Food for the Fishes

6

Bathyllus was outside the door when I got back, doing something to the knocker involving a small brush and the contents of a pottery jar. He turned round, brush poised.

‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said. ‘Did you have a pleasant morning?’

‘It was interesting.’ I climbed the steps. ‘Any chance of a cup of wine?’

‘Certainly, sir. I’ll bring it out at once.’ He laid the brush and jar down. The jar was half-full of a thick honey-coloured gunk that even at that range was playing hell with my sinuses. Not normal brass polish, that was sure. And you didn’t paint doorknockers.

‘Just out of curiosity, Bathyllus,’ I said. ‘What’re you doing here, exactly?’

‘Painting the doorknocker, sir.’

‘Ah…right. Right.’

‘It’s in the nature of an experiment. A mixture for preserving the shine on outside brasswork involving naphtha, pine resin, gum arabic and various other substances.’

‘That so, now?’

‘Indeed. Did you realise that brass exposed to the elements will only retain its full shine for seven or eight hours after polishing?’

‘No, I can’t say that I did.’

‘Most unsatisfactory. And that’s not taking actual physical contact into consideration. On the other hand, applying a protective coating of this mixture once a month will extend that to a whole day, probably more. In theory, at least.’

‘Really?’ Jupiter on a bloody tea-tray! I wished I hadn’t asked now. Meton’s obsession was food, which was bad enough but understandable. Cleaning substances were something else. Only Bathyllus could get orgasmic over metal polish. ‘That’s…that’s pretty good, Bathyllus.’

‘Mind you, there are problems. I’m not completely sure about the proportions of terebinth oil to resin, and the drying rate is not all that I’d wish. Perhaps — ’

‘Fine, fine,’ I said. Bathyllus doesn’t go on these jags often, but when he does encouraging him is not a good idea. ‘I’ll take your word for it, little guy. Just go and fetch that cup of wine, okay?’

‘Very well, sir.’ He was looking definitely unchuffed.

‘Is Perilla around?’

‘She’s in the garden, sir. With your mother.’

‘Great.’ I reached past him for the doorhandle. ‘In that case I’ll — .’

— at which point my brain caught up with the rest of me.

Slowly, I relaxed my grip. Nothing happened; I was still holding the knob like my fingers were glued to it. Which, in fact, they were.

‘This is, uh, one you prepared earlier, right?’ I said.

Bathyllus cleared his throat. ‘I did just tell you, sir. About the drying rate.’

Bastard. I unprised my fingers, which wasn’t easy. ‘Bathyllus…’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Read my lips. Experiment over. The rest of that gunk goes out now.’

‘Very well, sir. If that’s how you feel.’ He sniffed. ‘I’ll fetch a cloth and some hot water.’

‘You do that. And if I don’t have my right hand back as was within the next ten minutes then you, sunshine, are hamburger. Clear?’

That got me another sniff as he exited. Bugger; a threat like that from any other slave-owner would’ve had the bought help pissing in their sandals. Maybe I should re-read the manual.

The garden was quite a feature of the villa: Lucia D, who owned the place, was a sucker for flowers and greenery in general, and there must’ve been a dozen big beds, easy, laid out in a diamond shape round a central pergola with a trellised vine growing up it.

‘So, Marcus, how did your meeting go?’ Perilla asked.

‘Like a refight of Cannae. The house slaves’re probably still mopping the blood off the floor.’ I kissed her, pulled up the third of the pergola’s wicker chairs and set the wine-cup Bathyllus had filled for me on the ground. ‘Afternoon, Mother. Where’s Priscus?’

‘I haven’t the slightest idea.’ Mother twitched a fold of her impeccable mantle irritably into place. ‘He said he was off to visit that oil-lamp friend of his, but that was hours ago. He’s been acting very strangely of late; “shifty”is the word I’d use. Personally I wouldn’t put too much credence in the statement.’

‘Ah…right. Right.’ Hell; what was the mad old buffer playing at? Still, it wasn’t my concern. Or I hoped it wasn’t. I’d got enough problems of my own at present.

‘How do you mean, “a refight of Cannae”?’ Perilla said.

‘They were at each other’s throats from the moment I walked in. Serious stuff, too. They all think it was murder and they were all trying like hell to persuade me that one of the others had done it. Me, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them wasn’t right. If we want suspects apart from Trebbio we’ve got them by the bucketful. With relatives like that the poor bugger was lucky to last as long as he did, and the eels’re pussy-cats in comparison.’

‘But that’s terrible!’

‘Yeah.’ I took a swig of the wine. ‘Look, Mother, I’m going to need your help, okay?’

‘With what, dear?’

