Illegally Dead (Marcus Corvinus Book 12)

by David Wishart

  Dusty was right; or maybe cobwebby would be a better word if the condition of the guy’s tunic and hair was anything to go by. From the look on his face he wasn’t exactly full of the joys of spring and goodwill to all men, either. To put it mildly. Seriously pissed off would just about cover things, if you didn’t mind the gross understatement.

  Uh-oh.

  ‘Ah...hi, Alexis,’ I said. ‘How’s it going, pal?’

  ‘What does it look like, sir?’ He blew a cobweb away from his mouth. ‘One guess. Just one. Please consider your reply carefully.’

  The clerk smiled nervously. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ he said to me. ‘You can find your own way back, I expect?’

  He exited.

  Alexis rammed the bundle of record tablets he was holding into one of the topmost pigeonholes and came slowly down the ladder.

  ‘So, uh, no luck so far, right?’ I said brightly.

  He gave me five clear seconds of eyeball. Then he said: ‘Valerius Corvinus, do you know how many - perishing - trial records there are on these - perishing - shelves between the consulships of Lucius Aelius Lamia and Drusus - perishing - Caesar?’

  ‘That’s the length you’ve got, is it, pal? Drusus Caesar, eh? Wow, that is very, very –’

  ‘One thousand, one hundred and sixty-three. And two-thirds.’

  ‘Two-thirds?’

  ‘Mice.’

  I’d been edging back towards the door. ‘Congratulations, Alexis,’ I said. ‘You’re doing a sterling job, and I’m impressed. Don’t worry, we’ll get there eventually.’

  ‘Will we now, sir? Marvellous, bully for us. That cheers me up no end.’

  ‘Ah...good. Good. I’m glad.’ I found the door-handle and turned it gratefully. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, pal, I was just calling in in passing. I’ve got, uh, important business elsewhere. Don’t work too hard. I’ll catch you later, okay?’

  I left, quickly, before he could unclench his jaw and answer, and made my way back to the counter. So where now? Publius Novius’s, obviously. I didn’t really have an excuse for calling on the guy, but if Quintus Libanius’s name was enough for the records clerk it might just get me a hearing on its own.

  ‘Finished already?’ The clerk looked surprised.

  ‘Yeah. No point in distracting the lad while he’s working.’ I lifted the flap and let myself out. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know where Publius Novius’s office is, would you?’

  ‘Novius the lawyer? Certainly, nothing easier. Only a couple of blocks from here, near the baths. Go out of the door, turn left and carry on straight ahead. There is a sign.’

  ‘Great. Thanks, pal. I’ll, ah, call in again this afternoon to see how Alexis is doing before I go back to Castrimoenium.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll appreciate that hugely, sir.’

  ‘Right. Right.’

  I left the mare where I’d parked her and followed the directions as given. I hadn’t gone more than the distance to the first side-street when I noticed an opening twenty yards down it with a sign on the gatepost saying: ‘Tuscius: Slaves.’

  Had it been Scopas who’d said that Hostilius had bought Cosmus from Tuscius in Bovillae? I couldn’t remember offhand, but it probably had been. In any case, since I was passing anyway it was worth a visit. Cosmus, and how he fitted into all this, still worried me, and if my memory served the kid had been reticent about where he’d been previous to joining the Hostilius ménage.

  I took a sharp left and went through the gate...

  ‘Good morning, sir! And how may I help you?’

  Jupiter! That was fast! The guy must’ve been lurking behind the carefully-trimmed topiary peacocks in the yard, like one of Alexis’s spiders. He’d the look of an arachnid too: fat belly, spindly legs, greasy smile. Well, the metaphor had to break down somewhere.

  ‘You Tuscius, pal?’ I said.

  ‘Marcus Tuscius, yes, sir. You want a slave, I presume? Or several slaves? Always a wide range in stock, sir, to suit every pocket and requirement, every one carrying the Tuscius personal guarantee.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Totally sound in wind and limb when sold, sir. Should he or she drop dead within three months of purchase then we’ll replace with equivalent or refund up to three quarters of the purchase price, conditions apply, mutatis mutandis, acts of god and plague excepted. Male slave, sir? Female?’ He leered. ‘We’ve a special offer at present on flutegirls. Buy one and you get a Nubian contortionist half price.’

