Food for the Fishes

8

He was looking pretty radiant himself, in a snazzy new mantle. That would’ve been unusual enough — snazzy mantles and Priscus just didn’t get on, or not past the first meal, anyway — but he’d also been freshly barbered. Scented, too: I could smell him even over the flowers in Lucia Domitilla’s flower garden.

‘Ah…hi, Priscus,’ I said. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Not bad. Not bad at all, thank you.’ He sat down on the chair Diodotus had vacated.

‘You, uh, have a nice chat with your friend? What’s-his-name, the oil-lamp man?’

‘Leonides? No, I’m afraid he was out for the day. Some unexpected business in Puteoli. Still, it was a pity to waste the journey so I had a wander round the town instead.’ He beamed at us like a louche myopic monkey. ‘Fascinating. Quite fascinating. Especially — mmaaa — that quaint little district behind the market square. Do you know, Marcus, Vipsania and I have been coming here for years and I never knew it existed?’

Yeah. Right; I could see how that might be, with Mother in charge. Baiae may be the playground of the idle rich, but even in that bracket tastes vary considerably and the old town behind the forum caters for most of them, legal and otherwise. Mostly after sunset, but the entrepreneurial locals being what they are some places stay open all day. ‘Ah — is that so, now?’ I said cautiously.

‘Speaking of Vipsania, Priscus,’ Perilla said, ‘you know you were supposed to take her shopping this afternoon then on to Cornelia Gemella’s?’

He blinked at her. ‘Mmmaaa?’

‘She went on her own. She was quite upset.’

‘But that was tomorrow, surely.’

‘Today,’ I said. ‘And upset’s an understatement. You may live to see another sunrise, pal, but I wouldn’t give odds.’

‘How very unfortunate.’ The old bugger was still blinking away like a stunned owl. ‘I was certain it was tomorrow. She’s already gone, you say? In the carriage, no doubt? Oh, tut!’ He sighed. ‘Well, there isn’t much that I can do about it now, is there?’

‘You could take the litter,’ Perilla said.

‘Oh, I don’t think so. Gemella’s place is well out in the country. It’d take hours. But to get back to the quaint little district I was telling you about, Marcus — ’

Perilla stood up suddenly. ‘I have things to do, dear,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you’d like to chat to Priscus on your own for a while. In private.’

Oh, shit. ‘Uh…right. Right,’ I said. ‘Catch you later.’ As she walked towards the house I reached for the jug Bathyllus had left, poured myself a belter and downed half of it at a gulp. I had a feeling I was going to need it here. ‘Okay, Priscus,’ I said. ‘Confession time. Let’s have the gory details.’

That got me the shell-shocked owl look again. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Look, cut it out. It’s just us now, I’m no fool and you’ve got beans to spill, so level. First off, you didn’t get your dates mixed up, did you? You knew damn well you were supposed to take Mother jewellery-shopping today. And I’d bet a gold piece to a corn plaster you never went near your pal Leonides’s.’

‘Ah…’

‘Now personally I couldn’t care less whether you worked your way through every wineshop and cat-house in Baiae. But after Mother’s had your guts for bootlaces she’ll rip out mine for an encore, and that’s something I have a definite vested interest in. Understand?’

‘Marcus, my boy, I assure you I didn’t…I would never…maaa…’

‘So let’s just have it straight, right? No flannelling.’

He blinked at me for a good half minute; seventy-plus or not, the image of a sulky teenager. Finally, he cleared his throat and said stiffly: ‘I simply — mmaa — felt the urge this morning to have a shave and a haircut in one of the barber shops off the market square. Also to purchase a new mantle at a draper’s emporium which I had noticed yesterday and indulge in a short stroll. There was nothing wrong in any of these actions, I trust?’

‘Priscus, a shave and haircut take an hour, max. Say the same for buying the mantle. That leaves several hours unaccounted for. Don’t faff around.’

