Going Back, page 17
part #20 of Marcus Corvinus Series
‘Actually,’ I said, rubbing it in, ‘that’s something we can confirm, if we’re lucky. That Cestius knew last thing about the Quintus Cornelia pairing. I’m booked in to have a word with a lady called Eulalia tomorrow afternoon. She works in the Cestius house’s kitchens, and it seems she’s a natural for picking up the domestic gossip. If Quintus and his father did have a spat just before Albus died she might remember hearing about it. Then we can–’ There was a knock on the door and Bathyllus came in. ‘Yeah, what is it, sunshine? Not dinner-time yet, surely?’
‘No, sir. Sextus Quirinius is downstairs. It’s about your trip to Utica.’
Hey! Great! ‘Tell him I’ll be right there.’ I turned to Perilla. ‘You want to come down?’
‘No, dear. I’ll carry on with this, if you don’t mind. I may as well get some serious work done before we set off on your little jaunt.’
Stiff as hell; she really does not like to come out second best in a discussion, Perilla. Fortunately for domestic harmony, that doesn’t happen too often. Even so, a rare joy to be savoured. I was grinning all the way to the atrium.
Quirinius was perched on one of the couches.
‘Hello, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘I just dropped by to say your journey to Utica is all arranged. Leaving at the second hour the day after tomorrow, if that’s convenient. Winds permitting, of course, but they’re generally reliable at this time of year.’
‘That’s great.’ I set the wine jug and cup that I’d brought down with me on the low table. ‘You have time for some wine?’
‘No, honestly, it’s just a fleeting visit.’ He stood up. ‘I should be in a dozen other places at the moment. Anyway, I’ve managed to commandeer the governor’s official yacht for you.’
‘Have you, indeed?’ I said. ‘Does Galba know?’
The barest twitch of the lips. ‘Actually, no. But he hardly ever uses it, particularly not in high summer. And it’ll cut the crossing time in half. How long were you planning to be away?’
‘Seven days in total should be ample time. And Perilla will be coming with me, if that’s okay by you.’ Not that I was going to let on that most of the slack was for the purpose of the lady’s sightseeing jag. Yeah, well, there had to be some perks to the job of imperial procurator, and if we got back to find Sulpicius Galba hopping up and down venting his enraged spleen on the quayside then that’d just be too bad. ‘The boat’ll wait around for the return trip?’
‘Yes, of course. Accommodation’s no problem when you get there. We do have a small official residence – the city was the provincial capital until Carthage was rebuilt – but as you can understand it’s very old and not often used, and there’s no permanent staff. When the governor goes through on business he usually stays with an ex-mayor of the town, a gentleman by the name of Titus Statius. I’m sure he’d be delighted to put you and your wife up; in any case, I’ve sent a courier to give him the message that you’re coming, so you should be expected.’
‘Marvellous. Thanks again, Quirinius.’
‘I’ll send a carriage for you half way through the second hour. If there’s anything else just let me know.’
He left. Well, that was that side of things done and dusted. And I was looking forward to having a word with young Virrius.
Meanwhile there was that interview with Eulalia.
19.
The sun had just moved into its eighth-hour slot when I reached the Cestius family mansion. Like Spadix had said it would be, the first gate I came to in the perimeter wall was unbarred. I pushed it open and went through.
There was a youngish slave hoeing between two rows of lettuces. He stopped, grounded the hoe, and stood watching me with a look that was more than half way to a scowl. Obviously the lady’s boyfriend, on hand to make sure the word ‘meeting’ didn’t have any of its Spadixian connotations.
‘Valerius Corvinus, sir?’ I turned. The guy himself was coming towards me, together with a mousey wisp of a thing that had to be the femme fatale in person. ‘You din’t have no problems finding your way, then?’
‘Uh-uh,’ I said. ‘This Eulalia?’
‘Yeah.’ The girl dropped me a curtsey, but I’d caught the quick, speculative look before she lowered her eyes. Not so mousey after all, then; Spadix’s pal Simo was right to be worried. ‘Shed’s this way, if you want to use it. Like I said, this time of day we’d be safe enough out here in the open, but you might prefer the privacy.’
