Trade Secrets

FIFTEEN

So; time for a cup of wine, and a think. A serious think: matters were getting complicated.

I carried on up the Hinge in the direction of Market Square, keeping an eye out for wineshops: like I say, this was a part of town I hardly knew at all, and my preferred ones all lay nearer the river. I spotted one down an alleyway just short of the back of the Temple of Rome and Augustus at the Square’s southern end and went inside.

Pretty basic, hardly more than a counter, with only one punter in evidence, an oldish guy in a worker’s tunic who was nursing a wine-cup and chatting with the middle-aged woman behind the bar. We nodded to each other and I saw his eyes widen at my purple stripe, but he turned back to his drink.

‘Afternoon, sir,’ the woman said. ‘What can I get you?’

I looked up at the board: Veian, eh? Now there was a wine you didn’t see all that often. Still, I’d be heading for Agron’s yard later, and no doubt if he’d time to spare we’d be splitting half a jug in his local, so maybe just a cup would do.

‘A cup of your Veian’d be good,’ I said.

She poured it, and I took a sip: not bad, not bad at all. Excellent, in fact. Basic or not, I’d have to add this place to my list.

‘You over here from the city?’ the other punter said.

I turned towards him; obviously the chatty type, which was lucky. Me, I always have time for talkative local barflies, particularly when I’m on a case, and the thinking could wait for a bit.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I am, as it happens.’

‘Business?’

‘Of a kind. Name’s Corvinus. Marcus Corvinus.’

‘Titus Rubrius. We don’t see many purple-stripers in here, do we, Vinnia?’ he said to the barwoman. ‘Raises the tone of the place no end. You’ll have to be hiring a set of musicians and a floor show soon, eh?’ She didn’t respond, and he turned back to me. ‘I mean no offence, sir. You’re very welcome.’

‘No offence taken. And it’s their loss. That’s the best wineshop Veian I’ve tasted in a long time.’

I glanced at the barwoman, but she’d turned away and was replacing the flask in its cradle. It isn’t very often that a wineshop owner’ll let a compliment pass them by without some sort of response, or at least a smile, and I’d got neither, just the back view of her tunic. Not one of nature’s born talkers, obviously, this Vinnia. Not the sunniest of dispositions, either, I suspected.

The old guy nodded. ‘Aye, it’s good stuff, the Veian,’ he said. ‘Vinnia here gets it from a cousin of one of the other regulars. He’s got a farm up that way, not a big one but he’s a dab hand with the vines. Most of it goes locally, but he sends her a few flasks every year. That right, lass?’

She turned and reached for the empty plate in front of him. Not a smile; not an anything, really.

‘It’s a nice enough wine,’ she said, washing the plate in the sink by the counter and reaching for the drying cloth. ‘I’ve had no complaints.’

I took another swallow, a larger one this time. For a wineshop owner – and I assumed, now, that the lady was the owner – she wasn’t exactly showing all that much in the way of customer rapport. Maybe that was why the place was so empty; certainly it had nothing to do with the quality of the wine, and your usual wineshop punter expects a bit of chat with his lunchtime cup. Still, it took all sorts. Maybe Ostian punters were a more introspective bunch than their Roman counterparts.

I leaned my elbows on the counter and turned back to my more communicative fellow-drinker.

‘You live around here yourself, pal?’ I said.

‘Nah. Not exactly. I’m up by Tiber Gate, me. But I’ve a butcher’s shop in the market, so it’s handy. I’m in here most days for an hour or so this time, after the morning rush is past, while my daughter looks after things.’ He drank some of his own wine. ‘What sort of business are you in yourself, sir? If you don’t mind me asking.’

‘It’s, uh, a bit complicated.’ Well, there was no harm in fishing; you never knew your luck, and I always say that if it’s local information you want the best place to get it is in the nearest wineshop. ‘You happen to know a man by the name of Correllius? Marcus Correllius? Lives near here. Big house on the Hinge.’

The woman set the dry plate down hard on the stone counter with a sharp click, and I wondered if it had broken. I gave her a curious glance, but she was already turning away and standing with her back to me.