‘I must say I — mmaa — resent your tone. If I want to — ’

‘Resent it all you like, pal, but very shortly Mother’s going to be back spitting blood, and this time as far as I’m concerned she can haul your liver out through your gizzard while I stand back and applaud. So give. What else happened?’

He fizzed for a bit. Then he said: ‘If you must know, while I was having my haircut I got into conversation with a most charming gentleman in the next chair. A local businessman. We had a very interesting chat about…various things.’

‘Such as?’

‘It transpired that he had connections in the — mmaa — entertainment field.’ Priscus blinked at me. ‘Did you realise, Marcus, that gambling halls are quite legal in Baiae?’

Uh huh. Well, we were getting somewhere at last. Gambling — proper gambling, as opposed to private wagers — isn’t strictly legal anywhere, barring at the Winter Festival, but it’s one of these things the authorities turn a very substantial blind eye to, especially when kickbacks are involved, which they usually are. And Baiae, being a holiday place where the punters aren’t short of a gold piece or two, is a real hotspot. ‘So this “charming gentleman” took you somewhere and you lost your shirt, right?’ I said. Well, it could’ve been worse.

‘Oh, no. Nothing like that. Although we did on his suggestion visit one of the establishments concerned in which he happened to have a controlling interest. Located in, as I said, that rather quaint old district behind the market square. It was quite an eye-opener. Quite an eye-opener. There were — mmaa — these girls — young ladies, rather — with, if you’ll believe it, hardly a stitch on.’

‘Priscus,’ I said. ‘Mother is going to kill you.’

He grinned his louche innocent’s grin. ‘Oh, I’ve no intention of telling Vipsania. She wouldn’t understand at all. This is — mmaa — just between you and me, my boy. Our little secret.’

Gods! ‘Uh…’

‘After all, where’s the harm? And as I say I didn’t lose a copper piece. If anything I made a slight profit. And I enjoyed myself enormously.’

I groaned. ‘Look, pal. That was what’s called a come-on. The next time it’ll be for real and you’ll get creamed.’

‘Nonsense. Philippus may be a freedman but he is also — mmaa — a complete gentleman. I’m quite convinced he would no more — ’

‘Who did you say?’

He blinked at me. ‘Philippus. The owner of the — ’

‘Licinius Philippus?’

‘That I don’t know. Possibly. He only gave me the one name.’ He paused, and I could almost see the delayed trickle-feed process happening. ‘Wasn’t your dead man a Licinius?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, he was. If it’s the same Philippus then he used to be a slave of his.’

‘Really? How coincidental. And it explains, I suppose — mmmaa — why he was so interested in you.’

I stared at him. ‘He was interested in me? When the hell did my name come up?’

‘Oh, very early on. At the haircut stage. He’d asked whether I was alone in Baiae and naturally I said no. Then in the course of the ensuing conversation I happened to mention that you were investigating a suspicious death for the authorities here and he was most intrigued. Asked me all sorts of questions which of course I couldn’t answer.’ He grinned and chuckled. ‘Really, my boy, I almost felt at times that I was being interrogated. It was quite exhilarating.’

I sat back, brain buzzing. Shit! Maybe it had been simple curiosity at that, but I wasn’t laying any bets. Diodotus had said that this Philippus had been seriously unchuffed with Murena’s hotel idea, and if he wasn’t exactly in the prime suspects’ bag already that was only because he was an unknown quantity. And if someone like Priscus had spotted a deliberate grilling then it must’ve been as obvious as a hippo in a bird-bath.

‘Uh…you make any sort of arrangement to go back to this place?’ I asked.

‘Oh, yes. Nothing definite, though. Philippus said it gets — mmaa — quite lively of an evening, and he suggested I might like to drop in after dinner some night to see it at its best.’ He beamed. ‘I must say the offer is most tempting. Most tempting. And if you would care to come with me, Marcus, I’m sure Philippus would make you very welcome.’

