Family Commitments (Marcus Corvinus Book 20)

by David Wishart

  ‘Indeed, Bathyllus?’ she said mildly. ‘And what makes you think that?’

  ‘Damon isn’t–’ Bathyllus hesitated. ‘I’m sorry if I’m speaking out of turn, madam, but even from what little I’ve seen of him I would say that to run for cover at the first hint of danger, immediate or envisaged, is built into his nature; that it can’t be taken automatically as a sign of guilt.’

  Hey! Character analysis now! The little guy was really getting into this. Mind you, Bathyllus was a smart, smart cookie at base, I’d always known that: anyone capable of running a household with the ruthless efficiency of a Caesar planning a military campaign was a brain worthy of respect.

  ‘Besides,’ he went on, ‘Damon’s a slave. What else could he do in the last resort if he felt threatened but run?’

  I winced. Brutally put, sure, but smack on the button. Slaves aren’t people where the law’s concerned, they’re property, with no more rights than a pair of sandals would have. We tend to forget that, or rather we take it for granted, most of us. Maybe the reminder wasn’t altogether out of place.

  ‘Very well,’ Perilla said. ‘Point taken. So all we really have on the debit side, Marcus, are the circumstantial details. Motive, means and opportunity, yes?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Which, to be fair, would’ve been plenty and enough in my book to put the guy at the top of the list, particularly since there were no other candidates, but I wasn’t going to say that with Bathyllus standing there. Besides, despite that ‘really’ Perilla knew damn well the way things were shaping up. ‘Okay. Arguments for.’

  ‘The fact he mentioned the necklace at all,’ Perilla said promptly. ‘Yes, I know you dealt with that before, dear, and you may be right, but still if Damon did kill his master for it it cuts too close to the bone. Particularly since he couldn’t possibly have known you’d find out about it from another source.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ I shifted my weight on the couch. ‘While we’re about it you can add the beating-up aspect of things.’ I glanced at Bathyllus: the little guy wouldn’t know about that, of course, because I’d got it from Pudentius. ‘Chances are, if he’d had a double-cross in mind, Damon would’ve made damn sure before he made his move that he knew where the necklace was and that he could get it without any trouble. He’s a pretty weedy specimen to begin with, and although Pudentius didn’t say in so many words that Oplonius was a big enough guy to handle himself in a fight the implication was there. A quick stab while his master was off his guard, asleep or whatever, would’ve been all he could’ve risked. All that was necessary, in fact. Also’ – I looked at Bathyllus again – ‘I’d agree with Bathyllus: crook or not, short acquaintance or not, he didn’t seem the murdering type.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Bathyllus said quietly.

  ‘There’s also the matter of getting rid of the necklace once he had it,’ Perilla said. ‘We talked about that. And if Oplonius had already sold it then for Damon to hang around with a fortune in his possession would make even less sense.’ She frowned. ‘Marcus, I really am beginning to believe that despite appearances Bathyllus is right. His brother can’t be the killer, or at least it’s very unlikely. There are too many inconsistencies.’

  ‘Yeah. Agreed.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bathyllus sag with relief.

  ‘So what happens now?’

  Fair question. I shrugged. ‘We have to find Damon. Or have him contact us. What he’s covering up and why he’s doing it I haven’t the faintest idea, but although he may not be a murderer he has serious and relevant beans to spill.’

  ‘Would Eutacticus help? I mean, with the resources he has available he could–’

  Gods! ‘Once and for all, Perilla, listen to me, okay?’ I said. ‘Of course he could, no argument. That bastard will have people combing the city right now. He’ll find him eventually, sure he will, and when he does Damon is crow’s meat.’ Bathyllus winced. ‘I’m sorry, little guy, but that’s a definite fact. As far as Eutacticus is concerned, who killed Oplonius is irrelevant; what he wants is his necklace, probably, now, together with Damon’s head on a plate. Our only chance is that Damon sees sense and turns himself in to us before Eutacticus gets to him. Then if he’s still got the thing maybe I can do a deal as per the original agreement.’

  ‘And in the meantime?’

