Illegally Dead (Marcus Corvinus Book 12)

by David Wishart

  ‘Marcus!’

  ‘– and after the amount of gratuitous provocation they’ve had to put up with, separately and together, if it’d been me I’d’ve stiffed the bastard myself, months ago. By any sort of logic one of them should’ve killed him, or both, and he’d’ve deserved it a dozen times over. The only problem is that I’d bet a gold piece to a poke in the eye that neither of them did. Or if they did then they are bloody good actors, that’s all I can say.’ I slammed the winecup down on the marble table between us and the wine spilled. ‘Hell!’

  ‘Marcus, stop it.’

  I frowned, then grinned and reached down for the jug beside my chair. ‘Okay. Sorry, lady. Tantrum over. But it’s frustrating.’

  ‘Yes, so I see. Tell me about your day, in detail.’

  I took a deep breath and did.

  ‘So what we’ve got at present,’ she said when I’d finished, ‘barring the will business and the question of who the man who attacked Hostilius was, is the missing brother-in-law Castor as prime suspect. Yes?’

  ‘Yeah. Obviously whatever happened that last day between him and Hostilius is crucial, but even without it the guy has form. One’ - I held down a finger - ‘he’s got ambitions to be a lawyer himself, he has his sister’s and Acceius’s support, but he’s been stymied because his brother-in-law’s taken a violent dislike to him. Two’ - I held down the second finger - ‘Hostilius has just blown the final whistle; he’s out of the firm and out of the family home. Three’ - the third finger - ‘he and Veturina are very close, and if he’s got anything going for him at all he won’t’ve taken too kindly to the shit that both of them have been putting up with and unlike her he might well’ve been prepared to do something drastic about it.’ I paused. ‘Sound reasonable so far?’

  ‘What about opportunity? From what you told me Castor would’ve had none. He disappeared the morning of the day before Hostilius’s death and hasn’t been seen since.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Bugger. I’d been trying to avoid thinking of that one.

  ‘Unless of course he didn’t disappear. At least, not immediately.’

  I looked at her. ‘You’re saying he went back home when he left Hostilius’s?’

  ‘It would be the natural thing to do, wouldn’t it? In fact, I’d be surprised if he didn’t, certainly if he intended to go away for any length of time. After all, he’d left Hostilius in town, he knew where he was. He’d need clothes, money, that sort of thing. And if he was as close to his sister as he’s supposed to be then he wouldn’t leave her without a word of explanation, would he? He might even tell her where he was going.’

  Shit. She was right, of course, and when you thought about it it was obvious. The only reason I hadn’t done was it meant that sweet-as-pie Veturina was lying through her teeth; not to mention straight-down-the-line-honest Scopas, because no major-domo worth his salt could not know what was going on in his own manor. And that meant...

  ‘Veturina knows or suspects that Castor was responsible for her husband’s death,’ I said. ‘Or thinks he could be.’

  ‘Yes. Or, of course, she and Castor engineered the thing together, or at least she knew beforehand that her brother was planning it and did nothing to stop him,’ Perilla said calmly. ‘Remember, we don’t know what Castor’s quarrel with Hostilius was about, only the result. And even that might have been sufficient to tip the balance. Veturina might’ve been prepared to put up with Hostilius’s ill-treatment when it harmed only herself, but if she saw he was on the point of ruining her brother’s life as well that would’ve been another matter.’

  Yeah; right. Everyone has their breaking point; it was just a question of where, and love him as she undoubtedly did, like I’d said the lady had been pushed well to the edge already. I took a swallow of wine. Shit. Whatever the explanation, one thing was clear: Veturina still had serious beans to spill. And the sooner she spilled them the better.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll go and see her again tomorrow. Meantime, lady’ - I refilled my cup - ‘I’ve had enough. I’m giving sleuthing a break for the evening. What’s for dinner?’

  ‘Ah, now that was something I was going to tell you, dear,’ Perilla said nervously. ‘I don’t know if Meton’s back yet. He served us an early lunch and disappeared again immediately afterwards. I saw him heading down the drive myself.’ She paused. ‘He was wearing...well...he was wearing...a new tunic.’