Hmm. ‘Listen, Priscus,’ I said. ‘This is important, so take your time and think before you answer. Did Philippus himself say that or is this you talking here?’

‘Oh, it was his idea. Completely. He was most insistent that you be included in the invitation. Not that I wouldn’t be delighted to have you along for my own sake, of course.’

Interesting. If Philippus’s prime concern was to get his hooks into a patsy then inviting me to tag along was the last thing he’d do. So either the guy was genuine, which I doubted, or he had an ulterior motive; and what that could be was pretty obvious. If he was keen to find out what lines I was chasing in the Murena case then he wouldn’t’ve got very far picking Priscus’s brains; he’d need to talk to me direct.

The big question was, why was he keen? Scrub simple curiosity: Philippus, I knew, had his own business-related reasons for wishing Murena into an urn, and even if I didn’t know yet how strong these were the guy was right up there on the suspects list. And coincidence was something I didn’t believe in. I’d like a quiet talk with Philippus myself.

On my own terms, though. When I had it I didn’t want to be nursemaiding Priscus. Just the thought of having to explain to Mother when she found out — and she would find out — why I’d allowed him to persuade me into taking him to a gambling hall gave me goose-bumps. Especially if, while I was chatting to the boss, he lost what back teeth he still had in some dice game or other. Which, given his current kicking-over-the-traces track record, was what the daft old bugger would almost certainly do…

Uh-uh. I couldn’t risk it. No way could I risk it, because Mother would kill me. She’d kill both of us. Still, there was no point in hurting the guy’s feelings in the process.

‘Ah…there’s just one major snag,’ I said.

‘Oh, I’m sure you can think of something to tell Vipsania.’

This time I was the one to blink. Yeah. Right. Sometimes I wonder if Priscus isn’t sharper than he looks. I had the distinct feeling here that I was being hustled.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘Let’s just put this on hold for a bit, eh? A few more days won’t matter. Leave it with me and I’ll get back to you.’

His face fell, like a kid’s when he’s told that a birthday treat has had to be cancelled. ‘If you…mmaa!..insist, Marcus,’ he said. ‘Although I must admit I was rather looking forward to it. Couldn’t we just — ?’

‘No. Read my lips.’

‘Very well. If that’s how you feel.’

He got up and wandered off. Shit. Well, sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind. And if he did knot the bed-sheets together now and do a runner off his own bat then my conscience was clear.

Still, that little conversation had given me a lot to think about. Priscus had been got at, no question, and not just as a gambling hall owner’s mark. The fact that he hadn’t been able to provide any information worth the name was irrelevant: he’d still been soaked.

So why?

Licinius Philippus was one guy I just had to see.

9

The next morning I rode out to see Murena’s partner, Decimus Tattius.

Diodotus had said the guy had a villa on the main drag, inland of Murena’s. Out the other way, towards Puteoli and Neapolis, the countryside gets pretty rugged pretty quickly, especially when you come to what the locals call the Burning Fields, but in the Misenum direction the whole peninsula’s taken up with luxury villas whose owners can afford to give nature a helping hand. Sure, you occasionally do get flocks of sheep and goats lifting their heads to give you evil-eyed stares from the bosky shade while quaint shepherds straight out of the blunt end of a pastoral blow their oaten pipes at you from under an arbutus, but the general impression is of scenery that’s been civilised to within an inch of its life, often involving topiaried hedges, architectural features that wouldn’t be out of place in one of these snappy modern trompe-l’oiel frescos and the periodic scream of an ostrich from some rich bugger’s private zoo.

The road was busy, busier than you’d expect from a dead-end direction, but there’s a fairly constant stream of traffic to and from the naval base at Misenum itself on the peninsula’s tip. When I reckoned I must be getting close I asked a slave on duty outside one of the villas for final directions and he pointed me towards a set of iron gates further up the drag.

