Going Back, page 4
part #20 of Marcus Corvinus Series
And she left, without another word. Perilla and I just looked at each other.
Quirinius cleared his throat. ‘You, ah, must excuse Elissa,’ he said. ‘Cornelia, I should say. She...well, I’m afraid she takes a little getting used to, and she’s uncomfortable with strangers herself. Also, with her father’s death being so recent–’ He stopped.
‘That’s perfectly okay,’ I said. ‘Don’t give it another thought.’
‘Good.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Now, unless there’s anything else I can do for you I’m afraid I must go too. As I said, the governor is expecting you for dinner this evening unless you’re too tired after your journey, in which case–.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘We’re fine.’ Best to get it over with. Besides, it gave us an excuse not to make a night of it.
‘Excellent. By the way, the house does have its own small bath suite, and I gave instructions for the furnace to be lit. You’ll want to bathe, naturally. And I’ll send a carriage for you an hour before sunset, if that’s all right.’
‘Perfectly.’ Perilla smiled at him.
‘Don’t be too particular about dress, it won’t be a formal meal. I’ll be there myself, of course, so I’ll see you then.’
‘Thanks again, Quirinius,’ I said. ‘We’ll see you at dinner.’
We watched him go.
‘Well,’ Perilla said. ‘Now that was certainly unusual. The girl, I mean.’
‘Yeah.’ There was a jug of wine and a couple of wine cups on the table. I poured myself a cupful and stretched out on the couch. ‘Yes, it was.’
‘Did you notice her eyes? She didn’t look at us directly once.’
‘Uh-huh.’ I was frowning. ‘Still, it’s none of our business, is it?’
‘No, it isn’t. Even so–’
Bathyllus shimmered in. Or at least with as much of a shimmer as Bathyllus could manage after three days of unremitting seasickness.
‘Is everything in order, sir?’ he said.
‘Actually, we should ask you that, little guy,’ I said. ‘You got here, then?’
‘Just this minute arrived, sir. And Phryne will be in shortly, with the mistress’s bags. She’ll take them up to your room and unpack.’
‘What about Meton?’
‘In the kitchen having a word with the kitchen staff and checking the existing stores.’ He sniffed. ‘I understand that once he’s done that he intends to go straight down to the market.’
I grinned. Right; par for the course. We didn’t take Meton along with us – Meton being Meton – very often, but it was a safe bet, my month’s income to a used corn plaster, that the first thing he’d do on arrival was check out the range and quality of the local produce. I felt sorry, mind, for the stallholders, who’d still be in blissful ignorance of what was about to hit them. And for the kitchen skivvies, because when Meton had a word with the staff, I knew, it consisted largely of terrifying the wollocks off the poor buggers. Still, I had to admit it got results, and Bathyllus for his part would be no different where the rest of the household was concerned. Worse, in his quiet, control-freak way.
‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘He knows we’ll be eating out tonight, doesn’t he? With the governor, at the residence?’
‘Yes, sir. He told me to say that that would be perfectly acceptable under the circumstances.’
‘Good of him. Oh. Quirinius said there’s a bath suite and that the furnace was on. You want to make sure of that?’
‘Certainly, sir. I’ll check on it now.’
‘Great.’ Well, that was all the boxes ticked for the present. ‘Off you go, then.’
He went.
‘So,’ Perilla said. ‘What did Quirinius have to say about the murder?’
‘Actually, he didn’t know much more about it than we do already. I got a couple of names and addresses – the widow’s, of course, and the guy’s factor’s – but that was about all.’ I frowned and took a sip of the wine: it wasn’t one I recognised, which probably meant that it was local. If so, then Quirinius’s assessment was bang-on: not Falernian, sure, not by a long chalk, but on its home ground, at least, not at all bad. ‘Strange thing is, what I did get was the impression that no one was busting a gut to trace the killer.’
‘But that’s ridiculous!’
