Fuck was right.
‘Yes, indeed.’ Gabba emptied his cup again and reached for my jug. ‘My belief, Pontius old mate, for what it’s worth, is that someone slipped the legal gentleman a noxious foreign substance on the sly and someone else has rumbled the fact and called our lad down to finger the perp. What do you say yourself?’
‘Gabba -’
‘Of course I could be wrong. Put your head out the door and check for flying pigs.’
Jupiter! I tried again. ‘Gabba, watch my lips. There has not been a murder. Okay?’
‘You know your right eyebrow twitches when you lie?’
So must Sisyphus have felt when he saw his fucking rock roll back for the umpteenth-millionth time. I sighed and poured myself another shot of wine before the bastard finished the jug for me. ‘Look, just get the hell off my back, will you?’ I said. ‘We’re spending a few days with our adopted daughter and Perilla’s aunt, right? No other reason, that is it. Finish, end of story.’
Gabba shrugged. ‘Have it your own way, consul,’ he said. ‘Not that it surprises me, mind. Word is the man was asking to be stiffed.’
‘Is that so, now.’
‘Could’ve been the wife did it. Could’ve been the partner.’ He winked. ‘Could’ve been the both of them together, wouldn’t be the first time that’d happened. Convenient, that’s what I call it.’
‘Nah, I don’t believe that one. Quintus Acceius isn’t the philandering type.’ Pontius picked up my jug and shook it. ‘Looking a bit empty already, Corvinus. You want the other half?’
‘Yeah, why not?’ I said sourly. ‘I might strike really, really lucky and have some of it to myself this time.’ Shit. Well, I’d tried. And so long as I didn’t actually confirm anything there was no comeback. ‘I thought you said his partner saved this Hostilius’s life. Why should he kill him seven days later?’
‘Did we mention exactly when the gentleman died, Pontius?’ Gabba gave me a beatific smile. ‘I suppose we must’ve done.’ Bugger! ‘Never mind. Well, Corvinus, the general consensus of local gossip is that relations between the two weren’t exactly amicable. Chiefly because on separate occasions Hostilius had accused the man in public of screwing his wife and told Acceius’s own wife to her face, ditto, that she was no better than a whore. Both loudly, at length, and with full appropriate embellishment. That do you for motive?’ I said nothing. ‘Me, I wouldn’t blame either of them for getting rid of the bastard just on general principles. He was an embarrassment all round and getting worse.’
‘Come on, Gabba!’ Pontius grunted, setting down my fresh half jug. ‘Have a bit of charity. Everyone knew he couldn’t help it. Besides, the man’s dead. “Nothing but good”, remember?’
An easy-going lad, Pontius, but he was beginning to sound a little tetchy. Gabba in full flow tended to have that effect on people. Tactful and politically correct were two things the guy wasn’t.
‘Maybe so, maybe so.’ Gabba took another careful sip of his wine. ‘Of course, if Wonder Boy the great detective isn’t looking for motives to murder Lucius Hostilius then he won’t want to know about Fimus either. That right, Corvinus?’
‘For the gods’ sake!’ Pontius had been leaning on the bar. Now he straightened and turned away. ‘That’s it, Gabba, enough’s enough! You’ve had your fun, but the joke’s over.’
‘Fimus?’ I said. The word means dung.
‘Marcus Maecilius, “Lucky”’s second son.’ Gabba was grinning. Pontius still had his back to us.
‘Yeah? So if he’s got a handle already then why Fimus?’
‘Ah, well, now, I’m glad you asked that. Nothing to do with non-existent murders, of course, but of marginal interest in itself. Would you happen to have any of that wine spare?’ I sighed and slid the new half jug over. Gabba refilled his cup. ‘Fimus is your solid agricultural type, you see, close to the earth and redolent of nature at her most basic, and he’s also only got one eye.’
He waited, expectantly.
‘Uh...so?’ I said finally.
‘One eye? Fimus as in Polyphemus? It’s what we simple folk out here in the sticks call a bilingual pun, consul, combined with a recherché literary illusion.’
Oh, shit!
‘The word’s allusion, Gabba, boy,’ Pontius murmured, turning round. ‘Literary allusion.’
‘By gods, your wine must be getting better.’ Gabba took a swallow. ‘No, same old dishwater. Must’ve been just a slip of the tongue after all.’
