‘How about enemies?’ I was clutching at straws here, and I knew it. But there weren’t many avenues left to explore, and that was one angle we hadn’t covered.
‘That’s a lot easier. Publius Paetinius.’
Prompt. Too prompt for comfort; he hadn’t even paused to think. And the tone was matter-of-fact, like the answer was obvious.
‘Who’s Publius Paetinius?’
‘Sestia Galla’s son.’ I must’ve looked blank, because he said: ‘Sestia Galla was Eutacticus’s first wife. After they divorced, she married again. Bastard Publius was the happy product.’
That last bit had come out with more than a smidgeon of overtones. ‘Hang on, pal,’ I said. ‘Okay, fair enough, there was a family connection of a sort between the two, but it doesn’t explain the enemies business. Couples get divorced and remarry all the time. That doesn’t mean to say the kids of the separate ménages have to be at each other’s throats. Not without a reason.’
‘Oh, Paetinius has a reason. Or thinks he has, anyway. Paetinius Senior was Eutacticus’s partner, in the days when he was only an up-and-coming crook and needed one. Eutacticus suspected Sestia of having an affair with him, which was why he divorced her. She was pregnant with Publius at the time, she married Paetinius a month after the divorce, and she had Publius three months later.’
‘Ah.’ Yeah, that would do it right enough. Jupiter! ‘So Publius could’ve been Eutacticus’s son, or he could’ve been Paetinius’s and the reason for the divorce, right?’
‘Right. It’s the family scandal. Paetinius Junior hates Titus’s guts because he claims there was no affair, Eutacticus divorced his mother for no reason, he’s the legitimate son and Titus and his mother are scheming interlopers who’ve cheated him of his rights.’
‘Even if Titus doesn’t want anything to do with his stepfather?’
‘That doesn’t weigh with Paetinius. Titus has told him often enough, but he just doesn’t believe him.’
‘So what sort of guy is he? In himself, I mean?’
Bellarius grinned. ‘I told you. He’s a bastard. And not the sort you’d like to cross.’
‘Anything specific happen? Between him and Titus?’
‘Oh, they’ve come head to head now and again. Any time they’ve met, in fact. But it didn’t go beyond words, not until about two months back.’
‘Tell me.’
‘It was at the Elms. We were sitting at our usual table, Titus and me, when Paetinius comes up out of nowhere, canned out of his skull, picks up Titus’s cup and throws the wine into his face. Just like that, no warning, nothing. Titus hauls off and hits him, Paetinius goes down like he’s been filleted, and that’s the end of it.’
‘That was it? One punch?’
‘Just the one.’ Bellarius grinned again. ‘You’ve never met Titus, Corvinus. He may be quiet, but he’s a big lad who can handle his fists, and however Paetinius likes to pretend otherwise where fighting’s concerned he’s a talentless runt. Titus floored him completely, broke his nose and probably loosened a tooth or two. A couple of the waiters had seen the whole thing. They lugged him to the gate, dumped him outside and told him in no uncertain terms his future custom wasn’t welcome. Not that he was a regular, he must’ve come specially to make trouble, and it served him right. The whole thing was over in a minute flat.’
Gods! I didn’t like this more than half. It was probably just my conspiracy-theory thought processes that were kicking into gear, mind, but put together someone who’s disappeared without trace or prior notice and another someone who had good reason to wish him in an urn and the next link in the chain of reasoning isn’t too difficult. Besides, the cold feeling in my gut was telling me it was no coincidence. Maybe the guy’s mother – and his girlfriend – were right to be worried.
‘You know where I can find this Publius Paetinius?’ I said.
‘No idea.’ Bellarius held out the wine jug but I shook my head: good Caecuban or not, I had things to do. ‘We’re not exactly on friendly terms. And I don’t move in these circles.’
‘Right.’ I stood up. ‘Thanks for your help.’
‘You’re welcome. Any time. When you find Titus, tell him to get in touch.’
‘Sure.’ I turned to go. ‘The other way round as well. If not with his mother, then at least with Sempronia.’
‘I’ll do that. Oh, and Corvinus?’
I turned back. ‘Yeah?’
