Going Back, page 21
part #20 of Marcus Corvinus Series
‘On your way from where to where?’
‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m not with you.’
‘Come on, Gratius! Your office is down by the harbour, on the other side of town, and you live above the shop. We’re not on the route between there and the Cestius villa, either. So if you were just passing then where exactly are points A and B?’
‘Ah...’ He was turning an interesting shade of red. Not nerves after all; embarrassment.
I stretched out on the couch. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Which one of them was it?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Told you to call round and fish for information on what I was up to. Which particular member of the family, Verania, Publius or Quintus?’
He was definitely looking unhappy now. ‘Master Publius,’ he said.
Hmm. Interesting. ‘He vouchsafe a reason for wanting to know?’
‘No. He was just curious.’
Spoken without so much as a blink. Gods! No one could be that gullible! Unless it was loyalty, of course, which was equally possible, perhaps even more so since Gratius was a long way from being thick. Still, maybe I was being unfair: innocents like Gratius who were smart in other ways did exist, and if I’d developed a hyper-suspicious mind over the years then it was built into the job.
On the other hand, as a viable reason on Publius’s part for sending the old family retainer round on a specious fishing trip idle curiosity didn’t even rate a ‘could do better’. Obviously, the guy was beginning to twitch, which was significant in itself.
‘Is that so?’ I said. ‘He didn’t think of coming round and asking me in person?’
‘I’m afraid that’s a question I can’t answer, sir.’
There was more than a tinge of stubbornness in his tone, and I hadn’t missed the elliptical wording, either. Nevertheless, I let it go. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Tell him I’m getting there and I’ll be round to talk to him and his mother very soon.’ That should put the wind up the bugger good and proper. Verania too.
‘I’ll do that. Thank you.’ Definite relief there; he stood up and made to go.
‘Hang on a minute, Gratius,’ I said. ‘Maybe there is something you can help me with. It’s not vital, in fact it’s pretty trivial, but it’d be nice to know I haven’t got hold of the wrong end of the stick.’
‘Indeed, sir? And what would the stick in question be, exactly?’ He’d turned cautious again.
‘I know you said you’d only worked for your ex-master for eighteen years, but you also said you’d been with the Cestius family in general for a good while previously. That right?’
‘Yes, of course. Ever since I was a boy. I belonged to the master’s uncle. Publius Cestius.’ He was frowning. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t see–’
‘It’s no big deal. I was just wondering if there was any contact between the two households at all. Enough for you to know what was going on the other side of the fence, as it were.’
‘I’m not with you.’ The caution was there now in spades; evidently the guy was moving towards full Old Retainer mode. ‘They were certainly physically close, in fact the two properties were in adjacent streets on the Quirinal and there was inevitably a great deal of regular contact where both family and staff were concerned. But–’
‘Fine. Before your old master died and you swapped over did you ever hear word of an Appius Justus? Seafaring man, based in Ostia?’
‘Valerius Corvinus, I really do not think–’
‘Come on, pal! It was over twenty years ago. Water under the bridge.’ I kept my fingers crossed that word of Justus’s death – or at least the guy’s name – hadn’t filtered through to Planet Gratius yet. Also, although I’d been deliberately vague as to precise dates and Justus’s exact role, that although he’d know damn well what the latter must’ve been he hadn’t immediately spotted the implications behind the question. ‘Like I say, it’s not vitally important, but you said you wanted to help. So help.’
‘I admit the name’s familiar, sir, now you come to mention it,’ he said carefully. ‘As is its context. But I was never one for gossip, even when I was younger. I very much doubt whether I can tell you anything more than you very possibly know already, nor would I have any wish to if I could.’
‘So reading between the lines what you’re saying, or rather what you’re avoiding saying, is that this Justus was having an affair with Verania, yes?’
