No Cause for Concern

by David Wishart

  ‘You’ve done well, Corvinus.’ Eutacticus was giving me his crocodile smile. ‘Oh, sure, I wish things’d turned out different. Titus is dead, so is Astrapton, and like I said, I trusted that bastard Satrius, he was my right arm. And it appears I’ve lost a lot of cash, one way or another. But none of that’s your fault, you’ve lived up to expectations. You can leave things to me now. Call the case closed. Like I told you at the start, you’ll find me grateful.’

  Fair enough. If the guy was happy – or at least the next thing to it – then he wasn’t going to get any argument from me. Still, I had my professional pride to think of.

  ‘Hang on, pal,’ I said. ‘There’s just one loose end to tie up. This business of Larus.’

  He frowned. ‘Yes?’

  ‘My guess is that the Seagull’s a ship, not a person. That’s about as far as I’ve got at present, but I was planning to go down to Ostia, ask around at the harbour. There’re three possibilities I’d like to check out.’

  ‘Astrapton’s dead. Wherever he sent it, and however he did it, the money he stole’s gone. That part of the story doesn’t matter now. I’ve never been one to cry over spilt milk, Corvinus.’

  ‘Yeah, well, put it down to unsatisfied curiosity. But I’d be happier myself to finish things with a tick in all the boxes. And that last crate wasn’t sent until a few days ago. It could still be waiting for collection.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He stood up and held out a hand. ‘Do what you like. My thanks, in any case. I’ll be in touch.’

  I wouldn’t be holding my breath, that was for sure: if I never saw the dangerous bastard again this side of an urn I wouldn’t be crying either. Still, I shook the outstretched hand.

  I was heading towards the stairs when the door to my left opened.

  ‘Corvinus?’

  Bugger; it was Sempronia. Not that I’d’ve minded another cosy téte-à-téte, but the chances were that Cleia would be there as well, and I was feeling bad enough about her brother already without having those mousey eyes fixed on me throughout the interview.

  Sempronia must’ve read the thought in my expression. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ve sent Cleia to her room. She’s very upset. She and Alexander were very close, and of course coming on top of Lynchus –’

  ‘Yeah. Right.’

  ‘Come in.’

  I followed her inside and we sat on the facing couches.

  ‘I wanted to catch you before you left, just to tell you that you needn’t feel guilty about Alexander’s death,’ she said. ‘If anyone was responsible, I was; I sent her to you, and it must’ve happened just after she left. She told you Satrius had seen her?’ I nodded. ‘Right. If I hadn’t forced her to go he’d probably be still alive.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ I said. ‘Mind you, my guess is that the poor guy was a dead man walking from the start. Not that I’d’ve even hinted that to Cleia. Satrius couldn’t’ve let him live. It was too risky, because sooner or later, one way or another, the business of the time discrepancy would’ve got out, your father would get to hear of it, and his goose would be cooked.’

  ‘Not necessarily. My father wouldn’t’ve taken Alexander’s word over Satrius’s.’

  ‘Maybe not, lady. But what reason would Alexander have to lie? He’d have nothing to gain and a hell of a lot to lose. Your father’s no fool. He’d’ve known that.’

  ‘Possibly.’ She put her chin in her hands. ‘But why not kill him before? Or arranged things so that the death looked accidental, or something? Why wait until Alexander had told Cleia, let alone until Cleia had told me?’

  I shrugged. ‘Pass. Although we don’t know for sure that Satrius knew the secret was out. He may’ve thought, or just hoped, maybe, that Alexander hadn’t spotted the discrepancy at all.’

  ‘Mm. That’s not very likely, is it? Alexander wasn’t stupid, and the whole household knew that Astrapton’s whereabouts were still supposed to be a mystery until the morning his body was found. Which was why he mentioned it to Cleia in the first place.’

  ‘Yeah. True.’

  ‘Still. I hope Father finds him. Satrius, I mean. And he will, eventually. It won’t bring Titus back, of course, but I’d like to see him dead. Very much so.’ I winced at the cool, matter-of-fact tone; they’d got a lot in common, father and daughter. ‘So what now, Corvinus?’

