Going Back, page 5
part #20 of Marcus Corvinus Series
‘A doctor?’ She frowned. ‘That is...most progressive.’
‘They seem happy enough.’ I was beginning to take a severe dislike to this lady.
‘Hmm.’ The slave came back with the chair, plus another couple of lads carrying a small table and a wine cup. She ignored them as they set the things down. I gave the chair-carrier a nod of thanks, and sat. ‘Now. How can I help you?’
‘With the details of your husband’s death, if you will. My condolences, by the way. It must’ve been a great shock to you.’
‘Thank you. Yes, yes it was.’ If ever a line was delivered offhand, that was the one. Family pet. ‘Terrible.’
‘It happened just under two months ago, I understand.’
‘More or less. I can’t recall the exact date.’
‘He was, ah, found on part of your property.’
‘That’s right. Not here; most of our land, the part under commercial cultivation, at least, is to the west of the city. Seemingly he’d ridden over to check on how the grain harvest was progressing. I’m not sure exactly where; Gratius can tell you that, if you’re interested.’
‘Gratius?’ Oh, right, Quirinius had told me about him. ‘Your husband’s factor, yes?’
‘Indeed. And has been for the past fifteen years. Decimus brought him with us when we came out from Rome.’
‘And, uh, “seemingly”?’
She looked blank. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not quite with you.’
‘You said “seemingly he’d ridden over”. You don’t know for sure?’
‘Ah, I see. No, that was definitely his intention, as far as I’m aware, at least from what the slaves told me. But Decimus and I didn’t really see much of each other, had not done for several years. We lived our separate lives, for the most part. Quite amicably, I assure you; this is a big house, and such a thing is easily possible.’
Well, I’d be having a talk with Sextus Gratius soon, anyway; in fact, he was the next contact on my list. And Lepida had said the two lived apart, practically speaking. But gods! Just the offhand way she referred to her relationship with her husband, or lack of one, rather, sent a chill down my spine.
‘Fair enough,’ I said. Now we got to the tricky part. I lifted the wine cup and took a preliminary sip, then a bigger mouthful. Not bad; not bad, at all. If it was local – and it well might be – then we were almost talking Alban standard here. Maybe we weren’t as far out in the sticks, wine-wise, as I’d thought we’d be. I set the cup down. ‘Did he have any enemies at all, that you know of? Anyone who might’ve wanted him dead?’
‘Decimus? Good heavens, no!’ Too fast, and too glib; she must’ve been expecting the question, sure, because it was the obvious one to ask, but there was still that tell-tale blink that suggested she was being economical with the truth. Or at least that there was something she thought it was better I shouldn’t know. ‘He was a highly-respected member of the community, and universally liked. If you want my honest opinion he was set upon.’
‘“Set upon”?’
‘By brigands. We do have them, especially in the inland regions. And of course at that time of year – the main grain harvest – there are a lot of itinerant workers. Foreigners, you know, from beyond the province’s boundaries. They shouldn’t be allowed in, but they are because there is simply too much work, over too short a season, for our own field slaves to cope with, and then when the harvest is over they simply go back to wherever they came from. Believe me, Corvinus, and I’m dreadfully sorry to say this, but I very much doubt you’ve had a wasted journey, and my husband’s killer will never be found.’
Uh-huh. Well, I supposed she could be right. I didn’t know enough about local conditions to comment on her facts, but the way she’d put things certainly seemed reasonable. I’d have to bring the subject up when I talked to Gratius. No doubt he’d know how likely it was.
‘Okay, I said. ‘Moving on. Domitia Lepida told me you were planning to return to Rome shortly. That true?’
‘Yes, it is. I can’t see, though, why it should have any bearing on my husband’s death.’
‘Nor do I. Still, for all I know it might. I’m only collecting information at the moment, whether it seems relevant or not.’