  ‘A what?’ I stared at her open-mouthed. Gods! Meton never, never ever wore a new tunic! Oh, sure, he must’ve had one, in fact I know he did because Perilla kitted out the whole household fresh, me included, every Spring Festival, and we’d had that not long ago. But he never wore it, not new. How the slovenly bugger managed things, I don’t know - probably the way those narcissistic young prats-about-town manage to keep their designer stubble just the fashionable length - but he was a three-day-old tunic man to his grimy fingernails. Meton without grease stains and a distinct whiff of underarm sweat just wouldn’t be Meton.

  ‘Also,’ Perilla continued in a small voice, in the tone you’d use if you were telling someone their granny had just been run over by a stonemason’s cart, ‘he passed Alexis on the way to the gate, and Alexis thought he could smell perfume.’

  Oh, shit! ‘Perfume? Meton?’

  ‘Now don’t overreact, dear. I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation somewhere or other. And after all Alexis could’ve been mistaken.’

  Mistaken, hell: empires could rise and fall in the space between Meton’s normal body odour and the scent of perfume. I’d heard enough. I turned round and yelled: ‘Bathyllus!’

  The little bald-head came running up like there was a fire in the hypocaust. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Meton. Here. Now.’

  ‘I...ah...don’t know if he’s –’

  ‘Ascertain, sunshine. And when you’ve fucking ascertained and if he is around then tell him I want to see him as of yesterday. If he isn’t then let me know and when the bugger does get back I will personally detach his testicles using the bluntest knife I can find in his knife box. Clear?’

  He started a sniff, then caught my eye and thought better of it. ‘Clear, sir. Yes, sir.’

  He left. I fumed quietly while Perilla sat in silence, giving me occasional nervous looks.

  ‘Yeah? What is it now, Corvinus?’

  I turned round. Well, he’d changed back into his familiar gravy-stained togs, anyway. Alexis had been right, though: sweat there undoubtedly was, but it was laced with a distinct odour of violets.

  ‘Okay, Meton,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘About what?’

  I sighed. ‘Look, pal, I’m not an idiot.’ He sniggered. ‘You’ve got something cooking, and I don’t mean pork with cumin and onion seeds, either. So give.’

  ‘Don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Meton. When was the last time you put on a new tunic to go out and sprinkled yourself with essence of fucking violets?’

  ‘This afternoon.’

  Bugger. ‘Yeah, I know it was this afternoon, sunshine! That’s the whole point! What I want to know is why?’

  ‘No law against it, is there? Lookin’ and smellin’ nice? If I want to look an’ smell nice there’s no law that says I shouldn’t look and smell –’

  Gods! Enough! ‘Meton, you are grounded as of now, okay? I don’t know what you’re up to, but it’s something, and I am not taking the risk. Not after that sheep caused the biggest sodding damage to Roman prestige in Latium since the First Fucking Samnite War.’ He sniggered again. ‘Is that perfectly clear?’

  ‘Fine.’ He inserted a finger into his left nostril, waggled it about, withdrew it and inspected the result. ‘So I won’t be able to do the shopping in town from now on, then?’

  ‘Gods, Meton, we have a whole household of fucking bought help here –’

  ‘Marcus,’ Perilla said quietly.

  ‘– most of whom have the requisite nous to be able to successfully negotiate the intricacies of a shop
ping list and bring home the bacon, the cabbage, the lentils, the what-fucking-ever -’

  ‘Marcus!’

  ‘– that you need perfectly well without your personal involvement. Which is what will happen from now on.’

  He drew himself up like Scaevola getting ready to spit in Porsenna’s eye. ‘Suit yourself, Corvinus, you’re the boss. It’s your right to decide. Executive decision, like.’ He sniffed and inserted the finger again. ‘An’ if you’re fully prepared to take the responsibility an’ the consequences then…’

  Pause. Long, long, ominous pause. What is known, in the trade, as a hanging minatory apodosis. Shit. I knew what the bugger was saying, we all did. It was the culinary equivalent of moving up the heavy artillery to point-blank range, cranking the winches and saying ‘Right, then; lads, on a count of three...’

  Maybe I’d been just a little hasty here.

  ‘Ah...hold on, there,’ I said. ‘Maybe if we just agreed that you didn’t sort of loiter over the shopping, pal. Straight in, straight out, no messing, sort of thing. How would that be?’