‘That who your business is with?’ the old man said casually. Too casually, and I’d noticed his eyes flick to the woman’s back and away again.

‘Not exactly, no,’ I said.

He grunted, raised the wine-cup to his lips, took a sip and set it down carefully, then cleared his throat.

‘You know Correllius well yourself, do you?’ he said.

Over-casual again. Something was screwy here; what it was, I didn’t know, but we definitely had an Atmosphere.

‘No, I’ve never even met the guy,’ I said. ‘It was an honest question, no strings.’

‘Honest question, eh? In that case, and you’ll forgive me for saying so, because it’s kindly meant, if it was me doing the business I’d watch my step.’

Uh-huh. ‘Yeah?’ I said. ‘In what way?’

He hesitated. ‘Let’s just say “honest” and “Correllius” aren’t words that go together all that neatly.’

‘You’re telling me he was a crook?’

‘“Was”?’ He frowned. ‘How do you mean, “was”?’

I cursed, mentally, but the damage was done. ‘He’s dead, as it happens. About half a month ago, over in Rome.’

Rubrius looked at Vinnia and I followed his eyes. She still had her back to us, but she was standing rigid, the dishcloth clutched in her hand, obviously listening hard.

‘Well now,’ he said slowly and softly; his eyes didn’t waver. ‘There’s a thing.’ He turned back to me. ‘And that’d be why you’re here, would it, sir? The “business” you mentioned?’

‘Yeah, more or less. Like I said, it’s complicated.’

‘Now there’s good news, eh, Vinnia?’ Rubrius said to the woman. There was no answer, but she turned round. Her face was as grey as the dishrag she was holding, and she was staring at me like I’d just grown an extra head. ‘Come on, girl! What’s wrong with you?’

Yeah; me, I’d’ve liked to know the answer to that as well. I’d definitely touched a nerve here, that was for sure, but what it was I hadn’t a clue.

‘You have some sort of connection with the guy, lady?’ I said to her.

‘No.’ That came out in a whisper. She still hadn’t taken her eyes off me.

Rubrius chuckled. ‘Come on, lass!’ he said again. ‘You’ve told me a dozen times that-’

‘You hold your tongue, Titus!’ she snapped at him.

He frowned, opened his mouth to say something, then shrugged, picked up his wine-cup, drained it, and set it down on the counter.

‘Fair enough, girl,’ he said. ‘As you like. Have it your own way.’ He stood up. ‘I’d best be getting back in any case. A pleasure to meet you, sir.’

‘Yeah. Likewise.’ Gods! What was going on here?

He went out, closing the door behind him. The woman set the dishcloth down, picked up the plate she’d been drying – it couldn’t’ve broken after all – and turned her back on me again as she laid the plate with the others on the shelf above the wine flasks.

There was a long pause.

Finally: ‘No hassle, sister,’ I said gently. ‘None in the world. All I wanted to know was-’

‘Look.’ She turned round. ‘You asked and I answered, right? There’s an end to it. Now I’m sorry, sir, but I’d be grateful if you’d just finish your wine and go. You understand?’

‘Sure. No problem.’ I took a last swallow, put the empty cup down on the counter, paid, and left.

Interesting. And, to say the least, puzzling.

The market area wasn’t far off, in the triangular space formed by the junction of Ditch Street and Sea Gate Road. This late in the afternoon there weren’t many shoppers around – like Rubrius had said, the main rush, where foodstuffs are concerned, certainly, is in the morning when the punters are putting together the wherewithal for dinner, and most of the shops and stalls were closed. I found the butchers’ section easily enough, opposite the west gate of the old fort; just in time, because Rubrius and a middle-aged woman I assumed was his daughter were hauling down the shutters.

‘Hi again, pal,’ I said. ‘Can you spare a minute?’

He was bent down fixing the padlock to its hasp. He straightened and turned, and there was no surprise in his face.

