‘Hmm.’ She was watching me closely. ‘Very well, dear. You’ll simply have to try a little harder next time. But if you’re hiding something from me–’
‘Look, I’m on it, right?’ Sod it, I didn’t deserve this; I had enough to worry me at present without playing piggy-in-the-middle between a tomcatting stepfather and a hell-hath-no-fury mother. ‘Like Perilla said, I’ve been pretty busy lately.’ Jupiter! Talk about understatement! ‘Just give me more time, okay?’
‘All right, dear. Three days. And that is being generous.’
‘Three days?’
‘Three should be quite sufficient. After that I shall broach the matter with Titus myself, and damn the consequences.’ Gods! ‘Besides, if as Perilla says you’ve brought your present commitments to a satisfactory conclusion then you’ll have plenty of free time on your hands.’ Another sniff, and a pointed look at the wine-cup. ‘This way I can be sure that it is spent more profitably than usual.’ She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. ‘Goodbye for the present, dear. We’ll keep in touch. Enjoy your dinner.’
And she was gone.
Fuck.
14
I went back over to the Pincian early next morning, hopefully for the last time barring the unlikely possibility of Eutacticus suffering a bout of remorseful guilt and blowing the lid off of the case for me after all, as he undoubtedly could have done. He was in his garden again, feeding the eels; I just hoped the meatball ingredients weren’t my Asinian Gardens pal’s late associate.
I held up the kid-skin bag. If I’d expected the guy to clutch his forehead and reel back in stunned and joyful amazement it didn’t happen; instead, he gave me what amounted to a disinterested glance, picked up another meatball and tossed it into the pool.
‘You’ve brought it, then,’ he said. Pleased, sure, but not a smidgeon of surprise.
‘Yeah.’ I undid the laces and took the necklace out. ‘All yours.’
He handed the plate of meatballs to one of the waiting slaves, dipped his fingers in the proffered bowl of water another of them was holding, and dried them on a towel.
‘So the slave finally saw sense,’ he said. He took the necklace from me and held it up to inspect it. In bright sunlight, the effect was even more impressive.
‘Ah...not altogether. He’s still missing. He must’ve come round last night and pitched it over our wall at the back of the house.’
‘Yes, he did.’ He returned the necklace to the bag and re-tied the drawstrings. ‘An hour before midnight, or thereabouts’
‘What?’ I gaped at him. ‘You knew?’
‘Of course I fucking knew! What would you expect? I told you, I had men watching all the time, front and back. Not even a cat could’ve come within twenty yards of your place without me knowing.’
‘But you didn’t take him yourself? Damon, I mean.’
‘No. No, I didn’t. The lads had their instructions – fresh instructions, in the light of our new deal.’
‘That was good of you.’
He scowled. ‘Listen, Corvinus. When I make a bargain I play fair. They were told to watch but not interfere if there was no need, which in the event there wasn’t. When they saw your pal Damon toss a package over the wall they left him alone.’
‘They didn’t follow him back to wherever he’d come from, by any chance? Just in case it wasn’t the necklace?’
That got me a long and very cold stare: evidently not a good question.
‘I’d say that was none of your business,’ Eutacticus said quietly.
Uh-oh. ‘Right. Right,’ I said.
‘I told you: so long as I get what’s owing the slave’s safe from me. He wasn’t harmed and he won’t be, but that’s as far as the bargain goes.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s just that I’d, uh, really, really have liked a word with Damon myself. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of–?’
‘No.’ That came out flat. ‘I told you. No help, none. Not in this, and that’s final.’
Bugger! Still, it’d been worth a try. And at least now I knew that someone knew where Damon was holed up, even if he wasn’t telling.
‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘I’ll be on my way, then.’
‘You do that. And thanks.’ I turned to go. ‘Oh, Corvinus?’
I turned back. ‘Yeah?’
‘I meant to ask, last time you were here. That business in the gardens yesterday.Anyone see you? On your way to the Grotto, that is?’
‘Yeah, as a matter of fact they did. I asked an old guy for directions. One of the public slaves.’
‘Messy.’ Eutacticus frowned. ‘You want me to tidy him up for you? It shouldn’t be a problem. I could send Satrius back over.’
