Going Back, page 9
part #20 of Marcus Corvinus Series
The three guys playing dice at the nearest table – from the piles of coins in front of them for pretty high stakes – glanced up at me curiously, then carried on with their game.
‘Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Honeycomb. I’m Cassia Venusta.’
I turned round. The woman was at least twenty years older than the cloak-girl, and dressed accordingly. Pretty expensively-dressed, too, and her perfume was understated enough to have cost an arm and a leg. Obviously the club’s owner or manageress.
‘Valerius Corvinus,’ I said.
Her eyes widened. ‘The imperial procurator? Well, well. This is an honour.’
I grinned. ‘I, uh, don’t suppose it entitles me to a deduction in the membership fee, does it?’ I said.
She laughed. ‘No, I’m afraid not. We will be extra-specially respectful to you, though. I’ll instruct the girls accordingly.’
‘Deal.’ I was beginning to like Venusta. I took a gold piece from my money-belt and handed it over. ‘That’s bang on, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is. Mind you, you do get a complimentary drink for that. Lydia on the bar will be happy to serve you it.’
‘Great.’
‘Enjoy your visit, Procurator. And if there’s anything you need don’t hesitate to ask.’
‘I won’t. Thanks.’ She moved away and I went over to the counter. I noticed that one of the dice-playing trio had renewed his interest.
‘What can I get you, sir?’ The girl behind the bar counter smiled at me. ‘We have quite a range of wines, local, Italian and Greek. The names are on the board there.’
I checked them through. The local varieties weren’t familiar, of course, but the Italian ones were all pretty much top-notchers. Good sign.
‘I’ll try one of the locals,’ I said. ‘Which would you recommend?’
‘The Membressan is good.’
‘Okay. Make it a cup of that.’ I leaned on the counter while she poured it. ‘Is Publius Cestius in tonight, do you know?’
‘You’ve just walked past him.’ She nodded over my shoulder towards the dice-players. ‘That’s him, at the table near the door. The man on the left.’
I half-turned. Yeah, that made sense: the player who’d suddenly developed an interest when I’d given Venusta my name. Well, we might as well get this done and dusted. I took a sip of the wine – good choice, dry but not too dry, and spicier than the wines I was used to – and carried the cup back over to the table.
The guy was still watching me. He didn’t look too friendly.
‘Publius Cestius?’ I said.
‘That’s me.’ Definite reserve there, at the very least.
‘Valerius Corvinus. You mind if we have a chat in private?’
He frowned, then shrugged. ‘Okay. I was losing anyway. Catch you later, boys.’ He scooped up the coins in front of him and replaced them in his money-belt. ‘In the corner’s best.’
I followed him over. There was a couch, a small table and a stool. He lay down on the couch; I moved the nearest candelabrum closer so we’d have more light and sat down on the stool.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘You know who I am? What I’m doing in Carthage, I mean?’
‘Yeah. You’re the snoop from Rome looking into my father’s death.’
Hardly a promising beginning, but I couldn’t really argue with the description.
‘Correct,’ I said equably. ‘So what can you tell me about it?’
‘Absolutely nothing. I wasn’t there at the time.’
‘I never thought you were.’ Not altogether true – the jury was still out on that one, as a possibility at least – but I wasn’t under oath here. ‘I just thought, as a member of the family, that you might be able to fill me in a little where the background is concerned.’
‘What background?’
‘Murders don’t come out of nowhere, pal. If you look hard enough there’re usually some signs that one is building.’
‘You’ve talked to my mother. She’ll have told you the chances are he was killed by bandits. For pure monetary gain.’ The last bit came out sarcastic as hell. ‘End of story.’
I shook my head. ‘Uh-uh. According to your factor Gratius that’s unlikely. And he wasn’t robbed; when he was found he was still wearing his belt-pouch with the cash intact. So let’s discount that explanation, shall we?’ He just looked at me. ‘Thing is, what I can’t get my head around is that you, the family, I mean, from what I’ve seen of you, don’t seem to be all that bothered about getting to the truth. Now why would that be? No hassle, I’m just interested.’
