She was up and waiting for me, tongue lolling. Yeah, well, she wasn’t a bad dog really, not considering the fact that she was a total barbarian with as much of the social graces as would fit on a pinhead, but letting myself be dragged across Rome for a third day in succession just wasn’t on.
I unhitched her and fixed the lead onto her collar. Great joy and excitement.
‘Come on, Placida,’ I said. ‘Walkies.’
We headed across the atrium at speed. Bathyllus was buffing bronzes.
‘You’re off, then, sir?’ he said.
‘Yeah.’ I tugged Placida into the closest I could get to a standstill. ‘Tell Perilla I’ll be skipping dinner but that I’ve cleared it with Meton. Oh, and by the way, he’s gobbed on the dining-room floor again.’
Bathyllus’s eyes closed briefly. ‘Thank you for that information, sir,’ he said. ‘Shall I open the front door for you?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, that might be an idea.’
We scrabbled through the lobby, through the open door and down the steps. I let Placida pull me the length of our garden wall plus next door’s house, paused to make sure that no one was watching, then took the sharp left down the alley and another left at the end, back parallel to the way I’d come.
Outside our garden gate, Alexis was waiting as per instructions. Alexis is our gardener, and the smartest cookie on the staff.
‘There you go, pal.’ I transferred the lead. ‘Take her down the Appian Road, turn her loose, let her chase a few rabbits and piss on a tomb or two. Stay out as long as you like, the longer the better. I’ll be out until this evening, after dinner, but if you keep her in your shed when you get back I can pick her up from there. Okay?’
Alexis grinned. ‘If the mistress finds out, sir, she’ll kill us both.’
‘True. But then what can go wrong? Thanks, pal. I won’t forget this. Ever.’
Free!
Okay. The senate meeting wouldn’t be out for a good three hours yet, minimum: the gods knew what these broad-striper buggers talked about in the Curia Julia, but they took their time over it. My best plan was to start off over at Apollo’s temple on the Palatine, where the library was.
Gods, it was great to be dogless!
The good weather was holding as I took the road that led from Head of Africa towards the Scaurian Incline, up the eastern slope of the Palatine and across the top of the hill to its western edge. Libraries always make me nervous. It isn’t just the books - I’ve never been partial to that musty smell of old papyrus and glue - but raise your voice above a whisper in these places and you’re liable to have your balls frozen off by glares from half a dozen different directions at once. Get caught chewing on a takeaway pastry while you’re browsing and it’s a nails-and-hammer offence with no appeal. The Apollo Library serves a purpose, sure, but you wouldn’t like to spend time there when you didn’t have to. Give me a wine-shop any day of the month.
I found the guy in charge and introduced myself.
‘Ah, the Lady Rufia Perilla’s husband?’ He was a dry old stick who looked like he’d been put together with papyrus and glue himself. Probably around the time of Alexander. ‘Charming woman. And a real pleasure to meet you, sir. How can I help? A book, perhaps? We have several of those.’ He chuckled. Yeah, well: librarian humour is pretty basic.
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I was hoping you might help me trace one of your regular clients. A lady by the name of Lucia Albucilla.’
‘Really?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘Well, well. We’re not the, aha, the Danaid Porch here, you know. That’s further along. I don’t think I could actually –’
I sighed. ‘Look, I don’t want to chat her up, pal, I just want the answers to a few questions, right?’
He beamed. ‘Of course. Of course. Forgive me. Not that I’d disapprove of a little dalliance, far from it. No harm in that. Why, in my younger days –’ He stopped. ‘Well, that’s beside the point. Lucia Albucilla, you say? Splendid woman. Superb carriage. She reminds me very strongly of –’
‘Pal.’ I laid a hand on his arm. ‘Just an address. Please? If you’ve got it?’
‘Certainly. Certainly. A moment, Valerius Corvinus, while I check the records. We keep very thorough records, you know. You’d be surprised how many people accidentally leave the building with a book caught up in their mantle. Women especially. I have been advocating body searches for years, but –’
‘Ah...the address, pal? Please?’ Before we all dropped dead of advanced age. Gods!