‘Oh, it’s you, sir,’ he said. ‘I thought it wouldn’t be long before you looked me up.’ Then, to the woman: ‘You get yourself off home, girl. I’ll follow you directly.’ She gave me a quick, curious look – the purple stripe again – nodded and left. ‘By the horse trough do you? I could do with a sit-down.’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Wherever you like.’

We went over to the horse trough and sat side by side on the stone lip.

‘How did he die?’ Rubrius said.

‘I told you, it’s complicated. But basically he was stabbed from behind, on a bench outside the Pollio Library in Rome.’

‘Uh-huh.’ He nodded. ‘And the family want you to find out who did it, right?’

‘Not exactly.’

I thought the answer would surprise him, but he just grunted.

‘Vinnia’s a widow,’ he said. ‘Has been for the past ten years. Her husband’s name was Manutius, Gaius Manutius, and he worked for your Marcus Correllius.’

Uh-huh; it had to be something along those lines, because I couldn’t really see the lady in the role of a jilted mistress. Mind you, it wasn’t altogether beyond the bounds of possibility; there was no accounting for personal taste, and from what I’d heard of him so far Correllius hadn’t exactly been an Adonis himself.

‘Is that so, now?’ I said. ‘Doing what?’

He hesitated. ‘Well, sir, that I can’t rightly say, and Vinnia’s never told me. That’s if she knows herself, of course. It was nothing too grand, but it brought in the silver pieces hand over fist, and no mistake. Which was how she had the money to buy the wineshop after Manutius died.’

‘You’re telling me there was something shady going on, yes?’

Another hesitation. ‘As to that, I wouldn’t like to swear,’ he said. ‘But, well, it’s more than likely, under the circumstances and given the gentleman in question. Not where Vinnia was concerned, mind, I’d not believe that for a moment. She’s a good girl, is Vinnia, hard as nails, sure. She keeps herself to herself and no mistake, like you saw, and she has a tongue like a razor. But she’s straight, straight as they come. Manutius, now, he was another thing altogether. A bit of a bad lot all round, by all accounts. She wouldn’t thank me for saying so but she’s better off without him.’

‘So what exactly happened? How did he die?’

‘There was an accident. Over at the docks.’

‘An accident?’

‘That’s the story, at any rate, and me, I couldn’t tell you no different. Vinnia, now … well, she’s always been sure it was Correllius’s doing.’

‘She say why?’

‘No. Like I said, she’s close-mouthed at the best of times, and that goes double where Manutius is concerned. But she hates Correllius like poison, that I can say.’

‘You have any details? About the accident, I mean.’

‘Nah. I never knew the man myself. I only know Vinnia through the wineshop.’

‘You know of anyone who did?’

He considered. ‘She’s talked about a Cispius once or twice. Him and Manutius worked together, and they were close mates, seemingly. The place was pretty run down when she bought it, and he did a few odd jobs for her as a favour when she was putting it to rights. Plastering and that.’

‘Where would I find him?’

‘Haven’t a clue, sir. That was before my day, and he was no spring chicken even then. He’s probably retired now, or maybe even dead himself.’ Bugger. ‘Except-’ He frowned. ‘Hold on, hold on! Let me think.’ I waited, while he stared into space. ‘There was a daughter that Vinnia mentioned once. I can’t recall her name, but she was married to a fuller with a shop up by the river near Guildsmen’s Square.’

Yeah, well, it was better than nothing. And a fuller’s shop in that part of town shouldn’t be too difficult to trace; I could give it a shot, at any rate.

‘Vinnia runs the wineshop on her own, right?’ I said. ‘No family?’

‘Not in Ostia. Not even in Italy, for all I know; she’s from Gaul originally, Narbo, I think, down in the south. Her first husband – there was one before Manutius, but I can’t even tell you his name – emigrated to Ostia with her and died a year or two later. Then she took up with Manutius, the gods know why, and remarried. She has a brother, that I do know, but he’s in the army. He signed up twenty-odd years back, so he’s in Germany now, on the Rhine with the Second Augustan, and liable to stay there.’

‘No kids?’

‘Not by the first marriage, no. She and Manutius had two, but they died young.’