Tattius’s place wasn’t big — not by the neighbours’ standards, anyway — but it was still pretty impressive. At first glance, at least: the gates were fancy expensive ironwork, fixed to marble pillars, but they could’ve done with painting and the gilded fish that topped them had a bad case of scale-rot; while the slave sitting outside them had on a tunic that was darned in places and looked like it’d been washed half a dozen times too many.

‘The master at home this morning, sushine?’ I said.

‘Yes, sir.’ The slave got up and opened the gates. ‘Just go in.’

I walked the mare up a paved carriage-drive towards a porticoed entrance with a line of statues in front of it. At least, there were a line of statue pedestals, but two or three of them were empty. A slave in a tunic that was hardly better than the gate-slave’s was sweeping the marble steps. He set his broom against a pillar and came towards me.

‘I was looking for the master,’ I said.

‘He’s at breakfast, sir. What was it about?’

I dismounted. ‘The name’s Valerius Corvinus. I was wondering if he could spare a few minutes to talk to me about his partner. Licinius Murena.’

‘Oh, yes, sir.’ The guy’s voice took on a hushed, reverent quality that indicated he knew the partner in question had recently been stiffed. Not that that was surprising, mind: the slave grapevine is second to none, and Murena’s death would be old news by now. ‘If you’d care to wait I’ll tell him you’re here.’

He went inside. While the mare nuzzled the grass at the edge of the driveway I looked around me. Yeah, right; initial impressions confirmed. The place wasn’t falling apart — far from it — but it had a slight air of seediness that suggested Tattius was having difficulties living up to the manner to which he’d evidently become accustomed. The box hedges round the ornamental fountain were just that little bit overgrown, and the fountain itself could’ve done with a scrub out. There were these missing statues, and the second slave’s tunic: one could’ve been chance, but not two. Some of the trellising that supported the roses was -

‘Valerius Corvinus? The master will see you, sir. Follow me, please.’

I did. They were eating al fresco, in a small enclosed peristyle garden off the atrium. ‘They’, plural. The woman was Penelope.

I pulled up short. ‘Uh…I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know — ’

She got up. ‘Good morning, Valerius Corvinus. You wanted to talk to my husband, I understand. If you’ll excuse me I’ll leave you in peace while you do so.’

Decimus Tattius rose and watched her go inside. They hadn’t exchanged a word. Then he turned to me, smiled and held out a hand.

‘Pleased to meet you, Corvinus,’ he said. We shook. ‘You’ve breakfasted?’

‘Yeah, yeah, that’s okay.’ I was still looking after Penelope, vaguely fazed. ‘I’m sorry, sir. When I met your wife yesterday she didn’t mention — ’

‘So I see.’ Tattius motioned me to a chair. His face was expressionless. ‘It doesn’t matter. Now. How can I help you? I understand you’re investigating the death of my partner.’

He’d’ve had to be about Murena’s age, late sixties or early seventies, but he looked fit enough, if more than a little overweight and with a pouting, pendulous look to his lips, more like a sulky kid than a senior citizen. His grip, though, had been firm and hard.

‘Yeah.’ I sat down. ‘Don’t let me disturb your breakfast.’

‘Oh, I’d finished.’ He laid himself back on the couch. ‘This is a dreadful affair. Although I did hear they’ve caught the man they think did it.’

Despite the sentiments I’d met crocodiles who sounded sorrier than Tattius. Still, the murder had been five days ago now, so maybe the shock had worn off. ‘Gaius Trebbio,’ I said. ‘There’s…an element of doubt over that.’

‘Is there, indeed?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m surprised. Lucius mentioned Trebbio to me several times, and seemingly the man had made direct and specific threats. Also I was told he was wandering drunk in the neighbourhood of the fish farm the time it happened. Personally I’d have thought — if poor Lucius’s death wasn’t natural, which seems to be the general opinion, although I’m not convinced, myself — that the evidence was fairly conclusive.’

