No Cause for Concern

by David Wishart

  ‘No, I suppose not. Sit down. Would you like a grape?’

  I didn’t move. ‘You and Astrapton killed Titus, right?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She took a grape from the bowl herself and chewed it. ‘It was quite easy. He was besotted with me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why did he have to die, you mean?’ She shrugged. ‘His slave Lynchus had found out that Astrapton was embezzling money from my father. How, I don’t know, but Lynchus always was a sneak, prying into things that were no concern of his, and clever for a slave. Lynchus passed the information on to Titus, and he brought it straight to me. After the argument, he was planning to run off and join his uncle anyway, and he arranged to meet me in the grotto for one last time before he left. That part of it was simple. He didn’t suspect a thing.’

  ‘You and Astrapton were lovers?’

  She smiled. ‘I wouldn’t quite put it quite as strongly as that. I let him think so, and he was amusing. Call him an amusement, if you like. Like Titus was. Anyway, our interests coincided. He needed a bolt-hole to escape to, I wanted to get away, with enough money to be independent for the rest of my life.’

  ‘Convenient.’

  For the first time, there was a flash of emotion in her eyes. ‘Don’t judge me, Corvinus! I’ve always loathed my father; he’s a loathsome man. And marriage to Statius Liber, stuck down in Beneventum and used as a way of producing children, would’ve been a living death. Joining with Astrapton was the perfect business arrangement. And Paetinius and Mother jumped at it. As a way of getting their revenge on my father, it was ideal.’

  ‘He’d’ve traced you eventually. Eutacticus.’

  She shrugged. ‘Massilia’s a long way away, outwith even Father’s reach. Mother’s family, the Sestii, are big over there. And we chose the last trip of the season, before the sea-lanes closed for the winter, so we’d have plenty of time to prepare. I’d’ve been safe enough.’

  ‘Married to Astrapton?’

  ‘No. I told you, he was only an amusement. I would have worked something out.’

  ‘Another convenient death?’

  ‘Probably. It didn’t come to that, though, did it? Or rather, it did. Just a bit earlier than I’d expected, that’s all.’

  Jupiter! She was a cold bitch, right enough! ‘What about Satrius? You set him up, right?’

  ‘Of course. That was your doing, Corvinus. As was most of it. If you hadn’t stuck your nose in my father wouldn’t’ve known about the embezzlement side of things until we were safely away, and Astrapton wouldn’t’ve had to disappear earlier than planned. As it was, he fitted in quite well, and it gave me the breathing-space I needed.’ She took another grape. ‘The business with the Suburan girlfriend was absolutely genuine, by the way; I’d known all about it from the start, and I didn’t mind, because if anyone had somehow been curious about his current entanglements it would’ve thrown them off the scent. The only lie involved Alexander. Yes, he told Satrius where to find him, but he did it the same morning Satrius told my father, not the day before, and by that time Publius had already been round to the flat and killed him.’

  ‘So Alexander had to die too.’

  ‘Mm.’ She ate the grape. ‘That was easy to manage. I did it myself, in fact. Once the body was found, I simply engineered a private word with Satrius and told him that I knew, through Cleia, that he’d had the information where to find Astrapton for almost a day before he’d passed it on, and that I intended telling my father. Satrius wasn’t a complete fool. He may have suspected something, but he knew his word alone wouldn’t weigh over mine, and in any case he couldn’t take the risk. So he ran.’

  ‘Taking the heat off so that you could slip quietly down to Ostia.’

  ‘Yes. Breathing-space, as I said. I only needed another couple of days, after all. I sent Cleia to you with strict instructions what to say, knowing that you’d think the case was over. Or at least, thinking it for the time it would’ve taken Father to trace Satrius, by which time the truth wouldn’t matter because I’d be safely away. Only then you turned up and mentioned that you were going down to Ostia yourself. I knew you knew the name ‘Seagull’– Astrapton was a fool to put that in writing, even though it might’ve seemed safe enough at the time – and the risk that you’d made the connection was too great to ignore, especially since time was running out.’

  ‘So you contacted young Paetinius and cut and ran. You’d stay here while Paetinius kept an eye on the boat in case I turned up. Right?’ I didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Incidentally, what sort of string did you keep him on, lady? I wouldn’t’ve thought just a brother and sister relationship would be enough to persuade him to murder. Either of Astrapton or me.’

  ‘Oh, Paetinius didn’t take much persuading,’ she said. ‘He was really quite a vicious little brute, and not all that clever. Also, he was very open-minded, sexually. The fact that it was incest, whether we had both a mother and a father in common or not, was a plus rather than otherwise, and it didn’t worry me.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t look so shocked, Corvinus! The old Egyptian kings did it all the time. Officially, of course, we were brother and sister – that held true as far as his father and Mother were concerned, and would have done on the trip over and beyond – but our private relationship was our own business. And, as you say, it did provide the necessary bond.’