‘Very well.’ She gave her mantle another twitch. ‘Yes, as I said, it’s perfectly true, in fact the arrangements are almost complete. Decimus bought a property on the Quirinal last year through his agent back home, and in his last letter the man said that he and the owner had agreed on a price for a villa and country estate near Veii. Then of course our elder son Publius is engaged to an ex-consul’s daughter, and he has every hope of a political career. We had intended to return later this year, before the sea lanes close for the winter, but naturally now that will have to wait until the matter of the will and the legal transfer of Decimus’s assets is settled.’ She frowned. ‘It’s most annoying, but there you are, what can you do?’
‘Your elder son inherits, yes?’
Her lips formed a straight line. ‘Valerius Corvinus,’ she said, ‘I do realise that thanks to Domitia Lepida’s intervention, well-meaning although it undoubtedly was, you have both the right and the duty to ask me questions. However, I cannot see why this should entitle you to pry into our family’s personal affairs. What on earth could my husband’s testamentary details possibly have to do with his death?’
Well, if she couldn’t make an intelligent guess on that score I wasn’t going to enlighten her. Still–
‘My apologies,’ I said. ‘But like I told you I’m just at the information gathering stage at present. If you feel it’s too much of an imposition, then–’
‘No. No, I suppose not.’ Grudging as hell. ‘Even so, an imposition it certainly is. Of course he inherits. As the principal heir, at least. But I and my other son Quintus are very comfortably provided for. We’ve certainly no complaints.’
‘So what happens to your property here when you move?’
That got me another icy glare, and a meaningful delay before she answered. ‘The larger part – this house and the bulk of Decimus’s land holdings – will be sold, naturally. Decimus had already put out feelers to that effect, and although nothing has been formalised as yet it’s all well in train. As for the remainder – grain land, mostly, with the slave force to work it – my husband thought it best to keep it on as an overseas investment. But again if you should need, for some reason which I cannot begin to fathom, any detailed information on that subject then Gratius can provide it far more readily than I can.’
‘Your two sons live here in the villa with you?’
‘Yes. Yes, they do. They have their own private suites. Why do you ask?’
‘I thought I might have a word with them, if they’re around.’
She drew herself up. ‘Valerius Corvinus, this borders on impertinence! Neither of my sons was at all involved in this business in any way, and so they cannot have any information concerning it that you do not already possess. Now I think this interview is at an end.’
I sighed, mentally. Okay; maybe I had been pushing things just a tad. Even so, there was something there that shouldn’t be, if everything was as much on the level as the lady claimed it was, that I would bet on. I stood up.
‘Thank you for your help, Verania,’ I said formally. ‘Believe me, I’m very grateful. And again, my condolences on your loss.’
This time she didn’t bother to answer. Well, I’d done my best, and if the lady’s nose was out of joint that was just too bad. I left.
Next port of call, Sextus Gratius. Which meant, this time, a serious hike: the address Quirinius had given me was on the edge of the harbour district in the south part of town, about a mile and a half away, in other words. Still, there was a fair slice of the day left, and I could fit a talk with him in reasonably easily before heading back home for a sunset dinner. Besides, it’d give me a chance to see more of the city; I could even, since it was on my way, check out Quirinius’s wineshop recommendation.
Cladus’s wineshop looked promising: big, as those places go, with a walled garden with palm-tree-shaded benches to the side. Even so, it was pretty well full up, but that’s always a good sign. I sussed out the garden – benches all taken, unfortunately – then eased my way through the press to the counter and squeezed into the only available space.
The barman came over.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘What can I get you?’
I looked at the board; none of the names were familiar, so presumably the wines on offer were all local.
‘No idea,’ I said. ‘But nothing that’s made out of dates, OK?’ He grinned. ‘What would you recommend?’
‘The Carpian’s good. That’s the one I’d choose myself.’
‘Fair enough, make it the Carpian. Just a cup’ll do.’ He poured it, I paid, and sipped: more than fair, a bit on the light side and not up to the standard of the wine I’d had at Verania’s, but then I hadn’t expected it would be. And I certainly couldn’t fault the flavour. I turned round, put my elbows on the counter and leaned back to take in the atmosphere.