Gods! My blood went cold. ‘Uh, no, no, that’s okay, pal,’ I said, as easily as I could manage. ‘He was blind as a bat in any case and practically gaga.’
‘Well, so long as you’re sure.’ He snapped his fingers at the slave with the plate of meatballs. ‘I’ll see you around. And don’t forget the advice I gave you, about dropping this thing down a very deep hole.’
‘I won’t.’
Taking the advice, mind, was another matter. I left him to his feeding programme and headed back down the hill towards the First District and the Latin Gate.
The wineshop was where Bathyllus had said it was, just the other side of the Gate and on the left: not a very prepossessing place, from the outside, anyway, but then on this occasion I wasn’t looking either for ambience or a good wine list. I pushed open the door and went in.
There was a middle-aged man behind the bar: nothing special, just like the place itself, if anything on the weedy side, with prominent teeth and a receding hairline. No other punters, which didn’t argue very well for the quality of the wines on offer.
‘Good morning, sir,’ he said. ‘What can I get you this fine morning?’
At least if he was a wrong-‘un he was cheerful with it. I glanced at the board behind him. ‘How’s the Clusian?’ I said.
‘New batch just in, sir. Cup, was it, or a small jug?’
‘Just the cup, pal.’ While he unslung the jar from its place in the rack and poured I leaned on the counter and took out a few coins from my belt-pouch. ‘You the owner?’
‘Nah,’ he said, replacing the jar and taking a couple of the coins. ‘That’s my sister and her husband. They’re both away at present. I’m just minding the shop.’
‘That so, now?’ I put the rest of the coppers back into the pouch and took a sip. Uh-huh; no wonder the place was empty mid-morning. ‘Family trip, is it?’
‘For Matia it is. That’s the sister. Our other sister was took ill ten days ago – she lives over in Fidenae – and Matia’s gone through to nurse her. Won’t be back for half a month yet, if past experience is anything to go by.’
‘What about her husband? You say he’s gone away too?’
‘Caprius?’ The barman frowned. ‘Now that was a very strange thing, sir. Beats me completely. Mind you, he’s never been the conscientious sort, my brother-in-law, it’s Matia runs things. Far rather drink the wine than sell it, that’s Caprius, always has been, and it’s me his kin that’s saying it as shouldn’t.’
‘Shame.’ I took another sip of the wine; a small one. ‘So how was it strange? Him going away, I mean? It wasn’t planned?’
‘Nah, happened right out of the blue. He just up and left, no warning, nothing. Plain vanished. He was here sure enough two days ago, that I do know because I came round with a bowl of bean stew the wife had set aside for him, Matia being away – we only live up the road, see, ’tother side of the gate, and she’s been sending down something cooked regular. When I talked to him not a word about going anywhere did he speak. Only when I call in yesterday morning to pick up the dish he’s gone. Door wide open, anyone could’ve walked in off the street and helped themselves. Anyway, I couldn’t just close the place up until he decided to come back; business isn’t good at the best of times, and if I didn’t owe it to him I owed i
t to my sister. We’ve a vegetable stall next the house, me and the wife, but she can manage that well enough on her own, so here I am for the duration.’
‘He, uh, wouldn’t be a big guy, this Caprius, would he? Thick black curly hair, nose broken and badly reset?’
‘Nah, he’s about my size, and he’ll be bald as a coot in another five years, like I will myself.’ He looked at me suspiciously. ‘Here, sir, did you come in here just for a cup of wine, or was there another reason?’
Well, I’d have to tell him sooner or later, if only for his sister’s peace of mind. ‘I’m sorry, pal,’ I said gently. ‘But I don’t think your brother-in-law is coming back at all.’
He stared at me.
‘Is that so, now?’ he said. ‘And how would you know?’
‘Because if I’m right – and I think I am – he’s dead.’
He went pale. ‘Oh, shit!’ he said. ‘Oh, holy Mothers!’
I passed him the wine cup, and he gulped the rest of it down. Well, better him than me.
Then he said: ‘How?’
