Solid Citizens

TWELVE

Where to now?

Well, you win some, you lose some: that conver-sation had blown out of the water the theory that the will was a fake engineered first to last by Novius and Caesius together. Old, Ampudius might be, but he’d certainly got all his faculties intact, there was nothing wrong with his memory, and he’d convinced me absolutely on that score. So scrap the idea that Aulus Mettius had been blackmailing Caesius and his employer, got himself framed and relegated as a result, and stiffed his uncle in revenge as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Which didn’t, of course, let him off the hook altogether: even if his reasons for hating Caesius hadn’t been as clear cut as a trumped-up charge and a ten-year relegation would’ve made them, the hatred he’d shown at the funeral had been there in spades, whatever the cause of it had been, and the timing still fitted. So Nephew Mettius was still firmly in the frame.

There again, there was still the question of Quintus Caesius’s power of attorney — or whatever the legal phrase was — to consider. Even if his father’s will itself had been genuine, the business of the old man having been certified towards the end of his life was something I’d known nothing about, and it might well be a key point where relations between the two brothers were concerned; Ampudius had been pretty definite that Caesius Senior had been in sound mind when he disinherited Lucius, sure, no arguments, but he’d also said that the guy had known he was failing during his latter years and had relied increasingly on his elder son’s judgement. Influence — possibly undue influence, based on personal motives — was a grey area, and if it’d been a factor in the disinheritance then it might be relevant, both where Lucius himself — and possibly even Mettius, if he’d come to know about it in some way — was concerned.

So another chat with Anthus was in order. Plus, following my interview with Baebius, he might be able to provide an update on the missing figurine; my gut feeling was telling me that that fitted in somewhere or other along the line, and I’d bet we hadn’t heard the last of it. Also, since it was cropping up too frequently to be ignored, I thought I might give the burned-out wool store a quick look-over, if only for completeness’ sake.

Even so, we were halfway through a busy morning here. Like I’d said to Perilla, I was officially on holiday, and after dutifully talking to Baebius and Ampudius I reckoned I deserved a break and a cup of wine. So back towards the centre of town and my usual wine shop.

On the way — what made me do it, I don’t know; call it instinct, if you like — I happened to glance over my shoulder. I hadn’t been looking out for my pal the lounging freedman recently, but there he was, large as life, a dozen or so yards behind and keeping pace. Uh-huh. Coincidence, nothing, not this time: Bovillae wasn’t all that small. Maybe it was time we had a word. I turned.

The guy had almost reached a corner. He slowed noticeably, then abruptly took a left.

Bugger this for a game of soldiers. I was getting too old for running suspicious tails down, particularly where it would involve pushing my way through the pack of Bovillae’s usual morning crowd of strollers and shoppers. Chummie could wait until I had a better chance at him. That would come, I was sure.

At least now I knew that it hadn’t been my imagination. The guy had questions to answer.

I found the street with the brothel and carried on down it. The ruined warehouse was on the same side, a few dozen yards past the door, its roof gone but with the burned timber and tiles cleared away, so that it was no more than a shell formed by the original stone walls reaching up to their original height. Like the watchman Garganius had said, the locals had been lucky the place was separate from the surrounding buildings: it’d been a fairly big place, and if its frontage had been flush with the rest of the street, with properties attached either side, fires in town being what they are, when it went up it would probably have taken a good chunk of the centre with it. As it was, what was left was surrounded by an open courtyard.

There was nothing much to see, really, but I reckoned that having made the effort I might as well do things properly. I’d just stepped off the pavement when I felt a hand grip the back of my tunic, hard.

My pal the wandering freedman. I turned round, fist raised to punch the guy’s lights out-

And stopped. It wasn’t the freedman; it was a little guy dressed in what had probably once been a sack, with a bulbous head far too big for his body that wobbled on his scrawny neck, a hunched back, a mouth that was mostly drool, and eyes that were looking everywhere but straight at me. He stank, too.

Gods. I lowered my fist. Some things I just can’t take, and madness comes top of the list every time. From the looks of him, chummie here evidently wasn’t just a couple of tiles short of a roof, he was missing the whole thing, and the rafters as well.

‘Uh … Hi, pal,’ I said. ‘You wanted something?’