‘Yes. Yes of course.’ He went over to the desk. ‘The filing system is my own. Alphabetical, and thoroughly cross-referenced. Albucilla will be under A, naturally, or I could find her under L for Lucia. I always cross-reference, you see. It does obviate a certain amount of confusion. Then she has another entry under M, because –’
‘Great. Very ingenious. Very thorough.’
‘Oh. Yes, yes, of course. Well, no doubt you’re a busy man, Valerius Corvinus. I’ll just...yes.’
I twiddled my thumbs while he looked through the cards.
‘Here we are.’ He pulled one out. ‘The Caeliolan, near the temple of Ancient Hope. Will that suffice?’
‘Marvellous. Thanks a lot, friend. I’m –’
‘Of course, she is on the premises at the moment.’
‘She is what?’
‘Here, sir. In the reading room. She came in about an hour ago.’
Jupiter in a bloody pushchair! ‘Then why the fuck didn’t you tell me at the start?’ I said.
He blinked. ‘Because you asked me for her address, sir. And, Valerius Corvinus, I have never in my thirty years of –’
‘Where is the sodding reading room? Or do you fucking have to look that up alphabetically as well?’
He drew himself up bristling. ‘Over there. Past the statues of the Graces. Let me say, however, that never in all my thirty years as senior librarian have I been exposed to such –’
‘Right. Right. Thanks, pal. Much obliged.’
I left him to his card index.
Albucilla was easy to spot, because while the place was pretty full of punters she was the only woman. She was sitting near one of the windows with a book-roll open on her lap, although she didn’t seem to be reading it, just staring into space. Splendid carriage was right: I was getting the full profile with the sun behind it, and unless a lot of the top half was mantle I could understand how she’d have my pal the librarian dribbling into his gruel. Strong jawline, too.
I walked over. ‘Uh...Lucia Albucilla?’ I said. Her head whipped round; I doubt if she’d even heard me coming. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘That’s all right. I was miles away.’ She smiled, or tried to. The face matched the jawline: handsome rather than beautiful, with the features looking like they’d been hacked out of marble. She was the colour of marble, too; a dead, pasty white that together with her makeup left her looking like a doll. I reckoned Perilla’s estimate of early thirties for her age was well on the low side. By present showing she could’ve been forty, easy.
‘My name’s Valerius Corvinus,’ I said. ‘I was wondering if I could talk to you about Sextus Papinius.’
There it was again: the same flicker of the eyes I’d got with Soranus. She turned her head away. ‘I don’t think I know a –’ she began.
‘Come on, lady!’ We were getting Looks now from the other punters, and I lowered my voice. ‘Of course you do! The kid who killed himself five days back.’
‘Oh, that –’ She stopped and took a deep breath, then turned back to face me. The smile hadn’t shifted, but it looked ghastly. ‘Yes. Sextus. I’m sorry, how silly of me. Forgive me. It is a little close in here, isn’t it?’
It wasn’t, particularly, that I’d noticed: this was October, after all, and the window was open. Still, I wasn’t going to argue: the punters’ Looks had moved up a notch to Glares, and the next thing that’d happen would be a visit from the library’s tame satyr. That I could really do without, espec
ially in the guy’s present mood. ‘You want to talk outside?’ I said.
‘Yes. Yes, perhaps it would be better.’ She rolled up the book, fastened its laces - I noticed that her hands were shaking - , laid it on the table beside her and stood up. ‘We can go into the garden.’
She led the way and I followed her in silence. The garden was through the portico that led off the entrance hall, in an angle between the library building and the temple itself: a careful arrangement of formal walks and flower-beds with more statuary than you could shake a stick at. Apart from an old guy fast asleep - or possibly dead - on a bench in the corner it was empty. We found another bench under a plane tree and sat down. The lady was a better colour now, but she was still nervous as a cat.
‘I was so sorry to hear about Sextus,’ she said. ‘He was a lovely boy.’
‘Yeah. So everyone tells me.’ I wasn’t quite sure how to play this. From what Cluvia had said, and from the fact that she was a friend of Mucius Soranus’s, I’d been expecting a sort of femme fatale. I could still have got one, mind, because in her own way the lady was a looker, but if she was she was the well-groomed polished kind that you see at all the best dinner parties.