‘Background information. I’ve got four names.’ I ticked them off on my fingers. ‘The widow, Gellia. Elder son Titus Chlorus. Younger, Aulus Nerva. Plus the daughter. She goes by the name of Penelope. They’ll do for starters. You know anything about them? In the dirty linen way, I mean.’

Mother drew herself up. ‘Marcus, dear, I do not listen to gossip! And I certainly do not repeat it.’

I grinned; sure, and I was Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus. Mother might be a very sharp lady, but she’d been holidaying in Baiae on and off for years and she’d taken to the town like a fish to water. Baian society is all about gossip. After all, if you can’t amuse yourself by tearing a friend’s reputation to shreds over the canapes and honey wine then what’s the point in coming to the place?

‘Steel yourself,’ I said.

‘Well, if you think it really will help.’ She ducked her head to hide a smile. Like I say, my mother’s a smart cookie. Token protests are one thing, but hypocrisy’s another, and she’s a natural Baian through and through. ‘The daughter I know nothing whatsoever about; she obviously doesn’t mix in society. Chlorus is some sort of financial lawyer.’ Yeah, that made sense: he’d told me himself that he was the farm’s accountant, and he’d got ‘lawyer’ written all over him. ‘Rather a dry stick, I understand. Unlike his wife, who is’ — she hesitated — ‘completely the opposite.’

Uhuh. ‘Yeah? Who’s she?’

‘Her name’s Catia. I’ve met her several times. Not the world’s greatest brain, but with her looks and interests she doesn’t have to be.’ Miaow. ‘I gather their daughter is marrying young Manlius Torquatus in the autumn. Quite a coup, although the Manlii Torquati aren’t what they were these days, financially speaking.’

I sipped my wine. Right; that fitted in with what I knew, too. Although the Licinii were a good family, as far as pedigree went they weren’t by any means in the Manlii Torquati bracket; at least, Chlorus’s branch wasn’t. Gellia had mentioned (mentioned, hell: she’d thrown it in my face!) that he was strapped for cash. He would be: an engagement like that would mean a heavy dowry, and I’d bet under the circumstances the Torquati, being short of a copper piece or two themselves, would drive a hard bargain.

‘Go on,’ I said.

‘The second brother, Aulus Nerva, has quite a reputation locally.’ Mother was frowning; she was enjoying this, I could tell, despite the protest. When she and my father were married he might’ve been the career politician of the family, but where marshalling facts and arguing from them was concerned Mother could run rings round him any day of the month. Nowadays she rarely got the chance to practise. ‘Or two reputations, rather. He thinks of himself as a shrewd businessman, and he’s partly right. Certainly, where business is concerned he’s no fool. On the other hand, he is a compulsive risk-taker, and not particularly concerned with the moral aspects of a deal, either. “Flashy” is a good term.’ She paused. ‘He’s also very much the society playboy, especially where gambling and women go. And — which may interest you, Marcus, with your fascination for soiled laundry — he’s rumoured to have more than a brother-in-law’s fondness for Catia, which she reciprocates.’

I leaned back. ‘Is that right, now?’

‘I don’t know about “right”, dear. You asked for gossip, and gossip is what you are getting.’

‘Fair enough. What about Gellia?’ This was the big one. If we were talking cui bono here then Murena’s widow was right at the front of the queue.

Mother was obviously aware of that as well, because she took her time before answering. ‘Gellia is…quite sad, in a way,’ she said slowly.

My eyebrows rose. ‘Sad’ wasn’t the word I would’ve chosen for that lady; not even in the top hundred. But then Mother didn’t use words lightly. ‘Yeah?’ I said. ‘You care to amplify?’

‘Certainly. You get women like her often in Baiae; men sometimes, but these are rarer. She’s common — I’m speaking in Baian social terms, you understand —, she has no style, which would go a long way towards making up for her poor looks, she has a vindictive streak a yard wide, and, worst of all, she’s aware of none of this. She thinks she’s a femme fatale but isn’t, nowhere near it, despite the fact that she is breaking her neck to be one. Which is why she’s so friendly with Catia, who is.’

‘Uhuh.’ Well, I’d just have to take that assessment on trust. Not that I doubted it was valid: I’d a lot of respect for Mother’s opinion, especially where people were concerned. ‘How did she get on with her husband?’

‘Reasonably well, under the circumstances. As far as I know, at any rate.’ She straightened a fold in her mantle again. ‘Of course, she’s much younger than he was, and in Baiae that leads to the obvious result.’

‘Lovers?’

‘She is very careful; slightly surprising, given her character, but then Murena had a certain reputation of his own for holding old-fashioned values, and seemingly he controlled the purse-strings. Kept quite a tight grip on them, what’s more. Matters may not have gone beyond simple flirting, but I have heard that she’s rather involved at present with a man by the name of Aquillius Florus. He’s a friend of Aulus Nerva’s, and out of much the same mould. If you’re interested.’