‘There’s some,’ I admitted. ‘But I wouldn’t call it all that conclusive. They quarrelled over Trebbio’s eviction, didn’t they?’

‘I’d hardly call it quarrelling. Lucius had bought the Juventius estate, which included the man’s cottage.’

‘Trebbio had had the place for fifteen years. That’s a long time.’

‘You haven’t seen it yourself?’ I shook my head. ‘Then take my word, “cottage” is dignifying it: it’s no more than a hovel, a shack, hardly more than a ruin. Trebbio was simply camping out there.’

‘None the less — ’

‘I’m saying that to describe the place as a property and this Trebbio as an evicted tenant is overstating things. If Lucius chose to terminate the lease he had a perfect right, legally and morally, to do so. It was a purely business matter. He’d no quarrel with the fellow personally — why should he? — and Trebbio had no right to complain.’

‘Ah…you say “Lucius” and “he”. It wasn’t a partnership decision to buy the estate, then?’

Tattius frowned. ‘Oh, I suppose it was. Technically, at least.’

‘“Technically”?’

‘I don’t really involve myself much in the business side of things, Corvinus. I know nothing about fish or fish farming, and care less. All that was Lucius’s concern, and increasingly over the years that of his sons. Plus Ligurius’s, naturally. The Anchovy’s a real tower of strength.’

There was a certain something in his voice I couldn’t place. Smugness? A touch of contempt, maybe? I didn’t know, but it was there, and I didn’t like it above half. I wasn’t sure I took to Decimus Tattius: the guy had a greasy feel about him that was simultaneously as flash and as run-down as his property.

‘“Anchovy”,’ I said. ‘That was Murena’s name for him, wasn’t it?’

Tattius looked at me in surprise. ‘Yes, it was, as a matter of fact. Lucius had a habit of giving people around him nicknames. He did it all the time, and it was, I’m afraid, one of his less endearing traits, especially since he had no compunction about using them to the person’s face. But then, that was Lucius for you. He never did have much respect for people’s feelings. Ligurius, as it happens, didn’t and doesn’t mind. We — the family — call him Anchovy now as a matter of course; there’s no opprobrium involved.’

‘He called you Oistrus,’ I said. ‘“Gadfly”.’

Tattius’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, he did,’ he said slowly. ‘Where did you hear that?’

‘Care to tell me why? Just out of interest?’

‘To tell you the truth, I can’t remember now; we’ve known each other practically since boyhood. In any case, I’ve grown quite used to it over the years and it certainly doesn’t offend me. If it ever did.’

Yeah, well, from his initial reaction that was something I wouldn’t risk too hefty a bet on. He hadn’t liked me using the name; he hadn’t liked it at all. Still, I let that go. ‘The partnership. When did it start?’

‘Oh, that’s ancient history, too. As I said, we were very old friends, did our junior magistracies together. Then — well — we both decided independently that politics and public life weren’t for us. Lucius’s family have always had interests down this way, fish farming especially through his grandfather, and when he made the decision to move permanently from Rome and develop the farm commercially I took up his suggestion to go into partnership. We’ve been here ever since. That’s all there was to it.’

‘But you’ve never really involved yourself in the business?’

Tattius smiled. ‘To be frank, that suited both of us. I’m no businessman and never have been; Lucius was, very much so, as were — are — his sons. I don’t interfere. I leave things to them and let them get on with it.’

‘What about this hotel idea? I understand it’s a new venture.’

‘Yes.’ Tattius looked down briefly and plucked a stray thread from his tunic. ‘Yes, it is.’

‘You didn’t approve?’

He hesitated. ‘As I said, Corvinus, I’m no businessman. I leave — left — decisions like that to my partner. However, again — to be frank — I did think that it was a little…misguided.’

‘In what way?’

‘I’m not criticising Lucius — how could I? — but the capital outlay was considerable and the returns doubtful at best, certainly in all but the very long term. The farm is doing reasonably well and always has done, although the profits aren’t as large as you might think after the costs have been deducted. Also, there was…a certain amount of local opposition to contend with which Lucius, being Lucius, refused to take into account.’

