Trade Secrets

SIXTEEN

I was lucky; Agron was still at his yard, helping one of his workmen to fit the wheels onto a new cart. He looked up when I came through the gate and did a double-take.

‘Corvinus?’ he said. ‘What’re you doing here?

‘Hi, pal.’ I went over. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Busy, as you see. We’ve got an urgent order in. Give me a moment, right?’ He lifted the wheel he was holding onto the raised axle, gentled it into position, fitted the restraining bolt, and stepped back. ‘So. What brings you back to Ostia?’

I shrugged. ‘You know that case I mentioned?’ I said. ‘Well, there’ve been developments.’

‘Just leave it at that, Sextus,’ he said to the workman. ‘We’ll finish the job tomorrow.’ Then, to me: ‘Involving that Nigrinus bastard? The guy who was going to punch your lights out in the wineshop?’

‘Possibly. Probably, in fact. But not directly, at least for the present. It’s a long story. You got the time to split a jug?’

He grinned and wiped his forehead with a rag. ‘Make it a cupful. Cass was expecting me back an hour ago. Unless you want to come straight round to the house, of course. You staying?’

‘No, not this time. At least, I am, but we’ve made arrangements.’ I told him about Fulvina’s villa. ‘And a quick cup is just fine with me, because I’ll have to be getting back too.’

‘Fair enough.’ He took the gate key from his belt and laid it on the cart’s tailgate. ‘Lock up when you go, right, Sextus? I’ll see you in the morning.’ He turned back to me. ‘Balbus’s it is. But no more than a few minutes, mind, because Cass’ll kill me. You too, when I tell her.’

Yeah, that I’d believe: Agron’s wife, Cass, was a lady that you did not cross. ‘Deal,’ I said.

The wineshop wasn’t far, opposite the theatre at the corner of Boundary Marker Street and on Agron’s way home. We went in, I ordered two cups of Massic, and we took them to one of the side tables.

‘So,’ Agron said. ‘What exactly is this case of yours?’

I took a sip of the wine. ‘You know a guy by the name of Marcus Correllius? Local businessman. One of the town’s Great and Not-so-Good, if I’ve got it right.’

Agron frowned. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard of him, certainly. And from what I’ve heard, Not-so-Good’s putting it mildly. He involved in this?’

‘In a way. He’s dead, murdered or as good as.’ I gave him the details. ‘Me, I’d like to know why, but it turns out I’m in a minority of one. Even his wife seems to be glad enough to be shot of him. When I called round she practically threw me out on my ear.’

Agron was still frowning; a serious-minded guy, Agron, at the best of times, but he was currently looking even more serious than usual.

‘You want a piece of advice?’ he said.

‘Sure. Always in the market.’

‘Then drop it. Just take this case of yours, at least the Correllius part, to the deepest hole you can find, drop it in, and pile the dirt on the top. When that bastard was alive he wasn’t a safe man to mess with. If someone killed him then it goes double where they’re concerned.’

Ouch. Even so, I shook my head. ‘I can’t do that, pal. You know I can’t.’

He grunted. ‘Then be careful. Be very, very careful. You hear me?’

I took a swallow of my wine. ‘So, ah, why would that be? If he was an out-and-out crook, surely the authorities-’

‘Listen, Marcus.’ Agron set his cup down on the table. ‘I’ve just heard vague stories, right? Stories and rumours, third, fourth hand. I don’t actually know anything. On the face of it, Marcus Correllius is – was, now, from what you’re saying – one of the town’s top businessmen. As far as the legal side of things goes, he’s squeaky-clean respectable, and he was careful to keep it that way. But there’ve been … accidents. People who’ve run foul of him have got themselves hurt, one way or another. Businesswise, financially, physically, you name it. Sometimes fatally hurt, OK?’ I remembered the wineshop owner Vinnia’s husband. ‘Nothing anyone can prove, that’s the point. Certainly nothing to implicate Correllius himself. So my advice, particularly if no one’s twisting your arm over this, is just back off. It isn’t worth the risk. Understand?’

‘Yeah, I understand. Point taken.’

‘But it won’t make a blind bit of difference, yes?’

I grinned. ‘How about a Publius Fundanius? You heard of him as well?’

He was staring at me. ‘Gods alive, Corvinus! You certainly know how to pick them, don’t you?’

‘It’d seem so, yeah. He’s crooked as well?’

‘Fake as a wooden denarius. Everything I said about Correllius applies to him too. In spades.’

Uh-huh. I’d thought it might, at that. Bugger. ‘OK. To change the subject. Or rather, not to, but you know what I mean. You manage to trace Siddius yet? The careless crane operator who dropped or didn’t drop that load of amphoras over at the docks?’

‘No. No luck so far. I’m still trying.’

A pity; Siddius was someone I really wanted to talk to. Even so, Agron and his contacts had jobs and lives of their own to see to. I couldn’t expect a twelve-hours-a-day job, and I couldn’t expect miracles.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘You need any help here? Help in general, I mean. This isn’t your town, and I know some pretty big lads who’d be glad to act as minders. Watch your back for you, that sort of thing.’

I shook my head again. ‘Uh-uh. Thanks, Agron, but I’m OK. At least, I think I am.’

‘Thinking isn’t the same as being sure, and it can get you killed. I’ll say it again: Ostia isn’t Rome. We may be a small pond here, but our big fish have pretty large teeth, and it’s those bastards’ pond.’

‘I won’t forget.’

‘Fair enough. But remember, the offer’s always open if you change your mind.’ He drained his cup and stood up. ‘Right. I’d best be shifting. Keep in touch, OK?’

‘Sure. We’ll have you and Cass round to dinner at the villa once Meton gets his act together.’

‘Look forward to it. Say hello to Perilla for me.’ He turned to go, then turned back. ‘And Corvinus. One last warning: no heroics, agreed? If you can’t be smart then be sensible.’

‘You’ve got it.’

He left. I finished my own wine, took the cups back to the counter, and set off for the villa.