A friend of Nerva’s, eh? Well, that explained why that particular handful of mud hadn’t been thrown, by one of the brothers anyway. I filed the name for future reference. ‘Not this doctor guy? Diodotus?’

‘Diodotus is another name I’ve heard mentioned, yes,’ Mother said cautiously. ‘Although not so often, and not with much…authority. Certainly he’s a good-looking young man, and of course an intimate of the family. Very popular with the better class of patient. He has quite a successful practice near the town baths.’

Right. And if we were picking and choosing with an eye to a murder accusation then the doctor/wife combination would score every time. Presumably both Chlorus and Nerva — or Nerva, at least — would’ve known about this Florus character, but as an accomplice the doctor had the better mileage. No wonder his was the name that’d been dropped. I’d have to find out more on Florus, though.

‘What about Murena himself?’ I said. ‘You know anything about him?’

‘Not a lot, dear. Apart from in connection with Gellia. He didn’t go into society much; as I said, in many ways he was quite strait-laced, a businessman rather than a bon viveur. Not a spender, either. Quite the wrong type to be the subject of gossip.’

‘He, uh, was planning to build a hotel. On the edge of town, on what was the Juventius estate.’

‘Was he, indeed? How unusual. Well, there I’m afraid I can’t help you.’

‘What about his partner? A guy called Tattius?’

‘Not a name I’m familiar with either, Marcus. I’m sorry. I know nothing about the business side of things.’ She stood up. ‘Now, if you’ve finished with me I’m afraid I must be going. Titus promised to take me to one of the jewellers in Fountain Street this afternoon, then on for a chat with Cornelia Gemella, but since he seems to have forgotten all about it I shall go by myself. You really will have to have another word with him. He’s been behaving most peculiarly.’

‘Ah…right,’ I said. Bugger. ‘Yeah, I’ll do that. When I see him.’

She sniffed. ‘That may not be for some time, on present showing. Goodness knows what he and that friend of his have to talk about all day. I’d’ve thought that even Siculan oil-lamps had a very limited conversational value.’

We watched her go. Perilla was looking thoughtful.

‘It is strange,’ she said. ‘About Priscus. Vipsania’s right; he’s scarcely ever around at the moment. She’s right about the shiftiness, too, when he is here.’

‘Yeah, well.’ I grinned. ‘Me, I’d bet the old guy’s finally hit his teens head on sixty years down the line. Only for the gods’ sake don’t tell Mother.’

She whipped round and stared at me open-mouthed. ‘He has what?’

‘Priscus has discovered the joys of booze and loose company. My guess is that he’s only using his oil-lamp pal as an excuse for bunking off to a wineshop somewhere. Or maybe something worse.’ I told her about the chat in Priscus and Mother’s bedroom.

‘Marcus, you are not serious!’ She was looking at me like I’d just told her the guy was screwing ducks. ‘You are serious! Holy Juno! Priscus?’

‘Call it a midlife crisis if you like, lady. Or in his case even that’s pushing things. The gods knows what triggered it, but there we are.’

‘What are you going to do about it?’

Now it was my turn to stare. ‘Me? Why the hell should I do anything?’

‘You’re head of household. It’s your duty.’

‘Jupiter on bloody wheels, Perilla! The guy’s twice my age and in possession of all his marbles.’ I stopped; be fair, Corvinus. ‘Well, some of his marbles. If he wants to spend a little quality time in wineshops and so on then that’s his affair. Besides, I don’t know for sure that that’s what he’s doing. He may be round at his friend’s house discussing — ’

‘Siculan oil-lamps. That’s nonsense and you know it.’

I sighed. ‘Yeah. Maybe I do. Okay, I’ll talk to the old bugger. But if there’s any grounding to be done or strips to be torn off that’s Mother’s job. Leave it for now. What about my suspects list?’

‘What about your suspects list?’

‘Come on, Perilla! This is important!’

‘All right. Go ahead if you must.’

Not exactly bouncing with enthusiasm, but you had to take what you got. And, as I say, the lady had a reputation for disinterest to keep up. I settled back. ‘Okay. My count to date is five. Which, coincidentally, is the number of people I’ve talked to today and doesn’t include the doctor. Call it six. With an option on this Florus guy. Seven.’

‘Marcus — ’

I ignored her. ‘Take Gellia first. The motive’s obvious, the oldest in the world. She’s half her husband’s age, she’s got an eye for the men and she’s on a reasonably tight leash financially. She could sit and wait for the old guy to pop his clogs, but she isn’t getting any younger and Baiae isn’t exactly a place that’s conducive to nurturing the old-fashioned wifely virtues.’