‘That introduction. To your wife. I’d really appreciate it. Ovidius Naso’s my favourite poet, and she might be able to give me a few pointers on the Art of Love.’
‘No problem.’ At least, I hoped not. Still, if there were and I’d been wrong about the no ulterior motive side of things after all then I was sure Perilla could handle them.
Time for another chat with Sempronia.
CHAPTER SIX
The slave showed me through to a sectioned-off part of the garden with a fountain and trellised rosebushes. Sempronia was sitting in one of a couple of wickerwork chairs, reading, with the maid I’d seen before parked on a marble bench behind her.
She looked up as I came over. She’d changed into a sky-blue mantle, and her hair was tied back with a ribbon. Taken together with the roses and the fountain, she could’ve come straight off a wall painting. Not one by that weird bastard Daistratus, either.
‘Back again, Corvinus?’ she said. ‘Did you find Quintus Bellarius?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, I did,’ I said. I pulled up the other chair and sat down.
‘Any news?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. Not as such.’
She put the book-roll carefully aside on the table next to her. ‘He didn’t have any ideas where Titus might’ve gone? None at all?’
‘I’m sorry, lady.’
‘Never mind. It was worth a try.’ She turned round to the maid. ‘Cleia. Go and fetch Valerius Corvinus a cup of wine. And a fruit juice for me. Cleia!’
The girl had been sitting with her head lowered, staring at the ground. She gave a start, her head came up, and she looked at me. I caught a glimpse of reddened eyes in a puffed-up face, and then she was gone, hurrying towards the house. I looked back at Sempronia.
‘She’s Lynchus’s girlfriend,’ Sempronia said. ‘He didn’t tell her he and Titus were leaving, either. Things have been...fraught.’
‘Ah.’
‘You forget they’re people too, sometimes, don’t you?’
‘Yeah. I suppose you do.’
‘Now. If you don’t have any news, Corvinus, why exactly are you here? Not that it isn’t nice to see you, of course.’
‘Publius Paetinius. Bellarius said he had a dust-up with Titus at the Three Elms a couple of months back.’
‘Oh.’ Her expression hardened.
‘You knew about that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Care to tell me about him?’
‘There isn’t much to tell. Paetinius is the skeleton in the family cupboard. I suppose Bellarius told you why?’
‘More or less, yeah.’
‘Then I can’t add much. Certainly not to give you the truth of the matter, because I was only eighteen months old when my father divorced my mother. Paetinius claims to be father’s son, and he hates Titus. Personally, I’ve never met him, and from what I know of him from Titus I’ve no wish to.’
‘How about your mother? You ever see her?’
‘No. After the divorce, father severed all connection. It may sound dreadful to you, Corvinus, but I don’t even think of her as my mother. I never have, and I’ve certainly no memories of her that might lead me to. Sestia Galla’s just a name.’
‘So you don’t know where she lives?’
‘Somewhere on the Esquiline. I don’t know exactly. Is it important?’
‘It’s an avenue worth checking.’
I’d kept my voice carefully neutral, but Sempronia was no fool. She flashed me a look.
‘You think Paetinius might have something to do with Titus’s disappearance?’ she s
aid.
‘Probably not. Still, it wouldn’t do any harm to have a word with the guy.’
‘No. No, I suppose it wouldn’t. And as you said it’s something worth checking.’ She was quiet for a moment. ‘Corvinus, Titus is all right, isn’t he? I mean, you will find him, he’s just gone off somewhere, hasn’t he?’
‘Sure he has, lady. Nothing to worry about, I’m just looking at all the angles.’ Yeah, right; I wished I was as certain as I sounded, but it was what she needed to hear and there was no point in ringing alarm bells before I had to.
‘Yes. Yes, of course you are. You have to, I suppose. And Critias will know Sestia Galla’s address.’
‘Critias?’
‘Our major-domo, and has been since before I was born. We can ask him.’
‘Fine.’
The maid was back, carrying a tray with the two cups on it.
‘Just set it down,’ Sempronia said to her. ‘Then go back inside. Tell Critias that Valerius Corvinus needs Sestia Galla’s address.’
The maid gave me another quick glance, then ducked her head and left without a word.
