Finished Business

by David Wishart

  ‘If you’re Marcus Naevius Surdinus, yeah,’ I said.

  He blinked. ‘That’s my name, yes, but I don’t use it. Call me Hellenus. Everyone does.’

  ‘Fine by me. I’m Marcus Corvinus.’

  ‘Was it about a commission?’

  ‘No. I’ve come about your father. You know he’s dead?’

  ‘Yes. I had a message from his lawyer to that effect two or three days ago.’ Interesting: there’d been the hint of a hesitation before the words ‘his lawyer’; no more than a smidgeon, but I wasn’t mistaken. ‘An accident on his estate, I understand. So?’

  ‘It wasn’t an accident. He was murdered.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your cousin Postuma asked me to look into it.’

  That got me an incredulous stare, followed by a laugh.

  ‘Then you can forget it, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘The lady’s barking mad. She tell you where the idea came to her from? I’ll bet you a gold piece to a dud sesterce it was the spirits. Am I right?’

  ‘Someone climbed the tower where your father was found and pushed down the stone that killed him.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’ The laughter had gone from his voice.

  ‘Uh-uh. I checked it out for myself.’

  ‘Shit.’ He frowned. ‘You’d better come in, off the street.’

  He led the way through the curtain. Sure enough, behind it was what had been part of the original house, not the atrium itself but one of the larger side rooms. Now it’d been fitted out as a live-in studio, dominated by a big table covered with pots of paint and brushes, the paraphernalia for grinding pigments and the like, and the remains of a meal. There was an easel with another still life on it – this one of a couple of dead partridges, plus fruit of various types – and a stack of unused canvas boards beside it. The walls were painted, but the work looked like it’d been part of the room’s original decoration; certainly it was nothing special, just a colour wash above false-wooden panels. Which made sense, of course: the guy was a jobbing artist, and he wouldn’t get paid for decorating his own living room. There was a bed and a clothes-chest in one corner – so presumably he only had this one room – but not much else. It looked more as if Surdinus’s younger son was camping out temporarily, rather than actually living there full time.

  ‘I’m sorry about the mess.’ Hellenus cleared a couple of stools. ‘I wasn’t expecting visitors. Sit down, please. You want a cup of wine? There’ll be some somewhere.’

  ‘No, that’s OK.’ I sat. ‘So your father’s lawyer has been in touch?’

  ‘Venullius?’ I filed the name away for future reference. ‘Yes. Four days ago. Two days after my father died.’

  ‘He knew where to find you?’

  ‘Certainly. I’ve never been lost.’ A half-smile. ‘Not in those terms, anyway. He came himself, as a matter of fact. Since he knew I wouldn’t go to him, or have anything else directly to do with the family or its adjuncts.’

  ‘But you’re, ah, still your father’s son, as it were?’

  ‘Meaning he hasn’t disinherited me?’ Hellenus shrugged. ‘No, seemingly not. That was the reason for Venullius coming at all. To say that I was still included in the will.’ He gave me a direct look. ‘That’s your reason for asking, is it? Considering it transpires that my father was murdered.’

  I could be straight, too. ‘More or less,’ I said.

  He grunted. ‘Well, then, you’d probably like to know that I come in for a third share of the estate. That’s about three million, by Venullius’s estimate. Not a bad return for killing the old bastard.’

  ‘Did you? Kill him?’

  Again, the long stare. Then he looked away. ‘I could’ve done,’ he said finally. ‘I felt like it often enough, before I left. But no, I didn’t.’

  ‘Even so, you’ll take the money?’ I kept my voice neutral.

  He turned back. ‘Even so, I will. Oh, yes, you can bet your sweet life I will, particularly if it means Lucius doesn’t get his well-manicured hands on it. You’ve met my brother, Lucius?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’ve met him.’

  ‘There you are, then. I’d take it even if it meant dropping the whole load of it in specie into the Tiber. As it is’ – he smiled – ‘things are a bit hand-to-mouth, even if I am living like this out of choice. I could use a bit of cash. To travel. The Greek cities, Athens, Pergamum, Alexandria, where all the good artwork is. At least, what there is of it that we Romans haven’t looted.’

  ‘You’ve never been there before?’ In wealthy families – particularly when they’re political ones – the sons finish their education by being packed off east for a year or so, usually to Athens, to study the art of public speaking and, incidentally, to soak up a bit of badly needed culture before they take up their tribuneship in one of the legions and get their foot on the first rung of the political and social ladder. Me, I’d spent my gap year boozing, gambling and chasing the local talent, which explains a lot, really.