He hesitated. ‘Presumably. Although not to my personal knowledge.’ Glory and trumpets! I’d got that confirmed, at least! ‘But it didn’t last long. In fact’ – Gratius cleared his throat again, and blushed slightly – ‘I only knew of the man’s existence because I was keeping company at the time with someone in the mistress’s household. An under-cook by the name of Penelope, who was a terrible gossip. A persistent one, too, whether you wanted to hear what she had to say or not.’ I found myself grinning: shades of Eulalia. Evidently a propensity for gossip was endemic to the culinary profession. She might even have been a relative. ‘Why are you so interested, may I ask?’
So he wasn’t totally devoid of prurient curiosity after all. Still, that was natural under the circumstances.
‘No reason. Or not really,’ I said easily. ‘I told you; it’s not vitally important.’ I wasn’t going to share the glad tidings of Publius’s now-almost-certain illegitimacy with the family factor, no way, nohow, never. Mind you, judging by the look he was giving me he might be on the verge of putting two and two together for himself; whatever else he was, Gratius was no fool. ‘Just one of these little avenues that open up now and again but usually end up leading nowhere.’
‘Indeed, sir. If you say so.’ Definitely more than a smidgeon of suspicion there. Even so, there was nothing I could do about that now, and I supposed that, cosmically speaking, it didn’t matter all that much: suspicion was one thing, outright knowledge was another, and in Gratius’s position even if he had sussed out what was going on the best thing he could do, career-wise, was keep schtoom and let things take their course. ‘In that case, and if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I’ll be on my way.’ He gave a short bow. ‘Sir. Madam.’
He turned to go.
‘Actually there is something, Gratius, if you will, and if you can spare the time.’ Perilla had been sitting on her own couch quietly throughout. ‘At least, I hope so.’ She smiled. ‘Nothing whatsoever to do with murders and mayhem, you’ll be glad to know, or even in your professional capacity.’
He turned back. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’d be delighted. How can I help?’
‘I understand from what Marcus told me that you were a friend of Cornelius Albus’s, and that you’re a historian in your own right, yes?’
‘Indeed. Of a sort, at least where the historian part is concerned. Not nearly in his league, but I’ve always had an interest in that direction. Had you a specific reason for asking?’
‘Oh, yes. Several, I’m afraid, mostly in the form of questions I’d like the answers to eventually. But if you could help me with just this one in the meantime I’d be really, really grateful.’ She held out the small sketch she’d shown me earlier.
He took it from her and examined it.
‘Where did you get this?’ he said.
‘Upstairs. In Cornelius Albus’s study.’ She had coloured slightly. ‘It was, ah, part of a collection of notes I came on by accident in the drawer of his desk. Historical notes, to do with old Carthage.’
‘Yes. Yes, I can see that.’ He was frowning.
‘Obviously a map of some kind. I wondered if he might be putting together some sort of plan of the city to go with a history he was intending to write.’
‘Perhaps he was, yes.’
‘You don’t know for certain? That’s a pity. I was rather hoping that you would.’
He looked up; the frown had disappeared. ‘Not about his intentions in that direction, no,’ he said. ‘Or not in any detail, at least. As you’ve probably gleaned, Lucius was always very secretive where his work was concerned, and he kept things very much to himself. We were good friends, of course, and of very long standing, but we were never close enough for him to share confidences with me. No one was, apart from young Master Quintus. If you’re really interested in that side of things then your best bet is to talk to him.’
‘Very well. I’ll do that.’ She sounded disappointed, which I supposed was fair enough in the circumstances. ‘You can’t tell me anything about it at all, then? The plan, I mean.’
‘Hardly anything, I’m afraid.’ He handed the sheet back to her. ‘It’s of part of the city at the southern foot of the Byrsa, although so much will probably have been obvious to you already. The spice market and the Shrine of the Two Brothers are long gone, of course, but both are mentioned in surviving texts. Lucius must have worked out exactly where they were, how I don’t know, but he was an extremely clever man.’
‘And the...what was it...the House of Jirced?’
‘There I have no idea whatsoever. “Jirced” is a Carthaginian name, certainly – a man’s name – but who he was, and why Lucius should have been interested in locating his house, I don’t know. Mind you, as I said, in comparison with Lucius my knowledge and abilities as a historian are very limited. The name may well appear somewhere, in fact for Lucius to have known it it most certainly does, and in an important context. But not one, I’m sorry to say, with which I’m familiar.’
