Food for the Fishes

28

I moped about a bit for the rest of the day. I hadn’t got completely canned in Zethus’s after all: when it came to the point there didn’t seem much point, as it were. I just had the half jug, told the gossip-mongering barfly-ghouls at the counter how things’d turned out — they’d hear the story quick enough through the grapevine anyway, and at least this way I could be sure of what the bastards were passing on — and called it a day at that. I didn’t mention Ligurius’s connection with Penelope, though: I reckoned that lady had grief enough, and the information was private. As far as Zethus’s clientele were concerned he’d just been insulted one time too many, beaned the master with the fish pole and in the end killed himself to avoid an inevitable date with the public executioner. End of case, exit villain.

So, like I say, I went back home and moped around. Mother and Priscus had gone off to Neapolis again — there were still a few shops out in the sticks that she hadn’t been into — but Perilla had stayed behind to give me some moral support when I got back. I needed it. It was always like this at the end of a case: you felt empty, drained. It was even worse when the guy who’d done it turned out not to be one of the bastards you hoped had.

‘You think all this faffing around is worth it, lady?’ I said to Perilla. We were sitting out in the garden, under the shade of a trellised vine. She was reading, I was watching a squirrel poking around beneath the big beech tree fifty yards off. Wrong time of year, pal, I thought. No nuts in July.

‘What faffing around, Marcus?’

‘This detecting. Half the time it only leads to trouble. If I hadn’t interfered Ligurius would still be alive, so would Tattius, and the two of them would probably have got married when the old man popped his clogs.’

‘Ligurius and Tattius?’

‘Come on, Perilla, you know what I mean. My bet is that Penelope was just waiting for her husband to drop off his perch from natural causes. Then she’d’ve given her father the finger, if he was still alive himself, and married Ligurius in spite of him and her brothers. Duty done, happy ever after, and it wouldn’t’ve mattered if it’d taken another fifteen years because she’d’ve waited them out as well, and so would he. Me being here changed all that.’

Perilla rolled up her book and gave me a long, steady look. Finally she said in a hard voice: ‘Don’t be silly, Marcus. Ligurius was a killer. He had to be caught. And if he decided to take his own life rather than run then that was his own decision.’

‘Ligurius wasn’t a killer, lady. Not originally, not by nature. Murena’s death was an accident. What turned the guy into a murderer was knowing I was sniffing around the corpse and being afraid I’d find out what happened. That’s what I’m saying. If I hadn’t interfered then it would’ve ended with Murena, and Murena’s was no murder at all. Chlorus and Tattius would still be alive — even those bastards had some right to life — and Ligurius and Penelope would still have a future, or at least the hopes of one.’

‘Trebbio wouldn’t.’

That stopped me. She was right, of course: someone had to be up for the rap, and Trebbio had been it. Penelope had told me upfront that she wouldn’t’ve interfered. He could’ve got off at the trial, sure, but that wasn’t likely. Praetor’s reps are very neat about those things: a murder needs a murderer, and that’s the end of it. We were still talking balances here, though: one life saved against three lost. Not good arithmetic. I said so.

‘One innocent life, Marcus,’ Perilla said.

‘Against three guilty? One I’d grant you, just. The other two — well, Chlorus and Tattius might’ve been out-and-out bastards, but could you put your hand on your heart and say they deserved to die? Because I couldn’t. And they died because I interfered.’

She put the book down. ‘They died because Ligurius killed them,’ she said.

I sighed. Yeah, well; it wasn’t worth arguing, and she was right, anyway. It was just the mood I was in. I watched the squirrel for a bit, and after a while Perilla picked her book back up and carried on reading.

Ten minutes later she raised her head. ‘Why don’t we go to Philippus’s tonight?’ she said.

My eyes had glazed over. I snapped back to attention. ‘What?’

‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He’s a lovely man really. And I noticed that some of the people there were playing Robbers. I enjoy Robbers.’

Jupiter in bloody spangles! ‘Perilla, that’s a men-only gambling hall! Just because he let you in once as a favour doesn’t mean — ’

‘Nonsense. We can ask, at least. I’m sure there must be some good players there. I can give you a whole row of men and still beat you hands down every time. It’d be nice to have some decent competition for once.’

Oh, shit. What had I let loose? ‘Perilla — ’

‘We could even persuade Vipsania to let us take Priscus along. He’d be all right with us there, and the poor man deserves a proper holiday like anyone else.’

I had to put a stop to this right now. ‘Perilla, listen,’ I said. ‘Pin your bloody ears back for once and use them. We are not going back to Philippus’s, okay? Believe me, gambling’s a habit that can get a real grip on you. Just don’t start, right?’

She grinned at me.

Bugger. I stood up, kissed her and went inside to see if I could scare up Bathyllus and another half jug of wine.

Ah, well; maybe life wasn’t too bad after all. And an evening at Philippus’s might be fun.

So long as the lady didn’t get a taste for it.