Going Back, page 7
part #20 of Marcus Corvinus Series
‘I suppose not.’ I grinned. ‘As long as you don’t expect us to take up any dinner invitations. So. What did you get?’
‘First of all – and most important – your Verania’s current romantic interest is a gladiator by the name of Gaius Cluvius Scarus.’
‘Three names? He’s a freedman?’
‘No. Actually he’s free born, and from a respectable local family. According to Lautia – who, I grant you, is not your most charitable informant – he’s a thoroughly bad lot who got himself into debt several years ago. Not for the first time, by any means, or simply that, so the result was that his family washed their hands of him.’
Yeah; it happens. And one of the ways out – drastic, sure, but it suits the wilder spirits – is to contract yourself for a given number of years to a gladiatorial school, which in exchange pays your debts for you. That’s assuming, of course, that you’re professional sword-fighter material in the first place: no school is going to fork out good money just to see their new boy cut down in his first bout, and from the rookie’s point of view he needs to be pretty confident that he can come out at the other end of the deal with all his bits intact before he signs on the dotted line.
‘He must be pretty good,’ I said. ‘As a gladiator, that is.’
‘Oh, yes, he is, very; the local school’s star attraction, in fact. He has quite a following.’
Uh-huh; that made sense, too, particularly where women were concerned. Successful gladiators are a magnet for a certain kind of high-class lady out for a bit of extramarital excitement. And if the guy was freeborn, from a good family, the liaison wouldn’t involve the same degree of social stigma that it would’ve done had he been a slave, which is usually the case. At least, so long as the affair was managed discreetly. In public, Verania’s high-class women friends – who would not, of course, include Perilla’s new chum – would turn a blind eye; in private, they were more likely to envy her than turn their noses up.
‘Second?’ I said.
‘Mm? Oh, yes. Not quite as scandalous, this one, but interesting none the less. Cestius’s elder son, Publius, is a bit of a black sheep too. Girls and gambling, mostly, the girls being mainly of the gold-digging variety and the gambling very much on the debit side. It caused a bit of tension between him and his father.’
‘A bit of tension?’
‘Yes. No more than that, I think. If there had been – for example, the possibility of disinheritance – then I’m sure Lautia would have been very happy to tell me. Besides, he’s contracted now to make a good marriage into a rich consular family and likely to move fairly rapidly up the political ladder. That would be reason enough to forgive a few minor peccadilloes, surely.’
‘Yeah, I’m sure it would. Mind you, according to Gratius the guy’s all of twenty-five. Most youngsters of his class go through the wild oats sowing in their mid to late teens. If it’s not an ingrained trait by his age I’d’ve expected him to have come out the other end.’
‘Perhaps he has. After all, as I say, he’s engaged to be married and start off on a career. And don’t forget Lautia will always put the blackest interpretation on things.’
‘Uhuh. Fair point. Still, we’ll add it to the bag. Well done.’ I took a swallow of the wine. It wasn’t familiar, but not bad at all; I’d have to ask Bathyllus where he’d got it from, and what it was called. ‘Did she say anything more about Cornelia, by the way? Or about how her father died?’
‘No, of course not. And I didn’t ask. Why should I? It’s not relevant to your investigation, is it?’
I shrugged. ‘Not that I know of. Even so, I’ve always been suspicious of coincidental deaths.’
‘This one wasn’t coincidental, dear. Or not in the sense you mean. There’s no reason whatsoever to think it was anything other than an accident.’
‘True.’ I was frowning. ‘Even so, his name’s cropped up pretty regularly so far.’
‘But of course it has. We’re staying in his house and he was a well-known local figure. Anyone you talk to who knows that is bound to mention him. Actually, though, I’ve just been browsing through his library. Did you know he was a historian? Judging by his collection – and it’s a very impressive one – interested primarily in Carthage’s final period. The fifty or so years from Zama to the final destruction, I mean.’
‘Yeah, Gratius said. They were good friends, seemingly. And according to him Cestius’s younger son Quintus was a protégé.’
‘Was he, indeed?’ She smiled. ‘A different person from his brother, then.’
