White murder marcus corv.., p.9
White Murder (Marcus Corvinus Book 7), page 9
‘Uh-huh.’ I paused. ‘Can you think of anyone else who’d want Pegasus dead? Or a reason for killing him? From the private side?’
‘No. I told you. Our relationship was purely physical, and when it ended we had no further contact. Now, Corvinus, I have things to do this afternoon, so if you’ve quite finished perhaps you could allow me to do them.’
A brush-off, but a polite one. I stood up. ‘Sure, lady. Thanks very much. You’ve been very helpful.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ She was smilingly demure. ‘Incidentally, I have a favour to ask of you.’
‘Yeah?’
‘No doubt you’ll want to talk to my husband. I’d ask you not to bully him, please. He does try so hard to be the decisive world-weary faction master, but it is a very fragile shell and you could break it easily. As I said, I wouldn’t want Gaius hurt, at any price. You understand me?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I understand. I’ll be careful.’ I hesitated. ‘Just one more question. The guys at the stables said that Pegasus had been getting fixes over the past couple of months. Lead sheets with a flying dagger scratched on them. He ever bring up the subject with you?’
‘He told me about them, yes.’
‘They worry him at all?’
‘A little, although certainly not as much as they would have worried Laomedon, say. Pegasus wasn’t unduly superstitious, but all drivers are leery of curses to some extent. It would be unreasonable to expect otherwise.’
‘He didn’t have any idea who might be sending them?’
‘None at all. Not that I know of, anyway. Fixes aren’t exactly uncommon in the racing business, especially where the top drivers are concerned. It isn’t quite a case of familiarity breeding contempt, but any driver who devotes too much attention to them is bound to find his performance suffers, and most at least try to put them out of their minds.’
‘Uh-huh.’ I sighed. Well, that was that. ‘Thanks again, Felicula. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’
‘Not at all.’
I left.
So; what now? Sopilys was a definite promising lead, but even if he was working at the docks it was fourteen-odd miles to Ostia, I’d need a horse to get there, and by the time I arrived it’d be time to head back again. Besides, I had my own Ostian contact who could trace him faster than I could. I hadn’t seen Agron for quite a while, but he was still comfortably married to the Alexandrian boat-builder’s daughter, his kid-count was up to five, and what he wouldn’t know about the Ostian docks scene you could write on a sandal-strap and forget. When I got back home I could send a skivvy and save myself a lot of grief and wasted effort. Sopilys was someone I really had to talk to.
So was Laomedon. Even so, although there was still a fair chunk of the afternoon left I didn’t particularly relish another trip over to the Mars Field side of town. The sky was clouding over again, too: I hadn’t been lucky with the weather. Enough for one day. I set off for the Caelian and home.
On the way, I thought about that conversation with Felicula. She’d been helpful, sure, more than helpful, but I still wondered. First of all, ex-dancer or not the lady had a top-notch brain, and she was as cool as a Riphaean winter. Second, I only had her word for it – her very convenient word – that she and Pegasus hadn’t still been an item at the time of his death; ditto for the fact that Pudens was a complaisant husband, both where Pegasus and Laomedon were concerned. Sure, that could well be true – I hadn’t met the guy yet, so I had nothing to set against it – but on the other hand the lady could be spinning me a line: complaisant husbands aren’t too plentiful in Rome, and the fact that when the affair with Laomedon started the guy had moved into non-faction accommodation might be significant. The warning – and it had been a warning – not to lean too hard on the Reds’ faction master when I did meet him was ambiguous, too: yeah, she could be genuinely fond of him, but the request, bolstering up what would be a natural reticence in discussing the lady’s amorous activities with her husband, could equally be an attempt to head off some embarrassing questions. Thirdly, when I’d suggested her own ex Laomedon as a likely killer she’d practically fallen over herself to back the theory up.