But that was one thing I wasn’t going to tell him, not the fine details, anyway: there would have to be some fudging here. ‘My name’s Valerius Corvinus,’ I said. ‘Caprius and a friend of his kidnapped my chief slave two days back, and they were holding him in the cellar. A friend of mine got him out early yesterday morning, probably just before you came by, and took your brother-in-law away with him. There was, uh, an accident later, as a result of which your brother-in-law died.’
‘Good sweet Jupiter!’ He was obviously in shock. He took the wine cup over to the flask-rack and filled it, pouring with an unsteady hand: the cup overfilled, and wine splashed onto the floor. He replaced the flask and drank the whole cupful in a oner, then wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand and turned back to me. ‘You’re not telling me the whole truth, are you?’ he said.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not. But what I’ve told you is true as far as the basics go. You’ve my word on it.’
‘Why would Caprius want to kidnap your slave?’
‘I don’t know. Not altogether. But that’s what happened. Now. You feel well enough to talk?’
‘Kidnapping? Caprius? It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
He looked at me for a long time. Then he shook his head. ‘No. No, you’re right. I’m not sure. Caprius was a...well, let’s just say that I was sorry when he married Matia, and she’s come round since to feeling that way herself. He was never straight, I’ll grant you that, but kidnapping’s something else altogether, that’s well beyond him. Or I’d’ve thought so, at least.’
‘It would’ve been worse, believe me, if my friend hadn’t stepped in.’
‘Holy gods!’ He shook his head again numbly.
‘The other guy I described. The big guy with the curly hair and broken nose. He sound familiar?’
This time he nodded. ‘Ligurinus,’ he said. ‘One of Caprius’s cronies. His bosom crony, you might say.’ He shot me a sideways look. ‘He’s a real bad one, that. I’d’ve believed it of him straight off; I’d’ve believed anything. He’s a blacksmith, got a forge and shop not all that far from here, on Mars Incline, if you’re looking for him.’
‘Uh-uh,’ I said. ‘No point. He’s dead too.’ That got me a sharp glance, but he didn’t say anything. ‘You know anything more about him?’
‘Not much, and never wanted to. He’s a freedman, full name Publius Suillius Ligurinus. Been in trouble a few times, violence mostly. Leads Caprius by the nose.’ He must’ve noticed my expression. ‘Mean something to you?’
‘Publius Suillius?’ I said. ‘Those are his first two names? You’re sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’
‘You know anything about his patron? Who he is, exactly?’
‘No. I told you, I keep well away from that bastard. I’d’ve told Caprius to do the same, if he’d’ve listened, and so would Matia. She probably did. He was mixed up in this thing too, was he?’
‘Yeah. Very much so.’
‘Then good riddance to him. It explains a lot. He’d’ve been the ringleader; Caprius would’ve just followed on, done what he was told.’
Uh-huh; that was how I’d thought it would be. All the same, the name had rocked me.
Publius Suillius Ligurinus, eh? Jupiter and all the gods!
A newly-made freedman tacks his own, given name on to the first two names of his former owner, who then becomes his patron. And the only Publius Suillius I knew of was Publius Suillius Rufus, Perilla’s very-much-ex husband.
The plot was definitely thickening. It was starting to smell, as well.
‘Thanks, pal,’ I said, getting ready to leave. ‘And I’m sorry about your brother-in-law, if you are. Give your sister my condolences.’
‘I will. But to tell you the truth after the first shock it’ll come as a relief. The good gods forgive me for saying so, but that’s the long and the short of it.’ He hesitated. ‘I should ask you about the body, sir.’
Oh, shit; I’d forgotten about that aspect of things. I fudged again; there was nothing else I could do.
‘Ah...I think that’s been taken care of,’ I said. The harsh probability was that Eutacticus had already made his own arrangements. I just hoped, like I said re the meatballs, that they didn’t involve his piscine pets.
He gave me another long look, then took his eyes away.
‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell her. Thank you at least for coming, sir.’
A ‘you’re welcome’ wouldn’t’ve been appropriate in the circumstances. I left in silence.
15
I headed up Latin Road for the Caelian, thinking hard all the way.