  ‘Ah...’

  ‘Or if your tastes run in another direction there’s our Ganymede Special. Two luscious, peach-buttocked young –’

  ‘Pal,’ I said. ‘Just shut up, okay?’

  ‘If you insist, sir.’

  ‘You remember selling a slave by the name of Cosmus to Lucius Hostilius? The lawyer over in Castrimoenium?’

  The little piggy eyes narrowed. ‘When would this be?’

  ‘Uh...’ I couldn’t remember, exactly. ‘A year ago? Maybe two?’

  He beamed. ‘Out of guarantee, I’m afraid. Even with our extended warranty.’

  Gods! ‘I’m not here to complain, sunshine. Even though he did murder his master.’

  Tuscius blanched. ‘He did what?’

  ‘Not off his own bat. He was put up to it.’

  ‘Nevertheless.’ Tuscius glanced nervously over his shoulder. ‘Sir, I assure you...what’s your name?’

  ‘Corvinus. Valerius Corvinus.’

  ‘I assure you, Valerius Corvinus, I would rather have gnawed my own arm off, this arm here, sir’ - he held it up - ‘than knowingly have sold a defective slave. We’ll refund the full purchase price, naturally. If you’re the next-of-kin then subject to your producing notarised verification of the claim and of your own relationship with the deceased –’

  ‘Tuscius...’

  ‘– there’ll be no difficulty. I’ll even throw in a flutegirl as a goodwill gesture, or a peach-buttocked whatever, at a specially-discounted price.’

  ‘Pal. All I want to know is where you bought him from.’

  He stared at me. ‘Really? That’s all?’

  ‘Read my lips.’

  ‘Then you’d better come into the office and I’ll check my records.’

  I did, and he did.

  Cosmus had been sold to Marcus Tuscius thirteen months ago by Publius Novius.

  Shit!

  ‘You happen to remember anything about the kid?’ I said. ‘Or the sale itself?’

  The eyes took on a guarded look. ‘Oh, now, sir. You said very distinctly only a few minutes ago that you only wanted the name of the seller. Besides, I can’t be expected to remember every –’

  ‘No hassle, Tuscius. I promise you. On the other hand, when this business reaches open court, as it will, and if I happen to be asked which firm supplied the slave who so tragically –’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ His hand pawed at my sleeve. ‘Point taken. Now I come to think, Valerius Corvinus, I do recall something of the boy. Good-looking lad, not the sharpest knife in the drawer but well-spoken enough and with a nice manner. There’s quite a turnaround for that sort of slave in the first-time-buyer domestic market. Easy on the eye without being too flash, no problems with temperament, cheap to run, keep their trade-in value well if you want to upgrade after two or three years to a more streamlined model with more between the ears or a bit more oomph in other departments. Of course -’

  ‘Did Novius give you any reason for selling him?’

  ‘Not that I remember offhand, sir. And I wouldn’t have the effrontery to ask, not where an old customer like Publius Novius was concerned. He bought the first slave I ever sold, sir, when I took over the business eighteen years back, top of the range, Greek-speaking accountant with all his own teeth and only twenty-eight years on the clock. Didn’t quibble over the asking price, either. You don’t forget something like that when you’re a young man just starting up and have to watch your profit margins, it means a lot. And he’s been a regular ever since, no
t one of the “nip up to Rome where they stack them high and sell them cheap” set, always dealt locally. Honestly, sir, it makes your blood boil when you see –’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, right. Did, uh, Hostilius buy Cosmus himself? Personally, I mean?’

  ‘No, I’ve never met the gentleman. That was his wife, sir, and her brother, if I recall correctly. Them I do know, or know of, because they’re Bovillans. Family has the wineshop by the Appian Gate, has had for years.’

  ‘And this would be when?’

  ‘You saw it in the ledger, sir. Two days after I bought the lad myself.’

  Uh-huh. ‘That usual, pal? Such a quick turnaround?’

  ‘Not unusual. I said: that kind of slave’s popular. They don’t spend all that long on the forecourt, not like the really expensive specialist models or some of the two-a-penny agricultural workhorses. A real drug on the market, they can be, sometimes, especially in the winter months when they need more feeding and there isn’t all that much for them to do.’

  ‘They just walk in off the street? Veturina and Castor?’