  ‘No. My father – and my mother – thought I’d absorbed too many Greek ideas already for my own good. They wanted to send me to a teacher of rhetoric in Surrentum. Surrentum, for Hermes’ sake! They said Campania was quite Greek enough to be going on with.’ He chuckled. ‘So I told them where to stick it and left. I haven’t been back since.’

  ‘You’ve no contact with the family? None at all?’ I knew this already, from the other side, but it was just as well to get confirmation.

  ‘No. None. So I’m afraid I can’t help you in any way.’

  I shrugged and got up. ‘That’s that, then. I’ll be going.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll see you out.’ He followed me back through the curtain. I stopped at the counter outside, where the sample artwork was displayed, and took a proper look.

  ‘This is pretty good,’ I said. ‘Especially the portraits. You self-taught?’

  ‘There was an old man in my father’s household. One of the slaves. He taught me the basics, and I took it from there. Now, Corvinus, I’m afraid I’ll have to rush you off. I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘On a commission?’

  ‘On a commission. Which, as you know, is my bread and butter.’

  ‘Not for much longer, though, pal.’ I gave him my best smile. ‘After your father’s will goes through probate, you’ll be pretty well-off, right?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I will. Nonetheless, it’s a commitment, and I promised the customer it’d be finished by the end of the month.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ I turned, then turned back again. ‘Oh, one more thing. An address for the lawyer, can you let me have that? Venullius, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Titus Venullius. That’s right.’ He frowned. ‘He has an office next to the Aemilian Hall.’

  Just beyond Market Square itself. Yeah, well, checking with him would be easy-peasy, although I didn’t expect any surprises from that angle. ‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you around.’

  I left, but with my brain buzzing. There’d been a reason for that sudden rush, and for Hellenus’s obvious nervousness, sure there had: the guy had wanted me gone, and quickly. Gone, specifically, from the neighbourhood of the artwork that was on display. Which wasn’t surprising, really, because when you looked at it closely, it was clear one of the portraits was of Tarquitia.

  Interesting.

  TWELVE

  The rain had slackened off again to a drizzle, but the sky wasn’t looking too cheerful: a solid iron-grey lid that, as far as I could see, covered the whole city, with some ominous-looking black bits over to the west that were getting steadily closer. Bugger. I reckoned a couple of calls – a quickie at the Five Poppies off the vegetable market, just to confirm a suspicion I had, plus one on Lawyer Venullius – and that would do me for the day. Certainly not a trip all the way over to the Vatican, which was the only other thing I had on the cards at present; I wasn’t going to risk getting caught out in the open proper when Jupiter chose to send down the mighty flood, and in any case I didn’t know for sure that Ta
rquitia would actually be in residence. That I could only hope for, because if she wasn’t – if she was still keeping up the flat that Surdinus had got for her in the dizzy early days of their romance, for example – then I was screwed.

  I made my way back along the south side of the Circus and up through Cattlemarket Square to the veggie market and the Poppies. Fortunately, Vulpis was around again, and he gave me the confirmation I needed. Not that I’d been in much doubt that he would, because it fitted in too neatly, and it was the only explanation.

  I was heading for Market Square and the Aemilian Hall when the heavens opened in earnest. Bugger. Double bugger. I had on my hooded cloak, of course, but it was wringing wet already, and the dampness was beginning to reach my tunic. Time for another wine shop, at least until Rainy Jupiter decided not to piss down on poor quivering humanity quite so hard. There was one place I knew, Tasso’s, at the foot of the Palatine’s Market Square edge, that catered for the imperial and senatorial admin staff from the government offices round about. Pretentious and overpriced, sure, and normally I’d’ve avoided it, but beggars – especially wet ones – can’t be choosers. At least they served decent wine, albeit at twice the price of anywhere else. I found it, pushed open the door and went inside.

  ‘Marcus?’

  I’d been taking the cloak off to hang on one of the pegs by the door, where it could drip in solitary comfort. I turned round.

  Gaius Vibullius Secundus and I go a long way back, practically to childhood. We didn’t see a lot of each other these days, mainly because he’s a big wheel in army admin and our lives have pretty much diverged, but we bump into one another occasionally. I hadn’t seen him for a couple of years, mind, not since I’d picked his brains about Gaetulicus and the German frontier legions. A nice guy, Secundus. And, of course, since he was based at Augustus House on the Palatine, this was his local.