‘Perfect.’ That got me another glare from Simo, and I could almost hear his teeth grinding. ‘Lead on, pal.’
The shed was little more than a lean-to built against the back of the wall. I opened the door and went in. There was a pile of straw in one corner with a few sacks on top – obviously where the couple had their meetings – and a miscellaneous collection of tools and assorted gardening-related odds and ends.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ Spadix said. ‘Plenty time, don’t you worry. An’ Simo an’ me, we’ll keep an eye peeled out front, just in case.’
He closed the door behind him, leaving the two of us facing each other in the dim light that came through the cracks in the woodwork.
‘You’re the gentleman from Rome,’ Eulalia said. ‘The emperor’s friend. Yes?’
‘Yeah. More or less. Now, what I wanted to ask you was–’
‘Me, I’ve never been outside Carthage.’ She went over to the pile of straw and sat down. ‘Must be nice to see a bit of the world.’
‘Pretty much so, yes. Now about–’
‘’Course, if anyone was to offer me the chance to do it, well,’ – she leaned back – ‘I’d be very grateful.’ She leaned back a bit more. ‘Really, really grateful.’
Mousey, nothing, nowhere near it; we’d got a proper little scheming Cleopatra here, and no mistake. Mind you, I didn’t blame her for trying. If you’re a kitchen skivvy with nowhere to go but up and a boyfriend who hoes lettuces for a living you go full tilt at any opportunity that offers itself.
‘Look, Eulalia,’ I said. ‘I just want some information, okay? About the time your master died. You think you can manage that without trying to jump me?’ She scowled, sat up and folded her arms deliberately across her inconsequential bosom. ‘Good. Well done. On the plus side’ – I took a half gold piece out of my belt-purse and laid it on an upturned bucket – ‘I’m not asking for any freebies here, and there’ll be no comeback. That I guarantee. Fair?’
Her eyes went to the coin, the scowl disappeared, and the arms uncrossed. ‘Fair,’ she said. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘First off. Your young Master Quintus. Was he on good terms with his father?’
She gave an unmouselike snort. ‘With that old devil? ’Course he wasn’t. Mind you, that was nothing special, none of them was. They gener’ly kept out of one another’s way altogether if they could, the whole boiling, because when they din’t they fought like bloody cats.’
‘Yeah, I’d already got that impression. But I’m thinking especially about latterly.’ Her expression clouded. ‘Uh...immediately before the old man died. They have any specific disagreements that you know of? Quintus and him?’
‘What’s “specific” mean?’
Bugger; we were venturing onto the thin ice of linguistic competence here. ‘Particular,’ I said. ‘Outside of the usual.’
‘Oh. Right. Yeah. Yeah, actually, they did.’
Jupiter! ‘Namely?’
‘Must of been, oh, three or four days before it happened, ’least ’cording to my friend Leuce. She works above stairs, does the cleaning in what was the old master’s part of the house. Which was what she was doing at the time, like. Master Quintus, he comes belting upstairs from the front entrance with a face like bloody thunder and asks her where his father is. Leuce tells him in his study, an’ he leaves her standing an’ barges through the door without so much as a knock.’
‘Did Leuce hear what the quarrel was about?’
‘No. She tried to listen in, o’course, but they’re solid oak two inch thick, them doors, an’ the pair of them was keeping their voices down. All she got before the young master slammed the door in her face was he called his father an effin’ crupulous liar.’
I translated. Unscrupulous. Right. And liar; Quintus had used the same word to me about his father, or close to it, when we’d talked. The difference was that now I knew why, or at least I thought I did.
The ‘unscrupulous’ fitted, too.
‘Was there anything more?’ I said.
‘Not that Leuce saw. She made herself scarce straight off ’cos believe me you din’t want to be nowhere near the old master when he was in that sort of a mood.’