‘Yeah, I know. Oh, sure, Lepida did imply that his wife wouldn’t be exactly devastated, but still, there are the two sons, at the very least, and you’d think they’d want some answers. Nevertheless, on Quirinius’s showing for whatever reason as far as the immediate family’s concerned the general feeling seems to be that any investigation would be a waste of time. And I doubt if Galba could give a toss. Weird, yes, but there you are. Me, I suspect that if Lepida hadn’t gone to Claudius the whole thing would’ve been quietly shelved.’ I took another swallow of the wine, emptying the cup. ‘Ah, hell, leave it for now. If the baths are hot we’ll have a long relaxing steam, make a tour of the property, and then get changed into our glad-rags for the governor’s dinner. Fair enough?’
Perilla smiled. ‘Perfectly fair.’
I reached for the wine jug and refilled my cup. If I was going to live through a dinner with Sulpicius Bloody Galba later, however short and informal it turned out to be, then I needed serious anaesthetising first.
5.
The dinner turned out to be as bloody as I’d thought it would be. Worse. And forget Quirinius’s ‘informal’: I was relieved we’d chosen to go in best bib and tucker after all, because Galba and the other guests were dressed to the nines. Galba was puffier and more jowly in the face than he had been when we’d last met, but otherwise he hadn’t changed all that much: still the pasty white, unhealthy-looking skin, the bulbous nose, and the mouth that wouldn’t’ve disgraced a hungry pike. Plus a manner that embodied all the sensitivity of an aristocratic piledriver. The other guests...
Apart from Quirinius, who was there ex officio, as it were, the other five were co-diners from hell. There was Lutatius the banker with the cleft palate and his wife Quadratilla, sixty if she was a day, dressed, coiffeured and made up like a thirty year old, who had a laugh like a marble-saw; Rupilius, owner of the biggest undertaker’s business in the city, who looked the part and whose hobby was undertaking, plus his thin-as-a-streak-of-piss, acid-toned harpy of a wife Lautia, whose hobby seemed to be slagging friends, acquaintances, and total strangers off at every opportunity; and finally a guy I can’t remember the name of who sat through the whole meal without saying a word to anyone.
Fun, fun, fun. Me, I’m convinced the bastard had chosen them deliberately, partly out of sheer bloody-mindedness and partly to make sure we’d wade through molten lava rather than tout for another invite during our stay. If so, then he needn’t’ve bothered troubling himself, because I’d’ve done that in any case.
Quirinius had been right about the residence, though, which was small, pokey, over-decorated, and – despite the climate – miserable as an Aventine attic in winter.
So not exactly a joyful occasion, and as far as gleaning information went a complete bummer. With one noticeable exception. Not, as far as I knew, that it had anything to do with the Cestius affair, but still.
‘You’re staying in old Cornelius Albus’s house, so I understand, Valerius Corvinus?’ Rupilius was disembowelling a stuffed sardine with all the care he’d probably have put into preparing a body for mummification.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I said. ‘We–’
‘I had the burying of him, you know, after the accident. He made a lovely corpse. Very distinguished. People at the viewing remarked on it.’
‘Is that so, now?’
‘Also about how well he was looking. Under the circumstances, of course.’
‘It was his poor daughter I felt sorry for,’ Lautia put in. ‘One thing on top of another. And she’s never been quite right since...well, since it happened, if you understand me.’
‘“It”?’ Perilla said.
Lautia dropped her voice. ‘She was interfered with, poor child,’ she said. ‘By a man. Two or three years ago, now, but that’s something you never get over. And of course since then her chances of making a good marriage have been–’ She stopped. ‘Well, my dear, I needn’t explain the situation to you, need I?’
‘You mean she was raped?’
That got the lady a look that would’ve skewered a rhino. ‘If you want to put it that crudely,’ Lautia said carefully, ‘then yes. Although I wouldn’t use the term myself.’
‘Do they know who by?’