‘Why do you think?’
‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking the question.’
‘My father was a gold-plated, hundred-per-cent bastard.’
I blinked. Well, that was forthright enough. ‘In what way?’
‘In every way. That doesn’t mean I didn’t like him, mind.’
‘Come again?’
‘No, I take that back; like is the wrong word. You couldn’t like my father, no one could, and none of us did. Respect’s not perfect, but it’ll do. We may not have liked him, my mother, my brother and me, but we all respected him. By the gods, we did; he made sure of it.’
‘You’ll have to explain that.’
He frowned. ‘The old man always knew exactly what he wanted. Exactly. And he made sure he got it, every scrap, whatever it took. No compromises, no arguments, no welshing. Not ever. Try to get in his way, whoever you were, family included, and he’d just walk straight over you without a second thought.’
Uh-huh. ‘He sounds tough,’ I said.
‘Oh, he was. But it meant you knew where you were with him, always. Some things he didn’t care a straw about.’ He gave me a quick sideways look; yeah, his wife’s infidelities, for one. ‘Other things – well, he’d go to the wall over them. Us, for a start. Quintus and me. So long as we played the part he wanted us to play everything was fine. Pure sweetness and light. Step out of line just the barest fraction or try to go your own way and–’ He shrugged again. ‘You get the idea.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I think I do.’
‘So you can see why we couldn’t care less that he’s dead, or who killed him. It means we can finally breathe.’
‘Will it change things at all?’
‘How do you mean? What sort of things?’
‘The decision to go back to Italy, for a start. Now you’re due to inherit.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I’m happy with that, always have been. Carthage is okay, but it’s a dead end. I’ve got ambitions. Political.’
‘And the engagement?’
‘The girl’s from a consular family. Not one of the top ones, and only the suffect version, but her father’s got influence in the senate.’
‘You’ve met her, I assume. You like her?’
He looked at me in surprise. ‘Vettia? Of course I’ve met her; I was over in Rome in the spring, sussing things out, having a look at the future in-laws and letting them have a look at me. She’s okay; no great beauty, mind, and not my type, boring as hell, but the dowry’s good, and like I say her dad’s got political clout. I’m going to need that if I’m to get on.’ He grinned. ‘You can’t have everything, can you?’
‘No, that’s true enough.’ Yeah, well, and I’d just been starting to feel sorry for him, too. It just went to show. ‘What about–?’
Someone had moved between us and the lamps. I looked round and up.
‘Who’s your friend, Publius?’ the man said.
Big-boned, solid muscle from the neck down and probably up as well, the stance of a prize-fighter and just radiating Attitude with a capital ‘A’. Shit; this just had to be Verania’s current bit of rough, Cluvius Scarus: Quirinius had said he was a member.
‘Fuck off, Scarus,’ Publius said. ‘This is a private conversation.’
Spoken with real venom. Interesting: clearly there was no love lost there.
The guy ignored him, hooked over another stool with a negligent foot, and sat down.
‘Actually,’ he said to me, ‘I know who you are. Valerius Corvinus, right? The emperor’s lap-dog from Rome.’
‘More or less,’ I said. We were going to be great buddies, Scarus and me; I could see that now.
He gave me a long stare, then turned back to Publius. ‘I told you I’d be in tonight,’ he said. ‘Let you get your revenge. Or try to.’
‘That depends,’ Publius said; his hands were clenched into fists. ‘Whose dice will we be playing with this time?’
Scarus’s face darkened. ‘You want to watch what you say, sonny boy,’ he said quietly.
‘Or else?’
‘Or else I might tell Mummy on you.’ He gave a sudden bark of laughter.
Publius stood up. ‘Some other night,’ he said. ‘I’ve had enough of dice for the moment. I’ll see you around, Corvinus.’
And he left. Scarus watched him go, smiling. Then he turned back to me.
‘He’s a bastard,’ he said conversationally. ‘You probably noticed. And he doesn’t like me.’