The door opened, and a big guy came in. I expected him to go straight to the counter, but he looked around for a bit and then made for the table next to me, where two or three punters were chatting over their wine. They glanced up at him without showing much interest and went on talking. The guy put his hand on the nearest punter’s shoulder and pulled him round.
The bar went quiet. I straightened, and like everyone else in the place watched developments with interest.
‘Your name Syrus?’ the guy said. ‘The property dealer?’
The three punters were on their feet now. The other two made a move towards the big guy, but his target – he was pretty sizeable himself – held up a hand and stopped them.
‘That’s me,’ he said quietly. ‘Aponius Syrus. What’s your problem?’
‘It’s not me who has the fucking problem, pal, it’s you.You swindled my father.’
‘Is that so?’ The man still hadn’t raised his voice. ‘Tell you what, friend, you let go of my shoulder or I’ll break your arm. Then if you want to talk we’ll take it from there.’ The big guy hesitated, then lowered his hand. ‘Good. Now. I haven’t swindled no one, to my certain knowledge. What’s this about?’
‘Two months back you bought the bakery belonging to my father. Titus Maenius. Right?’
‘I did. And paid for it at the price we agreed on. Legal sale, duly witnessed, all fair and above board. So?’
‘Fair, my arse! What you paid was half what the place was worth, and you know it!’
‘The place was falling apart, and as far as being a bakery goes it hadn’t turned out a loaf in years. The price was fair, better than fair, and your father was happy with it. So get off my back.’
‘What about the land? City centre, prime site. You saying that didn’t count?’
‘I’m not saying nothing at all, friend. You’re the one doing the shouting. Your father was the legal owner, I did the deal with him, and that’s the end of it. Now push off before I lose my temper.’
The big guy just stood there, arms by his side, fists working. Then without another word he turned and left. The three punters sat down and got on with their wine like nothing had happened.
Show, it would seem, over; short and sweet. Yeah, well, it’d been good while it lasted. General conversation resumed. I finished my wine and set the empty cup down on the counter.
‘Another one, sir?’ the barman said.
‘No, that’ll do me for the present, thanks,’ I said. ‘You get that sort of thing often around here?’
‘Not often.’ He reached under the counter and briefly brought out a hefty stick: the usual wineshop pacifier that no doubt was a feature of every bar-room in the empire. ‘And if it does get out of hand then we’re ready for it. I was watching him. Chummie was okay, just letting off steam.’
‘Uh-huh. Thanks again. See you another time.’
I left.
Well, at least it seemed whatever else it was Carthage wasn’t going to be boring.
7.
So. Onwards and upwards, or in this case downwards, to the port area where Cestius’s factor Gratius hung out.
His house-cum-office, when I found it, was within shouting distance of the outer harbour’s eastern quay, fifty yards off the main drag and half way along a neatly-kept alleyway that joined two of the side roads: a two-storey brick building with the office part below and the living quarters above it.
I went in, and the copy-slave at the desk immediately to the right of the door looked up and put down his pen.
‘Afternoon, pal,’ I said. ‘Is your boss around? Sextus Gratius?’
‘That would be me, sir.’ An oldish guy – sixty if he was a day – wearing a freedman’s cap was sitting at another, bigger desk in the far corner by the document-cubbies. ‘You’ll be the gentleman from Rome, yes? Looking into the master’s death?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ I closed the door behind me. ‘Valerius Corvinus. You mind if I have a word with you? If you’re not too busy.’
‘No, not at all.’ He stood up; not that that affected his height by all that much, because he was about the same size as Bathyllus. Just as bald, too, from what I could see of his pate beneath the cap. ‘The mistress said you’d be round at some stage. Welcome to Carthage. You’ve just arrived?’
‘Second day here. And I’ve already talked to the Lady Verania.’ For what that was worth. ‘Earlier this morning, in fact.’