Pontius snorted, and I grinned despite myself. ‘Gabba, just tell me straight, okay?’ I said. ‘About how this Fimus fits into things.’
‘No, I’ll tell you.’ That was Pontius. ‘Fimus and Hostilius were talking together. Then Hostilius starts shouting, he calls Fimus a thief and a liar and smacks his face. That’s all that happened, Corvinus. All there was to it.’
‘Yeah? When was this?’
‘Eight or nine days ago in the square outside.’
‘You know why?’
‘No, Fimus wouldn’t say, nor Hostilius either. Fimus just walked off and left him standing. That’s it. All there is.’
‘Come on, Pontius!’ Gabba took another swallow of wine. ‘You know damn well what it was about, or you can guess!’
Pontius moved over to stand in front of him. He was looking serious as hell now, and he’s a big lad. Their eyes locked, and Gabba edged back on his stool.
‘Maybe I can at that,’ Pontius said slowly. ‘There again, maybe I’d be wrong. But in any case, boy, it’s none of my business, and it’s not yours or Corvinus’s either. There’s been no crime committed as far as we know’ - he looked at me, and I stared back expressionlessly - ‘and I won’t hear the dead or the living slandered in my bar just for amusement. Now you’ve had your fun and it’s over. Call it a day or drink up. The same goes for you, Corvinus.’
The silence lengthened. Finally, Gabba waved his hand like he’d burned the fingers.
‘Ouch!’ He shrugged. ‘Very well, Pontius lad, point made and taken on board. You care to choose a subject for conversation?’
Pontius sucked a tooth for a few seconds, frowning. Then he grinned. ‘Rome’s always good for a laugh,’ he said.
Confrontation over; a good lad, Pontius, and he can gauge his clientele to a T. We shot the breeze about Rome, and the new emperor, and finished the other half jug.
Hmm.
5
When I got home mid-afternoon Perilla was sitting in the atrium with the two youngsters head-to-head over a game of Robbers.
‘Oh, hello, Marcus.’ Perilla put down her book. ‘Did you have a nice morning?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, it was okay.’ I planted the requisite smacker and pulled up a stool. ‘Libanius arrived yet?’
‘About fifteen minutes ago. He’s with Aunt Marcia and Hyperion in the study.’
‘Fine. Hey, Clarus!’
‘Yes, Corvinus?’ He looked up.
‘You know of anyone by the name of Fimus?’
‘Sure, he farms over by Six Cedars. Marcus Maecilius.’
‘Hear of a connection between him and Lucius Hostilius at all?’
‘Yes. Hostilius and Acceius are representing him in a court case against his brother.’
‘Acceius?’ Perilla said.
‘Hostilius’s partner.’ I turned back to Clarus. ‘You know what the case is about?’
Clarus grinned. ‘If I didn’t I’d be the only one in Castrimoenium.’
‘They’re wrangling over old “Lucky” Maecilius’s will,’ Marilla said.
‘Happen to know the details?’
‘Not as such,’ Clarus said. ‘But the gist of it is that although his elder son got most of the cash old Maecilius left all the land to Fimus.’
‘That so, now?’ Well, as a valid reason for litigation you wouldn’t get better, not somewhere like Castrimoenium. In farming districts like Latium they take land very, very seriously, and there isn’t a surer way to split a family at a death than a spat over how the acres
are divided. Besides, Pontius had said there was quite a bit of actual money involved, too, which might well’ve complicated matters. But it raised a question in its own right. If anything, barring a general parcelling-out - and I could see that that’d cause problems of its own - testamentary dispensations usually went the other way, with the property in toto going to the eldest son and the younger ones taking their share of the available cash. Maecilius was a farmer to his boots, he must’ve known a cack-handed arrangement like that would lead to trouble. ‘He have a reason for doing things that way, do you know? Old “Lucky”, I mean?’
‘Certainly. Or at least, it makes good practical sense. Fimus’s worked Six Cedars with his father all his life. Bucca’s no farmer, never has been.’
‘Bucca? That’s the other son?’ They did like their nicknames, the Castrimoenians: the word means ‘The Mouth’ or ‘Bragger’.
‘Yes. He’s got a carting and saddlery business in town. His name’s really Gaius, but Bucca’s what everyone calls him. It fits, too.’