  ‘Hi, Gaius,’ I said. ‘How’s it going? Skiving off work early as usual, are you?’

  ‘I’m on a flexible lunch break.’ He indicated what was left of a plate of cheese and olives in front of him. ‘Boss’s privilege. Pull up a stool and join me.’ I did, and he raised a hand towards the bar. ‘Hey, Quintus!’ he shouted. ‘Let’s have a half-jug of the Massic over here, OK? And another cup.’ He turned back to me. ‘So. How are you doing? How’s Perilla?’

  ‘She’s fine. You, uh, got a replacement for Furia Gemella yet?’ Gemella was Secundus’s ex-wife. Ex as of a month or so before I’d last seen him. Loud, brash, went in for large earrings. We hadn’t got on. Mind you, she and Secundus hadn’t, especially, either.

  ‘Not as such, no,’ he said. ‘At least, no one official. I might keep it like that. Makes things much simpler.’ The wine came, and he poured. ‘Help yourself to the cheese and olives. I’ve had enough.’

  I took a bit of cheese. ‘You in the same job?’ I said.

  ‘More or less. I’ve moved up the ladder a notch, mind, since old Curio got his wooden sword, but yeah, more or less.’ He took a swallow of the Massic. ‘How about you? Still bumming around with the sleuthing?’

  ‘Off and on.’

  ‘Which is it currently? Off or on?’

  ‘On, as it happens. Old guy had his head flattened by a lump of falling masonry.’

  He set down his cup. ‘Naevius Surdinus?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, that’s him. You heard?’

  ‘Sure I heard. But I heard it was an accident.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ I took a swig of the Massic. Beautiful. ‘It wasn’t. Most definitely not. Even so, I’m surprised the death is common knowledge. From all reports, he’d been out of the loop for years.’

  Secundus shrugged. ‘He was an ex-consul, Marcus,’ he said. ‘Suffect, sure, only for six months and that ten years back, but a consular none the less. A consular’s death gets noticed, and when it’s as unusual as Surdinus’s was, it gets talked about as well. And out of the loop the guy might have been, but when old Aulus Plautius told him it came as a real shock to his ex-colleague, at least, I can tell you that.’

  ‘Ex-colleague?’

  ‘In the consulship. Cassius Longinus.’

  ‘I thought Longinus was Asian governor at present,’ I said.

  That got me a sharp look: Secundus might not be the brightest button in the box, but he wasn’t stupid by any means. Despite having made it, in his time, to city judge’s level.

  ‘You developed a sudden interest in who’s who in current politics, Marcus?’ he said. ‘Or does Longinus figure somewhere in that case of yours?’

  ‘Neither,’ I lied: friend or not, I wasn’t going to tell him about Cornelia Sullana’s little admitted indiscretion. Besides, it was probably just coincidence: bed-hopping, in the circles people like Sullana and Longinus moved in, was pretty much taken for granted as a fact of everyday life. ‘I just happened to know, that’s all.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Secundus swallowed some of his wine. ‘Yeah, right. He was, certainly.’

  ‘Was what?’

  ‘Asian governor. Not any more, though. The emperor recalled him ahead of time, so as of ten or twelve days ago, he’s back in Rome.’

  ‘Recalled him? Why would he do that?’ Governors were governors; they were fixtures, at least until their term of office expired naturally. Plus, Asia was one of the senatorial provinces, in fact the plum appointment. Oh, sure, ever since Augustus’s day the emperor has had overriding proconsular authority where appointments and removals are concerned throughout the empire, no matter what kind of province is at issue, but it’s not been used all that often, certainly not blatantly, and never without a reason in the case of a senatorial governor. Senatorial provinces are the concern of the senate; imperial ones – where most of the legions are – are the concern of the emperor, and neither treads on the other’s toes. At least in public. If Gaius Caesar had shoved his oar in and removed one of the senate’s prime appointees from office ahead of time, then he must have given a reason. A bloody good one, too.

  Secundus shrugged again. ‘Jupiter knows,’ he said. ‘No cause that I’m aware of. Or anyone else, for that matter. Including – or so he claims – Longinus himself. All he got was the order to get his arse back to Rome asap, and that’s been that.’ He moved his head closer and dropped his voice. ‘Mind you – and naturally I’m not implying any criticism here – Caesar’s been acting a bit … well, a bit arbitrarily these past few months. Longinus is just another example.’