  ‘Not a lot. Your father says the case is closed, and that suits me. There’s something I want to check over in Ostia, but that’s just curiosity, a loose end. What about you?’

  It was her turn to shrug. ‘Marriage, I suppose. To Statius Liber, in a few months’ time. I told you about him. Not something I’m particularly looking forward to, but I don’t have much choice.’ She stood up and held out a hand. ‘Goodbye, anyway, and thank you for everything.’

  Yeah. Right. Not the best close to a case I’d ever had, but like the lady had said you can’t choose how things will pan out. I shook, and left.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Next morning, we went through to Ostia. We’d set off early, before first light, with me on the mare and Agron and Cass in the wagon they’d used for the outward trip, so after dropping my bag off in the empty upstairs flat there was enough of the day left to make a start on the business side of things. Agron had told me my best plan would be to check with the harbour-master whether the three possible Seagulls were in port. He’d have addresses, too. So that’s what I did. I was in luck: with less than a month of the sailing season left, they’d all finished their round trips and were berthed for the winter. I made a note of where to find the several owners and went back to settle in properly. Not, from the looks of things, that I’d have a very long stay; barring complications, I should be able to clear the thing up and be back home within a couple of days, easy.

  I was up and out bright and early the next morning. Ostia isn’t a big place, compared with Rome, and like any other town families involved in the same line of business tend to gravitate to the same area; so all three addresses were pretty close, near the harbour itself. I’d no reason to think one name was more or less likely than another, so I planned on taking them in the order Agron had given me: Secundus, Imber and Florus.

  I caught Secundus at breakfast; like Agron, in the bosom of his extremely large and boisterous family. In between the screams and general wrangling, I established that he’d never had a commission from anyone matching Astrapton’s name or description. Scratch Seagull Number One.

  Imber was out; his wife said I’d find him in one of the dockside wineshops getting an early skinful with his cronies. She didn’t seem too happy about this, or particularly sympathetic towards anyone who had business with him, Roman purple-striper or not, so I thanked her politely, got the name of the wineshop and its precise location, and then pissed off to try Gaius Florus.

  Florus’s place – a tight little cottage at the end of an alleyway – was blissfully quiet. Which it might not have been, given that elderly widowers (which he was, Agron had told me the evening before) often live with their married daughters and, inevitably, assorted pack of grandchildren. On the other hand, he was almost stone deaf, which meant the interview on my side had to be conducted in short sentences with the words spaced out and shouted, with lots of repetition. All Florus’s customers were local, and he’d dealt with the same ones for years. Scratch the Genua possibility.

  Which left Imber. I was getting a bad feeling about this.

  Well, at least I’d be talking to him in a wineshop. And after fifteen minutes’ strained conversation with Florus my throat was dry as a razor-strop.

  I found the place. Not exactly your drinking-hole of choice, but I wasn’t going to be picky. There were four or five nautical types at the bar, perched on stools and obviously settled in for the duration; I got the usual long stranger-in-the-room stare and a couple of nods before they turned back round and got on with the serious business of sinking the booze.

  ‘What can I get you, sir?’ the barman asked me.

  I glanced at t
he board. None of the names were familiar: this being Ostia, I’d guess they were Spanish or Gallic imports. ‘What would you recommend, pal?’

  ‘The Lauronensian’s good.’

  ‘Okay. Make it half a jug.’ I hitched myself up on a stool and turned to the local punters. ‘Any of you gentlemen Gaius Imber?’

  ‘That’s me.’ The guy next to me turned sideways.

  ‘Valerius Corvinus. I’m making enquiries about a possible customer of yours. Guy called Astrapton. Ring any bells?’

  ‘Nah. Not one of mine.’

  ‘Greek. Early to mid twenties, good looking, snappy dresser. He’d be a regular. Four large crates over the past eight months, at about two month intervals between each crate. One of them held marble statues.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not me. The only regular orders I’ve had over the past year’ve been from local firms. And they’ve all been going on much longer than that.’

  Bugger! ‘You’re sure? I was told the Seagull.’

  ‘That’s my boat right enough. Going west?’

  ‘That I’m not sure about.’