‘Oh.’ There was real disappointment in the lady’s voice now. ‘Never mind. It was just a thought. Thank you in any case.’
He smiled. ‘Under the circumstances there’s hardly a need for thanks, madam. Now I must be going.’ He nodded to me. ‘Sir.’
He left.
‘Damn,’ Perilla said.
I was grinning. ‘Don’t take it so hard, lady. Into each fledgling historian’s life a little rain must fall. I bet Titus Livius was constantly having his sources leaving him hanging and having to fudge things as a result.’
‘Shut up, Marcus. Ooh, it is so frustrating!’
‘You heard the man. If you’re so interested then ask your squeaky-clean Quintus.’
‘I told you. He is not my...!’ She stopped. ‘You’re winding me up, aren’t you?’
‘Only slightly. But it wouldn’t do any harm, would it? Tell you what; I have to talk to him again myself in any case. Why not come along? It might make the guy hesitate if he decides to clock me one, for a start.’
‘Why on earth would he want to do that?’
‘Yeah, well, hopefully he won’t. But there again I am going to face him with the matter of the porkies, and even if he does have a reasonable explanation for why he told them he won’t be too happy about it.’
‘Cornelia may bring him with her when she comes round, as she did last time. In fact, she probably will: because we’re in the secret, as it were, here is one of the few places they can meet without being noticed.’
‘That’s something I don’t really understand,’ I said. ‘Okay, both their families would’ve disapproved of the relationship in the beginning, but the fathers are both dead, have been for months, and they were the ones who mattered. Why the hell shouldn’t they just come out in the open about things?’
‘I asked Cornelia that myself. It’s quite simple: they don’t want to cause trouble before everything’s settled, at least Quintus doesn’t. Particularly since when the break does come it’s likely to be a total one on his family’s side. If they wait, as they are doing, until his mother and brother are on the point of going back to Rome his part of the inheritance should be finalised and they’ll avoid the embarrassment of a prolonged cheek-by-jowl separation.’
‘That’s sensible, I suppose.’
‘They are sensible. The pair of them. Everything’s been thought through and planned very carefully, down to the smallest detail.’
‘Fair enough. Even so.’
‘Even so what?’
‘Jupiter, Perilla! They’re not supposed to be sensible, they’re hardly more than kids! And they’re engaged, for the gods’ sake. Where’s the passion?’
‘You’re showing your age, dear. Besides, it’s quite refreshing to meet with young people who actually think for a change.’
I grinned. ‘Now you’re showing yours, lady. And don’t forget, you’re eighteen months ahead of me.’
‘Toad.’
Bathyllus oozed in. ‘Cornelia Alba and Quintus Cestius, madam,’ he said to Perilla.
Hey!
‘Oh, good,’ Perilla said. ‘Tell them to come through, Bathyllus. We’ll go out onto the terrace.’ He oozed out again. ‘And Marcus, do behave. They’re here as guests this time, not as subjects for interrogation.’
‘Good as gold.’ I crossed my fingers. ‘Promise.’
‘Just remember, then.’
23.
Bathyllus reappeared with the happy couple in tow. Quintus pulled up sharp when he saw me, and I caught the shadow of a frown before he covered it.
‘Hello again, Valerius Corvinus,’ he said. ‘What a surprise.’
‘Hardly that, pal. I do live here. Besides, I’ve a question or two that need answering.’ I got up, ignoring the death-glare Perilla was giving me. Yeah, well, he’d started hostilities, after all, and I had a job to do; the lady could either like it or lump it. ‘You want to sit out on the terrace?’
‘Fine by me.’ Stiff as hell. He and Cornelia exchanged glances, and I saw her give the faintest of shrugs. ‘Anywhere you like.’
‘Marvellous,’ Perilla said, a little too brightly. ‘Lovely to see you both. Bathyllus? Could you see to the drinks, please? Wine and fruit juice. And Marcus, we’ll have a word or two later. On the subject of promises.’