So Felicula, much though I’d liked her, was most definitely still in the running. Why she would’ve done it – or had it done – was a separate issue. I doubted whether the motive was simple jealousy. There hadn’t been any indication, so far anyway, that Pegasus was tom-catting – quite the contrary, if his feud with Laomedon was anything to go by – and having met the lady I was ready to take her at her own valuation. Also, a rich bubblehead who got her kicks from squiring one of Rome’s top drivers might’ve had him stabbed out of pique if he’d given her the brush-off, but Felicula was no bubblehead; if she decided to kill someone, it’d be for a much less simple reason.
The rain started before I was half way through the Carinae. By the time I hit Head of Africa I was soaked. I could’ve called in at mother’s, but why make matters worse?
Not that I knew at that point, of course, that even mother’s was preferable to what was waiting for me at home.
9.
Bathyllus had the wine all right this time, but he was looking distinctly subdued: there was something...internal about his manner as he handed me the cup that just didn’t square with the sarky, supercilious ray of sunshine that we knew and loved.
‘Uh, hey, Bathyllus,’ I said as I handed over my wet mantle. ‘You ill or something, pal?’
He compressed his lips. ‘No, sir.’
‘A bereavement? Anything like that?’ I didn’t know much about Bathyllus’s family, although he’d mentioned a brother in Thessalonica once. Not that I could imagine the little bald-head having anything as messy as a childhood. My guess was that the brother was a blind and he’d sprung full-formed from a broom closet, like Athene from the head of Zeus.
‘No, sir.’
‘Uh-huh. So what’s the trouble? You lose your truss in the wash? The Watch on the point of nailing you as the Caelian Flasher? One of the kitchen maids is pregnant?’
He coloured up and gave me the ghost of a sniff, but the guy’s heart obviously wasn’t in it. ‘No, sir. None of these things. Nothing at all, in fact.’ He folded the mantle carefully, avoiding my eye. ‘Did you enjoy your day?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, it was okay.’ I frowned as I moved towards the atrium. Jupiter, this was bad! I couldn’t even wind him up any more! The gods knew what was bugging the little guy, but things were going beyond a joke. Still, if he wouldn’t confide he wouldn’t confide, and I’ve never believed in coming the hard-hearted master. ‘Perilla at home?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Perilla. My wife. The mistress.’
‘She’s working, sir. In her study.’
‘Fine, fine. Give me the jug, Bathyllus.’ I paused. ‘The jug, sunshine. Okay?’
I took it from his nerveless fingers and went upstairs. Perilla was at her desk with a writing tablet and half a dozen serious book rolls arranged tidily in front of her. She looked up, smiled and lifted her chin for the welcome-home kiss. I set the jug and the wine-cup on the table by the reading couch and stretched out.
‘Bathyllus,’ I said.
The smile faded. She put down her stylus. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Marcus. He’s been roaming the house like a ghost, you have to say everything twice, and he broke an ornament this morning. That little glass dolphin I bought in Antioch.’
I winced. Not because of the dolphin; I’d never liked that thing. But Bathyllus with a feather duster was pure poetry in motion. I couldn’t’ve been more shocked if he’d taken a scrubbing-brush to the wall paintings. ‘He won’t talk to you either?’
She shook her head. ‘Not a word. Do you think we should call in a doctor?’
‘No. The guy isn’t ill, as far as I can see. He just has something on his mind, that’s all.’ I took a swig of the wine. ‘But we can’t go on like this. The poor bastard’s suffering.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘The gods know. Whatever it is, it’s serious. And it isn’t getting any better. We have to find out.’
‘How? He won’t tell us.’
‘Okay. So maybe one of the other lads can.’
Perilla chewed her lip. ‘Is that ethical? If Bathyllus doesn’t want to confide then we can’t just go behind his back.’
‘The hell with that. We can’t help him unless we know the problem.’
I got up and went to the window. Perilla’s study looked down onto the garden, which was the self-elected province of smart-as-paint Alexis. The rain had stopped, and sure enough there was the guy himself engaged in two-spit-double-mulching, or whatever Varro’s Gardener’s Year recommended for late March. If my young horticulturist had a second name it would be Conscientious.
‘Hey, Alexis!’ I shouted. His head lifted. ‘Up here! The mistress’s study, spit-spot!’ He gave me an answering wave and left his spade in mid-mulch.