‘His freedman Philippus?’

Tattius shot me a sharp look and took his time answering. ‘Yes indeed,’ he said finally. ‘Forgive me, but you really are remarkably well-informed, especially in so short a time. How on earth did you find out about Philippus?’

‘Murena gave him his freedom when he was quite young, didn’t he?’

Another hesitation. ‘He did.’

‘You know why?’

‘No. Lucius may have been my partner, but his private life was none of my concern. No doubt he had his reasons.’

‘Or where he got the money from originally to start him up in business?’

‘I don’t follow.’

Odd. There was something definitely defensive about the guy now, and that was interesting. ‘I’ve been told that Philippus is one of the richest locals in Baiae. Granted he may be a good businessman, but he must’ve got his original stake from somewhere. On the other hand — by all accounts — there wasn’t much love lost between him and his ex-master. So I was just wondering — ’

‘I’m afraid I can’t help you over Philippus.’ Tattius’s face was closed now. ‘You’d have to ask the man himself.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I’ll do that.’

‘Not that I suspect you’ll get a civil answer. Philippus is not what you’d call a civil person. Once a slave, always a slave.’

I shifted on my chair. ‘Uh…to change the subject. Murena’s family. What can you tell me about them?’

It might’ve been my imagination, but I thought Tattius looked relieved. ‘In the business sense?’ he said. ‘His elder son Titus is the lawyer of the family. Also he oversees the company’s accounts. Aulus is more like his father, the practical businessman and decision-taker. Although’ — he smiled — ‘he’s rather more adventurous than Lucius ever was, which can be both good and bad. He’s a natural gambler, and although Lucius did have a gambling streak it wasn’t particularly developed.’

‘They, uh, didn’t get on very well. Or so I understand.’

The cautious look was back. ‘There was a certain amount of friction, yes. But no more so than in most families.’

Yeah, right. And I was a baboon. Still, I couldn’t expect too much from that direction. After all, he was a relation by marriage. ‘What about Gellia?’ I said.

‘Again I have to ask you what you mean. Gellia isn’t involved on the business side of things.’

‘They were a happy couple?’

‘As far as I know. They were as close as couples from the upper bracket usually are, particularly in Baiae.’

Which wasn’t saying much, but then again of course I couldn’t expect more. ‘She have money of her own?’

I thought he wasn’t going to answer, which considering the question he’d be within his rights not to do, but finally he did. ‘Her father was an oil-shipper in a small way, in Puteoli. She’s not rich, but she has a competence.’

‘When did they get married?’

‘About five or six years ago.’

‘Murena was a widower, wasn’t he? I mean, his first wife died, he didn’t divorce her.’

‘That’s right.’

‘She been dead for long?’

‘Almost thirty years now.’

Strange: I could swear he’d tightened up again for some reason. ‘She couldn’t’ve been very old.’

‘No. She was a long-term invalid, never strong.’

‘What about your wife? Penelope? From the way she spoke the last time I saw her she didn’t get on all that well with her father. Or with the rest of the family, for that matter.’

He stood up suddenly. ‘Corvinus, I’m sorry. I know you have a job to do, and I’m happy to help you all I can, but your questions are becoming a little personal. Could we stop now, please?’

Yeah, well; I’d been wondering myself how far I could push it, and I wasn’t really surprised he’d choked me off. I stood up too. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘My apologies. And thanks for your time.’

He smiled — with his mouth, at least — and held out a hand. ‘You’re very welcome. I wish you luck. Although, it has to be said, personally I think Lucius’s death was either a tragic accident or the man responsible is in custody already. I’ll see you out.’

There was no sign of Penelope. I collected the mare — the sweeper-slave had tied her to a hitching-post further along the portico — and rode back to Baiae. Thoughtfully.