  Arbitrarily. Oh, sure: like tired and emotional was a euphemism for pissed as a newt. Yeah, well, there were no surprises there: in my long and not inconsiderable experience of the neurotic, overbred bugger who was currently our emperor, he’d always been several sandwiches short of a picnic. In many ways, he couldn’t’ve mustered the hamper. ‘That’d be a bit more arbitrarily than usual, I assume?’ I said.

  I’d spoken at normal voice level, and I saw a few heads at the nearest tables – senior civil service types to a man – turn to look at me. Secundus glanced around, grinned nervously, and lowered his voice to a whisper through clenched teeth.

  ‘Gods, Marcus, you stupid bastard, either shut the fuck up or keep it down, right?’ he hissed. ‘I know most of those guys, and they’re safe, but one or two I don’t. And these days you do not kid around where talking about the boss is concerned. Get me?’

  The hairs rose a little on the back of my neck. Shit, he was serious; deadly serious. This wasn’t the Gaius Secundus I knew.

  ‘Yeah, OK, pal, I’m sorry,’ I said. I lowered my voice to match his. ‘Arbitrarily like what?’

  ‘Well, for a start there’s the business of the statue in the Jerusalem temple.’

  ‘I thought the Jews were dead against that kind of thing. Having statues of gods in temples. God, singular. Whatever.’

  ‘Damn right they are. Only this wasn’t one of theirs; it was one of ours.’

  ‘What?’ I’d raised my voice, and he winced. ‘Sorry, pal. Won’t happen again.’

  ‘Caesar wanted to set a statue of
himself up in the Jewish holy of holies and make them burn incense to him.’

  ‘But that’s crazy!’

  ‘Tell me about it. Offend those touchy stiff-necked buggers and you’d have a mid-east war on your hands before you could say “zealot”. Caesar’s advisors managed to talk him out of it, luckily, but the idea was there. Rumour is, he’s planning to do much the same thing here, in the city. Establish a formal cult, temples, priests, sacrifices, the lot. That’s “cult” as in personal cult.’

  ‘Shit.’ I was appalled; even for Gaius, this was going too far. Oh, yeah, sure: worshipping a living person as divine has been standard and accepted in the East for centuries – witness Postuma’s pal, Alexander – and every provincial town, outwith the Jewish bounds, of course, has its statue of the emperor to whom it’s only polite to offer a pinch of incense, but he’s there in image to represent the power of Rome, not propria persona. And within the city boundaries we like our deified mortals to be comfortably dead first. ‘He’ll never get away with it.’

  ‘Who’s to stop him? He’s the emperor.’ Secundus took a swallow of his wine and raised his voice a fraction. ‘Anyway, all this is by the way. Leave it. What’s your interest in Cassius Longinus?’

  ‘I told you. I don’t have one.’

  ‘Come on, Marcus! Give me a break! With your peerless grasp of affairs I’m surprised you know the names of the current fucking consuls. That’s if you do know them; me, I wouldn’t risk a bet. And yet you come straight out with the fact that Longinus is the governor of Asia. He has something to do with the case you’re working on, hasn’t he?’

  I grinned. ‘Yeah, OK. His name just came up in passing, never mind how or who gave me it: that’s strictly confidential. And it wasn’t mentioned in any sort of way that’d connect him with Surdinus’s murder, either. I was surprised to hear that he was in Rome, that’s all. Satisfied?’

  ‘Not really. But I suppose it’s all I’ll get.’ Secundus took an olive. ‘OK, just to fill you in on the guy. Not that you want filling in, no, of course not, perish the thought.’ I said nothing. ‘Just for the fun of it. Longinus is an old friend of the family; I mean old, long before he and Surdinus had their joint consulate. Which was why Plautius made a point of telling him about Surdinus’s death; Plautius had the consulship the year before the two of them, so he’s always had a friendly eye for Longinus. Incidentally, he was only appointed Asian governor this year, and he seems to have been doing all right – no major cock-ups, certainly, and as far as honesty goes, word has it you could play the stone-and-scissors game with him in the dark. Shit-hot jurist; he’s written books on the subject. Oh, and a straight-down-the-line Stoic, like his great-grandfather.’