‘Oh, there was no mystery about that. The young blackguard was a Marcus Virrius. A terrible disgrace for his parents, naturally, they’re very respectable people. Virrius Senior is in the textile trade and his wife was the daughter of a local senator.’ She sniffed. ‘Of course if rumour is to be believed there is bad blood in the family, on both sides. Virrius’s grandfather was involved in some very suspect business dealings and his wife’s uncle was a notorious womaniser. So perhaps we shouldn’t have been too surprised when the son went to the bad.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Oh, he fled the city before any charges could be brought. Disappeared completely and hasn’t been heard of since. Mind you, he’d already been disinherited by his father, so he’d nothing to lose by running away.’ She sniffed again. ‘Naturally, though, as I said poor Cornelia is now damaged goods. It’s unfortunate, she’s a nice enough girl in herself if you make the necessary allowances, but there you are.’
I glanced at Perilla. Her eyes were on the plate in front of her, and she was pushing the remains of her jellied prawns around with her spoon in short, sharp jerks.
Uh-oh. Not a good sign.
‘Yes, well, Lautia,’ she said quietly. ‘I can agree with you as far as the word “damaged” goes, but I’m afraid we differ completely in how we interpret the term.’
‘Really?’ Lautia dabbed at her lips with her napkin. ‘You surprise me. But then I suppose moral standards in Rome are so much laxer than ours. What happened may not have been altogether the girl’s fault, but there’s no smoke without fire. She must have encouraged him, at the very least.’
Perilla’s eyes came up. ‘That,’ she began, ‘is the most–’
–at which point I knocked over my full wine cup. Quadratilla, who was directly opposite me and was reaching for a pickled sea-urchin at the time, got some of the contents on the sleeve of her mantle and squealed like a stuck piglet. She drew her hand back sharply and caught her own cup with her elbow, knocking it over and drenching the mantle’s other sleeve. She squealed again, louder and at a higher pitch. Mayhem, briefly, ensued as slaves with napkins converged on the two spreading pools.
‘Uh...I’m sorry about that,’ I said. ‘Misjudged the distance.’
Lautia glared at me. ‘Perhaps, Valerius Corvinus,’ she said, ‘if your spatial co-ordination is becoming so erratic you should consider sticking to water for the rest of the evening.’
‘Now just one fucking minute, lady–!’
‘Marcus!’
‘Don’t you dare use language like that to my wife, you Roman bastard!’
‘Really, Valerius Corvinus, it is too much! This mantle was brand new, ordered specially from Alexandria! Do you know how difficult it is to get a wine stain out of silk?’
‘Mwaa, mwaa, mwaa!’
Galba held up his hand, beamed, waited for silence, then looked round the stricken table. ‘I think we’ll move on to the dessert, shall we?’ he said. ‘Any objections? No? Carried nem. con., then. Jolly good.’
‘Honestly, Marcus,’ Perilla said when we were safely in the carriage and rattling towards home, ‘I could’ve slapped that stupid woman. I nearly did, too.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘So I noticed. You owe me one, lady.’
‘Not that there was any excuse for your little display.’
‘Maybe not. Ah, well. I suppose we can consider ourselves crossed off Galba’s suitable-dinner-guests list for the foreseeable future.’
‘Yes, I suppose we can. What a shame.’ She frowned. ‘I have to admit that it did liven the evening up considerably, though.’
‘Mmm.’
‘But that poor girl! It explains a lot, really.’
‘Yeah. Not everything, mind.’
She gave me a sideways glance. ‘How do you mean?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just a feeling. But six gets you ten things are more complicated than we think they are.’
‘Perhaps so, but it’s none of our business. You said that yourself.’
‘True.’ I turned and stared through the carriage window for a while. There was a full moon, and although only a few of the houses we passed had torches burning in the cressets beside their doors there was still something to see outside besides the darkness. ‘Problem is, I keep thinking of Marilla. When we first found her.’
Perilla drew her breath in sharply. ‘Oh, Marcus, no! Surely not!’
‘I never said it was logical. In fact, it’s quite the reverse, I’ve not a single fact to hang the idea on. How could I? We only saw the girl for two minutes.’
‘So what prompted the thought, then?’