Yeah, well; I wasn’t all that disappointed: after all, like I say, I had a fair idea already about what had been going on behind the closed door. Still, it was good to have the theory confirmed. And, of course, to know that the quarrel had happened in the first place. It appeared that young Quintus had some serious questions to answer.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Moving on to something a lot more recent, maybe about six or seven days ago.’ I crossed my fingers. ‘You happen to know if your mistress had a visit from an Appius Justus at all?’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Sailor type, big beard. About the same age as she is.’
‘Oh. Him. The pincher.’ She giggled.
‘Ah...“The pincher”?’
‘That’s what Xanthippe called him, the randy old sod. He never give his name, not that Xanthippe heard, anyway.’
‘Who’s Xanthippe?’
‘The mistress’s maid. She told Leuce – they’re best friends, if you get my meaning, Leuce an’ her, well, that’s no one’s business but theirs – an’ Leuce told me.’ Uh-huh; score another point for the bought-help grapevine. ‘Must of been about that, six or seven days ago. He was only here the once, mind, not that Xanthippe’s crying. ’Cording to Leuce she’s still got a black and blue patch the size of a sesterce on her you-know-where. Me, I’ve no sympathy. Stuck-up cow.’
‘Right. Right.’ Gods! ‘So, uh, what did he want, do you know?’
Eulalia shrugged. ‘Search me. He turns up at the door late on, like, after the lamps is lit, an’ gives Crescens a note an’ a silver piece to deliver it to the mistress.’
‘Crescens being the door-slave?’
‘Yeah. ’Course. Anyway, Crescens passes it to Xanthippe an’ Xanthippe takes it on up.’
‘She know what was in it?’
‘Nah, it was sealed, wasn’t it? Not that it would’ve made a blind bit of difference, mind, ‘cos for all her airs an’ graces that cow can’t tell one bloody word from the next.’
‘So what happened then?’
‘The mistress sends Xanthippe back down hell for leather to fetch him up. Pale as a ghost, Xanthippe said she was, in a proper state. So Xanthippe does, which was when the bastard pinches her on the what’s-its-name. She’d of turned round an’ smacked him if she’d dared, but she din’t want to risk it ’case he was one of the mistress’s friends an’ got her into trouble for it.’
‘Uh-huh. She, ah, overhear what went on between them?’
‘Nah. The mistress sent her out of the room an’ warned her that if she snooped she’d have the skin off of her back. So she went straight downstairs an’ stayed there until he’d gone.’
‘Which was when?’
‘’Bout half an hour later, ’cording to Crescens.’ Eulalia grinned. ‘Must of been a fast worker, Xanthippe said, or the mistress was losing her touch. Mind you, she usually likes them younger.’
‘And you say that was the only time he came?’
‘Yeah. Just that once, far as I know.’
‘So that was the end of it? Again, as far as you know. Or as far as Xanthippe knows, that is.’
‘Sure. The mistress was in a foul temper for a coupla days after, though, Xanthippe couldn’t do a thing right.’ She gave me a covert glance. ‘So who was he, then, that you’re so interested? Not the one that did for the master?’
‘No, just someone new to Carthage, an Italian slave-dealer. In fact he was killed himself a couple of days later.’
‘A slave-dealer, right? No bloody loss there, then. I’ll get Leuce to tell Xanthippe. She’ll be mad she din’t clock the bastard one when she’d the chance after all.’
There was real venom there. Yeah, well, I supposed it was understandable.
‘Fair enough,’ I said. I picked up the half gold piece and gave it to her. ‘Thanks, Eulalia. You’ve been really helpful.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She palmed the coin and stood up. ‘An’ if you, like, change your mind about things, you know what I mean, well, you know where to find me, don’t you?’
‘Sure I do. Thanks again.’
I opened the shed door and went out to face the accusing stare of the lady’s boyfriend.
Yeah, well, that was another little mystery cleared up, then. And if I didn’t miss my guess it gave Verania a prime reason, in retrospect, at least, for stiffing her husband.
When I got back home it was to find Perilla in our bedroom supervising the packing for the trip to Utica the following day.
‘Marcus, I thought I’d thrown out that old green tunic of yours before we left Rome,’ she said. ‘So what is it doing here in Carthage, at the bottom of your clothes chest?’