He stepped back. When I’d turned, he’d shifted his grip to my tunic’s front, and he was still holding on tight. My blood went cold and I had to fight the urge to pull myself free.

‘You’re the Roman, aren’t you?’ he said. At least, that’s what it would’ve been, if the words hadn’t been slurred and drooled half to hell. ‘From Rome.’

‘Yeah,’ I said carefully. ‘That’s me. Roman from Rome. Well done, sunshine, you’ve got it in one. What can I do for you?’

‘I didn’t kill him. The old man.’

The hairs were beginning to crawl on the back of my neck, and I had to stop myself from shivering.

‘I know that,’ I said. ‘No one’s claiming that you did.’ Jupiter! ‘You, uh, like to let me go, maybe?’

‘You got to believe me. I never touched him. Never. I wouldn’t. It was someone else.’

‘Right. Right.’

‘You believe me?’

‘Yeah, no worries. I believe you.’

‘Thass good. Because it wasn’t me that done it, it was someone else. Not me. Someone else.’ The head twitched, scattering spit …

And he’d suddenly let go of me, turned, and was shambling off up the street, back the way I’d come. I watched him go. I was shaking like a leaf.

Gods, that had not been pleasant! Maybe I’d forget the tour of inspection and head straight for the wine shop. Sleuthing could wait; right now, what I could really do with was a cup of wine. In fact I could do with the whole jug.

I took a deep breath, pulled myself back together again, and carried on towards the main drag, turning right when I reached it in the direction of the market square. I’d got about halfway to the wine-shop street when I heard my name shouted. I turned; it was Aulus Mettius.

‘Yeah?’ I said when he’d caught me up. I wasn’t at my best, currently, and impromptu interviews with suspects I could do without. ‘What is it?’

‘I was hoping to bump into you,’ he said. ‘How’re things going?’

‘OK,’ I said cautiously.

‘Turned up any more dirt?’ I just looked at him. ‘I hear you’re interested in the wool store business. Our local arson scandal, although it’s best not to call it that too openly.’

‘Who told you that?’ I said sharply.

‘Word gets around. And it’d be natural enough. But if you are then I might have a tip for you.’

‘Is that so, now?’ I kept every smidgeon of encouragement out of my voice. Unsolicited information tends to make me suspicious at the best of times, and this Mother’s Little Helper pose from someone who was himself definitely in the frame was just a bit too much to be credible.

‘If I were you I’d have a talk with a man called Ulpius. Marcus Ulpius. He runs a small carter’s business near the circus, theatre side, and he owes me a favour. Just tell him I sent you. Or wait, that might not be enough.’ He took a copper coin from his belt pouch, then followed it up with his penknife, and scratched a letter ‘M’ on the face. ‘Show him this. That ought to do it.’

I pocketed the coin. ‘One question. What’s in it for you?’

‘Suspicious?’ He grinned. ‘Well, you needn’t be; I’m no murderer. There’s nothing in it for me, I promise you. Just personal satisfaction.’

‘In terms of what?’

‘I told you when we met at the funeral. I don’t like hypocrites, particularly when they paint themselves whiter than white and are crooked bastards underneath. The more paint gets scraped off, the better, and if I can lend a helping hand in that direction then I’m more than happy to do so. Talk to Ulpius. I’ll see you around.’

He turned to go.

‘Hang on, pal,’ I said.

‘Yeah?’

‘You happen to know a crazy guy, looks like something out of an Atellan farce, stinks like a dead cat in a heatwave?’

‘Dossenus. Sure.’ He frowned.

Dossenus. Well, I’d been spot-on with the Atellan farce bit: Dossenus is one of the stock figures in the plays, the hunchback. ‘That his name?’

‘Not his real one. But if he ever had another nobody uses it any more. I doubt if he even knows it himself. Sure, I know Dossenus, everyone does. He’s a local character, been around for years. A tramp, crazy, like you say. Sleeps rough, lives on garbage and whatever he can scrounge. You run into him?’

‘Yeah, a few minutes back. Or he ran into me, rather, at the old wool store.’

‘What did he want with you?’

‘To tell me he wasn’t the murderer I was looking for.’