‘Your vocabulary is improving.’

‘Shut up, lady. She also has the means — that’s her doctor pal — and the opportunity.’

‘How is the doctor the means? That’s assuming, of course, that he’d have anything to do with it, which is a moot point in itself.’

‘Ligurius — that’s the manager — told me that Murena had been suffering from fainting fits recently. Gellia was pretty upset when I mentioned them and she tried to deny it, but Titus Chlorus confirmed. Okay; so let’s say Murena’s tame doctor, at Gellia’s suggestion, had been feeding him something that made him black out at times. All it’d take would be for one of the pair, Gellia or the doctor, to wait their opportunity to push him into the eel tank and blame it on an accident. Or maybe even simpler. The guy wasn’t subject to fits at all, they were a complete invention. Neither Ligurius nor his sons’ve ever seen him taking one of them, so the only proof would come from Gellia or the doctor. But they would provide a pretty good excuse subsequently for an unfortunate accident, wouldn’t they?’

‘Yes, but, Marcus, you said yourself that Gellia denied her husband had the fits. Surely if she had killed him she would’ve confirmed it.’

‘That’s fine so long as there’s no suspicion of murder. Only by the time I spoke to Gellia and company there was, and it was a whole new ballgame. Trebbio had been arrested for a start, and I’d sent round my letter from the town officer authorising me to investigate the death. Chlorus is a smart cookie, and he doesn’t like Gellia at all. As things were, her story about the fits, the way Murena died and the rumours linking her and the doctor would all combine to point the finger pretty convincingly. Gellia may’ve started out nurturing an “accident” verdict, but now she has to discount it for her own good; it wouldn’t be safe for her to do otherwise, not with her step-family out to see her nailed. And, naturally, if she did come down on the side of murder she’d have to finger someone else in her turn. Which brings me to Chlorus and Nerva.’

‘Hmm.’ Perilla was twisting a lock of hair. ‘Go on.’

‘Nerva’s the most likely prospect, barring Gellia. The evidence is circumstantial, sure, but he had a row with his father over money the day he died. At least, Gellia suggested it was over money, and he didn’t deny it. Chlorus’s motive’s the same. Gellia mentioned his daughter’s marriage too, and he’s obviously hard up for cash to meet the dowry. With Murena dead they’ll inherit a packet when they most need it; it’s as simple as that. As far as opportunity’s concerned either of them could’ve climbed over the wall at the beach end and killed the guy without anyone being any the wiser.’

‘Marcus, dear, I’m sorry, but this is all very thin.’

She was telling me? ‘Yeah, I know that. We’re just on the nursery slopes here. Still, it’s a start. And you weren’t over at the villa, you didn’t see that crowd. There was a lot of nervousness about, and a lot of hatred. Murena wasn’t liked, not by his family, anyway. Don’t knock that for a motive, either.’

‘What about the daughter? Penelope, did you say?’ She frowned. ‘Why Penelope, incidentally?’

‘I didn’t ask. Maybe she just doesn’t like being called Licinia. That wouldn’t surprise me; she hated her father like poison.’

Perilla glanced at me sharply. ‘How on earth do you know that?’

‘She told me straight out. Made quite a thing of it. It could’ve been a double bluff, sure, but it still puts her on the list.’

‘All right. That makes four. Five counting the doctor, and presumably you’d lump the phantom Florus in with Gellia. Who’s the seventh?’

‘Ligurius. He found the body.’

‘Oh, terrific! Motive? Means? Opportunity?’

I shrugged. ‘None of them as yet. Apart, maybe, from a silly nickname Murena gave him. He seems to have had a quirk that way, the old man. Still, Ligurius is the fish farm manager, and Murena was killed at the fish farm. And he didn’t seem too cut up about losing his boss, either. I’ve got the rest down so why not Ligurius? Make it a full bag.’

‘That is not a reason to suspect him.’

‘Yeah, well, you can’t — ’ I stopped. Bathyllus was bringing a man up the path: a tall guy in a Greek mantle. ‘Who’s that?’

‘I’ve no idea. One of Vipsania’s friends, perhaps.’

‘Mother’s in town. Bathyllus would’ve sent him away.’ Now the man was nearer I could see he was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. Tall, well-built, olive skin, jet-black curly hair and a nose with a bridge so straight you could use it to draw lines. Greek, for sure; real Greek, not south-Italian-local, and good-looking enough to have modelled for a temple pediment Apollo.

‘Good afternoon, Valerius Corvinus,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. My name’s Diodotus. I was Licinius Murena’s doctor.’