  ‘More or less. That isn’t unusual either, sir. I’ve got quite a thriving business and the stock moves on quite quickly. Also there are the, well, the special offers, sir. So we get a fair number of browsers, and although I can’t say the impulse-buyer market’s all that significant it’s a steady earner.’

  ‘So they weren’t regular customers?’

  ‘No. Not per se, as it were.’ Tuscius sucked on a tooth. ‘Oh, I’ve sold a few slaves to the Hostilius household over the years, sir, and bought a few as well, but the gentleman’d always dealt through his major-domo up to then. Scopas, the name is, he’s a Bovillan too.’

  ‘How do you mean, a Bovillan?’

  ‘He came with the lady as part of her dowry, quite a slice of it too because he knows his job back to front. Not that I sold him to old Veturinus myself, naturally, that was my predecessor in the business. Good eye for a slave, Scopas has. You know him?’

  ‘Yeah, I know him. So Scopas was Veturina’s slave originally? Not Hostilius’s?’

  ‘No. Technically he was the gentleman’s. But old Veturinus paid the bill.’

  I frowned. ‘Uh...thanks, friend. I’m much obliged.’

  ‘You’re most welcome, sir. While you’re here you wouldn’t care to look over –?’

  ‘No. No, not today.’

  ‘As you please, sir. Don’t forget where we are, though.’

  ‘I won’t. Thanks again.’

  Okay; onward and upward, to Publius Novius’s. Like Acceius’s office in Castrimoenium, it was quite a swish affair, with a prominent sign, a marble-columned porch and a smartly-dressed door slave. A good business to be in, obviously, the legal trade.

  ‘Good morning, sir.’ The clerk was a younger version of Fuscus, but with the same brisk efficiency. The anteroom was impressive, too: marble and bronze statues seemed to be de rigeur where law practice decor was concerned.

  ‘I was hoping to talk to Publius Novius, pal,’ I said. ‘He around at present?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. He’s in Antium until tomorrow. Was it urgent?’

  ‘Fairly urgent.’ Damn.

  ‘Then I’m sure I can help. Your name is..?’

  ‘Corvinus. Valerius Corvinus.’ Was that a flicker? ‘Actually, though, it’s sort of private and personal. Could I make an appointment, do you think?’

  ‘No problem at all. Let’s have a look at the book.’ He consulted a wax tablet on the desk beside him. ‘The day after tomorrow’s relatively free, the morning at least. I can let you have one first thing, or would you prefer later?’

  ‘Later’d be better. I have to come over from Castrimoenium.’

  ‘Really?’ Definitely a flicker there. ‘Very well. Shall we make it the fifth hour, then?’

  An hour before noon. ‘That’d be great,’ I said.

  He made a note. ‘And you’re sure you wouldn’t like to give some sort of indication of what the matter’s about? In the most general terms? Just so that Publius Novius can be prepared for you.’

  Uh-uh; now that I certainly didn’t want. ‘I’d rather not, friend. Like I say, it’s private and personal.’

  ‘Just as you like.’ He set the tablet aside. ‘I look forward to seeing you then, Valerius Corvinus.’

  ‘Fine.’

  So. Just shy of noon, time for a bite of lunch and a cup of wine before I ran a last check on Alexis and headed back. There was a wineshop in the main square with a small terrace outside that looked inviting, but while I was in Bovillae I might as well mix business with pleasure and have them at Veturina’s family’s place. Next to the Appian Gate, Tuscius had said, so I must’ve passed it on the way in.

  The mare looked quite happy where she was, by the horse-trough, it wasn’t all that far and I’d have to come back anyway. I set off towards the gate on foot.

  22

  It was an old-fashioned wineshop, the sort that Gaius Marius might’ve sneaked his first underage drink in: stone-flagged floor, counter that was solid enough to have formed part of the town’s defences, no tables, just stools at the bar, and a very respectable selection of very local wines on the rack. My kind of place, definitely: these days, with the influx into Latium of rich, holiday-home smoothies from the Big City, you’re getting an increasing number of chichi winebars à la Tuscan Street and points adjacent, with carefully co-ordinated or themed decor and third-rate wine masquerading under a first-rate name and priced accordingly.

  Old-fashioned clientele, too. The only other guy in the place apart from me and the barman looked like he could’ve bought the young Marius his second cup.