Mettius laughed. ‘That’s Dossenus, all right,’ he said. ‘He gets these ideas into his head, largely because they haven’t got much competition. You don’t need to worry about him, Corvinus, he’s harmless for all his looks. Give you a start, did he?’

‘A bit of one, sure.’

‘Yes.’ He was examining me closely. ‘Yes, I can see that he did. Anyway, you get on over to Ulpius’s. You’ll find what he has to say interesting.’

And he was gone.

I carried on to the wine shop. This time of day, it was pretty busy with punters on their early lunch break, but I still wasn’t up to company and conversation. I took my second cup of wine — I’d sunk the first as soon as it was poured, and it hadn’t touched the sides — to an empty corner table and sat down.

Two more cups along the road, I was feeling more myself again. I set out in the direction of the circus.

It’s in the lower quadrant of the town, between the centre and the Arician Gate, with the theatre close beside it; not a bit of Bovillae I know very well. However, I found Ulpius’s yard easily enough — it was the only carter’s business in the area — and went in through the open gate. There was a big guy with his back to me, chewing on a hunk of bread and watching a couple of slaves grease the wheels of a cart. I went up to him.

‘You Marcus Ulpius?’ I said.

He turned round. ‘Who wants to know?’

‘Name’s Corvinus.’

That got me a suspicious look. ‘The Roman? Looking into the death of the censor?’

Like Mettius had said, word gets around. Evidently, it had even got this far. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That’s me.’

‘So what do you want here?’

Instead of answering, I took out the marked coin. ‘Aulus Mettius said to show you this.’

He took it, looked at it and slipped it into his belt-pouch. ‘And?’ he said.

‘Search me, pal. That’s all there is to it. Only the implication was you knew something about the burning down of the wool store six months ago.’

He looked wary. Then he nodded abruptly and tossed the rest of the bread away. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘We’ll go inside.’

I followed him into the big shed in the corner of the yard where the hay and straw for the horses were kept. He sat down on one of the bales, and I sat opposite.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘Let’s get something clear before we start. This is a favour, right? I owe Mettius one, never mind for what, and for some reason he’s calling it in. The favour’s to him, and you’re not involved. No comeback, no follow-up, no extras. It ends here, and when you leave I don’t know you from fucking Romulus and I never saw you before in my life. Agreed?’

‘Sure,’ I said.

‘So. You have the ball. Ask away.’

‘You transported the missing wool for Marcus Manlius, right?’ I said.

He scowled, then grinned. ‘You’re not as green as you’re cabbage-looking, are you, Roman? Yeah, I did. And brought in the bales of rags that replaced it. Took me quite a while, I can tell you.’

‘You start the fire as well?’

‘Nah, wasn’t my job. And I was taking enough risks for what that bastard was paying me already. He got one of his own men to do that.’

‘So where did it go? The wool, I mean?’

‘To a wholesale merchant in Aricia, name of Gnaeus Pompeius.’ He sniggered. ‘Yeah, like the old general. No relation, though, and no “Magnus” tacked on the end. Would’ve been a joke if there had been, because he was a little runt of a guy I could’ve snapped in half with one hand. Big man locally, mind. He’d an empty warehouse on the edge of the town, and I just dropped the loads off there. What happened to it after that I don’t know, but no doubt Manlius and him were doing nicely out of the deal. Now. That’s all I can tell you.’

‘What’s Mettius got against Marcus Manlius? Specifically, I mean.’ Yeah, sure, he’d told me he was giving me Ulpius’s name out of pure altruism, but like I said I’ve never trusted suspect characters who provide unsolicited information gratis. The chances were that he had an axe to grind somewhere or other, and it’d be interesting to know what it was.

Ulpius shrugged. ‘You’d have to ask him that yourself, although I’d be surprised if you got a straight answer. Oh, sure, Manlius’s father was the aedile on the bench when he was relegated ten years back, and maybe that’s enough. It would be for me. But Mettius is a strange cove. Me, I’m in it for the money, pure and simple, I’m not ashamed to admit the fact. I’ve got a wife and kids to keep, and the carting business doesn’t bring in much. Mettius, well, he comes from a good family, so money’s not a problem and never has been. He’s crooked as they come and can lie to beat the band, sure, but if you ask me he does it out of pure devilment, just for the fun of it. He’s always been wild. And he can’t stand these pricks in the senate. Not that I blame him there. They’re all a pack of chancers.’ He stood up. ‘Right. That’s your lot. All there is, all you get. You tell Mettius when you see him the debt’s paid.’

