular. A lot of people found him too serious to be real fun.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe that’s why we got on so well, him and me. Cluvia was always on at him to loosen up more.’

  ‘Who’s Cluvia?’

  ‘His girlfriend. Well...not exactly a girlfriend, but you know what I mean.’ Yeah, I did: for a kid of Papinius’s age and background there was bound to be a not-exactly-girlfriend with a no-account name somewhere in the picture. ‘You hadn’t heard of her?’

  ‘No.’ Not that that was surprising, mind, because so far all I knew about the dead kid’s friends had come from his mother. And not-exactly-girlfriends are one thing mothers just aren’t allowed to know about. Mine certainly hadn’t. ‘She a cat-house girl?’

  ‘Gods, Corvinus!’ Atratinus laughed. ‘Don’t even suggest that if you meet
her! No, Cluvia’s respectable. Strictly the independent entrepreneurial type. She’s got her own flat on Public Incline near the temple of the Moon, and when she’s not there she manages a perfume shop in the Saepta. That’s where she and Sextus met. They’ve been an item for about six months.’

  ‘She expensive to run?’

  For the first time, Atratinus hesitated. ‘Pricey, but no more than most. She isn’t greedy, certainly. Although Sextus was on a pretty tight budget.’

  ‘Yeah. His mother told me that.’

  ‘You’ve talked to Rupilia? Oh, yes, I suppose you must’ve done.’

  ‘They got on all right, Sextus and his mother? From his side?’

  ‘Not bad.’ Atratinus took another swallow of his wine; he was looking a lot more relaxed now. ‘Better than me and mine, for a start. They lived their separate lives for the most part, and Rupilia wasn’t a pryer. So long as he didn’t come home drunk too often or get in trouble with the Watch - which he didn’t - she left him alone.’

  ‘Money problems?’

  Again Atratinus hesitated, but when he did answer it was readily enough. ‘Sure. Some, anyway. Like I say, Sextus always was on a tight budget. He paid his share, though, and he was generous when he could afford it. Cluvia didn’t have any reason to complain.’

  Yeah, well, that was as much as I could’ve expected. More. I’d’ve been seriously surprised if he’d said the kid didn’t have any problems with cash flow, whatever the situation at home. The phrases ‘strapped for cash’ and ‘young lad-about-town’ go together naturally.

  Publius came over with the tray. Not bad portions; that’s another thing about these chichi places, they tend to be heavy on the garnish at the expense of what you thought you were paying for.

  Placida stood up, sniffing.

  ‘Uh...excuse me a minute, pal,’ I said. ‘Bribery time.’I held the plate of sausages level with the floor. ‘Now you just settle, sunshine. Settle!’

  She glanced at the sausages, then at me, and crouched down. I pushed the plate towards her...

  Unk. Unk. Unk.

  Hey again! Barbarian from hell Placida might be, but she could behave when she wanted to. She wasn’t stupid, either. Maybe we could live with each other after all. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘That’s your lot. Now let us talk, okay?’

  Urp.

  ‘Good dog.’ I patted her, then resurfaced and turned back to Atratinus. ‘What about the rest of the friends?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Atratinus was tucking into his ostrich balls like he’d been starved for a month.

  ‘There’s you and there’s Cluvia. Who else?’

  ‘You want particular names? Marcus Selicius. Quintus and Titus Memmius.’ He reached for a piece of bread. ‘Oh, and the other Titus, Titus Soranus. These’re the main ones, anyway.’

  The first three didn’t ring any bells, but the last one did, very much so; also, Atratinus’s eyes had flickered before he’d given me Soranus’s name, and he’d slipped it in far too casually for my liking.

  Shit.

  ‘Titus Mucius Soranus?’ I said slowly.

  Atratinus took a sip from his wine-cup before he answered. ‘You know him?’ he said. Again, the tone was too casual. A nice kid, Atratinus, but he was no actor.

  ‘Uh-uh. Not personally. But I’ve heard of him.’ Sure I had; nothing good, either. I wondered if the lads’ fathers knew that Soranus was one of the gang. ‘Isn’t he a bit old to be running around with guys your age?’

  ‘He’s only twenty-seven.’ That was defensive. ‘And he’s good fun.’

  Yeah, right. He would be, at that, and I could see the attraction someone like Mucius Soranus’d have for lads like Atratinus and his mates. It was only when they lost the puppy-fat from between their ears and started counting the coins in their purse, or lack of them, that they might begin to have second thoughts about the bugger’s reasons for giving them the time of day. And the difference between twenty-seven and nineteen, in terms of experience, is a lifetime. I let the pause develop before I asked, as casually as I could manage: ‘He, ah, get you interested in gambling at all?’

  Not casually enough. Atratinus stopped eating and gave me a straight look, his expression definitely sulky. Then he shrugged and picked up his spoon again. ‘A little,’ he said. ‘Where’s the harm in that? Like I said, he’s good company.’

  Yeah, right, sure he was: the way I’d heard it, Soranus made his living out of being good company. If you could call it living. And I couldn’t, under the circumstances, leave things there.