‘Excellent.’ He turned to the copy-slave: ‘You can take a break for half an hour, Quadrus. Will that be enough time for you, sir?’
‘Sure. Ample.’ The man got up, nodded to me and left.
‘Now, pull up a stool, sit down and ask away.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll stand, if you don’t mind; I do too much sitting in my job as it is. I’m afraid I’ve nothing to offer at present in the way of refreshment, but if you’d care to wait I can get it from upstairs.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ I said. I perched myself on the edge of the copy-slave’s desk. ‘And I don’t know enough yet to be specific over questions. Let’s assume I’m starting from nothing and we’ll take it from there.’
Not so much as the bat of an eyelid, which considering I’d been careful to mention that I’d already talked with the grieving widow was interesting. Evidently he was no fool, Gratius. Not that I’d expected he would be: if Cestius’s estates were as large as I’d been told they were then as the family’s business manager he’d have to be well on top of his game.
‘As you wish,’ he said. ‘It happened just under two months ago, exactly on the Ides of July, during the grain harvest. You know that the master died at quite a distance from home, on another part of the estate?’
‘Yeah, that much I had got. He was found in one of his grain fields, right?’
‘Broadly, yes, although “field” is not the best word, because the area involved is quite extensive.’ He smiled again. ‘Perhaps I should explain, if you’ll bear with me. It’ll give you an idea of conditions here, and it may be relevant to your investigation.’
‘Fine. Go ahead.’
‘Our agricultural land is north and west of the city. There is a great deal of it, several square miles, in fact, but it’s made up of a number of large, independent stretches separated by land belonging to other owners. In some cases, quite widely separated; we’re talking miles, you understand. It’s not an ideal arrangement, of course, and it wasn’t deliberate; over the years the master simply bought up suitable land as it became available, wherever it happened to be. Which means that at harvest time the various work gangs, both our own slaves and the extra contracted labour, have to be split into smaller autonomous groups over a very wide area. Causing, as you can imagine, certain potential problems.’ Yeah; I was no country boy myself, but even I could see the obvious one. Leave a crowd of agricultural skivvies to their own devices and human nature being what it is the first thing they’ll do is bunk off and take things as easy as they dare. Not that I blame them, mind; they’re bought help, with no vested interest in a job well done, so why should they flog their guts out? ‘As a result, on most days Master Cestius was in the habit of riding over himself to one or other of the stretches to check that all was as it should be.’
‘And if it wasn’t?’ I said. ‘Just out of interest.’
‘Then pity help the work gang boss and his crew. I had a lot of respect for the master, but he was a bad man to cross, and no one did it twice. Still, it did ensure that we had all our grain in safely in the shortest possible time.’
‘Uh-huh. He follow any sort of regular pattern? In choosing where to go on any particular day, I mean?’
‘No. He chose the stretches completely at random. Quite deliberately so, of course.’
‘So no one would’ve known on that particular morning where he was headed?’
‘Oh, he wasn’t as devious as all that, sir. He wouldn’t have made a secret of it, particularly where his family and household were concerned. After all, why should he?’
‘The place where he was found. Where was it, exactly?’
‘On our most northerly stretch, about six miles from town. I can arrange for you to be taken there, if you need to see the exact spot.’
‘Yeah, that would be useful.’ Not that there’d be anything to see, of course, especially after this long a time. But it wouldn’t do any harm, and it might spark off a few ideas. ‘So. Is there anything special about that particular stretch? Anything that makes it stand out from the rest?’
He hesitated. ‘No. Apart, as I said, from its being the furthest away.’
He was fudging, and it showed. ‘Come on, pal,’ I said. ‘If there was I need to know. It might be important.’
‘No, honestly. There’s nothing unusual at all. Or not about the place itself, at least.’
‘What, then?
‘Can we come back to that, sir, if you don’t mind? Believe me, I have absolutely no wish to appear mysterious, and I promise you I’ve no intention of hiding anything. But there are reasons, and I will explain later, before you go.’