‘I’ll do that,’ I said. ‘Thanks a lot.’

I left the yard and started up towards the centre. I hadn’t gone far when the old instinct kicked in again and I turned round.

Shit. The persistent freedman. Only this time he wasn’t trying to hide, or to avoid me. He kept on coming.

Well, I was safe enough: we were still in Bovillae, after all, on a public street, and there were plenty of people around. I waited for him to catch up.

‘OK, pal,’ I said when he had. ‘What’s this all about?’

‘I’m taking you to see the boss,’ he said.

I didn’t have to ask who the boss was, not any more, because now he was close up I’d placed him. He’d been at Caesius’s funeral, in the market square, carrying a bundle of rods. Manlius’s rod man, or one of them.

‘Is that so, now?’ I said. ‘Care to tell me why?’

Instead of answering, his hand gripped my arm. I shook it off, grabbed it with both of mine, and bent the thumb back as far as it would go. He grunted and froze, his eyes wide.

‘OK,’ I said quietly. ‘Public place, right? Not somewhere to cause any trouble, is it? Now you be nice and in return I won’t break your fucking thumb. Deal?’

‘Deal,’ he said, through gritted teeth.

‘Fine. That’s better.’ I let go.

‘Look.’ He was rubbing his hand. ‘I was only to tail you, right? See where you went.’

‘OK. You were doing that. So what’s changed the rules?’ He said nothing. ‘Suit yourself, friend, I’ll answer for you. I’ve been sniffing around the old wool store, I talked to Sextus Garganius, and I’ve just been to Marcus Ulpius’s place. Tick three boxes. That’s at least one too many for your boss’s peace of mind. So now you’ve decided that Manlius will want to have an urgent word with me about the wool store business in person, yes?’ Still nothing. ‘Come on, you bastard! You know damn well what’s going on! If Manlius used one of his own men to set the fire — which he did — then it isn’t hard to guess who picked the lucky number.’ He gawped at me, and I sighed; rod men as a profession don’t need to be too bright, sure, but this one couldn’t even manage a glimmer. And most of the size wasn’t muscle but flab. Heaven help the empire. ‘Fair enough, forget it, sunshine. I’d’ve been calling on Manlius soon in any case. Off we go.’

It wasn’t far: on the main drag again, and only a couple of hundred yards centre-side of Caesius’s place. My none-too-friendly rod man nodded to the door slave sitting outside, who opened the door for us, and we went in. The major-domo met us in the atrium.

‘Boss around, Flavus?’ Rod said.

The major-domo was looking at me with obvious curiosity. ‘Yes, he is,’ he said. ‘In the study, with Sextus Canidius.’

‘You want to tell him I’ve got Valerius Corvinus here? He’ll know what it’s about.’

The major-domo gave me another curious look and went out.

‘You don’t need to stay, pal, if you’ve got other things to do,’ I said. ‘I can take it from here. I’m a big boy now. I don’t need nannying.’

‘The boss’ll want me to deliver you personally, so I’m delivering you personally.’

Well, you couldn’t argue with that; stark in its simplicity, and offering no room for interpretation. We waited in silence until the major-domo came back.

‘This way, sir, please,’ he said to me.

I followed him through to the study, with Rod tagging along behind. Manlius and Canidius were sitting on stools at a small table neatly stacked with various items of paperwork and wax tablets. They looked up as I came in, their faces expressionless.

‘He’s just been talking to Ulpius, sir,’ Rod said to Manlius. ‘I thought you might want a word.’

‘All right, Decimus. Well done, you can go.’ Manlius waited until the door had shut behind him. ‘Good afternoon, Valerius Corvinus.’

There was another stool by the desk. I pulled it up and sat down.

‘Interrupting something, am I?’ I said.

