Illegally Dead (16 page)

‘Oh, I do. I do. It’s only that I sort of imagined that the original idea might come from Clarus and Marilla themselves, that’s all.’

‘Yeah, well...’

‘So what was the bad news?’

‘Meton’s having an affair with a married woman.’

Pause. ‘I’m sorry, dear? Say that again?’

‘Meton’s having an affair with a married woman.’

‘He’s what?’ Perilla doesn’t do gobsmacked, normally. On this occasion she did, in spades.

‘Yeah. Her name’s Renia, she’s married to a locksmith, and she is hot.’

‘Marcus, this is dreadful! You’re absolutely sure?’

‘I saw them myself.’

‘Oh, bugger!’

‘Ah...Perilla..?’

She ignored me. ‘So what do we do?’

‘We could ground him after all and take the consequences. I mean, we’re not here forever. Once we go back to Rome –’

‘It won’t make a blind bit of difference, in fact it’ll make things worse. He’ll sulk for months. He might even break into the cooking wine.’

I shuddered. The last time Meton had hit the booze it’d taken Decimus Lippillus of the City Watch and an incendiary device to get him out of the kitchen. I wasn’t going through that again. ‘All right. Suggestions.’

She was drumming her fingers on the table and frowning. ‘What about the woman?’ she said.

‘What about the woman?’

‘We could talk to her. Get her to end the affair on her side. After all, she is married, and for a freeborn woman to have relations with a slave is an offence.’

I grinned. ‘Blackmail, lady?’

She sniffed. ‘In the best of possible causes.’

‘Right. Right.’

‘Do you know where she lives?’

‘No, but it’d be easy enough for Alexis to follow Meton next time he jumps the wall and –’ I stopped. ‘Bugger. He’s in Bovillae, isn’t he?’

‘What about Bathyllus?’

‘Be serious, Perilla.’

‘Yes, well, perhaps not. And not Lysias, either, he’d be worse than useless. One of the other slaves, then. Aunt Marcia’s.’

‘Lady, most of them can practically remember the celebrations after Actium. They couldn’t follow a fucking snail without sitting down for a rest every five minutes. And I wouldn’t trust any of the others to do the job because they haven’t got brains enough amongst them to fill a saltspoon.’

‘In that case –’

‘Hi, Corvinus. Perilla. Did you have a nice day?’

I turned round. Marilla was coming up the terrace steps, accompanied by the slavering Placida. ‘Oh, hi, Princess.’

‘Clarus says he might have some information tomorrow for you on the dead woman. I left him having a look at her.’

‘Uh...right. Right.’

‘What’s for dinner?’

‘Veal with a caraway sauce and green beans in coriander.’ Perilla was smiling. ‘Or so Bathyllus reports. Marcus?’

‘What? Oh. Oh, yeah.’ I cleared my throat. ‘I, uh, was wondering if you and Clarus would consider getting engaged.’

‘Yes. Hyperion said. Of course we would.’

‘Ah...fine.’ I glanced at Perilla. ‘That’s settled, then.’

‘Clarus says the stains on the back of her tunic are especially interesting –’

‘Really?’

‘– but I won’t spoil it for him.’

‘Good. Uh...Princess?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve got a job for you.’

21

I rode over to Bovillae the next morning; largely to see how Alexis was getting on, but also to pick up a few loose strands. Such as Publius Novius, for example. That guy’s name was cropping up far too often for comfort, and besides I wanted to see him and judge him for myself.

Bovillae’s a lot bigger than Castrimoenium - most places are - but it isn’t the hub of the universe, not even close. The records office was in the main square, with a statue of the Divine Augustus outside, arm raised and pointing commandingly in the direction of the public latrine across the way, his noble laurel-wreathed forehead striped with the recent offering of an irreverent pigeon. I parked the mare at the horse-trough and went inside.