‘So what now?’ Sempronia said.
‘I wish I knew, lady. Frankly, our best bet is that he gets in touch with you direct. Or with someone, anyway. Otherwise I’m afraid we’re stuck. Unless you’ve got some more ideas yourself?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve thought and thought. Believe me, if there was the remotest chance of pointing you in a useful direction then I’d do it. But there isn’t one. Honestly. All I can say is that none of this is in the least like Titus. He’d never leave like that without telling me, never. Nor would Lynchus, where Cleia’s concerned.’
‘You’re sure he didn’t mention anything either? Lynchus, I mean?’
‘Absolutely. Cleia would’ve said. You can ask her yourself, if you like, but she doesn’t know any more than I do. And as you’ve seen she’s as worried as I am.’ She lowered her eyes, then went on quietly: ‘Because I am worried, Corvinus. Yes, I know it’s silly, that they’re both perfectly fine, but there you are.’
I hadn’t touched my wine, no more than she had her fruit juice, but I reckoned that, top-grade Falernian though it no doubt was, I’d give it a miss: I’m no hypocrite, and where offering reassurances I didn’t believe myself was concerned I’d already shot my bolt. I stood up.
‘Yeah, well,’ I said. ‘You never know, something may turn up. Meanwhile if your major-domo can give me Sestia Galla’s address I can talk to Paetinius, see what he has to say.’
‘Yes.’ She stood up too. ‘Thank you. I’ll see you out.’
* * *
I’d still got a fair slice of the day left, and the Paetinius place turned out to be half way up Patricius Incline: not exactly on my way home, but not too far out of it, either. Not quite in the same league as Eutacticus’s mansion on the Pincian, but whatever business Paetinius Senior was in nowadays it obviously paid the bills comfortably and to spare. The door slave was sitting on the lowest step, shooting the breeze with a friend. He looked up as I came over.
‘The young master in, pal?’ I said.
‘No, sir. Master Publius hasn’t got back yet.’
‘Back?’
‘From wherever he was last night. The mistress is at home, though, if you’d like to talk to her instead.’
‘Seeing the mistress’ll do me fine, then,’ I said. ‘Valerius Corvinus. It’s a private matter.’
‘Very well, sir. I’ll ask if she’s free.’ He got up. ‘Meanwhile if you’d like to wait in the atrium?’
‘Sure.’
I did, twiddling my thumbs for the next ten minutes or so while the house slave he passed me on to checked the lady’s current availability. Decor expensive but flashy, and the room was dominated by a huge mural featuring a respectful Mercury assisting a plump-faced, self-satisfied-looking guy dressed as Hercules heavenward to where a fair selection of the pantheon was waiting to greet him with knuckled forelocks. The master of the house himself, no doubt, allegorically transmogrified. Evidently modesty wasn’t one of Paetinius Senior’s failings. Nor, for that matter, was subtlety.
‘Valerius Corvinus?’
I turned round. Sestia Galla had been a looker in her time, which came as no surprise since Sempronia had had to get it from somewhere, and Eutacticus was a non-runner. The word ‘imposing’ comes to mind: the lady could’ve modelled for Juno in the mural. Also, she was dressed to the nines, made up and coiffeured to the eyeballs, and was hung with enough jewellery to kit out half of the Saepta.
‘You wanted to see me. What about?’ Careful vowels: I’d bet you wouldn’t have to scratch the surface too hard to reach an accent that was pure something else.
‘It’s, uh, personal,’ I said. ‘Not to say delicate.’
‘Really? Then you’d better sit down.’
I did, on one of the couches. She took a chair. ‘Your daughter gave me your address. Sempronia.’
‘Did she, indeed?’ The temperature dropped several notches. ‘I wasn’t aware that she even knew it.’
‘She’s worried about her stepbrother. Titus Luscius. He’s disappeared, and I’m trying to find him for her.’
She stood up. ‘Valerius Corvinus, let me say now, once and for all, that I have no connection with that family. Particularly that side of it. If your reason for coming here is concerned with them, then I think you should go.’