  ‘Did Sextus owe him money?’ I said. Silence. Atratinus had put down his spoon again, and I was getting the blank adolescent stare full power now all the way from the other side of the age gap. Shit. ‘Come on, pal, this is important! Or it could be.’ I waited; nothing. ‘Look, I’m not Rupilia and I’m no poker-arsed paterfamilias making silly value judgments, okay? All I want to find out - just like you do - is why your friend killed himself. I can’t do that if you hold out on me. So give.’

  Atratinus reached for his wine-cup, took a long swallow and set the cup down empty.

  ‘Okay,’ he snapped. ‘Your answer’s yes. Satisfied?’

  I leaned back. Hell. Still, it had to be something like this. Money or a serious love affair gone sour would’ve been my two best bets.

  ‘How much?’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know. Quite a lot. Or quite a lot for Sextus, anyway.’

  ‘He wasn’t a gambler. I know that much, at least. Or I thought I did.’

  ‘Soranus has his ways. Oh, he’s a friend, I’m not slagging him off, and it was Sextus’s business, no one twisted his arm. In any case, everyone gambles in our set. It’s expected.’

  Gods! Yeah; that was the bottom line, it was expected. I wasn’t surprised, not really; I’d been there myself at that age and lost more shirts than you’d see in a Suburan laundry. But there again, with what my grandfather had left me as personal income I was lucky, I could afford it. Sextus Papinius couldn’t, and it wasn’t his fault: reluctant gambler or not, the lad wouldn’t’ve been human if he’d broken ranks to that degree, and at his age it’s easy to get out of your depth before your brain kicks in and stops you. The real responsibility lay with adult bastards like Mucius Soranus who knew full well what was happening and encouraged it. Lived off it.

  ‘Was that why Papinius killed himself?’ I said gently. ‘Because of a gambling debt to Soranus that he couldn’t pay?’

  Atratinus glared at me for a long time. Then he shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Yes, it’s possible. But I don’t...fucking...know! All right?’

  Uh-oh; sensitive ground. Back off, Corvinus. ‘Okay. Okay, pal,’ I said. ‘No hassle. We’ll leave it at that.’ In any case, I’d be raising the question with Soranus himself before either of us were much older, and the gods help the bastard if he didn’t give me a straight answer first shot. ‘Let’s change the subject. Tell me about the job aspect of things.’ I was making conversation now, going through the motions. As far as the main reason for Sextus Papinius killing himself was concerned, I reckoned I’d cracked it. Not that the answer didn’t leave me feeling sick to my stomach.

  Atratinus was looking pale, but at least the anger had gone out of his eyes. ‘There’s not much to tell,’ he said. ‘We started together, when the commission was first set up three months ago. Sextus was on top of the work, he enjoyed it, he got on well with everyone. No problems there, that I can swear to.’

  ‘He was appointed on his father’s recommendation? Papinius Allenius, the ex-consul?’

  ‘That’s right. Allenius bypassed the senatorial staffing board and put the request direct to Ahenobarbus himself. Sextus was pretty proud, because he and his father hadn’t seen much of each other. You know about that side of things?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, I do.’ Odd; but then like Rupilia had said her ex was the old-fashioned type who took his responsibilities seriously. Certainly he couldn’t’ve made more effective - or expensive - use of his co
nsular clout, because Domitius Ahenobarbus was one of the commission’s four top men, the husband of old Augustus’s granddaughter Agrippina and so Prince Gaius’s brother-in-law. A five-star imperial, in other words, or four-star anyway. And in the political game you didn’t use up an imperial’s favours lightly. No wonder Rupilia had said she and Sextus were grateful. ‘So what did the work actually entail?’

  ‘We’re the commissioners’ legs and eyes.’ Atratinus had started back in on his meatballs, and he was a lot calmer now. ‘There’re six of us altogether. It’s our job to check out the compensation claims that’ve been made inside our particular section of the total area. Check them out physically, I mean, as well as on paper. If a property owner claims his property was completely burned down, or damaged beyond repair, we visit the site itself to make sure he’s telling the truth. Same with the lesser damage claims. You’d be surprised what some chancers’ll try to get away with when there’s an imperial-backed compensation scheme up and running, but no cash changes hands until we’ve authenticated the claim six ways from nothing. You understand?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Typical Wart: the old bugger might be ready to peg out at long last - I’d give him six months, max - but he hadn’t lost any of his marbles. Tiberius had always been careful with money, the state’s especially, and where spending it was concerned - even when his public street-cred demanded that he be generous - he was cannier than a Paduan sheep-farmer. ‘So it’s a responsible job?’

  ‘Damn right it’s responsible.’ Atratinus took a swig of his wine. ‘You can’t take anything for granted. Like I said, some of the property owners are bent as hell, and not all of them are tunics or plain-mantles, either. We don’t have the final say, of course - that’s up to the aediles, or the commissioners themselves in the last analysis - but there’s so much property involved that we’re given a pretty free hand.’

  ‘And Sextus’s patch was where?’

  ‘The south-west corner of the Aventine. Where he –’ Atratinus stopped abruptly.

  ‘Where he died,’ I said quietly. ‘Right.’

  ‘The tenement where it happened wasn’t one of the damaged ones, but the manager had a flat there. He was responsible for two or three burned-out properties further up the hill.’