‘Just some everyday administrative matters. They’ll keep.’ He was watching me carefully.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Do you want to do the talking or shall I?’ Silence. I crossed my legs. ‘Fine. The wool store business was a scam from the start. Canidius here, as quaestor, made sure you got the contract when it fell unexpectedly vacant. Technically that should’ve been illegal, since you were and are a serving aedile, but you’ve got the senate in your pocket and it went through on the nod. You squared the night watchman Sextus Garganius and had a crooked carter by the name of Marcus Ulpius switch most of the bales for rags and take the wool over to Aricia where it was sold on by a guy called Gnaeus Pompeius, presumably splitting the proceeds between you. Then, to cover the theft, you staged a fire set by the tame gorilla who brought me here. Decimus, wasn’t it?’ I paused for a response that didn’t come. ‘How am I doing?’

Manlius was looking green. Canidius was just … looking.

‘Corvinus,’ Manlius said, ‘I swear-’

Canidius put a hand on his arm. He hadn’t taken his eyes off me. ‘So how much do you want?’ he said.

‘Wrong question, pal. Wrong attitude.’

‘No one was hurt in the fire. There wasn’t even any other property damage. We made sure of that.’

‘True. And that makes it OK, does it?’ I uncrossed my legs. ‘Look. I’ll level with you here. My mandate’s just to find out who killed Quintus Caesius. That still stands, and to be honest the fact that the guy had promised an investigation when he took up office puts you two well and truly in the frame.’ Manlius started to say something, but another touch on the arm from his pal made him clam up. ‘Now it could be that you’re just another couple of crooked politicians on the make, so where the actual scam’s concerned I’m willing to cut you a bit of slack. Option one: I take what I know to, say, an outsider member of the senate such as Silius Nerva and let him deal with it as he sees fit.’ Manlius blanched, but said nothing. ‘Option two: well, you must’ve turned a pretty substantial profit out of all this, while the town’s out a season’s wool plus one of the communal buildings. Maybe it’d be a nice gesture if two of their solid citizens made it up to them. Say by offering to pay out of their own pockets for a snazzy new public meeting-hall with all the trimmings on the empty site. Plus rebuilding the warehouse elsewhere, of course.’

‘That would cost a small fortune!’ Canidius snapped. ‘Far more than double what we …’ He caught himself, and his lips formed a tight line. ‘This is sheer blackmail!’

‘Suit yourself, pal,’ I said. ‘Like I told you, it’s only one of the options on offer. Choose the other one if you prefer.’

He and Manlius exchanged a look.

‘We’ll consider it,’ Canidius said, through gritted teeth.

‘The offer’s limited as far as time goes, so don’t take too long, will you? Let’s say until the festival, max?’ I smiled. ‘Fine. That’s got that out of the way. Now. Alibis.’

‘What?’ Manlius goggled.

‘For the night Caesius was killed. I told you, you’re both in the frame for the murder, together and separately.’

‘Corvinus, this is an insult,’ Canidius said softly. ‘We had nothing to do with Quintus Caesius’s death.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Prove it.’

Again, the exchanged glance. ‘As it happens,’ Canidius said, ‘we were together, here. We’d been discussing some town business until late in the afternoon and hadn’t finished. Marcus invited me to stay to a working dinner. As a result, I didn’t leave until almost midnight.’

‘That’s right.’ Manlius nodded violently.

‘Uh-huh,’ I said, and stood up. ‘Convenient. Well, thank you, gentlemen, it’s been very instructive. I’ll see you around.’

I could feel their eyes on me all the way to the door.

Rod had gone, but the major-domo was still in the atrium filling the lamps.

‘Uh … Flavus, wasn’t it?’ I said.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Just a question, pal. Silly, but still. When Sextus Canidius had dinner here six days ago what did you serve for the main course? You remember that, by any chance?’

He frowned. ‘But Master Canidius didn’t stay for dinner that evening, sir,’ he said. ‘He left about an hour before sunset.’

‘Ah. Right. My mistake. No problem, it doesn’t matter.’

‘I’ll see you out, sir.’

I glanced up at the sun. Still a fair bit of the day left, and the weather wasn’t looking too bad. I’d time for that chat with Anthus about old Marcus Caesius. It shouldn’t take long — Caesius’s house was only a couple of hundred yards down the road towards the gate — and I could still be back home well before dinner.

Things were shaping up nicely.