  ‘Search me, lady. Oh, I’ll take a trip up to the Pincian tomorrow morning, see if Eutacticus is still prepared to play ball, at least in theory, but I don’t hold out much hope. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed that friend Damon has a crisis of conscience.’

  Yeah; and pigs might fly. Even so, I was sorry for Bathyllus, bitterly sorry: whichever way things went, I doubted if the poor guy would have his new-found brother for all that much longer.

  ‘Incidentally, dear, and to change the subject,’ Perilla said as Bathyllus moped his way out. ‘How did things go regarding Priscus? You did follow him this morning, didn’t you?’

  Oh, shit; with all this happening I’d completely forgotten about the Priscus side of things. Coping with my stepfather’s uncharacteristic venture over the matrimonial wall was yet another example of our current unbounded joys.

  ‘Uh...yeah,’ I said reluctantly. ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Brace yourself, lady. The guy’s having an affair, all right. With a woman in a curio shop on the Sacred Way.’

  She stared at me wide-eyed. ‘Oh, Marcus, no! For heaven’s sake! You’re absolutely certain?’

  ‘As certain as I can be.’ I told her what I’d seen. ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing. It’s none of our business.’

  ‘Agreed. You want to come and explain that to Mother when she hauls me round and asks me for a report? Which she will, and pretty damn soon. I can’t fudge things, either, because that woman can see through a brick wall when it suits her.’

  ‘Talk to Priscus himself, then. Persuade him to see sense.’

  ‘And admit that I’ve been spying on him? Besides, he’s old enough to know what he’s doing without me telling him.’ I frowned. ‘Well, actually, scrub that. The guy never has been up to speed in the seeing-sense department as long as we’ve known him, so age doesn’t come into it. Even so, it just isn’t on.’

  ‘You could always talk to the woman. If it’s a question of money, bribery–’

  ‘Come on, Perilla! If I offered to buy her off Priscus would never forgive me, whichever way she jumped. In any case, we don’t know enough in detail about the situation for that to be an immediate option.’

  ‘Very well, then. Go to the shop, talk to the woman in any case. Get some background, weigh things up. You don’t need to be too blatant. Lead into it gradually.’

  ‘Yeah, right. So I call round to buy a knick-knack or a gewgaw or whatever, then while she’s wrapping it I drop in the intimation that I’m her sugar-daddy’s stepson and I’d be really, really grateful if she didn’t liaise with him any more. That the sort of thing you mean?’

  ‘Of course not, dear. Don’t be silly. But that is the general idea, taken over time. You’re sure to think of something when the occasion arises.’

  Hell; why was it always me who drew the short straw? Still, Perilla was right; having a word with the woman, finding out exactly how things stood, was the best move we could make. Frankly, it was the only one.

  That didn’t mean to say I had to like it, mind. And, pace Mother’s diktat, it wasn’t something I was going to rush into, either. I’d give it a few days, let things settle; you never knew, something might come up. Priscus might get himself run over by a delivery wagon, or he might have a crisis of conscience and confess the whole shoddy affair to Mother off his own bat. Mother might decide to give the whole thing up as a bad job and take him off to the fleshpots of Baiae for a month. Pigs might fly.

  In any case, with the Damon business I’d got enough on my plate to be going on with already. The Priscus affair could wait its turn.

  9.

  The sun was jus
t moving into its second quarter next day when I got to Eutacticus’s place. I was on a hiding to nothing here, that I was practically sure of, but the motions had to be gone through if only so’s I could look Bathyllus in the eye and say I’d tried. Besides, chances were that after the debacle at the tenement if I didn’t make the first move it wouldn’t be too long before Laughing Boy Satrius and his mate were banging on my front door with an invitation to talk to their boss re the absconding Damon at my earliest inconvenience, and that I didn’t want: with touchy bastards like Eutacticus the less trouble you cause the better.

  So I gave my name and business to the muscle-bound hulk on the gate and twiddled my thumbs while he shambled up the drive to check if the master was At Home. That, it transpired, didn’t take long, which considering that Corvinus wouldn’t be flavour of the month in the Eutactus ménage was probably a bad sign.