‘And she didn’t think of marrying again after his accident?’ A fair question; it’d been ten years, after all, and for someone in Vinnia’s position getting by as a woman on her own wouldn’t be easy.

He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It hasn’t been for want of asking, neither; it’s eight years since my Atellia died, and I’d’ve taken the lass on myself like a shot, still would if she’d have me.’

Uh-huh. Well, I reckoned I’d got just about all that was going at present where our taciturn wineshop lady was concerned. Not that I was complaining, mind: at least I’d got another strand to follow up, and you never knew; something might come of it in the end.

I stood up. ‘Thanks, pal. You’ve been really helpful.’

‘You’re welcome. Don’t mention it. I mean, really don’t mention it. If she found out I’d been blabbing she’d have the skin off me. And I’ve still hopes in that direction.’

I nodded. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘You’ve got it, friend; my lips are sealed. And good luck with the lady, OK?’ I paused. ‘Oh – one more thing, before I go. You happen to know a guy by the name of Fundanius?’

He frowned. ‘I’ve heard of him.’

‘Businessman, right?’

‘Not the kind I’d care to do business with, or any of mine.’

‘Crooked?’

Rubrius hesitated and tugged at his ear. ‘Well, now, sir, that I wouldn’t like to say, not in so many words, like. He’s a big wheel locally, he has a finger in quite a few pies on the business side, and he’s well in with the gentlemen that run the guilds. A past president himself, as it happens, a year or two back. But the word on the street is that he can sail pretty close to the wind, and he’s not above cutting corners when he can get away with it. Him and Correllius are a pair, if you want the truth. I’d not trust either of them to tell me the time of day.’ He glanced up at me. ‘You have a reason for asking?’

‘Not particularly. It’s just when I was at Correllius’s house earlier on talking to his widow the guy showed up to offer his condolences.’

Rubrius chuckled. ‘Is that so, now?’ he said. ‘Well, there’s a turn-up!’

‘Yeah? How so?’

‘From what I’ve heard the buggers couldn’t stand each other. Famous for it. They’ve been at daggers drawn for years.’

‘Really?’

‘Sure. Personal and business both. Give either of them the chance to do the other down and they’d grab it with both hands any day of the month. I said they were a pair, but cat and dog’s more like it. Or maybe two dogs after the same bone. “Condolences”, right? Me, I’d’ve thought Fundanius was more likely to spit on Correllius’s grave.’

Uh-huh. Interesting. And it might explain Mamilia’s reaction, too, when the guy had walked in; there was no love lost there, from what I could tell. Mind you, if that was the case it didn’t explain why Fundanius had called round in the first place. Quite the reverse, in fact …

‘You happen to know where he lives?’ I said.

‘He has one of them fancy villas outside of town, on the coast between the two gates.’

So we were practically neighbours, currently. I logged the information for possible future use. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Thanks again, pal. I’ll let you get home. Apologize to your daughter for me, will you?’

‘Bless you, Secunda won’t mind. She’ll be busy enough getting the dinner ready, and I’m always grateful for a chat. I’ll see you again some time no doubt, if you’re back in to Vinnia’s place.’

‘Yeah, that I can guarantee.’ I could, as well: close-mouthed or not, the lady had serious beans to spill, that was for sure. ‘And the wine’s on me, right?’

‘That’s kind of you, sir, although there’s no need. I look forward to it. You’ll remember your promise, though?’

‘Sure. No worries.’

I gave him a wave, and set off for Agron’s yard. The afternoon was wearing on now, Agron’s was on the other side of town and if I wanted to avoid putting Meton’s nose out of joint over the dinner timing – always a bad idea – what with recent developments, it would have to be a quickie. Still, I’d plenty of time now the accommodation problem was sorted out: tracking down Vinnia’s ex-husband’s pal, although Guildsmen’s Square was on my way, could wait for another day. As could the question of Fundanius. That looked like opening up a profitable avenue to explore as well. All in all, then, I was left with plenty of food for thought here, and no mistake. A talk with Perilla was definitely in order.

Things were progressing nicely.