Perilla was still looking doubtful. ‘It does seem too much like prying,’ she said.
‘Prying nothing.’ I filled my cup from the jug: being in Perilla’s study with all these books glaring down at me always gives me a nervous thirst. ‘We have a seriously-disturbed major-domo here. Everything’s going fairly smoothly at the moment but it’s just a matter of time before the place starts to fall apart. It’s my simple duty as head of the household.’
‘Well.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right. How was your day, incidentally?’
‘I’ll tell you later. We’ve got more important things to think about at present than murder.’
We twiddled our thumbs while Alexis, presumably, washed the layer of topsoil off himself and dragged a comb through his hair: I’d said I wanted him spit-spot, but the guy had his own standards, and leaving half the Caelian on the stairs in his wake didn’t play any part in them. Besides, even in his present weakened state Bathyllus would’ve had the guy’s guts for truss strings. Finally, he knocked and came in.
‘Yes, sir.’
There was no point beating about the bush. ‘What’s up with Bathyllus, pal?’ I asked.
He looked at his feet and shuffled them. ‘Er –’
Jupiter on a see-saw! ‘Come on, Alexis! You know! Spit it out! That’s an order!’
The guy swallowed painfully. ‘I...ah...’ His Adam’s-apple bobbed again.
I was really alarmed now. Alexis was one of the best, hardly a slave at all. We had a good relationship going. If he was that chary about spilling the beans then the situation was Serious with a capital S. ‘Look, whatever it is, however bad it is, it can be fixed,’ I said. ‘But we can’t do anything until we know what we’re up against.’
‘Oh, no, sir.’ Alexis coloured. ‘It’s nothing like that. It’s just that he’s...ah...’ – he swallowed again – ‘Bathyllus is in love, sir.’
I nearly dropped my cup. Beside me I heard Perilla gasp. ‘He’s what?’
Alexis was as red as one of his own radishes. ‘With the housekeeper next door,’ he said.
Oh, holy gods! ‘Bathyllus?’
‘Yes, sir.’ He glanced reproachfully at Perilla who was having a choking fit. ‘It isn’t funny, madam.’
Yeah; I’d forgotten that the kid had been smitten himself not all that far back. I’d wondered how the affair was going, but how Alexis spent his occasional free hours was none of my concern. I managed to keep my face straight.
It wasn’t easy, mind.
‘Titus Petillius’s housekeeper?’ I said; Petillius was our neighbour, a hefty Etrurian very big in the mantle-dyeing business. ‘She’s in her eighties!’
‘No, sir. The new one. She only arrived a few days ago. Her name’s Tyndaris.’
Oh, joy in the morning! The little chubby chap with the wings and archery set didn’t put off, did he? ‘What’s she like?’
He hesitated. ‘Large, sir.’
‘“Large”?’ Perilla was choking again. I passed her my wine cup and she swallowed.
‘She’s a middle-aged lady, sir, and quite...imposing.’
‘How did this start?’
‘Bathyllus went round to borrow some metal polish.’
‘I see.’ Yeah; that was our Bathyllus. From such trivial beginnings do matters of great import spring. ‘And is it...ah...reciprocal?’
‘No, sir. That’s the problem.’
‘But she does know? That the little guy’s’ – I had to press my lips together for a moment – ‘smitten?’
‘No, sir. He hasn’t talked to her since. He sent the polish back by one of the kitchen boys.’
I recovered my wine cup from Perilla – the lady had control of herself now, but she was still looking pretty pink – , drained it and poured a refill. Then I sat back. Jupiter! I never thought I’d see the day! Forget flying pigs: Bathyllus in love merited a flock of six-legged polka-dot elephants. ‘So what do we do?’ I said.
They both looked at me.
‘We help him, of course, Marcus,’ Perilla said. ‘He’s obviously shy.’
Venus in a bath-tub! ‘Bathyllus? Shy? Lady, I’ve seen that little bugger chew up an ex-consul and spit out the pips just because he didn’t wipe his sandals at the door!’
‘Ex-consuls are not women.’
‘He doesn’t approve of women.’
