Food for the Fishes

7

Well, for someone who’d just lost a patient Diodotus seemed pretty relaxed about things. Mind you, the responsibilities of the modern doctor stop short at dosing the customer against a sudden attack of moray eels, so giving him the benefit of the doubt for the present where murder was concerned I supposed that was fair enough.

We shook.

‘Pull up a chair,’ I said. ‘This is my wife Perilla.’

‘A pleasure to meet you, madam.’ Soft-spoken, serious, not much of a smile — from the looks of him I didn’t think he’d smile very often — but perfectly friendly and completely at his ease. Good vowels, too; by his accent he could’ve passed in Rome for one of the top Five Hundred, easy. Mother had said he had a successful social practice in Baiae, and I wasn’t surprised. With these looks, that voice and that manner he’d have the wealthy matrons queuing up and panting. No wonder Gellia had been smitten.

Bathyllus was still hovering. ‘You care for some wine?’ I said.

‘No, thank you. I scarcely touch it, and certainly not before sundown.’ He sat. ‘Please don’t let me stop you, though.’

‘Just the half jug, then, Bathyllus,’ I said. The little guy bowed and moved off. ‘Now.’

‘I thought you might like to talk to me, Valerius Corvinus.’

‘News travels fast.’

‘In Baiae, certainly.’ He shrugged; an elegant raising of the shoulder. ‘In any case, I was paying a professional call in the neighbourhood and it’ll save you a journey.’

‘You have a lot of patients? Besides Licinius Murena, I mean?’

‘Enough. Mostly minor digestive problems caused by an over-rich diet. Life in Baiae isn’t exactly conducive to a healthy regimen, so much of my work is correcting the effects of overindulgence. Or trying to correct it. Frequently the task is an uphill struggle.’

‘I was told Murena suffered from fainting fits.’

I’d asked the question without signalling it just to see how he reacted. He didn’t blink, but he did lean back in his chair and take his time answering.

‘That’s so,’ he said cautiously.

‘How severe?’

‘Nothing to give serious cause for concern, and he was responding well to treatment, but all the same — ’

‘What was the treatment exactly?’ Perilla said.

He turned to her politely. ‘You have a knowledge of medicine, madam?’

‘No. Just an interest in it.’

‘I see.’ The slight flaring of the nostrils suggested that taking an interest in medicine wasn’t something the guy wholly approved of. Not where a layman was concerned, anyway. Laywoman, rather. I was glad it’d been Perilla who’d asked the question, not me. ‘Well, then. The problem arises, as does every illness, from a systemic imbalance; in this case, a superfluity of blood rushing into the brain at times and driving out the vital spirit, what we call the pneuma, which is the source of consciousness. A mild programme of regular bleeding is the most effective treatment, together with gentle exercise and a light diet of seafood and vegetables plus an avoidance of red meat and the heavier wines. That was what I prescribed.’

‘I see,’ Perilla said. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re very welcome.’ Dry as a used mustard plaster.

‘Would it have been possible for Murena to have had one of these fits the night he died?’ I said.

The grey eyes came back to me. ‘Yes. Of course. Perfectly possible. But as I said the fits were not serious; hardly more than a slight dizziness which would disappear after a few minutes’ rest. Murena would have had ample warning of an attack, certainly enough for him to find somewhere to sit or lie down in safety until the pneuma was restored.’

‘That’s not what Titus Chlorus said. Or implied, rather.’

That got me a level stare, and the grey eyes had turned frosty. ‘Perhaps not, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘But there again, I’m not responsible for Chlorus’s opinions, or indeed those of any of the Murena family. They are not doctors, and they may have…other reasons for saying what they do. I’m simply giving you the medical facts which you can accept or not just as you please.’

‘Right. Right.’ I shifted on the chair. ‘And apart from the fits Murena was generally healthy, was he? For a man of his age?’

‘Moderately so. He had a slight tendency towards dyspepsia, but not a developed one. And as I say that complaint is endemic to Baiae.’

‘His widow said he was concerned about his health. More than usual, that is. Were you treating him for anything else?’

The frostiness was still there. ‘Valerius Corvinus, I’ve already told you. I can’t answer for any statements except my own. And there is such a thing as patient confidentiality, even when the patient is dead.’ I waited. ‘In any case, the practical answer to your question is no, apart from a simple standard dyspepsia mixture to be taken as required. I don’t believe in treatment for treatment’s sake, even when the patient or one of his relatives suggests it. Barring administering the regimen I’ve already described I took no other action.’

One of his relatives. Interesting expansion there. Maybe it meant nothing, but still…

Bathyllus had arrived with the wine. ‘How about your relationship with the widow herself?’ I said as he poured.