  ‘Never fucking loitered or messed in my life. My shopping is constructive, Corvinus.’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah.’ I shot an anxious glance at Perilla, but apart from a slight tightening of the lips and two red spots on the cheeks the lady was keeping schtum. ‘Well, that’s very good, Meton, but –’

  ‘And what’s wrong with wanting to look smart? ‘S an inalienable human right, is that. Just because I’m a slave doesn’t mean I have to –’

  ‘Yeah, right, Meton, okay, pal.’ I was beginning to sweat myself. ‘Got it. Understood, no problem. Let’s just –’

  ‘I had that scent off Lysias since two Winter Festivals ago. It needed using.’

  ‘Yeah, that stuff does, or it rots the bottle. Ah...let’s just forget it, sunshine, okay? Perfume under the bridge. Water. Whatever. What’s for dinner?’

  His eyes lit up. ‘Actually, you’re lucky there, Corvinus. I’ve got this marinade I’ve been working on for braised kidneys. Pepper, aniseed, mint and ginger in wine must and vinegar, although I have my doubts about the ginger. The original recipe says dates, but I thought if I replaced them with figs –’

  ‘Great. Great. That sounds great, pal.’ Whew! He was talking food again. Crisis over. I stood up, clapped him on the shoulder, turned him round and gave him a gentle shove kitchenwards. ‘Look forward to it.’

  He ambled off. Perilla and I looked at each other.

  ‘Oh, well done, dear,’ she said. ‘Nicely handled again. Two nil to Meton, I would say.’

  ‘You want to live off gristle meatballs and mushy beets for the next month, lady? Because I don’t.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s a woman, do you? Remember all that trouble with Bathyllus?’

  ‘A woman? Meton?’ I considered the possibility. For about a tenth of a second. ‘Nah. No chance.’

  ‘That’s all right, then,’ Perilla said. ‘So long as you’re sure.’

  We were having breakfast the next morning when a messenger arrived from Hyperion to say that Quintus Acceius had been knifed.

  15

  ‘So what happened exactly?’

  Acceius was sitting on a stool in his study, naked to the waist, while Clarus changed the dressing and bandages his father had put on the evening before. The guy still looked pale.

  ‘I was coming home from a late visit to a client,’ he said. ‘Near the old shrine of Juturna. You know it?’

  ‘Yeah.’ On the outskirts of town, in the direction of the Bovillae gate. Not the most densely populated part of Castrimoenium because of the smell from the tannery and slaughterhouse nearby.

  ‘He came out of an alleyway behind me after I’d passed.’ Acceius winced as Clarus carefully removed the blood-soaked pad of linen from the wound. ‘He must’ve got ahead of me and been waiting. No warning, he had the knife drawn already. I was lucky, I managed to turn as he struck, and the fact that I was wearing a full mantle helped.’

  I looked while Clarus sponged the stitched-up wound clean. Yeah, he’d been lucky, all right: not a puncture wound but a long, deep cut running across his lower back all the way from side to spine. If it’d been the point of the knife that’d caught him, rather than the edge, he’d’ve had Trophius the undertaker in attendance this morning rather than Clarus.

  ‘You get a look at him?’

  He grinned. ‘Are you kidding, Corvinus? I had more important things to worry about at the time than taking notes on the bugger’s physiognomy for future reference. Such as staying alive. I have never, ever been so bloody petrified in my life! Besides, it was dark.’

  ‘Yeah, well...’

  ‘He was about three quarters my height, perhaps a fraction more. Short, thick, wiry hair, no cap, fairly heavily built. Breath smelled of raw onions. Oh, and he wasn’t young.’

  ‘About the age of the guy who attacked you and Hostilius?’

  Acceius considered. ‘No. I can’t be sure, of course, but...no, a bit younger. Middle-aged, and, as I say, in much better physical condition. Unfortunately.’

  ‘What happened then? After he stabbed you?’

  ‘I caught him a good sock in the face.’ He held up his right hand: the knuckles were bruised and cut. ‘Sheer bloody luck again that I connected, but I must’ve loosened a tooth or two at least. Then he...well, I think he’d’ve tried a second time but just then there was a noise from one of the houses nearby, someone opening a window and calling a cat in. That must’ve panicked him because he turned and ran.’