  ‘In that case you could try one of the other boats with the same name. Florus, he ships up the coast. Or there’s Titus Secundus. He’s on the Sicilian run.’

  ‘I’ve tried them. They’re not the ones either.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry, pal. I can’t help you.’ He turned back to his wine and his mates.

  Hell! Well, you couldn’t win them all, and like Eutacticus had said finding the Seagull, man or boat, wasn’t important any more. I’d’ve liked to’ve ticked the last box, though.

  ‘Here you are, sir.’ The barman put the half jug and a cup in front of me. I paid, filled the cup and sipped.

  Not bad. Lauronensian, eh? That’d be Spanish. I’d have to keep an eye out in future for that one.

  Imber turned back round. ‘Hang on, friend’ he said. ‘I’ve just had another thought. You sure the Seagull you want’s an Ostian boat?’

  ‘Uh-uh. That just seemed a reasonable bet. All I have to go on is the name.’

  ‘Only there’s Quintus Fulvius’s. That’s out of Massilia. He works the route from the other side.’

  I felt the first prickle of excitement. ‘You know where he’d happen to be at present?’

  ‘Sure. Berthed at Quay Five. He’s just got in. He’ll be unloading and then taking on cargo for the return leg.’

  ‘Quay Five. Great!’ I downed the wine in a oner and passed him the rest of the jug. ‘Here, pal, have this on me. Where’s Quay Five?’

  ‘Straight down to the harbour, turn left and it’s about half way along. You can’t miss it.’

  ‘Got you! Thanks a lot!’

  I left at a run.

  * * *

  Ostia may be in decline as a port, but it doesn’t show where its harbour’s concerned: if you don’t know where you’re going, even if like me you’ve got a good sense of direction, then the various quays, moles, sub-harbours and dead ends can be worse to negotiate than Minos’s labyrinth. Also, when anyone uses the phrase ‘you can’t miss it’ you can be cast-iron sure the place you’re looking for’ll be the devil to find. Finally, I was stopping every likely-looking punter I met and asking them for help, but it still took me a good half hour.

  There were boats of different sizes moored nose to tail all along the stretch, but only one – the one at the far end – seemed to have any sort of activity connected with it. Yeah, Imber had said the captain – Fulvius, wasn’t it? – would be unloading his incoming cargo. I made my way towards it between the various crates, bollards and general quayside lumber that filled a lot of the space between the storage sheds and the quay itself…

  Which was when the guy jumped me.

  He came out of the shed I’d just passed. I turned when I heard the footsteps, which was lucky, because the knife he was holding missed my back and sliced along the front of my tunic. I grabbed his arm and kneed him hard in the balls, then swung him round hard towards the quay’s edge and let go.

  He went over, into one of the boats: a good eight feet down. In the process, I heard the crack as the back of his head hit the edge of the stonework.

  Shit. I looked where he’d fallen.

  He was lying still, crouched up like a foetus, face hidden; his head at an angle, resting in a spreading pool of blood. There was an iron ladder let into the wall near the stern of the boat. I climbed down it and went to look, pulling the head back on the broken neck.

  Publius Paetinius.

  ‘Hey! What’s going on?’

  I looked up. A guy was standing on the quayside above me.

  ‘You tell me,’ I said. ‘He came out of nowhere and tried to stick a knife in my back.’

  ‘He dead?’

  ‘Very much so.’

  ‘Holy Neptune!’

  ‘Yeah. Right.’ I went back to the ladder and climbed up it. The guy was still staring down at Paetinius’s corpse. ‘I’ll report it to the harbour-master, of course. You be a witness?’

  ‘Sure.’ He was looking sick. ‘I’ll be sailing first thing tomorrow morning, mind. If the wind’s right.’

  ‘Your name Fulvius?’

  He gave me a sharp look. ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

  ‘I was just coming to talk to you. Valerius Corvinus. You carry some goods ever for a guy by the name of Astrapton?’

  ‘No. Not me.’

  I repeated the description I’d given to Imber and the other two. ‘Greek, aged around twenty-five. Good looker, well-dressed. The goods would’ve been packed in crates, four of them, maybe more, shipped separately over the last eight months.’