‘Not a popular bunny, then?’
That got a grin. ‘Oh, no.You won’t find many locals who’ve much time for Bucca Maecilius. Nor did his father, for that matter. The general opinion is he was lucky to get as much as he did, and as far as the court case is concerned he hasn’t got a hope in hell.’
‘Why do you think Hostilius’d call -?’ I began, but I was interrupted by the sight of Marcia and Hyperion coming from the direction of the study with Quintus Libanius in tow. ‘Never mind, we’ll pick up on that one later.’
‘Ah, Valerius Corvinus, you’re here.’ Libanius came across, hand outstretched, and I stood up. ‘A pleasure to see you again.’
‘Likewise. How are you, Libanius?’ We shook.
‘Hello, Marcus.’ Marcia lowered herself carefully onto her usual stool and straightened a fold of her mantle. She looked old, even older than she usually did; but maybe that was just me noticing it more. ‘Now. Hyperion and I have discussed the situation with Quintus and he fully understands the position.’
‘Absolutely,’ Libanius said. He had that glazed, punch-drunk look about him that being on the receiving end of one of Marcia’s discussions leaves you with. ‘Hyperion’s quite right, Corvinus, the matter ought to be investigated. Consequently I’d be grateful for any help you can give.’ He paused. ‘However, there is the major problem of a formal charge. I’ve told the Lady Marcia that as representative of the town authorities I’m more than willing to provide you with authorisation for an investigation, but –’
He stopped. The guy looked unhappy, and I didn’t blame him. Yeah, that aspect of things had been worrying me too. Hell!
‘But Hostilius’s death wasn’t obvious murder.’ I filled in what he hadn’t said. ‘No obvious murder, no excuse for a public enquiry, certainly not without the family’s permission. Meaning, in this case, the guy’s wife. And if - what’s her name; Veturina? - doesn’t give it, and why should she because she’d be a prime suspect if not the actual villain, then we’re completely in schtook. Right?’
Libanius looked even more unhappy. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘And that is exactly where we’re likely to remain. As far as Veturina is concerned at present - assuming she wasn’t responsible - her husband died a natural death. Nothing and no one has suggested otherwise. It would be unreasonable to expect her to approve an enquiry even if she were completely innocent, and if we did hold one she’d have a perfect right to refuse her co-operation.’
‘I’ve told Quintus that, Hyperion being to all intents and purposes a client of mine, I would be prepared to bring a formal legal charge myself,’ Marcia said. ‘The drawback is that I would have to cite a specific person as the one responsible. Which of course in advance of a proper investigation would be a nonsense.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, right,’ I said. Bugger! This was not looking good.
‘So you see, Corvinus,’ - Libanius spread his hands - ‘we’re caught. No proof of murder - or no formal accusation - no investigation; no investigation, no proof of murder. Oh, yes: if Hyperion were to report the business with the medicine bottle officially, even now, I could take unilateral action myself. Unfortunately, in law that would immediately entail, ipso facto, at least the torture of the household’s slaves, and Hyperion will not accept this under any circumstances. Barring that, and given the Lady Marcia’s understandable scruples, I see no course of action but to leave things as they are.’
Shit. ‘So what you’re saying,’ I said, ‘is that you need some piece of evidence - some solid piece of evidence - besides the medicine bottle, that points to a murder.’
‘Yes. Until we have that then I’m afraid -’
‘Excuse me, sir.’ Bathyllus butlered in from the direction of the lobby. ‘But there’s a messenger arrived to speak to Quintus Libanius.’
‘Ah.’Libanius frowned. ‘I’m sorry, I left word with my major-domo that I’d be contactable here if I was needed for any reason. If you’ll excuse me a moment?’
‘Sure,’ I said.
He left. For a moment, there was silence. Then: ‘Corvinus, you can’t give up!’ Marilla snapped.
‘Marilla’s right,’ Clarus said. ‘Hostilius was murdered, you know he was. We can’t just -’
‘Princess. Clarus.’ Jupiter, this was a real downer. ‘You heard the guy. I told you, without some sort of official standing here my hands are tied.’
‘That hasn’t stopped you before,’ Perilla said quietly.