Rufus’s path and mine had only crossed directly once in the twenty-odd years Perilla and I had been married. That had been right at the start, in fact the following year, when we’d been in Antioch looking into the death of Germanicus at the behest of the old empress Livia, and he’d commanded one of the Syrian legions. Five years later and back in Rome he’d been nailed for judicial corruption and exiled by Tiberius. Gaius had recalled him, and since then he’d oiled his way back into society and politics, even to the extent of making suffect consul three years before, in Claudius’s first year as emperor: I’d’ve thought the smart old buffer would’ve had more sense than to make an appointment like that, but there you went, we all have our blind spots.
That, in sum, was pretty well all I knew about Publius Suillius Rufus, except that, from what Perilla had told me about him coupled with my own experience, he was a five-star, gold-plated wrong-‘un and a total, fully-paid-up bastard. A perfect match for Ligurinus, in other words. If Ligurinus – forget Caprius, the also-ran – was working for him, which given the usual patron-client relationship was practically a cert, then no great surprises there.
Where, how and why Oplonius came into things, now, that was the real puzzle, and something I had to talk over with Perilla. I’d got a couple of ideas, sure, but they were only that: unsupported theorising. Again, what we really needed was Damon; and Damon, thanks to bloody Eutacticus, we were unlikely to get.
Bugger.
Perilla was having her hair done when I got home – obviously, wearing Queen Philistis’s necklace had put her in mind of it – so I lay on the atrium couch and twiddled my thumbs until her maid Phryne had finished and taken all her bibs and bobs back out.
Women’s attitude to hair and hair-styling has always been a mystery to me. Oh, sure, I enjoy going down to Market Square for a haircut as much as the next man: barbers are the best, not to say the best-informed, conversationalists in Rome. Go where you will and you can be certain that together with the trim itself a few coppers will buy you a decent, intelligent conversation, as long as you keep off subjects like pre-Socratic metaphysics and pastoral poetry and stick to Green’s chances in the next racing meet or how so-and-so’s team of gladiators is shaping up. Me, I’m not a big racing or fights fan, so most
of the time I tend just to close my eyes and relax throughout the process. Which is fine with them as well, because Roman barbers know when to shut up and get on with it.
The point is, with men a haircut is a haircut is a haircut: you sit down in the chair, the lad gets busy with the shears and razor, and you leave fifteen minutes later looking neater and tidier than when you came, possibly with a hot tip for the up-and-coming Games. End of story. With women the cutting part of things, when it happens at all, is incidental and subordinate to the primping and curling and general to-and-fro of what-does-it-look-like-now, and it can take hours of infinitesimal tweaking and constant interplay between stylist and stylee before they’re finally satisfied.
I mean, why the hell do they bother? Life is just too fucking short.
So, anyway, there I was, twiddling my thumbs in imposed virtual silence right up to the last tweak.
‘Satisfied, lady?’ I said when Phryne had finally exited.
‘Yes, perfectly, thank you, Marcus,’ Perilla moved from the chair to the couch and lay down. ‘Now. How was your day?’
I told her. When I got to the part about Rufus she frowned.
‘You’re sure?’ she said. ‘That he’s involved, I mean?’
‘No, of course I’m not,’ I said. ‘But it’s the likeliest explanation, isn’t it? He was this Ligurinus’s patron, after all; he had to be, unless you know of another Publius Suillius Something who’d fit the bill.’
Her hand strayed up to one of the curls and she twisted at it gently. Yeah, well, that’s one good thing about Perilla: when you get down to it she’s no absolute perfectionist. Not where the preservation of recent hair-styling goes, anyway. ‘In that case, why?’ she said. ‘What possible interest could Rufus have in someone like Oplonius?’
I shrugged. ‘Search me. Even so, there has to be some connection.’
‘But they’re from completely different backgrounds, and they move in completely different worlds! Oplonius was a small-time provincial thief and swindler, and Rufus, for all his faults, is a society figure. Not from one of the top families, I grant you’ – the barest sniff; well, they hadn’t got on, even when they were married. Which is putting it mildly – ‘but he is an ex-consul, after all.’
Family Commitments (Marcus Corvinus Book 20) Page 13