‘Yeah, well, I just can’t understand that at all, friend,’ I said. ‘Still, there’s no accounting for taste.’
Another bark of laughter, and he slapped me on the arm. It was like being hit with an oak plank.
‘Maybe there isn’t, at that,’ he said. ‘You want a drink?’
‘Got one, thanks.’
But he was already signalling in the direction of the bar. ‘Hey, Lydia! A cup of the usual for me, and a refill of whatever the Roman’s having. My bill.’ He turned to face me again. ‘Now. You’ll want to talk to me, no doubt. Decide whether it was me that did it. Killed the old man, I mean.’
Sod this for a game of soldiers. ‘Did you?’ I said.
‘No. I couldn’t have, could I? The day it happened was one before a fight day. We spend that training, or working out routines if the guy who’s paying just wants a good show to please the punters, with no deaths. The whole team, sunrise to sundown with an hour’s break for lunch. You can check if you like.’
Yeah, I would. Not that I thought it wouldn’t square up when I did: some alibis you can’t fake, and that one sounded pretty much cast-iron.
Bugger.
He was watching me, and grinning. ‘Spoiled your evening, have I?’ he said.
‘Uh-uh. I’m glad of the information. It means I can look elsewhere.’
‘Of course, I’d be a natural suspect, I know that. I was screwing Cestius’s wife; still am, for that matter. Which is why Sonny Boy there hates my guts.’ The drinks came over. He winked at Lydia, took his own cup and raised it. ‘Cheers. To a successful investigation.’
‘Thanks.’ I didn’t drink.
He lowered the cup. ‘Come on, Corvinus! I’m trying to be nice.’
‘So what happens now?’ I said. ‘You and Verania becoming a permanent item?’
‘Marriage, you mean?’ He stared at me. ‘Nah! No chance! She might bed a sword-fighter, but that lady wouldn’t marry one, not if she wanted to keep her reputation with her high-class friends. And if she’s planning to go back to Rome – which she is – then it’s even more unlikely. Not that I’m crying: we’d get tired of each other sooner or later, there’s plenty around to take her place, and marriage would take all the spice out. Besides, she’s too fond of getting her own way for my liking.’
‘Like her husband?’ I said. ‘He know about you two, by the way?’
He shrugged. ‘Presumably. I never asked. But I doubt if Verania made any secret of it. The boys knew, certainly.’
‘And he didn’t mind? Cestius, I mean.’
‘Obviously not. We never had occasion to talk, so I wouldn’t know.’
‘He have anything going for him in that line himself?’
Scarus laughed. ‘Him? No. Or if he did Verania’s never mentioned it. Cestius just wasn’t interested in sex of any kind. Power, now, that was a different thing. You know he didn’t retire from politics in Rome altogether voluntarily?’
‘Yeah, I did, as a matter of fact.’ Claudius had told me something about that when we talked.
‘Bastard was lucky to escape before he got the order to slit his wrists, that’s the way Verania tells it, anyway. You ask me, it rankled. What we had here was a top-notch mover and shaker manqué.’ He must’ve seen my expression, because he grinned. ‘Come on, Corvinus! Just because I signed on for a gladiator and look the part doesn’t mean I’m a complete thicko! Cestius got off on power; here he could be a big fish in a small pond and boss everyone around, whistle and watch them jump. He loved it. My guess is that’s what got him killed. If you’re looking for a motive you can have that one on me, free of charge.’ He stood up. ‘Well, I have to be off; other wannabe dice-players to skin now Publius has run away scared. It’s been a pleasure talking to you. Come and watch me fight some time, okay?’
And he was gone.
Interesting.
12.
I was up late next morning, and Perilla was ahead of her usual time, so for a change our breakfasts overlapped: mine, consisting of my usual bit of bread, dipping oil and small bowl of cheese and olives, hers consisting of a three-egg omelette, half a bushel of fruit, and several rolls with honey. How she manages to put away as much as that first thing without bursting at the seams or putting on serious poundage is one of nature’s greatest mysteries.