‘So it would appear.’
‘So. What now? Where the case is concerned.’
‘We’ve got this Medar character, certainly. From what Gratius told me about him he’s a clear front runner at present, and I’ll talk to him as soon as Gratius finds him for me. Your Cluvius Scarus sounds interesting, too. I can go on over to the gladiatorial school, look him up, see whether he might fit the frame.’
‘You think he’s a possibility?’
‘Pass. It’s far too early yet to be thinking in terms of definite suspects, apart from Gratius’s Medar, of course, who’s so obvious it’s embarrassing. Still, if Scarus is Verania’s current lover then he’s definitely in the game. Her son Publius will inherit the bulk of the estate, sure, but there’ll be a fair amount of collateral, and if the guy is freeborn and from a good family there’s no reason why he shouldn’t’ve had his eye on marrying a rich widow and engineered things accordingly. We’ll just have to see how he shapes up in the flesh. How about you? You got any plans for how to spend your time?’
‘Actually, I have. I thought of getting in touch with Cornelia and asking her if she’d show me the sights. It might discourage Lautia from getting too friendly, and besides I suspect the child needs taking out of herself.’
Uh-huh. From the too-bright tone in her voice I suspected there was a bit of rationalisation going on here, maybe even a tad of self-deception. Her use of the word ‘child’ was a giveaway: Cornelia wasn’t all that old – I’d guessed late teens, early twenties – but she wasn’t a child. Not in years, anyway, and that was the point. And I hadn’t seen many signs, during our short acquaintance, that she needed taking out of herself, either; if anything, barring the strangeness, she’d been perfectly at ease and in command of the situation throughout. What we’d got here were the lady’s maternal instincts kicking in. I hadn’t been alone in mentally comparing the girl to our own Marilla when we first found her, although I hoped I was wrong and that was where the comparison ended. Still, striking up a friendship with her couldn’t do any harm. Quite the reverse.
‘That sounds great,’ I said. ‘You could–’
There was a discreet knock at the door and Bathyllus came in.
‘Meton was wondering if you’d care to eat early, sir,’ he said.
‘Sure. Any time.’ It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t had anything since breakfast, and I was starving. ‘He say what’s on offer?’
‘Fish, I understand. He was most impressed with the local fish market this morning and came back with a selection.’
‘Marvellous,’ I said, and meant it: what Meton could do with really fresh, really good fish was the subject of poetry. It was part of what made the perpetual strain of putting up with the evil-minded sod worthwhile.
The case could wait until tomorrow.
9.
I’d just finished breakfast on the terrace the next morning – no sign of Perilla, of course; she wouldn’t be stirring for another hour – and I was wondering where to make a start when Bathyllus came through with a stranger in tow; from his dress and general appearance, a slave, and not a household one, at that.
‘This is Spadix, sir,’ he said. ‘Sextus Gratius sent him, with his compliments.’
‘That so?’ I bunched up my napkin and laid it on the table. ‘He give you a reason, Spadix?’
The guy nodded. ‘I’m to take you to where we found the master’s body, sir,’ he said.
‘Fair enough.’ Quick work, on Gratius’s part, but then he’d struck me from the first as the efficient type. Well, that was my day sorted for me, or at least some of it.
‘Brought a horse for you, ’case you didn’t have none of your own handy. That be okay?’
‘Sure. It’s quite a distance, I understand.’
‘That it is, sir, better’n six miles. ’S a good time to go though, ’fore the sun gets up proper. Coming back’ll be on the warm side, mind.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Bugger; I wasn’t looking forward to this. I’m no horseman, and twelve or more miles there and back in the heat I could do without. Still, it had to be done, if only for the sake of completeness. ‘Right, pal. I’m done here now. Let’s get started.’
‘I’ve packed some wine and a water-skin in the saddlebags, sir,’ Bathyllus said. ‘Also some bread, cheese and olives in case you want them.’
Well, I might fry but I wouldn’t starve. That, at least, was nice to know.