  I felt sick. ‘And he’d meet with an accident as well, when you got to Massilia, yes?’

  ‘Perhaps. If he’d proved difficult. Although being family he was more of a problem. Besides, it would probably not’ve been necessary by then. Ocean voyages this late in the season can be quite dangerous, and if we’d hit a patch of bad weather there was always the possibility that he might disappear overboard.’ She smiled again. ‘As you can see, I’m being quite candid with you about all of this.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I’d been wondering about that. You weren’t hoping to get rid of me, too, after all, were you? Because –’

  ‘Oh, no. Or at least not in the way you’re thinking. I know that would be impossible.’ She spread her hands. ‘I’m not armed, and besides there could be no element of surprise, so I wouldn’t stand a chance. No. I was going to make you a business proposition.’

  ‘Namely?’

  ‘The crate we were taking with us. Astrapton’s last. It contains, I would guess, something just short of half a million sesterces in gold. Under the circumstances, I’m willing to lose that; I have enough in Massilia already to set me up very comfortably until I can make other arrangements. I’m suggesting a simple exchange. I have the captain unload the crate, you let me sail without it.’

  ‘That wouldn’t sit too well with Eutacticus, lady.’

  ‘He’d never know. As far as my father’s concerned, the money’s gone already.’

  ‘Plus I told the captain it contained stolen goods. He’s an honest man, as far as I can tell. He’s probably put it ashore with the harbour-master by now in any case.’

  ‘Then you tell him you made a mistake. Or I have a word with him myself, see if he really is honest. I told you, over in Massilia I’m a rich woman, and the Sestii are a powerful family. The captain’s a Massilian. One way or another, he’ll be sensible about things.’

  ‘And if I tell you to go to hell?’

  She frowned; I honestly don’t think that she’d considered that possibility. Which told me a lot about sweet Sempronia. Mind you, as bribes went it was a pretty hefty one. ‘That would be very stupid of you, in more ways than one. Believe me. After all, why should you care if I got away with things? My father forced you to become involved in this, you don’t owe him anything, quite the reverse. If you come out of it half a million to the good, what does it matter?’

  Gods! The chilling thing was that I could see she genuinely thought that it didn’t.’

  ‘People have died,’ I said gently.

  ‘A crooked accountant. A vicious thug. And a couple of slaves.’

  ‘Plus your stepbrother.’

  �
�Titus was nothing to you. You never even met him. What’s the life of an actor’s brat set against five hundred thousand sesterces?’

  ‘It’s enough. Go to hell.’

  She flinched, as though I’d slapped her. ‘My father will never take your word against mine,’ she snapped. ‘And when I persuade him – as I will – that this is all a mistake I’ll see you buried!’

  ‘I’ll take that chance, lady,’ I said. ‘Now go and get your cloak. We’re going down to the local Watch office where they can make arrangements for you until I can get word to your father where you are.’

  She got up without a word and went into the bedroom.

  I waited for a good five minutes before the door opened again. But it wasn’t Sempronia. It was Cleia, and she was holding a knife at arm’s length, like it was a snake. The front of her tunic was a mass of blood.

  She dropped the knife and just stood there, head lowered.

  Oh, shit! I pushed past her through the open door…

  Sempronia was lying slumped over the dressing table. That was covered with blood too, which, considering her throat had been cut, wasn’t surprising. I came back out. Cleia hadn’t moved.

  ‘Uh…you care to tell me what happened?’ I said gently.

  ‘I killed her, sir.’ The usual mouse’s whisper. She didn’t look up. ‘While I was tidying her hair.’

  ‘Where did you get the knife?’

  ‘From the travelling trunk. It was open beside the bed.’

  ‘You, uh, want to explain why?’

  ‘She was evil. She murdered Lynchus and Alexander.’

  ‘Yeah. I know. But –’ How could I put this? Slaves are brought up from birth to see themselves as goods, not people. Oh, sure, they have feelings and emotions like anyone else, but they’re conditioned to keep them buried where necessary, whatever the provocation. For a slave to murder her master or mistress just isn’t done, the worst crime possible; not just from a legal viewpoint but more important in the mind of the slave herself. The fact that it’s a fast shortcut to an inevitable and very painful death helps reinforce things too: there are no extenuating circumstances, none, not under any conditions; our society can’t afford to let there be. Cleia would die, that was sure; quickly, if she was lucky, but almost certainly not. Much more likely was slow and systematic torture, followed by crucifixion.