‘Well, dear,’ she said, quartering another pear and removing the core, ‘how was your evening? Hugely enjoyable, apparently, judging by the hour you got home and the over-obvious wine-fuelled efforts you were making not to wake me.’
I grinned. ‘Don’t be catty, lady. It wasn’t all that late, barely after midnight, I had less than half a jug, and the way you were snoring your socks off I couldn’t’ve wakened you up this side of the Winter Festival.’
‘Marcus, I do not snore!’
‘Tell that to the neighbours.’
She ducked her head to hide a smile. ‘All right. So. Was the visit a success?’
‘Yeah, I’d say that. I managed to talk to both Publius Cestius and Verania’s gladiator pal Scarus.’
‘Did you, indeed?’ She reached for the honey-pot. ‘And?’
‘Publius is your typical man on the make. Selfish as hell with, I suspect, about as many scruples as a Suburan landlord. Perfect credentials for the wannabe politician, in other words; he should go down a bomb in Rome. Mind you, from what I’ve seen of his mother and from what he told me about old Cestius it would’ve been a miracle if he’d turned out any different.’
‘What exactly did he say about his father?’
I told her. ‘The guy sounds a real horror. A total control freak with a vindictive streak a mile wide. Scarus suggested that that was why he was killed, that he’d finally pushed someone just a little too far, and as a working theory that has a lot going for it.’
‘You think that someone could have been Publius?’
‘It’s possible, but I doubt it. Not on present showing, anyway. The recent changes to his life – going back to Italy, the whole betrothal business, starting out on a career – may’ve been his father’s ideas to begin with but he seems quite happy with them. In fact, completely in favour. The push, if there was one, might’ve been to do with something else entirely, mind; Spadix’s contact in the kitchen said the two men had had some furious arguments recently, so there had to be some serious bone of contention. In which case he’d be well in the frame.’
‘His gambling?’
‘Maybe. I get the impression that where gambling’s concerned he’s quite definitely a loser. Even so, Cestius was well enough off to mop up a few gambling debts without breaking sweat too much, and that’s what rich daddies are for, after all; they may complain like hell, but they know themselves that it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Things would’ve had to have got pretty bad between the pair of them before they justified murder, at least, they would’ve had to if we were talking normal father-son relations, which this time we evidently aren’t. Besides, in other ways Publius was the perfect blue-eyed boy, bringing home the family bacon.’ I shook my head. ‘Ah, hell. The simple answer is that I can’t decide about him one way or the other. We need to know more than he’s giving us himself, and where that’s going to come from I’ve no idea at present. Put a question mark over him for the time being.’
‘Fair enough. How about Scarus?’
‘He’s even more complicated. I thought at first he was your usual muscle-bound bonehead, but he isn’t; he thinks things through and he can be objective about them. His relationship with Verania, for example. He’s perfectly up front about that, sure, but he’s got no illusions about it being made permanent.’ I frowned. ‘At least, that was the impression he was trying to give because naturally it would mean that he’d no motive for killing Cestius, either on his own account or as a favour to the prospective widow.’
‘You don’t believe him?’
‘Perilla, that is a guy I wouldn’t believe if he told me the sun would rise tomorrow. He’s smart. I’ll bet you taking the opportunity of getting his oar in first and talking to me before I could talk to him was deliberate. He was careful to give me an alibi up front for the day of the murder, too.’
‘What was that?’
‘That he’d spent it, all of it, at the gladiatorial school, getting ready with the rest of the team for a fight the next day. Oh, sure, I’ll check that out – he’s too good a prospect just to cross off the suspect list on his own say-so – but I’ll be surprised if it doesn’t square. Pity; apart from this guy Medar he’s the best bet we’ve got so far where motive’s concerned. And of course given his line of business he’d have no compunction about carrying out the actual killing.’ I used the last crust of bread to mop up the remainder of the oil and ate it. ‘There was another interesting feature of the conversation, too, although it probably doesn’t have anything to do with the murder.’
