Deadly Election

20

Niger lived off the Via Tusculana, a small side-street on the lower edge of Oppian Hill. He was not entirely daft: in case anybody angry called, he had gone out.

Luckily for me, he had one of those strange wives who like to be at home all day, mopping floors. I made sure not to step on the wet part.

Broad of beam and wide of features, this put-upon woman assured me she had no idea where her husband might be or when she could expect him home. Many marriages, I knew, are run on these pathetic lines. (Not mine!) It flagrantly flouts the definition that marriage is the agreement of two people to live together. ‘Together’ being the crucial word. If he goes out, either he takes you with him − if you definitely want to go − or he damn well tells you where he is off to so you can turn up there later and catch him with his arm round that dumpy barmaid nobody else would look at.

I commented politely that Niger’s woman kept the place nice for him, so she said it was expected, wasn’t it? In the Manlius Faustus style of discussion, I made no reply. If she had been brighter, she would have seen my silence as dissent.

I managed to extract from her that Niger had been highly upset last evening when the Callisti sent a curt order not to honour his bid. She said he was so angry, he raved around the house all night, shouting his objections to the way he had been treated − which at least meant his wife had discovered what was wrong. She explained the issue: Niger was worried that our auction house could count him as liable. If we came down on him for the money (and my presence now hinted that we might) it was too much for him to find. Even if he could pay up, he was landed with a rubbishy old chest.

If we let him off, defaulting on his bid was bad practice; Niger had an image to keep up. It was important because he was not salaried to the Callisti but worked as a freelance; he relied on having a good reputation and references to obtain other work. He needed to look like a man who knew what he was doing.

I expressed fellow feeling; it went over her head. Niger’s wife had no concept of a woman working, let alone working for herself. She thought I was just a messenger today. ‘Your husband had been hired by Callistus Primus on other occasions, I presume?’

‘Well, actually, I think recently was his first time with them. Niger was hoping it would lead to bigger things.’

‘He struck me as very experienced.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Then he can live without the Callisti in his portfolio. People who let you down are a nightmare … Who does he work for otherwise?’

‘Oh, you would have to ask him that.’

‘I will if I can find him.’

‘He acts as an agent for some very nice people,’ the wife assured me, though I did not take this as reliable. Nice people are pretty hard to find. ‘Good payers, most of them, as well.’ Probably true. His income would impact on her household budget, so she would keep an eye on it. ‘They all think very highly of my husband as their agent. Julia Terentia gave us a beautiful set of glass beakers last Saturnalia.’ Presumably not much use if Niger was never at home to drink anything out of them.

‘That was thoughtful of the lady … I am not sure I know Julia Terentia?’

‘Oh, you must do,’ Niger’s wife insisted. ‘She is one of that lot on the Caelian. The rich, bossy one. Niger will tell you. Just ask him.’

I said I would come back later when Niger could give me the low-down on what Laeta had called ‘the Caelian Hill mob’.

Niger’s wife had told me little. In my work, I have many conversations that are utterly frustrating; I have learned never to lose my temper with the witness. No point. If they drive you nuts, you can ease your feelings later at home by throwing a bucket at a wall. Just make sure to use an empty one. You don’t want to end up scrubbing floors all day.

I hoofed it out of there and found Lappius, the big minder Gornia had imposed on me. I had left him in the street when I went up to the negotiator’s apartment. Now I had seen it, I knew it was decent, in both size and amenities, and only on the second floor. That fitted what I had just learned. Whoever he worked for other than the Callisti, Niger made a good living. So he had reputation, a nice home furnished with gifts from grateful clients, and an uncomplaining wife. This is the life all freelance professionals hope for. Not many of us achieve it.

Nobody in that position had much to gain by killing a man and stuffing him into a chest, especially when Niger knew from preparing the inventory that the chest was about to be auctioned, with certain discovery of its contents.

Lappius and I set off to see the Callisti.