‘You didn’t know him, then?’ she said.
‘No. I’m just looking into his death. As a favour to his mother and Titus Natalis of the Greens.’
That got me another flicker, but she’d obviously got herself in hand and if I hadn’t been looking for it I might not’ve noticed. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that there was anything to –’
‘His ex-girlfriend Cluvia said that you, uh, knew him pretty well latterly. Through a mutual friend, Mucius Soranus.’
Her hand was resting on the arm of the bench. The fingers tightened momentarily. ‘Cluvia is a –’ She bit back on the word, but not soon enough for me to miss the sudden hardness of tone that suggested there was steel under the polish. Then it was gone and she tried another smile. ‘I think as an informant Cluvia may have given you completely the wrong impression about our relationship. I liked Sextus, but he was an acquaintance rather than a friend, and he was certainly not - as your tone seems to imply - a lover. Not even in the most minor sense. If you want an explanation for her attitude, I can only suggest jealousy.’
‘Is that so, now?’ I kept my voice non-committal.
‘Yes, it is. Sextus, I know from certain remarks he made, was becoming tired of her, and obviously she was looking for a scapegoat. I happened to be the one she chose. As far as Soranus is concerned, the situation is similar. He’s quite definitely an acquaintance, not a friend.’ She stood up. ‘Now, if that’s clear I’m afraid I can’t help you any further.’
I didn’t move. ‘So if Papinius was an acquaintance,’ I said, ‘what sort of acquaintance was he?’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand.’
The hell with tact. ‘He was a nineteen-year-old kid, lady, and you’re almost old enough to be his mother. What did you have in common? There must’ve been something.’
Silence. Then she said: ‘I...really, Corvinus, I see no point in continuing this conversation. I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey, but I honestly can’t help you further.’ She turned away, just as another woman came hurrying through the portico.
‘Lucia!’ Raised voice; obviously agitated. ‘Thank Juno I’ve caught you! Have you –?’
Then the woman saw me, and she stopped dead. Her hand flew to her mouth, covering it, and her eyes widened in a shock that was almost comic. I glanced back at Albucilla. I couldn’t see her face - it was turned towards the new arrival - but her whole body froze. The woman came towards us, more slowly now; she’d almost been running to begin with. There was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t recall a name offhand.
Albucilla turned back to me. ‘It was nice meeting you, Valerius Corvinus,’ she said quickly. ‘Do tell Sextus’s mother how sorry I am about her son’s death.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I’ll do that.’
I nodded to the second woman - Jupiter, what was her name again? - and walked across to the portico. Just before I went inside, I looked back. The two were standing side by side, staring at me.
The librarian was at his desk, talking to a late-middle-aged purple-striper with an obvious toupé. I went over.
‘Ah...excuse me,’ I said.
‘Yes?’ The satyr wasn’t exactly friendly. To put it mildly. Nor, by some sort of osmosis, was the other guy. The two of them were glaring like I’d just propositioned them.
‘That lady who’s just gone out into the garden. You mind telling me her name?’
‘Acutia. Although, my dear sir, I can’t see that it’s any business of yours.’
Acutia! Yeah, of course she was. I remembered her now; it’d been years and she’d aged, but she still had that mousey look about her. ‘Did you tell her I was there?’
‘Certainly not! Why should I? She asked to speak to the Lady Albucilla and I so directed her.’ He drew himself up again. ‘And now perhaps you’ll have the grace to explain why –’
But I was already heading for the exit.
Shit. What was going on?
14
I had a good hour to kill, maybe two, before the Senate meeting finished. That suited me fine, because I had a lot of hard thinking to do. Over to Renatius’s on Iugarius, then, for a seat and a half jug of wine.
Early as it was, there were two or three punters at the bar, but I didn’t know any of them, so I just nodded.
‘Haven’t seen you for a while, Corvinus.’ Renatius was cutting up greens for the lunchtime salad option. ‘The usual, is it?’
‘Yeah.’ I took the coins from my purse and laid them on the counter while he filled the half jug with Spoletan. I eyed the greens. ‘Uh...incidentally. You ever hear of a thing called a cardoon?’
‘Course I have. It’s a kind of artichoke.’