‘Yes, sir.’ The clerk behind the counter looked up. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I think you’ve got one of my slaves here. Guy called Alexis? He’s looking for –’

‘Oh, yes. You must be Valerius Corvinus. Yes, he’s here. You’ll find him rather dusty, I’m afraid, but that’s only to be expected under the circumstances.’ He lifted the counter’s wooden flap. ‘Come in and I’ll take you to him.’

‘How’s he getting on?’ I said as he led me down a gloomy corridor into the heart of the building. ‘Any luck yet, do you know?’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him that yourself, sir. We don’t have much call to dig into thirty-year-old trials as a rule, and I’ve had to leave him completely to his own devices. Which I was happy to do, with Quintus Libanius’s authorisation.’ He stopped at a door, opened it and stepped back to let me through. ‘Here we are. Dead records.’

The room was long and narrow, and it had pigeon-holes all round the walls, all of them full. It was a sunny day outside, but the only light here came in dust-mote-clouded shafts from latticed clerestory windows high above us. Alexis was perched on a stepladder half way along. He looked round and down as we came in...

Dusty was right; or maybe cobwebby would be a better word if the condition of the guy’s tunic and hair was anything to go by.  From the look on his face he wasn’t exactly full of the joys of spring and goodwill to all men, either. To put it mildly. Seriously pissed off would just about cover things, if you didn’t mind the gross understatement.

Uh-oh.

‘Ah...hi, Alexis,’ I said. ‘How’s it going, pal?’

‘What does it look like, sir?’ He blew a cobweb away from his mouth. ‘One guess. Just one. Please consider your reply carefully.’

The clerk smiled nervously. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ he said to me. ‘You can find your own way back, I expect?’

He exited.

Alexis rammed the bundle of record tablets he was holding into one of the topmost pigeonholes and came slowly down the ladder.

‘So, uh, no luck so far, right?’ I said brightly.

He gave me five clear seconds of eyeball. Then he said: ‘Valerius Corvinus, do you know how many - perishing - trial records there are on these - perishing - shelves between the consulships of Lucius Aelius Lamia and Drusus - perishing - Caesar?’

‘That’s the length you’ve got, is it, pal? Drusus Caesar, eh? Wow, that is very, very –’

‘One thousand, one hundred and sixty-three. And two-thirds.’

‘Two-thirds?’

‘Mice.’

I’d been edging back towards the door. ‘Congratulations, Alexis,’ I said. ‘You’re doing a sterling job, and I’m impressed. Don’t worry, we’ll get there eventually.’

‘Will we now, sir? Marvellous, bully for us. That cheers me up no end.’

‘Ah...good. Good. I’m glad.’ I found the door-handle and turned it gratefully. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, pal, I was just calling in in passing. I’ve got, uh, important business elsewhere. Don’t work too hard. I’ll catch you later, okay?’

I left, quickly, before he could unclench his jaw and answer, and made my way back to the counter. So where now? Publius Novius’s, obviously. I didn’t really have an excuse for calling on the guy, but if Quintus Libanius’s name was enough for the records clerk it might just get me a hearing on its own.

‘Finished already?’ The clerk looked surprised.

‘Yeah. No point in distracting the lad while he’s working.’ I lifted the flap and let myself out. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know where Publius Novius’s office is, would you?’

‘Novius the lawyer? Certainly, nothing easier. Only a couple of blocks from here, near the baths. Go out of the door, turn left and carry on straight ahead. There is a sign.’

‘Great. Thanks, pal. I’ll, ah, call in again this afternoon to see how Alexis is doing before I go back to Castrimoenium.’

‘I’m sure he’ll appreciate that hugely, sir.’

‘Right. Right.’

I left the mare where I’d parked her and followed the directions as given. I hadn’t gone more than the distance to the first side-street when I noticed an opening twenty yards down it with a sign on the gatepost saying: ‘Tuscius: Slaves.’