‘How do you mean, “relationship”?’ Forget frosty; the look he was giving me was straight off an Alp.

‘You get on with her okay?’

Pause; long pause. Well, he was a smart guy; he must’ve heard the rumours, even if there was nothing in them. ‘Gellia is…was…my patient’s wife,’ he said.

‘And?’

I’d seriously annoyed him, I could see that. The eyes narrowed to slits and the nose lifted a good two inches. It was like being glared at down a ruler. Even so, he took his time answering. ‘And nothing!’ he snapped. ‘Let me make one thing very clear, Valerius Corvinus. A doctor — any doctor who merits the name — ascribes voluntarily to a code of conduct. This includes an oath not to procure poison or an abortion, to work solely for the good of his patient and to abstain from the seduction of anyone, slave or free, in his patient’s household. I am a doctor. Please remember the fact.’

Well, that was me told. But at least it was out in the open, whatever the truth of the matter was. It was time to smooth down a few ruffled feathers. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Okay. Let’s leave the medical side of things. What about Murena himself?’

‘Again I have to ask you what you mean.’ His voice was still icily polite. ‘And to remind you what I said about confidentiality.’

‘Understood. But you’re local, I’m not, and you know the family. He was a businessman, right?’

‘He was.’

‘You know anything about the business side of things?’

‘No. I’m not a businessman myself, in the general sense of the word. Licinius Murena never discussed anything with me except for his health. And if you expect me to — ’

‘No hassle, pal. I’m only interested in generalities. I could get them elsewhere, sure, but since you’re here maybe you can help fill in a few details. That be okay?’

He gave a guarded nod. ‘Possibly.’

‘Great. Thanks.’ Jupiter! We’d a real touchy bugger here! ‘Murena had a partner, Tattius.’

‘Decimus Tattius, yes.’

‘He live locally?’

‘I think he has a villa on the main road, about a quarter mile inland from Murena’s.’

‘It’s a long-established partnership?’

‘Yes. As far as I know. I understand they were colleagues in Rome before Murena moved to Baiae permanently twenty-odd years ago. Political colleagues.’ He was relaxing. Or at least the urbane politeness was back. I doubted if the guy ever let himself relax altogether; he had that uptight, preoccupied feel to him that you get with people who don’t look past their jobs. ‘He doesn’t take a very active part in the business, though. That’s largely a family concern.’

‘Did Licinius Murena have a nickname for him?’ That was Perilla. Odd question, but then I’d told her about Ligurius and the lady’s mind sometimes works in strange directions. I glanced at her curiously.

So did Diodotus, and his eyebrows went up. ‘He did, as a matter of fact. He called him Oistrus. Why do you ask?’

‘No particular reason. It’s just that Marcus mentioned he had a habit of giving people nicknames and I just wondered. Thank you.’

Oistrus. ‘Gadfly’ in Greek. ‘While we’re on the subject of nicknames,’ I said, ‘how about the others? His family, I mean?’

‘I don’t see what relevance — ’

‘Just filling in background. Come on, pal, it can’t do any harm.’

He was frowning. ‘Very well. Gellia was the Butterfly. For, ah, obvious reasons. Aulus Nerva was Agyrtes.’

‘“Scoundrel”?’ Perilla said.

‘“Vagabond” is better.’ His lips twisted. ‘Your Greek vocabulary is excellent, madam.’

‘What about Titus Chlorus?’

He hesitated. I had the impression he might’ve balked if I’d asked the question, but Perilla was good at these things. ‘Scythrops.’

Scowler. Good name for Chlorus. I grinned. ‘The daughter. Penelope. Was he responsible for that one as well?’

‘I couldn’t really say.’ Diodotus was still frowning. ‘I would hardly have thought so, or not in the way you mean. It’s not really a nickname as such, is it? But in any case we’re verging too much on the personal here, certainly beyond my professional capacity. If you’re finished I should be going.’

‘Murena was thinking of building a hotel,’ I said. ‘On the Juventius estate. You know anything about that?’

‘I told you. We didn’t discuss business.’

‘Not even in general terms?’

He hesitated. ‘He did mention it, once or twice. Just the bare fact, not in any detail.’

‘I get the impression the idea isn’t too highly thought of locally. Am I right?’

Another hesitation. ‘It may cause certain…frictions, yes.’

‘Who with?’

His brows came down. ‘Corvinus, I came here to offer what help and information I could as Murena’s doctor. Perhaps we’re moving a little far from — ’

‘Please?’ Perilla said.

‘Very well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Although this is really none of my concern, you understand, and I have patients to attend to this afternoon. Murena…it was felt that Murena’s business interests should stop at fish-breeding. Tourists and tourism are another matter. There are already several businessmen in the town who operate in that area and who are…perhaps one could say a little upset at the prospect of having to compete with someone they view as an outsider.’

