Going Back, page 26
part #20 of Marcus Corvinus Series
‘So am I, pal. Very. So you don’t have an answer?’
‘No. But he certainly knew who you were, what you looked like, and what you were doing in Carthage, because I was careful to tell him about you after our first talk. Syrus being Syrus, he would probably have been watching out for you ever since then, looking for an opportunity. Yesterday morning, you say, and the Tunes road?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then if you were starting from Lucius’s house you’d have passed through a fair bit of the town to get there. I can only assume it was a complete accident, that he happened to see you and took the chance he’d been waiting for when it was offered.’ He half-smiled. ‘Perhaps there’s such a thing as divine justice after all.’
He could be right, at that: if it hadn’t been for Syrus, and my overhearing of that argument in Cladus’s wineshop, I’d never have known about Maenius’s bakery. Or, indeed, made the connection with Gratius himself. If divine justice was taking a hand here then the lady was working her immortal socks off.
Or there again it might have been pure coincidence. You pays your money and you takes your choice.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘Water under the bridge.’
‘Indeed, sir. Now. If that’s all the help I can give you?’
‘Yeah. That about wraps it up.’
‘In that case I was wondering if, before you and your friends here take me back, I could fetch a few things from upstairs. Some small personal items I’d be sorry to leave behind.’
‘Sure, pal,’ I said gently. ‘Off you go. Take all the time you want.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Behind me, my two heavies stirred. One of them cleared his throat. I turned.
‘It’s okay, lads,’ I said. ‘After all, we’re down here and there’s only one way up or down. Right?’ I said to Gratius.
‘Quite correct, sir. And I won’t try to escape through the window. You have my word for that.’
‘Fair enough. Go ahead.’
The stair was in the far corner of the room. He climbed it, and I could hear him moving about on the upper floor. Then there was a sudden thump, and the sounds stopped.
I waited. When I’d given him a good ten minutes with no signs of a reappearance I stood up myself.
‘Okay, lads,’ I said. ‘Stay where you are for now. I’ll shout if I need you.
I went upstairs. Gratius had been considerate to the end, and there was no blood involved. I picked up the stool he’d stood on to fasten the rope to one of the rafters, took the knife that he’d carefully left for the purpose, cut him down and laid him out neatly on the bed. Then I came back down.
Case closed. All done and dusted.
28.
‘So that’s that,’ I said when I got back the next day from my promised talk with Quirinius re the Marcus Virrius side of things. ‘Holiday over, passage hopefully arranged within the next few days, depending on the winds. If that’s okay with you.’
‘Perfectly, dear.’ Perilla was sitting outside on the terrace with a cup of fruit juice. ‘In fact, I’ll be glad to get back. I thought we might go over to Castrimoenium to spend some time with Clarus and Marilla, before the summer goes completely.’
‘Fair enough.’ I put the wine cup I’d picked up from Bathyllus on the table and sat down. ‘How’s the editing job going? You don’t need more time for that?’
‘No, quite finished. I’ll leave everything in order for Quintus and Cornelia. She may not want to have anything to do with her father’s historical projects at present, but I’m sure she’ll come round eventually. Particularly with Quintus being so keen.’ She took a sip of the fruit juice. ‘Oh. Apropos that. They dropped by while you were in town to ask whether you’d confirmed his alibi, and I brought them up to date with events. They were very relieved, naturally, but Quintus is rather sceptical about this treasure of yours.’
‘Is he, indeed? And why’s that, now?’
‘Not about it existing. Or rather, not too sceptical on that account. But according to him when Albus had a bee in his bonnet about something he did tend to be rather uncritical where his sources were concerned. Particularly where solid confirmation of the underlying theory went.’
‘You mind putting that into plain Latin?’
She grinned and ducked her head. ‘Just that he may have been too optimistic in identifying the site so precisely.’
‘He doesn’t think the treasure is hidden under the bakery at all?’
‘No, for all he knows it may well be. But equally it might be under any of half a dozen other properties in the area. History may not be an exact science, but historical topography is even less so.’
Me, I’d be sorry to see him proved right. Not because of the gold per se, but because it would mean that Gratius had died a murderer for nothing. ‘So he’s not going to carry on with the digging?’ I said. ‘Assuming, that is, that given he’s staying on he manages to wangle the property deed as part of his inheritance.’
‘Oh, yes, he’ll be very careful to do that, just in case. And to make sure that neither his brother nor his mother realise its significance. I told you: Quintus isn’t the ingénu you seem to take him for, dear; he has his head very firmly screwed on, and coming from the family he does it would be very surprising if he hadn’t inherited some of its more dubious traits. Personally I think that if he does find the gold and they get to know about it, which they will, inevitably, it will serve them right.’
‘Yeah.’ I frowned. ‘I’ve been wondering about that aspect of things. She may not fit into my original remit, but Verania is as much a murderer as Gratius was, twice over, and I hate to see the bitch getting away with it.’
‘She won’t. Trust me.’
‘She will. We’ve no proof that she poisoned Scarus, as far as the authorities are concerned Appius Justus was mugged for his purse, perp unknown, and with his real killer Scarus dead the only thing linking him with her is the word of a kitchen skivvy. Oh, I’ll put my suspicions into the report I give Claudius, sure, no problems there. But at the end of the day it’d be an unsupported charge against the wealthy and respected widow of an ex-praetor who’s also a friend of his wife’s mother’s, while the victims are a no-account slave-trader and a provincial sword-fighter. Even if he did trust my judgment, which he probably would, the chances that he’d take the matter further are in the flying pigs bracket.’
‘True. But I wasn’t thinking of Claudius.’
‘Who, then?’
‘Domitia Lepida.’
‘What the hell good would that do? She’s not–’
‘Marcus, you really don’t understand how incredibly important upper-class society conventions are, do you? Particularly the female variety. I distinctly remember you making the point yourself, when you first mooted the theory of Publius not being Cestius’s son: to have a temporary fling with a good-looking young slave-trader is one thing, no one cares about that; but to have a son by him whom you then pass off as your husband’s and finally try to marry into one of the leading families is quite another. That is class betrayal, and completely unforgivable. Believe me, once I’ve had a quiet word with Lepida when she goes back to Rome Verania will find herself exiled just as effectively as if she had been tried and sentenced by a court, Vettius Rufus – or his wife, rather – will have broken off the engagement before her ship has even docked, and Publius will have as much chance of a political career as a three-legged cat. The pair of them will still be very wealthy indeed – I can’t do anything about that side of things – but for people like that, who’ve always taken it for granted, money alone isn’t important. Social position and power are, they will have neither, ever again, and it will hurt. I absolutely guarantee it.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘So. Will that do you, dear?’
Jupiter! ‘Uh...remind me never to try crossing you, lady,’ I said.
‘Don’t worry. I won’t make a habit of it.’
‘Fine.’ I took a swallow of the wine.
Not the most satisfactory end to a case, I had to admit – I still felt bitterly sorry about Sextus Gratius – but I reckoned that this time around we’d at least won on points. And, like Perilla, I was beginning to twitch.
Holidays abroad are all very well, but I’d be glad to get back.
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David Wishart, Going Back