  ‘You didn’t follow him?’

  He laughed, then winced. ‘Corvinus, don’t do that, please! It hurts even to breathe at present. No I bloody well did not! I never even thought of it. I just stood there with my back against the wall feeling grateful that I was still alive and would be allowed to stay that way. Besides, I was beginning to hurt. I didn’t, at first, but now I was.’

  ‘So what did you do then?’

  ‘Went straight round to Hyperion’s. There was no point doing anything else. I knew I was bleeding like a stuck pig but so long as I kept moving the actual pain wasn’t too bad, and it wasn’t all that far, closer than home and much more sensible. I hammered on his door and fainted on the bloody doorstep.’ He grinned. ‘Bloody being the operative word. He patched me up, sent round to my house for slaves and a litter, and here I am.’

  ‘You hadn’t thought of taking a litter originally? To the client’s house, I mean? Or slaves, at least?’

  He shook his head. ‘This is Castrimoenium, not Rome. As far as distance goes you can walk from one side of it to the other, Bovillan to Caban gates, in fifteen minutes, and where street crime’s concerned it’s more likely to take the form of a straying mule than a footpad. Besides, I prefer walking about on my own, without dragging a pack of slaves along. Even after dark. I always have.’

  Yeah, well, I could appreciate that. I was the same, and walking around town after dark without protective muscle in Rome was a whole lot riskier than out here in the sticks. Even so... ‘You were the one who said you were being watched, pal,’ I said. ‘And you’d been attacked once already. Or your partner had.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ He drew his breath in sharply as Clarus pressed the new dressing over the wound while he made a start to the bandaging. ‘Corvinus, I know! It was stupid, I fully admit that, it almost got me killed, and I won’t make the mistake again. But you don’t think, do you? You imagine yourself immortal.’

  True: Perilla was always complaining that that was how I looked at things.

  ‘A couple of questions,’ I said. ‘Since I’m here.’

  ‘Of course. Ask away.’

  ‘When was the last time you actually saw Lucius Hostilius?’

  ‘To talk to, you mean?’

  ‘Does it make that much difference?’

  Acceius smiled. ‘Oh, yes. We...tended to avoid one another, as a rule, even when we were both in the office. Unless there was a reason not to, and then I was careful to be formal,
polite, unconfrontational and brief. So I suppose it would be the day after we were attacked, five days before his death, when I went round to see him at his villa. He hadn’t felt strong enough to come into town and there were two or three relatively urgent bits of documentation I knew he’d want to look at and discuss, so I took them up myself. Not that it was a long meeting, naturally, no more than half an hour if that. As I say, all our dealings latterly were wholly confined to business.’

  ‘You said the documents were urgent?’

  ‘Relatively urgent, yes.’

  ‘Mind telling me what they were about?’

  ‘In detail? Oh, they were a ragbag, Corvinus, and relatively urgent doesn’t preclude trivial. The only really important one was a letter from Publius Novius over in Bovillae - he’s the arch-enemy, in case you didn’t know, the rival firm - saying that a client of his who was selling property, hopefully to a client of ours, had decided to up his asking price by ten thousand.’ He grinned. ‘Which made Lucius absolutely livid, because our client had written to him originally quoting what was now the take-it-or-leave-it price as the maximum he was prepared to pay. Still, these things happen, and the locals around here are far more aware of what their property will fetch than they were twenty years ago.’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, right.’ I was frowning. ‘You discuss anything else? Like the Maecilius case, maybe?’

  ‘No. Not at all. There isn’t a lot to discuss about the Maecilius case, barring how to get Fimus out the other side of it with as much of his patrimony intact as possible. When it comes to court next month it’ll be a straightforward head-to-head, and I’m afraid that any exchange between me and Lucius on that subject latterly took the form mostly of mutual commiseration. It was one of the few topics we still saw eye to eye on.’

  ‘Right. Right.’ I’d been standing next to one of the pedestals with a portrait bust on top, the one of the young woman. Now I half-turned and caught it gently with the edge of my arm. The bust rocked a little and I put out a hand to steady it. ‘Sorry, pal. I’m getting clumsy in my old age.’