Had it been Scopas who’d said that Hostilius had bought Cosmus from Tuscius in Bovillae? I couldn’t remember offhand, but it probably had been. In any case, since I was passing anyway it was worth a visit. Cosmus, and how he fitted into all this, still worried me, and if my memory served the kid had been reticent about where he’d been previous to joining the Hostilius ménage.

I took a sharp left and went through the gate...

‘Good morning, sir! And how may I help you?’

Jupiter! That was fast! The guy must’ve been lurking behind the carefully-trimmed topiary peacocks in the yard, like one of Alexis’s spiders. He’d the look of an arachnid too: fat belly, spindly legs, greasy smile. Well, the metaphor had to break down somewhere.

‘You Tuscius, pal?’ I said.

‘Marcus Tuscius, yes, sir. You want a slave, I presume? Or several slaves? Always a wide range in stock, sir, to suit every pocket and requirement, every one carrying the Tuscius personal guarantee.’

‘Which is?’

‘Totally sound in wind and limb when sold, sir. Should he or she drop dead within three months of purchase then we’ll replace with equivalent or refund up to three quarters of the purchase price, conditions apply, mutatis mutandis, acts of god and plague excepted. Male slave, sir? Female?’ He leered. ‘We’ve a special offer at present on flutegirls. Buy one and you get a Nubian contortionist half price.’

‘Ah...’

‘Or if your tastes run in another direction there’s our Ganymede Special. Two luscious, peach-buttocked young –’

‘Pal,’ I said. ‘Just shut up, okay?’

‘If you insist, sir.’

‘You remember selling a slave by the name of Cosmus to Lucius Hostilius? The lawyer over in Castrimoenium?’

The little piggy eyes narrowed. ‘When would this be?’

‘Uh...’ I couldn’t remember, exactly. ‘A year ago? Maybe two?’

He beamed. ‘Out of guarantee, I’m afraid. Even with our extended warranty.’

Gods! ‘I’m not here to complain, sunshine. Even though he did murder his master.’

Tuscius blanched. ‘He did what?’

‘Not off his own bat. He was put up to it.’

‘Nevertheless.’ Tuscius glanced nervously over his shoulder. ‘Sir, I assure you...what’s your name?’

‘Corvinus. Valerius Corvinus.’

‘I assure you, Valerius Corvinus, I would rather have gnawed my own arm off, this arm here, sir’ - he held it up - ‘than knowingly have sold a defective slave. We’ll refund the full purchase price, naturally. If you’re the next-of-kin then subject to your producing notarised verification of the claim and of your own relationship with the deceased –’

‘Tuscius...’

‘– there’ll be no difficulty. I’ll even throw in a flutegirl as a goodwill gesture, or a peach-buttocked whatever, at a specially-discounted price.’

‘Pal. All I want to know is where you bought him from.’

He stared at me. ‘Really? That’s all?’

‘Read my lips.’

‘Then you’d better come into the office and I’ll check my records.’

I did, and he did.

Cosmus had been sold to Marcus Tuscius thirteen months ago by Publius Novius.

Shit!

‘You happen to remember anything about the kid?’ I said. ‘Or the sale itself?’

The eyes took on a guarded look. ‘Oh, now, sir. You said very distinctly only a few minutes ago that you only wanted the name of the seller. Besides, I can’t be expected to remember every –’

‘No hassle, Tuscius. I promise you. On the other hand, when this business reaches open court, as it will, and if I happen to be asked which firm supplied the slave who so tragically –’

‘Yes. Yes.’ His hand pawed at my sleeve. ‘Point taken. Now I come to think, Valerius Corvinus, I do recall something of the boy. Good-looking lad, not the sharpest knife in the drawer but well-spoken enough and with a nice manner. There’s quite a turnaround for that sort of slave in the first-time-buyer domestic market. Easy on the eye without being too flash, no problems with temperament, cheap to run, keep their trade-in value well if you want to upgrade after two or three years to a more streamlined model with more between the ears or a bit more oomph in other departments. Of course -’

‘Did Novius give you any reason for selling him?’