The frying part was right on the button: early in the day or not, once we’d left the city with its cooling sea breeze and were out in flat, open country it got hot as a baker’s oven, and I was glad of the broad-brimmed straw sun-hat that Bathyllus had added to the supplies. Spadix, plodding along on his mule beside me, was bareheaded, and although like me he was sweating buckets the guy didn’t look too unhappy; no doubt the fact that, from what I could see of it, his skin had the colour and consistency of boot-leather had a lot to do with it. The local flies, who seemed to have decided nem. con. that we were the best source of moisture currently on offer and were making the most of the opportunity, didn’t seem to worry him unduly either. Evidently they bred their outdoor slaves heat-proof in Carthage.
I was impressed with the countryside, mark you. Like I said, the African coast has some of the most fertile ground in the empire, and together with Egypt and Sicily it supplies Rome with most of her corn. That particular crop had been harvested for the time being, sure, but there were gangs of slaves with oxen ploughing up the stubble ready for the next sowing, and other fields filled with lines of fruit trees, trellised vines and vegetables.
The sun was well up in the sky when Spadix pointed ahead of us.
‘There’s the place now, sir,’ he said.
I could see what Gratius had meant when he said it was the only real shade for miles: a grove of date-palms surrounded by what I’ve always thought of as ‘general bosk’. Cestius wouldn’t’ve chosen anywhere else for his lunch break, or whatever he was doing. And the implication was, of course, that anyone who knew he’d come out that day in this direction would know that, too. Given that he had murder in mind from the start, our chummie – whoever he was – wouldn’t have to worry about stalking his victim, looking for his best opportunity; the stage was already set, and all he’d’ve had to do was turn up.
We rode into the cover of the trees and dismounted. Again like Gratius had said, there was a pool in the centre of the grove, quite a big one and from the look of it pretty deep, so probably fed from an underground spring. The beasts moved over to it straight off and got their heads down to suck up the water.
‘Found him over there, sir.’ Spadix nodded towards one of the trees set a bit back from the pool.
‘You found him yourself?’ I said.
‘Yeah. Me and a couple of mates.’
I went to look. No signs of the killing, obviously; there wouldn’t be, of course, not after all this time, but I had to go through the motions here, if only for my own satisfaction. The base of the tree was screened either side by bushes and in front by the bulk of the grove itself, so anyone sitting there would have no view of the surrounding countryside. Given that Cestius had no suspicion that he was in any kind of danger – which seemed a reasonable assumption – then taking him by surprise would’ve been easy-peasie.
‘And he’d been stabbed, right?’ I said.
‘That’s right, sir. Blood everywhere, there was, all over the place. My mate Simo, he boaked his guts out when he saw.’
Thank you, thank you for that valuable additional snippet. ‘He’d been eating?’ I said. Then, when Spadix frowned and opened his mouth to answer, I added hastily: ‘Your master, I mean.’
‘Oh. Him. Yeah. Yeah, he had. There was a few bits and pieces lying around, bread and cheese and such. Bit of wine, an’ all.’ He looked slightly uncomfortable; I suspected that he and his mates, once they’d got over their shock and nausea, had shared out what was left of the master’s picnic amongst themselves. Ah, well, slaves – the outdoor variety, especially – need to grab whatever chance of a free meal comes their way, whatever the circumstances. And the wine would’ve been first rate, far better than the watered-down vinegary stuff that they’d be used to.
Well, that was more or less all I could expect to get; not much, I grant you, in exchange for a very uncomfortable couple of hours in the saddle and the prospect of an even more unpleasant ride back, but it couldn’t be helped; at least that box was ticked and I could move on. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got in the way of a picnic and then we’ll start on back.’
‘That’s okay, sir.’ Spadix went over to the mule, who’d had his fill of water and was chewing on one of the bushes, and unhitched the saddle-bag. ‘Your man give me some bread and cheese of my own. Wine, too.’
‘Fine.’ I unhitched my own lunch and we settled down next to the pool to eat. ‘What was he like to work for, by the way? Your Master Cestius?’