  ‘She was getting away with it,’ she said. ‘Oh, she’d have got round the master, like she told you. I was listening, I heard every word, and she was right: he’d take her word over anyone’s, believe anything she told him. It was the only way to make sure she got what she deserved. I was going to do it anyway, on the ship, if I got the chance, and then throw myself overboard. Don’t worry, sir, I won’t give you no trouble.’

  I hesitated. Then I decided. It’d be easier that way, for all concerned.

  I picked up the knife, went into the bedroom, put it on the dressing table beside Sempronia’s outstretched hand, and came back out.

  ‘Okay, Cleia,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I rode the mare back to Rome next morning, after squaring things with the Ostian authorities and telling them where to send the news; I’d left Cleia with Cass and Agron for collection, stressing to her how important it was to remember that Sempronia had committed suicide when she’d seen the game was up. I still had to have a long talk with Eutacticus, of course, and that I wasn’t looking forward to; but I reckoned I’d done enough trotting back and forth to the Pincian at his behest for a while. Besides, I wanted to wait until the dust settled. Another day wouldn’t matter.

  Bathyllus was looking smug when he opened the door for me.

  ‘Welcome back, sir,’ he said. ‘Did you have a pleasant trip?’

  ‘Uh…yeah. Yeah, it was all right.’ I took the cup of wine he held out. ‘The mistress around?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Oh, and we had a bit of excitement ourselves while you were away.’

  ‘Really? What was that?’

  ‘The mistress will explain. She’s in the atrium.’

  I went through, bemused. Perilla was lying on the couch, reading. I gave her the welcome-home kiss and lay down opposite.

  ‘Well, dear?’ she said.

  ‘Case solved,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you about it in a minute. What’s this bit of excitement Bathyllus mentioned?’

  ‘Ah.’ She hesitated. ‘“Excitement” isn’t exactly the word. It was more of an accident, really.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It happened while I was out.’

  ‘Come on, lady! Meton drop the soup pot? Get his fingers caught in the mincer? Bathyllus was looking smug as hell, so it must’ve been something along those lines.’

  ‘Daistratus fell off a step-ladder.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘And broke his arm.’ She glared at me. ‘Marcus, it is not funny! The poor man was in terrible pain, Bathyllus said.’

  I tried to straighten my face. ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘He was working on the top part of the mural in the dining-room. The cord holding the two parts of the step-ladder must’ve been frayed, and the thing collapsed. He fell on his arm – his right arm – and broke it.’

  ‘His, uh, right arm. The one he uses to paint with.’

  ‘Yes. Bathyllus sent for Sarpedon, of course’ – Sarpedon was our doctor – ‘and he set the bone and put the arm in splints. But he said it’d take several months to heal properly.’

  ‘This, uh, means that Architecturescape Seven’s on hold, then, does it?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. Or rather, it’s been cancelled altogether.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I arrived home just as Daistratus was leaving. I was able to have a quick word with him.’ She ducked her head. ‘I’m afraid he was rather emotional.’

  ‘Was that a smile, lady?’

  She ignored me. ‘He didn’t intend to sue, he said. However, in view of the circumstances and his earlier conversation with you he flatly refused to complete the work at a future date. The phrases “artistic philistine” and “pearls before swine” were used. The upshot was that we agreed on a refund of half what I’d originally paid him.’

  ‘Reasonable.’

  She sniffed. ‘I thought so. Particularly since the poor man will be incapacitated for some time to come.’

  ‘The world of art can only be grateful for the respite.’

  Bathyllus soft-shoed in carrying the rest of the jug.

  ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’ he said. ‘Dinner will be quite late this evening, Meton says, but I can ask him to make you an omelette if you’re hungry after your ride.’

  ‘No, that’s okay,’ I said, holding up the winecup for a refill. ‘Oh, Bathyllus, just out of interest. That step-ladder. The one Daistratus fell off.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘It collapsed because the cord was frayed, right?’

  ‘Indeed. Very unfortunate.’

  ‘Yeah. A bit sloppy on your part, wasn’t it? I mean, making sure everything in the household’s shipshape, tight as a drum, safe as houses and running along smoothly is a major-domo’s job.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I wouldn’t have expressed it in quite that mixture of metaphors myself, but I have to agree. An inexcusable dereliction of duty, sir. I feel extremely guilty.’

  ‘Well, we’ll let things ride this time, little guy. No use crying over spilt milk. Water under the bridge.’

  ‘Quite, sir. Thank you.’

  He turned to go.

  ‘Oh, Bathyllus?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to have a bucket of lime-wash handy, would you?’

  ‘I think that could be arranged, sir.’

  ‘For use before dinner?’

  ‘I’ll see to it at once.’ He exited.

  Ah, well. We’d just have to eat looking at a blank wall for a while longer.

  Maybe, if Eutacticus was really grateful, I could screw the price of a new mural out of him.


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