  The lad himself was working out in his private gym. Yeah, I’d forgotten that Eutacticus was a fitness freak, or the next thing to it: he was a big guy and well-rounded, sure, but unlike most of his comfortably-padded co-millionaires his extra poundage was muscle, not flab. When the slave who’d come to collect me at the gate showed me in he was stripped to his loin-cloth, swinging a pair of dumb-bells, and grunting away like a hairy rhino with a bad case of croup.

  I waited until he’d given a final grunt, set the dumb-bells down, reached for the towel that the slave in attendance was holding, and wiped the sweat from his torso.

  ‘You’ve got a nerve coming here, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘After that cock-up yesterday I’d’ve thought you’d be steering clear of me and thanking your stars you aren’t hobbling around on crutches. Which’ – he fixed me with his eye – ‘you may be yet, depending on how things go.’

  Ouch. He wasn’t kidding, either. ‘Yeah, well.’ I tried a grin. ‘Maybe it was a bit unfortunate the way things turned out.’

  Eutacticus dropped the towel, picked up one of the dumb-bells, and levelled it at me.

  ‘Look, you overbred purple-striper bastard,’ he said. ‘This is no laughing matter. That necklace cost me a cool half million, and unless I get it back pretty damn quick other people besides that light-fingered fucker of a slave are going to suffer. Particularly if they include a smartass purple striper who was stupid enough to let the bugger slip through his fingers when he had him. You get me?’

  I swallowed. ‘Yeah, I get you. But–’

  ‘There aren’t any buts. The only reason you still have all your faculties attached is that as you so carefully pointed out I owe you a favour. There isn’t much of the debt left to repay now, so you be damned careful how you go.’

  Uh-huh. Well, this looked even less promising than I’d thought it would be, but I had to try, at least. ‘You’ve put the word out already, then?’ I said. ‘That you’re looking for Damon.’

  ‘I told you, Corvinus, lose the jokes. Of course I fucking have. That bastard is dead meat, whether he has the necklace or not. The only difference is that if he doesn’t, or if he’s been fool enough to get rid of it, he’s going to die very, very slowly.’

  Gods. ‘So what about our original bargain? Safe conduct for Damon if he delivered the necklace to you of his own free will?’

  ‘The hell with that. That deal was null and void the minute the bastard did a runner. What else could you expect?’

  ‘Come on, pal!’ I said. ‘Be reasonable! When we struck the deal Damon was already gone. I didn’t know that at the time, but even so. The point is, he never knew a deal existed in the first place, so how can he be guilty of welshing on it?’

  Eutacticus frowned and laid the dumb-bell down carefully beside its partner, taking his time over it. I held my breath. Then he straightened.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Here’s how it works. No arguments, no bargaining, you take it or you leave it, understand?’

  Well, whatever he’d decided I knew it was going to be the most I could expect. And anything was better than nothing.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I’m not calling off the search. That’s flat. And if and when I find the bastard he’s dead, whether he has the necklace or not. Clear?’

  ‘But–’

  ‘I said: no arguments. This is the way it is, the only way, and if you don’t like it then tough. On the other hand, if between then and now he gets back in touch and turns the necklace over to you the original bargain stands.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t have it, or know where it is?’

  ‘Then he’d better run far and fast. Not that it’ll do the little fucker any good because by that time I’ll know where he is.’

  Hell. None the less, I had to admit that Eutacticus was playing fair by his lights: if Damon turned himself in off his own bat then we’d be back to the status quo of the original deal, while if he decided to chance his luck after all when the shit hit the fan he had only himself to blame. Either way, I reckoned my conscience was clear: I’d done my best for the slippery bugger, and at least going cap-in-hand to Eutacticus had done some good.

  ‘Fair enough.’ I held out my hand. ‘Agreed.’

  Eutacticus shook. ‘Now piss off, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘I’ve got things to do. And don’t even think about welshing on the bargain yourself, or I will be seriously upset.’

  Yeah. Right.

  I pissed off.

  . . .

  So; what now? Until Damon showed up again – if he ever did, which I’d put in the flying pigs category – I was effectively stymied: I’d no other leads to follow up, none, and without them I might as well go home and take up basket-weaving.