Ouch. Still, it was probably the only chance I’d get, and much too important to pass over in favour of social chit-chat. We trooped outside in silence and sat round the table. There was a distinct Atmosphere.
Tough; I could live with that. It was definitely crunch time where squeaky-clean Quintus was concerned.
‘Okay, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘You want to get the business part of things over with? What are these questions of yours?’
‘I really don’t think this is either the time or place to–’ Perilla began.
‘It’s all right, Perilla.’ Cornelia said quietly. ‘We don’t mind. Honestly.’
Frankly, I didn’t give a toss whether they did or not. I ignored both her and Perilla, who was still looking daggers. ‘First off,’ I said to Quintus. ‘You told me last time we spoke that neither your father nor Cornelia’s knew anything about your relationship. Only it transpires that you had an almighty row with yours three or four days before he was killed, as a result of which he in turn comes round here, reason for visit unknown but presumably – by which I mean almost bloody certainly – to straighten things out with Cornelius Albus. Who conveniently, later that same morning, and subsequent to a visit by yourself which terminated at some time yet to be identified, trips over his own feet and dies as the result of a fall downstairs. You care to explain any or all of that?’
Silence. Long silence. He and Cornelia looked at each other.
‘So you’re accusing me of murder,’ Quintus said. ‘In fact, of two murders; my own father’s and that of Cornelius Albus.’
‘No. What I’m doing is stating the facts as far as I know them. But if the cap fits, then fine. Does it? If not, then I’m listening; you tell me.’
I waited. Even Perilla had gone quiet, and was staring at me in horror.
‘All right.’ Quintus was deathly pale. ‘You’re right about the quarrel; I’m sorry, I thought if I mentioned it it would complicate matters. It wasn’t about me and Cornelia, though, at least not to begin with.’
‘I never said it was,’ I said. ‘You’d just found out – from Cornelia, who’d finally decided to trust you with the secret – that the guy who interfered with her wasn’t Marcus Virrius but your brother; that the whole thing was a cover-up that your father and hers had concocted between them. Or at least that he’d concocted and forced Albus to go along with. Also, that the collateral damage had included Medar’s son Adon. And you felt that you ought to hand the lying bastard – your choice of adjective – his head.’
His jaw had dropped about five feet. ‘How the hell did you discover all that?’ he said.
‘Because I’m smarter than I look. Believe it.’ Bathyllus, always sensitive to Atmosphere, had sidled in with the drinks tray like one of Euripides’s messengers bringing the news that the play’s principal character was now a definite ex. I helped him unload and poured Quintus a belt from the wine flask, plus one for myself. Bathyllus set the rest of the drinks down and buggered off sharpish. ‘I’m still listening. Keep going.’
‘He asked me how I knew, of course, and it all came out. Naturally he was furious, but’ – he shrugged – ‘he said he’d give me time to think it over and change my mind before he did anything drastic. If anything needed to be done at all.’
‘What did he mean by that?’
‘I’ve no idea. But that’s what he said. Anyway, that was where we left it, apart from me telling him to go to hell and slamming out. And then four days later he was dead.’ His eyes came up. ‘But not by my hand. I swear it.’
‘I’m afraid swearing to it’s not nearly enough, pal,’ I said gently. ‘Not at this stage of the game.’
‘We told you!’ Cornelia butted in. She was looking flushed, and angry. ‘We were together that day, and miles from where Quintus’s father was killed! Quintus couldn’t possibly have done it, even if he’d wanted to!’
I turned to face her. ‘Yeah, well,’ I said. ‘Like I say a bit of corroborative evidence would be really, really useful at this point. If you can’t provide that then I’m sorry, but–’
‘Nestor,’ Quintus said suddenly.
I frowned. ‘What? Who the fuck is Nestor?’
‘Marcus!’ Perilla snapped.
Quintus shook his head. ‘That’s not his proper name. It’s only–’
‘–what we call him.’ Cornelia was practically bouncing with excitement. ‘Or what I’ve always called him, at least. King of sandy Pylos. Of course! Nestor saw us!’