‘He was okay, sir.’ Spadix took a clasp-knife from his belt-pouch, opened it and cut a slice from a lump of cheese. ‘Din’t have much to do with him myself, mind. General gardening duties, that’s me. He liked to get his own way, mark you, an’ he was the very devil if you got the wrong side of him. Even to family, if what I’ve heard’s true. Still, we’ve all got our faults, haven’t we?’
‘Yeah, I suppose we do at that.’ So; quite the homespun philosopher at bottom, our Spadix. And I hadn’t missed that bit about family, either. ‘How about the mistress?’
He chuckled. ‘Oh, she’s a proper tartar, that one. You don’t cross Mistress Verania, neither, not if you want to keep the skin on your back. Even the master kept well clear of her, an’ I din’t blame him.’
‘They lived completely separately?’
‘Now that I couldn’t say for sure, not being part of the household proper. But they had their own quarters ever since I can remember, an’ far as I know they kept to them. Tell you the truth, why they stayed together at all was a mystery to me, but there you are, nobs live by their own rules. Saving your presence, sir.’
‘Uh-huh.’ I set out the food that Bathyllus had packed for me on the ground: bread rolls, cheese, pickles and a respectable piece of dried sausage. ‘What about the youngsters of the family? Publius and Quintus?’
‘Ah, now, we’re talking chalk and cheese there, sir. Master Publius, now he’s always been a wild one, up to all sorts of nonsense, women, drink, gambling, the lot. Still is. You’d’ve thought he’d’ve grown out of it by his age, him being engaged to be married an’ all, but no; still in with the fastest set in town, an’ spending money like water. ’Cording to Eulalia he an’ his father had some rare shouting matches before the old man died. He’ll be all right now, though, won’t he.’
‘Who’s Eulalia?’
‘That’s my mate Simo’s girl. She works in the kitchen, one of the skivvies, so she hears all the gossip. Quite a catch for Simo, her being an insider an’ all, but he’s a good-looking beggar, young Simo, an’ he’s always been good at pulling the talent. She seems happy enough, anyway.’
Gods, we were really getting a tour of life back-stairs here, and no mistake! ‘Quintus is more your studious type, right?’
‘Indeed, sir. Nose in a book from no age, young Master Quintus.’
‘His bag’s history, as I understand it.’
‘That’s so. Matter of fact he was in thick with the old gentleman as had the house you’re staying in. He was a histororian too. Mind you, ’cording to Eulalia again he’d got other fish to fry in that direction.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Sweet on the daughter, isn’t he? The Lady Cornelia.’
I stared at him. ‘What?’
‘Has been for months. An’ it’s mutual. Not that there’s been any country stuff, mark you, or least Eulalia dun’t think so.’ He tore off a piece of bread and chewed on it. ‘Still, good luck to him, that’s what I say. He’s a good lad, young Master Quintus. He deserves a bit of luck’
So Quintus Cestius and Cornelia were an item, were they? Things were getting complicated. ‘What did your master think about that?’ I said.
‘Oh, the master din’t know nothing about it, or so Eulalia says. If he had done and thought it was serious he’d’ve hit the roof, the girl being...well, you probably know about that yourself. The mistress dun’t know neither, nor no one else. Only reason Eulalia knows is ’cos the chef’s girlfriend’s cousin is bosom buddies with the Lady Cornelia’s maid.’
Score one for the slave grapevine. Yeah, well, I’ve always said that as information-gathering systems go it has the imperial secret service beat six ways from nothing. Spadix would only be telling me because I was an outsider, and so presumably wouldn’t have a vested interest in the matter. I reached absently for the sausage. ‘You mind lending me that knife of yours for a minute, pal?’ I said.
‘Sure.’
He passed it over, and I cut a few slices...
Uh-huh.
‘Nice knife,’ I said.
He was looking uncomfortable again, and I’d bet for the same reason as last time.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It is.’
‘You, ah, found it with the body, didn’t you?’
He swallowed. ‘Yeah. Yes, sir. Matter of fact I did.’ He was watching my face, and his jaw dropped in horror. ‘Oh, no, sir, nothin’ like that, honest to the gods! It must’ve been the master’s own. He had it in his hand when we found him.’