  ‘Day, sir.’ The barman was a close ringer for Castor, but a much older version: twenty years older, at least. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘A half jug of the Bovillan’d be fine, pal,’ I said. ‘You do food?’

  ‘Cold sausage, cheese and pickles. Nothing hot.’

  ‘That’ll do nicely.’ I reached into my belt-pouch and pulled out some coins while he hefted the flask and poured. Big lad, and he’d worn well, late fifties or not.

  ‘You from Rome?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah. ‘Fraid so.’

  ‘Holiday?’

  ‘Yeah. My wife’s got an aunt in Castrimoenium.’

  ‘Really?’ His back was to me, but I caught the tonic equivalent of the lowered eyebrows and the frown. The old guy at the other end of the bar lifted his head and stared at me. Yeah, right: I could see the family resemblance there, too.

  ‘I understand you’ve got relatives there yourself,’ I said. No harm in putting out feelers.

  He turned round and set the filled half jug with a cup on the counter. ‘Who told you that?’ he said sharply.

  ‘No hassle, pal.’ I poured and sipped. It was good stuff, almost as good as Pontius’s, in its class, and that’s high praise. ‘I was just making conversation. Maybe I’ve got the wrong wineshop.’

  ‘No, you’re right enough, sir. You know Veturina and Castor?’

  ‘I’ve met them.’

  ‘Yeah, you would have.’ Then, when I raised an eyebrow: ‘Oh, no offence, sir, none in the world, that’s not the way I mean it. It’s just that purple stripe of yours...well, Veturina and Castor move in higher circles than we do. Right, Dad?’

  The old man at the end of the bar nodded. ‘The girl made a good match, right enough,’ he said smugly. It was like hearing a whisper through gravel.

  ‘You don’t see much of them now, then,’ I said.

  ‘Nah. Nothing since Castor left a couple of years back and moved in with her.’ The barman sliced sausage and arranged it on a plate with pickles from the jar and a wedge of goat’s cheese. ‘Helping us to run this place wasn’t good enough for him. Wanted to be a fucking lawyer.’ He set two quarters of a loaf onto the plate. ‘Sorry, sir, there was no call for that.’

  ‘No problem.’ I pulled the plate towards me and tried the sausage. That was good as well, smoked pork with cumin and lovage. A
real find, Veturinus’s. ‘I’m not too keen on lawyers myself.’

  ‘He was always ambitious, young Castor,’ the old man said. ‘Even when he was a boy. He knew what he wanted and he’d go right for it, whatever was in the way. Him and Veturina, they was a pair even though there was twenty years between them and they’d different mothers, always together when she came visiting. And close as –’

  ‘Dad! Gentleman doesn’t want to hear no ramblings, now.’ The barman wrapped up the rest of the sausage.

  ‘Oh, that’s okay,’ I said. ‘Brother and sister. What would you expect?’

  That got me a sideways look, but the guy didn’t say anything more. I took a proper swallow of the wine.

  ‘She’ll be well set up now, though, won’t she?’ the father went on. ‘Rich widow with everyone chasing after her. You’ll know that the husband died, sir? Not long back?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, so I heard.’

  ‘They say he’d been ailing for a long time. A shame. He was a fine man in his day, Lucius Hostilius. Used to have a practice here in Bovillae, before he moved over to Castrimoenium. Lived just down the road, came in here a lot and sat just where you’re sitting, sir. This was where they met, because Veturina used to help out sometimes when we were busy after her mother died and before I married again.’

  ‘That so, now?’

  The old man chuckled. ‘“I’ll have him, Dad, just you wait.”. That’s what she used to say to me, the minx, after he was gone of an evening. And why not? He was a bachelor, good-looking, rich enough but nothing special because he was only just starting out and only half a dozen years older than she was. And she was a cracker, my Veturina. All the lads were after her, not that they got any encouragement after she clapped eyes on him. Hostilius, too: proper taken, he was, hook, line and sinker. Have him she did, in the end, and good luck to her.’

  ‘So what’s your business in Bovillae, sir?’ Unasked, Veturinus Junior topped up my cup. Change of subject, obviously: I had the distinct impression that the big guy had had enough of gratuitous family revelations, but short of choking his blabbermouth old father off there hadn’t been a lot he could do.