Ovid

21

We left the litter at the western edge of the Palatine, crossed Tuscan Road and plunged into the maze of markets and slum property that was the eastern Velabrum. To my relief no one paid Perilla much attention — at least, no more than they paid me. The Sunshine Boys stuck close and made no attempt to fade into the woodwork, which was probably a good idea: I saw more than one suspicious-looking character zero in on my patrician tunic and veer off at the last moment before a granite shoulder mashed him to pulp against the nearest wall.

At least the Boys were enjoying themselves. Maybe, I thought, I should take them walkies more often.

I didn't know the Velabrum all that well, certainly not as well as the Subura, apart from the bit around Cattlemarket Square. Like I said, it's the area where most of the wholesale trading goes on, and because it's the city's main link with Ostia most of the traffic between the Market Square and the river passes through it. Senatorials are barred by law from trade, so you don't see many broad-stripers down that way. Not that the ban would be all that difficult to get round. All it'd need, for example, would be to set up dummy companies through one or two of your freedmen and cream off the profits. However for a senator to dirty his hands with trade is another of these things that's just not proper. We broad-stripers make our money respectably in other ways. Like from letting out rooms at sky-high rents in gimcrack tenements, for example. There're always plenty of punters looking for four walls and a floor to sleep on. And when the tenements collapse or burn down about their ears you can always shark up a few more and replace the dead tenants with new ones.

Property's a seller's market that never loses its edge. Why get your hands dirty when you don't have to?

Thanks to the Boys we got through the built-up eastern and central sections of the Velabrum with no serious problems and moved out into the main docklands area near the river itself; streets of granaries and warehouses where the wholesalers keep the consignments of grain, olive oil and fish sauce that come upriver on barges from Ostia. Most other days the district would've been swarming like a lump of maggoty meat, but because it was the Spring Festival everything was shut up and the streets and alleyways were deserted. They still smelt, though; a pleasant, storeroomy smell that was a mixture of wine and cheese and oil, with the faint musty overlay of drying corn.

'How much further?' Perilla asked.

'Not far now.' I'd found out where Paquius's warehouse was from Bathyllus (who else?). 'It's just downstream from Sublician Bridge.'

'Oh, good. So long as it's the Sublician we're talking about, of course, and not one I don't know about five miles upriver.'

The crabbiness was understandable, and I made the necessary allowances. We'd come a fair way that morning.

'Getting tired, eh?'

'Just a little.'

I pointed. 'That's the river ahead of us.'

'I'd never have guessed, Marcus. Does it always smell of roses?'

Jupiter, she was crotchety! Still, I had to admit that the tendrils that were reaching out to us were pretty ripe. Pound for pound Tiber mud must be one of the evillest substances known to man.

'Yeah, well. Just be grateful we're still upstream from the Drain. The water's so thick there you can practically walk to the other side without a bridge. So long as you don't look down to see what you're standing in.'

She shuddered. 'Stop it, Corvinus.’

'You think I'm exaggerating?'

'I don't care. I just don't want to know, that's all.'

We walked on until we reached a junction, then turned right along a street of warehouses backing onto the riverbank.

'That's it up ahead,' I said. There was no name painted that I could see, but Bathyllus had told me what to look for — a building set out slightly from the rest with a dilapidated waggon mouldering against the side wall. 'See anyone?'

'No.'

'Me neither.' The place, like its neighbours, looked deserted. 'You wait here with the Boys and I'll have a look round.'

'Nonsense. We'll go in together.'

'Ground rules, remember.'

'But…'

'Don't worry. If Davus is there I'll come back out and get you.'

'Be careful, then.'

'Yeah, sure.' I grinned.

'Marcus, I mean it!'

'I know. I'll be careful.'

I took the knife from its scabbard at my left wrist — I'd got a new one since my brush with the muggers — and walked towards the gates. My left shoulder was still stiff, but Scylax's massage had worked wonders and I reckoned I could handle myself pretty well if anything did go wrong. Not that anything would go wrong, of course.

I paused at the entrance to the warehouse. The double doors were unbarred, which was curious: like I said, everything we'd passed had been locked up tight for the holidays. But then again I didn't know why Davus had chosen this place. Maybe he worked here. Maybe he could come and go when he felt like it and had left the front door open for us. All the same I held the knife ready and went in carefully.

'Davus?' I shouted.

No answer. It was dark, of course, after the sunlight outside. I stood still and waited for my eyes to become adjusted. Then I looked around me.

Paquius was obviously in the grain trade like his neighbours. Down each long wall of the shed stood a series of corn bins. Their lids were open and I could see that most of them were full of dried grain. At the back was an industrial size mill with bags of (I supposed) flour stacked against the wall beside it ready for distribution when the warehouse reopened the next day.

I shouted again. 'Davus!' Still no answer. Maybe he was hiding until he knew it was safe to come out. Not that there was anywhere in that place to hide. 'Hey, it's okay. I'm a friend. Valerius Corvinus. Harpale sent me.'

Something scuffled to my left and I whipped round, knife levelled; but it was only a rat. I walked up the centre of the warehouse towards the mill at the end.

The gate of the last bin had been lifted and the grain was lying in a pile on the stone floor. Resting on the side of the pile, its sole turned towards me, was a sandal. Or maybe not just a sandal. I went over for a closer look, the hairs lifting on the back of my neck because I already knew what I would find.

I was right; but I moved the grain away, just to make sure.

How he'd died was obvious enough as soon as I turned him over and saw the gaping flap below his grey-stubbled chin. His throat had been cut from ear to ear with one slash of a very sharp knife. I checked the grain beneath him. It was dry, and there was no sign of blood. While I did it his eyes stared up at me, blankly, accusingly.

So much for getting the name of our fourth conspirator. If Julia's door slave had known who the guy was he wasn't going to pass it on now. I'd come to a dead end. Literally.

'Fuck,' I whispered.

Just then, I heard footsteps behind me. I spun round.

'Corvinus, if you expect me to stand around outside while you…' Perilla began.

Then she saw what was left of Davus, and it was too late for explanations.