Bugger. I set the jug and wine cup that I’d brought up with me on one of the side tables.
‘Ah...’
‘Packed in error, madam.’ Bathyllus passed her a folded cloak, and I breathed again. Not so much as a pause or a batted eyelid; saved by the duplicitous major-domo.
‘Yes, well, it certainly is not coming to Utica with us.’ She tossed it onto the bed. ‘Bathyllus, we’ll finish this later, if you don’t mind.’ He left. ‘So, dear. How was your talk with what’s-her-name?’
‘Eulalia.’ I pulled up a stool, and sat down. ‘Very informative. For a start, when he said that his father knew nothing about his relationship with Cornelia Quintus Cestius was lying through his teeth.’
‘You’re sure?’ she said sharply.
‘Absolutely.’ I told her what Eulalia had told me, about the father-and-son quarrel.
‘Yes, but Marcus, the girl’s friend also said she didn’t hear any of their actual conversation.’ Perilla put the folded cloak into the travelling chest. ‘For all we know, the argument could have been about something else entirely. And what she did hear, that Quintus called his father an unscrupulous liar, doesn’t fit the situation at all, does it?’
‘Sure it does. At least, it fits with the theory re the “family affair” he refused to go into details about when he talked to us, and for that to work knowledge on the elder Cestius’s part that Cornelia and his son were an item with no secrets from each other is a sine qua non.’
‘Very well.’ Perilla sniffed. ‘So assuming, for the present at least, that you’re right – and I mean assuming – then what are the implications?’
‘Come on, lady! We discussed these! That Quintus, off his own bat or in collusion with Medar, killed or was complicit in the killing of his father to safeguard his own future. The only differences are that now we know that it wasn’t the father who started the ball rolling but the son. And that we also know that there was another element involved which may, or, as Quintus insisted, may not have had any relevance to the old man’s murder a couple of days later but sure as hell qualifies as a prime contributory motive.’
‘Think we know.’
‘What?’
‘As you said, dear, that part’s only a theory at present. I’ll admit that it looks extremely likely now that just before his death Cestius Senior found out about his son’s relationship with Cornelia, and that the information may well have come from Quintus himself in the course of their argument, but the rest remains pure supposition. We only think we know it.’
Gods! The woman could be picky when she chose! And she was clearly still hell-bent on defending squeaky-clean young Quintus, even if it did go against all reason. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Have it your own way. In any case, judging by the rest of what Eulalia told me we have another front-runner suspect altogether.’
‘Yes? And who’s that?’
‘Verania. At least, her as the instigator, with Scarus as the actual perp.’
‘Really, dear!’ She sat down on the bed. ‘We’ve been through that. Why on earth should Verania want to murder her husband? Not as a result of her affair with Scarus, certainly; we know Cestius couldn’t have cared less what she got up to in that direction.’
‘Not her affair with Scarus. The one with Appius Justus.’
‘What?’ She goggled.
‘Publius isn’t Cestius’s son. Or at least one of the lads isn’t, but Publius is favourite by a mile.’
‘How the hell do you know that?’
I grinned; the lady only swears when she’s seriously rattled. ‘It’s the only explanation that makes sense.’ I told her what Eulalia had told me, about Justus’s evening visit and how Verania had seemed to react to it. ‘My bet is that he was threatening to blackmail her, and that she had Scarus kill him.’
‘Your rationale, please.’
‘Okay.’ I poured myself a cupful of wine. ‘To begin with, all the circumstantial stuff fits. Twenty-six years ago, which would be the time in question, Verania and her husband were in Rome and according to his later partner Cycnus Justus was running a slave-trading business based in Ostia. Again according to Cycnus, Justus had an eye for the ladies, and he was just the type Verania would’ve found attractive. So–’
‘How would they have met?’
‘Jupiter, Perilla, I don’t know! Maybe she was in Ostia shopping for bought help. Maybe she was between lovers and trawling. Maybe she fell off the quayside into his fucking boat and everything progressed from there. Does it matter?’