‘No, it hasn’t.’ Marcia glared at me. ‘Nor should it be stopping you now. Marcus Valerius Corvinus, I’m surprised at you. If Libanius says we need additional proof then we will simply have to think how it is to be got. There’s the Hostilius household for a start. One of the slaves might have seen something, or -’
‘You heard Libanius, Marcia. I can’t go questioning Hostilius’s slaves without his wife’s permission, and she isn’t likely to give it.’
‘Nonsense! Hyperion could arrange something easily. Couldn’t you, Hyperion?’
‘Certainly. Nothing easier,’ Hyperion said. ‘I’m sure under the circumstances Scopas - that’s the major-domo, if you recall - would co-operate fully, and I’d stake my life that he’s above suspicion himself.’
‘There you are. It’s a beginning. Also, Marcus,’ - Marcia’s chin lifted - ‘I may not get around as much as I used to, but I do have some influence not only locally but in Rome, which if necessary I am fully prepared to use.’
I was grinning despite myself. I didn’t underestimate that last bit of unsolicited support, either. Given the choice of having the authority of the Castrimoenian senate behind me or a damn-your-eyes war-to-the-knife commitment from the widow of the Divine Augustus’s friend and chief adviser, I’d take the second option any day. Like it or not, the steel-strong Old Boy and Old Girl network still runs the empire. A few carefully-worded letters from Marcia to her blue-blood, henna-rinsed epistolary pals in Rome and we’d probably have the head Foreign Judge in person tanking down here with the authorisation ready signed.
‘Yeah, well,’ I said. ‘Maybe –’
Which was as far as I got before Libanius reappeared. With that mass of facial hair getting in the way I couldn’t read his expression exactly, but from the change in his manner whatever the message had been it hadn’t come from his laundress.
‘I don’t know which particular god looks after the investigative proclivities of men like yourself, Corvinus,’ he said, ‘but I suggest that you owe him or her a whopping great sacrifice. That was one of the public slaves from the Town Watch office. Someone’s found a body.’
I stared at him. Marilla whispered: ‘Oh, great!’
‘Whose body, Quintus?’ Marcia said.
‘A young slave belonging to Hostilius’s household. His name was Cosmus.’
‘Ah,’ Hyperion said.
‘You know him?’ Libanius said.
‘Of him, yes. Well, well. Now that’s interesting.’
‘He had certain articles in his be
lt-pouch that he could only have stolen, and stolen only from Hostilius’s bedroom. They included, crucially, the dead man’s signet ring. Taking that fact together with your suspicions over the medicine bottle, Hyperion, we now have a prima-facie case for murder.’
‘You think this slave murdered Hostilius for the sake of a ring and a few bedroom trifles?’ Marcia said. ‘It seems rather unlikely, doesn’t it?’
‘Of course it does.’ Libanius frowned. ‘That isn’t the point. What’s important is the existence of the technicality: that Hostilius died to someone’s advantage under what can now be revealed as ambiguous circumstances. That’s all I needed. You have your investigation.’
‘And the slaves?’ Hyperion said.
Libanius hesitated. ‘There,’ he said carefully, ‘I think I’m entitled to use my discretion. Again technically, the murderer is already caught. If we don’t push the letter of the law too far - and I’m trying very hard, at present, not to think too deeply about likelihoods and legalities here - then putting the rest of the household’s slaves to the torture is neither strictly necessary nor - because it would seriously affect their value as commodities - would it be economically justified. You’d agree, Lady Marcia?’
‘Oh, well done, Quintus!’ Marcia murmured. ‘Very neat!’
‘It’s brilliant!’ Marilla was beaming. ‘Isn’t it, Corvinus?’
‘Yeah.’ It was, too: a beautiful piece of legal doublethink with a nice slice of good old-fashioned hard-headed business practice thrown in. I was beginning to have a lot of respect for Libanius. ‘Uh...where was the body found?’
‘In a well on the old Bavius property, not far from Hostilius’s villa.’
‘In a well?’
‘It was sheer luck. The property’s been empty since Bavius’s widow died a year ago, and the new owner - he’s a cousin, lives in Rome - hadn’t shown much interest. Now, seemingly, he wants to sell it as a holiday home. He contacted two local builders to check the place over. One of the things they checked, of course, was the well, and - there you are.’
Illegally Dead (Marcus Corvinus Book 12) Page 3