  ‘You mean Quintus Philotimus. At least that’s the name he gave.’

  Choirs of heavenly voices sang. ‘It’ll do, pal. Where were they bound for ultimately? You have a delivery address, or a name, maybe?’

  He frowned . ‘Hold on. What’s this about? You’re saying the goods were stolen?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, that more or less sums it up. I’m representing the legal owner.’

  ‘Massilia. For collection by a Titus Sestius. Which is what’s been happening. Up to now, anyway.’

  Bull’s-eye! I hadn’t known where the now-defunct Paetinius Junior’s mother Sestia originated from, but I’d bet now that it’d been Massilia. And that this Titus was a brother, or at least a member of the same family. ‘That fits,’ I said. I wasn’t going to let on who the corpse below us had been, mind, not even to the harbour-master: complications at this stage and this far from Rome and Lippillus I could do without. As far as the local authorities were concerned, at present at least, the guy had just been a common-or-garden mugger after my purse.

  ‘So you’ll want to lay your hands on Philotimus yourself,’ Fulvius said.

  ‘Uh…yeah.’ I was guarded. ‘That’d be a definite plus.’

  ‘Then you’re in luck. You’ll be in Ostia for the next couple of days?’

  ‘Sure. Longer, if need be. Why so?’

  ‘Because he left the last of your four crates in storage. I’ve just put it on board. And he’s sailing to Massilia with us himself. He arranged passage for two the last time I saw him, two months ago.’

  ‘Passage for two?’ Jupiter! I’d nailed Satrius!

  ‘That’s right. They may be here already, in fact. Staying in the lodging-house on the edge of town. That’s where I was to send a message to, when the boat was ready to leave.’

  ‘You happen to know who the other passenger is? Just for information.’

  He told me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The lodging-house Fulvius had mentioned was on the coast, clear of the harbour complex itself but still inside the town boundaries. You don’t see many places like that, but you do get them in the big ports: we’d stayed in one ourselves, in Brindisi, only a few months before when we’d gone to Alexandria. A variant on the country inn, but a lot more upmarket, catering for the travelling middle class who don’t happen to have friends or relatives nearby but’d rather not be
eaten alive before they sail by fleas and bedbugs. They can be pretty swish, the better ones, with self-contained apartments and catering laid on.

  This place wasn’t quite up to Brindisian standards, but it was pretty good all the same.

  I went up to the guy on the reception desk.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I’m looking for a friend of mine, travelling to Massilia in the next few days.’ I gave him the details. ‘The boat’s the Seagull, if it’s any help. The captain was to send the message about sailing times here.’

  ‘No problem, sir.’ He smiled. ‘They checked in a few hours ago.’ Yeah, well, it would be ‘they’, still; young Paetinius would’ve been going too, if he hadn’t presently been stiffening in an outhouse next to the harbour-master’s office. ‘Suite three, on the first floor.’

  I went up, found the right door and knocked.

  Cleia opened it. She looked at me, and her jaw dropped. I put my finger to my lips.

  ‘Who is it?’ Sempronia said, from inside. Then, when I pushed past the girl, she saw me.

  She was lying on one of the room’s two couches with a bowl of grapes on the table in front of her. She put down the one she’d been holding and just stared.

  I closed the door.

  ‘Cleia, go into the bedroom.’ Sempronia’s eyes hadn’t left my face. ‘Stay there, please.’ The maid meekly did as she was told, shutting the door behind her. ‘Where’s Publius, Corvinus?

  ‘Dead.’

  She just nodded. Her expression didn’t change. I felt the first stirrings of anger: oh, sure, the guy had tried to kill me, but the poor bastard deserved more recognition than that. Not that her reaction was unexpected. I doubted if this bitch had ever given anyone else a second thought in her life. She was Eutacticus’s daughter, all right, in spades.

  ‘How did you know?’ she said. Her voice was as empty of emotion as her expression, and she might’ve been asking me what the weather was like.

  ‘I didn’t. Or not before the captain of the Seagull told me Philotimus would be travelling with his wife. It wasn’t too difficult to put two and two together after that.’