I didn’t move. ‘I understand your son had a quarrel with young Luscius in a wineshop about two months back. To do with...well, let’s just say it was to do with inheritance.’
If looks could kill, then the one I got from Sestia Galla was the sort of hatchet-job that leaves blood on the walls. ‘Are you accusing Publius of having something to do with Luscius’s disappearance?’ she snapped.
‘No. Nothing like that. But before I go any further I thought it was only fair to get the other side of the story.’
‘Publius has been treated shamefully. We both have. If he shows his resentment in a practical way then he has every right to do so. And I do not think, Valerius Corvinus, that it is any of your business, as certainly the disappearance of that young man is none of mine. Now leave my house, please, before I have you thrown out of it.’
Yeah, well; maybe it had been a mistake coming, at that. I stood up. ‘Thank you for your help, Sestia Galla. If you –’
– which was when the young guy came into the atrium from the lobby. He was about twenty years old, and he was wearing what was left of a party-mantle and wreath. When he saw me he stopped.
Evidently the wayward son and heir.
‘Who’re you?’ he said. Slurred.
‘His name’s Valerius Corvinus, dear.’ Sestia Galla shot him a nervous glance. ‘He’s just leaving.’
‘You’re Publius, right?’ I said. ‘Good party?’
‘Probably. Can’t remember.’ He threw himself down on the nearest couch, and his wreath slipped off and fell to the floor. Roses and ivy leaves: if the leaves were supposed to ward off drunkenness then they were doing a pretty poor job, because he was stewed to the gills.
‘You didn’t happen to see Titus Luscius there, did you?’
He raised his head and goggled at me. ‘That bastard? Why should he be there?’
‘Just asking. Seen him recently at all?’
‘Publius, dear, I think you should go upstairs,’ his mother said, then gave me a look that could’ve come straight off a glacier. ‘Corvinus, you get out, please. Now.’
‘Okay, lady. Just going, no problem.’ I hadn’t moved. ‘Well?’ I said to Publius.
He was still goggling. Finally, he said: ‘I haven’t seen him for months, if you want to know. Not since he broke my nose. And if I do I’ll do the same to him or worse. Now piss off like my mother told you or I’ll throw you out myself.’
Yeah, right. I gave him my best smile, resisted the urge to give him a finger as well, and made for the door.
Home.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bathyllus was waiting with the obligatory cup of wine.
‘The mistress around, little guy?’ I said after the first swallow.
‘Yes, sir. She’s in the dining room. With the’ – he paused – ‘artist.’
Oh, hell. No love lost there, evidently: there was more raw poison squeezed into that last word than could’ve been mustered on a good day by a dozen Egyptian asps working their little socks off. Not that I was surprised. I went through, taking the wine cup with me.
‘Oh, hello, dear.’ Perilla was looking flustered. ‘I didn’t expect you back so early. This is Daistratus. Daistratus, my husband.’
Jupiter! Artistic giant the guy might be, but as phrases go you didn’t get much more metaphorical. I estimated his height as four foot nothing in his sandals. Given that the sandals had extra-thick soles and he stood up straight enough.
‘Honoured to meet you, Valerius Corvinus,’ he said. From the tone he obviously thought it should be the other way round. My sympathies were with Bathyllus already.
‘Yeah,’ I said, teeth firmly gritted. We shook, while Perilla watched us anxiously.
‘Daistratus is just finishing the blocking-in,’ she said. ‘Then he’ll make a start on the painting itself.’
‘Fine, fine.’ I made the mistake of glancing at the thing, but managed to wrench my eyes away before my brain could kick into gear and start trying to interpret what they were seeing. ‘It’s certainly...different.’
The artistic giant puffed up like a partridge. ‘Of course it is different!’ he said. ‘It is unique!’
‘So what about the other six?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘This is, uh, Fantasy Architecturecrap Seven, yes?’
‘Scape. Architecturescape.’
‘Right. Sorry, pal, slip of the tongue. So what about versions one to six?’
‘They are different too. And equally unique.’
‘Completely different, or just slightly different? Because if they’re just slightly different then that only makes them slightly unique, right? Which is sort of a contradiction in terms. I mean, if the only difference in the name is the number tacked onto the end, then –’
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