‘He clearly approves of this one.’
‘That’s a fat lot of good if he doesn’t tell her!’
‘Exactly.’
I frowned: maybe it was me, but that last little bit of stichomythia sounded a bit of an anacolouthon. Or whatever. ‘Run that past me again, lady.’
‘It’s obvious, dear. We have to bolster his self-confidence. Make him believe he can succeed. Perhaps engineer another meeting when the time is ripe.’
‘Perilla, we’re talking about Bathyllus! The bugger’s got so much self-confidence he could walk across the Tiber without using a bridge!’
‘Not where women are concerned. I keep telling you but you don’t listen.’
‘Men, women, what’s the difference?’
‘Just trust me, Marcus. All right?’
I took another swallow of wine. ‘All right. Have it your own way.’
‘Thank you.’ She turned to Alexis. The guy had taken to examining his boots again. ‘We have to plan this very carefully, Alexis. Do you have any contacts in the Petillius household? Female ones?’
‘Lysias has been seeing one of the laundry maids, madam.’ Lysias was our coachman, and it was news to me. Life understairs was clearly a world in itself that I hadn’t known existed. Not a very savoury one, either. Jupiter! I felt like we’d prised the lid off an Alexandrian bodice-ripper here!
The lady didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Good. She may come in useful. Anyone else?’
‘It’s a bachelor establishment, but there’re some female kitchen staff. I could ask Meton if he –’
‘Not Meton,’ Perilla said firmly. I nodded. Quite right; the further away that anarchic bastard was kept from this business the better, because he and Bathyllus loathed each other’s guts and tossing a spanner into the works of the little guy’s blossoming love-life would make his year. ‘We’ll just have to rely on the maid. What’s her name?’
‘I don’t know, madam. I could find out if –’ He cast a wistful eye on the door.
‘Later,’ Perilla said. ‘Now, how do we bolster Bathyllus’s confidence? That’s partly your job, I think, Marcus. Masculine bonding.’
I blinked. ‘What? How the hell do I do that?’
‘To begin with, you can stop making silly jokes about his physical size, his baldness and his truss. Encourage him to talk about things he’s interested in.’
‘Perilla, the little bald-head isn’t –’ I caught her glare and started again. ‘Bathyllus isn’t interested in anything but buffing up bronzes.’
‘Have you ever asked him?’
‘Uh...no, not exactly, but –’
‘Then how do you know?’
Gods alive! I didn’t deserve this! And life wouldn’t be the same without its bit of Bathyllus-baiting. ‘Lady, he’s Bathyllus! If he ever gets deified he’ll be the god of staff rotas! He hasn’t got time for anything else!’
‘Except now, presumably, next door’s housekeeper.’
I groaned; you don’t argue with Perilla, not in this mood. ‘Okay. I’ll try.’
‘Good. Well done.’ She smiled. ‘That should serve as the first phase. And, Alexis, perhaps you could ask Lysias to have his girlfriend drop a few hints. Simply to break the ground.’
‘Yes, madam.’ The guy didn’t look comfortable. ‘Certainly, madam. And speaking of breaking ground –’ Another wistful glance, this time at the window.
‘Very well.’ Perilla glanced at me. ‘I think we’ve done all we can at present, haven’t we, Marcus?’
‘Uh...yeah. Yeah, more or less.’
‘You will remember, dear? About the baldness and so on?’
‘Yeah. I’ll remember.’
‘Then we’ll go down and begin putting the plan into operation.’
‘What – now?’
‘You were the one who insisted that something had to be done quickly. Oh, and Marcus –’
‘Yeah?’
‘No mention of the woman to Bathyllus, please. Or any allusion to her. The poor man’s embarrassed enough already without having to suffer your heavy-handed jokes.’
I managed a sickly grin. This was going to be difficult, I could tell that now. ‘Okay, fine,’ I said. ‘Let’s get it over with.’
Lover-boy was standing in the atrium when we came down. Not doing anything; just standing. His eyes focused and he saw us. Perilla dug me in the ribs.
I cleared my throat. ‘Uh...how’s it going, Bathyllus?’