‘Right. Right. Just checking.’
He brought the jug over and pulled a cup down from the rack. ‘You want anything with that? Cheese? Olives? Sausage?’
‘No, I had a late breakfast. Cheers, pal.’ I picked up the wine and the cup, took them over to a corner table, sat down and poured.
So. That little meeting had been interesting. Whatever was going on - and something was, that was clear, although I hadn’t a clue what it could be - Lucia Albucilla was in it up to her carefully-crimped fringe. More, she was running scared: the way, when I’d come in, that she’d been sitting staring at nothing, inside her own head, how she’d jumped when I’d first spoken to her and the expression on her face before she had herself under control all showed that the lady had private problems and was living on her nerves. Above all, to claim that she’d never even heard of Sextus Papinius when Cluvia was under the impression they were already an item was a sign of sheer bloody panic. As far as the question of whether the two actually were an item was concerned, I’d keep an open mind. There was the age difference for a start. Sure, granted, there are any number of society ladies who run a toy-boy, in some circles he’s practically a fashion accessory, but usually these women are fifty plus, dress like twenty and act like fifteen. From what I’d seen of her Albucilla just didn’t fit the mould. On the other hand, why Papinius should be attracted to Albucilla made more sense, especially since I already knew he went for older women. The kid was mature for his age, he was an idealist-cum-wannabe sophisticate, and he’d been brought up by his mother. Yeah, I could see Papinius making the first approach. In which case Albucilla might just be flattered enough to play along.
I took a swallow of the Spoletan. It’s good stuff, or Renatius’s is, anyway; not nearly up to Latian standards, but a good swigging wine perfect for getting the brain cells working. Over at the bar, two of the punters had started up a dice game: strictly illegal in a public place and where money’s involved, but that’s a technicality that no one pays any attention to. Renatius wasn’t even making a token gesture to stop it.
Albucilla had bee
n pretty cagey over her friendship with Soranus as well. That was more understandable. If the bastard was bent - which he was - she wouldn’t want that connection pointed up. Especially if, somewhere along the line, blackmail was involved...
Hell. I needed more facts!
Then there was Acutia. I’d met the lady years back, when we were in Antioch chasing up the Germanicus connection. She’d been a local-poetry-klatsch pal of Perilla’s, married to Publius Vitellius on the governor’s staff, and even allowing for her literary interests she was your total archetypal bubblehead. She’d be a widow now, of course, unless she’d remarried, because Vitellius had slit his wrists at the time of the witch-hunt after Sejanus fell, and good riddance to the bastard. Acutia puzzled me seriously. Oh, sure, given she was in Rome there was no reason why she and Albucilla shouldn’t be friends or meet at the Apollo Library, particularly if Acutia was still on her poetry jag. No problem there, none whatsoever. But why, when she caught sight of me and Albucilla together, should she act like she’d just strolled out onto the sand in the arena and found that the cats were loose?
Odd, right? And suspicious as hell.
She’d wanted to talk to Albucilla about something important, that had been clear enough. Oh, yeah, there was the slight possibility that I might be over-dramatising: like I said, when I first met her in Syria the lady had been a complete bubblehead, and to a woman like Acutia something important could cover anything down to an invitation to a honey-wine party or the latest snippet of society gossip. I knew that, I’d been around bubbleheads most of my adult life, both the male and female varieties. Still, taken together with her reaction when she spotted me I couldn’t help wondering if there wasn’t a lot more to it. There had been genuine panic in her voice. Panic and fear, which chimed with the way Albucilla had reacted to me.
So let’s go the whole bean-bag and assume that whatever she wanted to talk about had something to do with Sextus Papinius...
I took another swig of wine. It didn’t help.
Bugger. I was building sandcastles here, and I knew it. Come to that, I was building sandcastles without any sand. Sure, Albucilla and Papinius were connected, because she’d been the kid’s lady-friend, or whatever. Also, she had links with Soranus who was definitely in the frame. Albucilla I could see working out somewhere along the line, no problem. But Acutia? Where did she fit in? If she fitted in at all. Or maybe I was just letting my suspicious nature lead me by the ears...
In at the Death (Marcus Corvinus Book 11) Page 12