‘The gods know. It was just the look in the eyes, and something in her voice when she used the word “father”. There was something there, sure, I’d bet you anything you like on that score, but that doesn’t mean to say–’ I stopped and shook my head. ‘Forget it, it’s only the wine talking. Anyway, I reckon our brains’ve done their whack for one day. Pull down the shutters, call it a wrap. Fair enough?’
‘All right. So what are your plans for tomorrow?’
‘Have a talk with the grieving widow. See what she has to say and take things from there.’
‘Marcus, do you have to jump straight into things the moment we arrive? After all, we are abroad in a city we’ve never seen before. Why not take a day or so to acclimatise, see the sights? I’m sure Claudius wouldn’t object, and things aren’t exactly urgent, are they?’
I grinned. ‘Look, you do things your way, I’ll do things mine, okay? Trust me, by the time we leave I’ll have seen more of Carthage than you will.’
‘Yes, but not necessarily the interesting parts.’
‘Define “interesting”.’
‘All right, please yourself, dear. In any case, I’m too tired to argue.’
‘Good.’
‘Even so–’
‘Bugger off.’
We rattled on in silence.
Well, at least we’d be sleeping in a proper bed tonight. Tomorrow could look after itself.
6.
There was no point in being on the go too early the next day – from what I’d gleaned about her from Lepida I doubted if Verania would be an early riser – so I had a leisurely breakfast with Perilla at her preferred time of surfacing, which is half way through the morning, in the palm-tree-shaded garden at the back of the house and set out an hour before noon.
The Cestius family property, according to Quirinius, was on the coast to the north of the city; not too far away if I cut diagonally across town. It was a pleasant-enough walk. Being laid out from scratch to a definite plan, the streets were straight and regular, easily wide enough to take both pedestrian and other traffic without the frustrating bottle-necks you’d get if you tried the same thing in Rome that time of day, or – unless you were pretty certain of your route – the danger of getting lost in the maze of side streets and narrow alleyways. No tenements, either, which was a definite plus: like I said, the temperature might be higher than it would’ve been back home, but while in seriously-built-up, closed-in areas like the Subura or the Aventine it felt like walking through an oven the breeze here made things feel a bit cooler.
The villa was on the high ground overlooking the sea. ‘Villa’ was an understatement: Cestius must’ve been rolling right enough, because the place was built of coloured marble, took up most of the headland, and was set amid a series of terraced gardens that had been landscaped, topiary-hedged and statued within an inch of their lives. From one of them came the eerie wail of a peacock.
The slave on duty at the main gate took my name inside and reappeared with the news that the lady was At Home.
Verania was sitting under a parasol beside an ornamental pool in one of the gardens. With two grown-up sons she’d have to be in her mid-forties, at least, but she looked ten years younger. From a distance, anyway; when I came closer I could see that a lot of the effect was due to hair-styling and clever make-up. Discount that, and what you’d got was a slightly-too-plump middle-aged woman with over-sharp features, moneylender’s eyes, and a mouth like a spoilt child’s.
Forget the widow’s weeds; if she’d ever bothered with them they’d been replaced by a blue gossamer-light shot-silk mantle that must’ve cost an arm and a leg.
‘Sulpicius Galba told me you’d be coming, Valerius Corvinus,’ she said. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’ She looked over my shoulder at the slave who’d brought me through. ‘Bring a chair for the gentleman. And some wine. Quickly, now!’ The slave bowed and left.
‘Domitia Lepida sends her regards,’ I said.
‘Ah, yes.’ Cool as an ice bath. ‘I understand she’s responsible for your presence here. How is Lepida? Well, I hope?’
‘Yes. At least she was eight days ago.’
‘That’s good. She has such a problem with that daughter of hers, poor dear. Girls are always a trial. It’s something I’m spared, fortunately. I only have sons.’ She straightened the hem of her mantle. ‘You’re married yourself?’
‘Yeah. I brought my wife out with me.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Did you really? How very unusual! You have children?’
‘One daughter. Adopted.’
‘You haven’t brought her too, I hope. That would be stretching family commitments just a little too far.’
‘No. She’s married to a doctor. They’ve a place in the Alban Hills.’