  Except–

  One person connected with the case I hadn’t talked to. Oh, sure, it probably wouldn’t do any good – when he’d given me her name Watch Commander Pudentius had said as much – but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and there was always that outside chance: the girl in the Aventine wineshop that Oplonius had been friendly with, what was her name, Lydia. I’d no exact location for the place, but there couldn’t be many wineshops close by the Rullius tenement, so finding it shouldn’t be a problem.

  I set out for the Aventine.

  In actual fact, I’d no problems at all: the wineshop was the only one on offer, on the corner a few dozen yards from the tenement’s entrance. I went in.

  Not a very prepossessing place, but this was the Aventine after all, where the local punters aren’t too demanding. Even so, it was a step up from the spit-and-sawdust joints that constitute the Aventine average, with a couple of trestle tables opposite the bar counter at each of which three or four workman-type tunics were sitting shooting the breeze over their wine cups. The conversation died briefly as I came through the door and they clocked the purple stripe. Which, I supposed, was fair enough: south of the Racetrack isn’t exactly purple-striper territory.

  I went up to the bar, and the loungers propping it up moved aside. The barman detached himself from his conversation with a punter at the far end and came over.

  ‘What can I get you, sir?’ he said.

  I glanced up at the board. ‘Care to recommend?’

  ‘The Nomentan’s not bad.’

  ‘Nomentan it is, then. Just a cup.’ I reached into my belt-pouch, took out a few coins and laid them on the counter. ‘You have a girl here by the name of Lydia?’

  He’d been reaching for the wine jar in its rack. He paused, turned and gave me a look. None too friendly a one, either.

  ‘Might have,’ he said. ‘What’s it about?’

  I shrugged. ‘I just wanted a word with her, that’s all.’

  He hefted the jar, filled a cup, set it down in front of me with a bang, and scooped up the coins.

  ‘Your pals’ve already had that,’ he said. ‘She can’t tell you nothing more than she did then, so you can drink up and get out.’

  I frowned. Okay, fine, the civil authorities aren’t too popular with Aventine residents in general, but this was pushing things a bit too far. ‘Uh...look,
friend,’ I said. ‘If you mean the Watch then–’

  ‘Fuck that. Those bastards weren’t Watchmen. Besides, the Watch had already talked to her.’

  There was something screwy here, and whatever it was it had rated pretty low in the popularity stakes: conversation in the room had gone down to nothing, and I was getting glares from more than one of the lads at the counter.

  ‘Look,’ I said again, ‘I’ve no idea what’s going on here, but it has no connection with me. I got Lydia’s name a couple of days ago from Commander Pudentius of the local Watch.’ His eyes shifted; that obviously weighed. ‘My name’s Valerius Corvinus; you ask him about me if you like, he’ll vouch for me. According to Pudentius, your girl Lydia was friendly with a man by the name of Gaius Oplonius who was murdered eight or nine days back. Me, I’m trying to find out who did it and why. That’s it; that’s all there is. Now do I get to talk to the girl or not?’

  He gave me a long, hard look. Then he grunted and gave a nod towards the curtained alcove between the two trestle tables.

  ‘She’s upstairs,’ he said. ‘She’s got a customer with her at present, but she shouldn’t be all that long.’

  ‘Fine.’ I took a sip of the wine: not great, but better than I would’ve expected in a place like this. ‘While we’re waiting. These guys who weren’t the Watch. Care to tell me about them?’

  ‘Nothing much to tell. There were two of them, came in asking for Lydia just after the Watchmen had left. They wanted to take her upstairs, but I wasn’t having that, not the both of them at once: she’s a good girl, Lydia, and I didn’t like the look of that pair of beauties above half. Anyway, it turned out they just wanted to talk.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Your friend Oplonius. Seemingly he’d had something valuable belonging to them and they wanted it back. They thought he might’ve left it with Lydia for safe keeping.’

  ‘That so, now? And had he?’

  ‘Nah. Chance’d be a fine thing. She’s a good girl, Lydia, like I said, but this Oplonius was just a customer and he’d hardly known her five minutes. You think he’d be that stupid?’