‘Such as?’ I said. ‘Oh, come on, pal! I’m not asking you to tell me anything I couldn’t find out from elsewhere.’

‘The main one is a gentleman by the name of Philippus. Licinius Philippus.’ Diodotus stood up suddenly. ‘Now I really must be going. If there’s anything more I can do for you, within the medical sphere — ’

‘Licinius Philippus?’ I said. ‘He’s Murena’s freedman?’

‘Oh, yes. Indeed. But he was freed a long time ago, as a very young man. Now he’s one of the richest men in Baiae.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m delighted to have met you.’ He nodded to Perilla. ‘Madam.’

We watched him go.

‘So, lady,’ I said, when he’d disappeared back through the portico. ‘What do you think?’

Perilla was twisting her hair. ‘He’s a very cold, precise person, isn’t he? Very…serious-minded.’

‘Yeah.’ I sipped the wine. ‘That was the impression I got. Probably a whizz at his job because he can’t see far outside it. Which doesn’t argue for a relationship with Gellia, does it?’

‘Not very well. Or not on his side, rather, even without his disclaimer. I can see, though, how she’d find him attractive.’

I grinned. ‘Is that so, now?’

‘Oh, yes. Most women would. But, well, as far as any conspiracy to murder is concerned — if you’re thinking along those lines — I suspect the influence would have to go the other way, with him being the motivating force. He’d be too…selfish to have it otherwise. And that isn’t likely, is it? Why would Diodotus — Diodotus, not Gellia — want rid of Murena?’ She tugged a stray fold of her mantle into place. ‘Besides, he was quite correct: doctors have to be terribly careful to avoid any suspicion of scandal, especially in places like Baiae. Young good-looking ones above all. He certainly struck me as sincere and anxious to be helpful as far as he could.’

‘Right.’ Bugger. Still, what she’d said about him being no cat’s-paw was a fair point; me, having seen the guy I’d tend to agree. And what little evidence we had that Diodotus and Gellia were an item hadn’t exactly come from an unbiased source. Chlorus and Nerva had their own axes to grind. Apropos of which: ‘These nicknames. What made you ask about them?’

‘I don’t know. Just a feeling. But I’m glad I did.’ She was still twisting her hair. ‘Licinius Murena doesn’t seem to have been a very…pleasant person, does he, Marcus? Not in himself.’

‘Uh-uh.’ Not pleasant was putting it mildly; bastard — the general consensus so far — summed up the guy pretty well. ‘He had Chlorus pinned, though, didn’t he? And Nerva as well, from what I’ve seen of him. Vagabond’s a good name. Whatever his faults, I’d bet Murena knew people.’

‘What kind of man gives his sons nicknames like Scowler and Vagabond, Marcus? Not to mention calling his wife Butterfly?’

‘All three fit, lady. From what I’ve seen of the trio, anyway. And they’re not exactly a close family.’

‘No, they aren’t, are they?’ She was still looking thoughtful. ‘Quite horrendous, really. What about Gadfly? For the partner? What’s his name, Tattius?’

I shrugged. ‘Pass. I haven’t met him yet.’

‘Do you know anything about him at all?’

‘Only what Diodotus told us.’

‘That he was a former colleague of Murena’s and wasn’t directly concerned with the business. Yes. So why “Gadfly”? What’s gadfly-ish about him?’

‘Gods, Perilla, I don’t know! There could be a dozen reasons for calling him that. And like I say I’ve never met the guy.’

‘Perhaps you should, then.’ She smiled. ‘It’s probably nothing, dear. Just a fancy. But it is curious.’

Yeah, now she came to mention it it was: I could see how the other names worked, after all. And the whole business angle was definitely one we still had to go into. This freedman of Murena’s, Philippus, was certainly an oddity. Slaves freed young aren’t all that common, to put it mildly; slaves’re valuable commodities, part of their owner’s capital, and it either takes them years to save enough to buy themselves out or they get their freedom as a reward for a lifetime of service, usually in the master’s will when he personally has had everything out of them he’s going to get and doesn’t have a vested interest any more. And from what I’d heard of Licinius Murena I doubted if he’d been the kind of woolly philanthropist who’d do things any different. So how had this Philippus got his slap on the ear? Not to mention the nest-egg he’d need to bankroll a career in business? That was a question that needed answering, too.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘First thing in the morning I’ll — ’

‘Mmmaa! Marcus, my boy! How are you today? Perilla, you’re looking radiant.’

I glanced round. The wanderer had returned. Priscus was coming up through the garden from the direction of the side gate.