‘Not that I remember offhand, sir. And I wouldn’t have the effrontery to ask, not where an old customer like Publius Novius was concerned. He bought the first slave I ever sold, sir, when I took over the business eighteen years back, top of the range, Greek-speaking accountant with all his own teeth and only twenty-eight years on the clock. Didn’t quibble over the asking price, either. You don’t forget something like that when you’re a young man just starting up and have to watch your profit margins, it means a lot. And he’s been a regular ever since, not one of the “nip up to Rome where they stack them high and sell them cheap” set, always dealt locally. Honestly, sir, it makes your blood boil when you see –’

‘Yeah. Yeah, right. Did, uh, Hostilius buy Cosmus himself? Personally, I mean?’

‘No, I’ve never met the gentleman. That was his wife, sir, and her brother, if I recall correctly. Them I do know, or know of, because they’re Bovillans. Family has the wineshop by the Appian Gate, has had for years.’

‘And this would be when?’

‘You saw it in the ledger, sir. Two days after I bought the lad myself.’

Uh-huh. ‘That usual, pal? Such a quick turnaround?’

‘Not unusual. I said: that kind of slave’s popular. They don’t spend all that long on the forecourt, not like the really expensive specialist models or some of the two-a-penny agricultural workhorses. A real drug on the market, they can be, sometimes, especially in the winter months when they need more feeding and there isn’t all that much for them to do.’

‘They just walk in off the street? Veturina and Castor?’

‘More or less. That isn’t unusual either, sir. I’ve got quite a thriving business and the stock moves on quite quickly. Also there are the, well, the special offers, sir. So we get a fair number of browsers, and although I can’t say the impulse-buyer market’s all that significant it’s a steady earner.’

‘So they weren’t regular customers?’

‘No. Not per se, as it were.’ Tuscius sucked on a tooth. ‘Oh, I’ve sold a few slaves to the Hostilius household over the years, sir, and bought a few as well, but the gentleman’d always dealt through his major-domo up to then. Scopas, the name is, he’s a Bovillan too.’

‘How do you mean, a Bovillan?’

‘He came with the lady as part of her dowry, quite a slice of it too because he knows his job back to front. Not that I sold him to old Veturinus myself, naturally, that was my predecessor in the business. Good eye for a slave, Scopas has. You know him?’

‘Yeah, I know him. So Scopas was Veturina’s slave originally? Not Hostilius’s?’

‘No. Technically he was the gentleman’s. But old Veturinus paid the bill.’

I frowned. ‘Uh...thanks, friend. I’m much obliged.’

‘You’re most welcome, sir. While you’re here you wouldn’t care to look over –?’

‘No. No, not today.’

‘As you please, sir. Don’t forget where we are, though.’

‘I won’t. Thanks again.’

Okay; onward and upward, to Publius Novius’s. Like Acceius’s office in Castrimoenium, it was quite a swish affair, with a prominent sign, a marble-columned porch and a smartly-dressed door slave. A good business to be in, obviously, the legal trade.

‘Good morning, sir.’ The clerk was a younger version of Fuscus, but with the same brisk efficiency. The anteroom was impressive, too: marble and bronze statues seemed to be de rigeur where law practice decor was concerned.

‘I was hoping to talk to Publius Novius, pal,’ I said. ‘He around at present?’

‘I’m afraid not. He’s in Antium until tomorrow. Was it urgent?’

‘Fairly urgent.’ Damn.

‘Then I’m sure I can help. Your name is..?’

‘Corvinus. Valerius Corvinus.’ Was that a flicker? ‘Actually, though, it’s sort of private and personal. Could I make an appointment, do you think?’

‘No problem at all. Let’s have a look at the book.’ He consulted a wax tablet on the desk beside him. ‘The day after tomorrow’s relatively free, the morning at least. I can let you have one first thing, or would you prefer later?’