Last Rites (Marcus Corvinus Book 6)

by David Wishart

  A feather of cold brushed my spine. ‘Is she, uh, usually conscientious about checking in?’ I said.

  ‘Of course.’ He sniffed. ‘All the girls are. It’s in their own interests if they want to eat. But I’ve seen nothing of Thalia since before the ceremony at the consul’s house.’

  Damn. Well, there was no point in worrying until I had to. From what Aegle had said the girl was probably shacked up with a client somewhere working her embouchure off. ‘If I gave you my address could you send her round as soon as she turns up?’

  The beam came back. ‘No problem whatsoever, sir. This would be a professional engagement, I take it?’

  ‘Uh, yeah.’ Bugger. Well, it might simplify the issue. ‘Yeah, okay. If you like.’

  ‘Good.’ He took the pen from his belt. The Alexandrian port authorities could’ve used the beam now to power their lighthouse. ‘In that case standard last-minute guild rates would apply. Payable in advance, of course.’ He named a figure and I blanched. Gods! That explained Aegle’s opinion of the guy: if I were making that much of a rake-off from my clients I’d be able to underwrite the Treasury. I slipped the silver piece back where it came from; who needs chicken-feed when you can eat caviar? ‘I’ll send her right over. Previous commitments permitting, naturally.’

  ‘You do that, sunshine.’ I gave him the address, sourly, together with a large proportion of the coins in my purse. ‘Tell her to wait until I get back. Oh, and have a nice day.’

  ‘You too, sir.’

  Bastard. I set off through the Subura towards Market Square. At least the weather had improved.

  The House of the Vestals and the chief priest’s official residence are part of the same building, fronting on New Street next to Vesta’s temple itself. Like I say, there was no point in knocking on the Vestals’ door because I’d just have got the bum’s rush, so I went round to the other entrance and asked for Camillus who in the absence of the Wart in his chief-priestly capacity was currently in occupation.

  The slave who opened up could’ve deputised for the high priest of Jupiter himself, if you’d given him the fancy hat and the right togs. Scratch that: give the guy an electrum thunderbolt and a gold-wire beard and he could’ve done the god.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ he said. Uttered. Enunciated.

  ‘The master in, sunshine?’

  ‘I will enquire. Your name?’ I told him. He let me in and waited until I’d wiped my feet carefully on the mat. ‘If you will be kind enough to follow me?’

  I dogged his august footsteps into the hall where he left me communing with the fancy artwork the state had filched over the years to decorate the surroundings allocated to the holder of its principle religious office. Actually – this was the first time I’d been in the place – it was pretty seedy. I’d guess from the chewed look of some of the woodwork the deputy chief priest had rodent problems.

  ‘Good morning, Valerius Corvinus.’ Furius Camillus was coming towards me in an old tunic and slippers. ‘How pleasant to see you again, my dear fellow. You have some news?’

  ‘Uh, yeah.’ I cleared my throat. ‘But if it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d like Junia Torquata to be present before I tell you.’

  Camillus raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh. Oh, dear. As bad as that, eh?’ I didn’t answer. ‘Well, come through to the study and I’ll send someone round to see if the lady’s free. Lucius!’ The Jupiter look-alike manifested himself. ‘Send next door, will you? My compliments to the chief Vestal, and would she favour us with a visit at her very earliest convenience.’ He turned back to me. ‘Now, Corvinus, this way. I won’t bother to change if it’s all the same to you. Fortunately I have no official engagements myself this morning, and Junia won’t mind in the slightest, we’re old friends. You’re a fast worker, I’ll give you that, my boy.’

  The study was a lot more comfortable than the hall, and I got the impression it was where Camillus spent most of his time. There were a lot of books. There was also something I’d never seen before: a big side table with a plain, hills and a river sculpted on it in clay. Groups of toy soldiers and horsemen were drawn up in ranks like they were just about to beat the hell out of each other. In front of one army was a line of miniature elephants.

  The deputy chief priest blushed when he saw me looking. ‘A small hobby; refighting battles. That one’s Zama. Cornelius Scipio has always been rather a hero of mine.’ He lifted half a dozen book-rolls off one of the two reading couches and dumped them on the desk. ‘Make yourself comfortable. Junia shouldn’t be long. I know it’s early, but some wine while we’re waiting?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, great. Thanks.’ He poured it for me himself but left the second of the three cups empty. It was an excellent Falernian. I was beginning to warm to Furius Camillus. ‘Did you know the dead girl well yourself, sir?’

  ‘No, not really. Oh, I saw her occasionally as a child, of course – Lepidus was and is one of my closest friends – but apart from formal occasions since then when she was only one of six I haven’t seen much of her. A pleasant girl, though, Cornelia, I always thought. Very quiet, very serious, but strong. Good Vestal material.’

  ‘Not the, uh, hysterical type, then?’ While I’d got Camillus on his own I might as well get another informed reaction to the death. ‘You think she would ever commit suicide? Given the, uh, appropriate circumstances, I mean?’

  ‘Certainly not. It would be completely out of character.’ Camillus had stretched his long length – he’d been a big man in his day, big as me, easy – on the other reading couch. ‘If Cornelia was not one thing, that thing was hysterical.’ His lips twisted. ‘If that isn’t tortuously phrased. I mean she was an extremely well-balanced young lady. Also, she had a good mind, especially for a woman. And although she didn’t make friends easily those she did make she kept. Furthermore, I can think of no “appropriate circumstances” in which she would find suicide a viable option.’ His eyes held mine; they were level, clear and very, very smart, and he’d stressed the phrase carefully. ‘None whatsoever, Valerius Corvinus. Does that answer your question?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it does. Thank you, sir.’ Well, I hadn’t been expecting anything different, but it was nice to get confirmation. If I’d needed it. ‘Still, if you don’t mind my saying so, that’s a pretty categorical encomium from someone who didn’t know her all that well.’

  ‘It’s the chief priest’s job to choose from among prospective Vestals, which naturally means the emperor. However, I was deputy when Cornelia joined the sorority, and Tiberius did me the honour of leaving the choice to my judgement. And if I flatter myself on one thing, Corvinus, it’s judging people, even if they’re as young as eight. I vetted the girl myself and, as I say, Cornelia was natural Vestal material. There is no way – no way at all – that she would have brought disgrace either upon herself or the office she held.’

  ‘So what –’ I stopped. Jupiter was back.

  ‘The chief Vestal, sir,’ he said, and withdrew. Evanesced.

  ‘Good morning, Marcus.’ Junia Torquata swept in. ‘And to you, Caecinus.’

  ‘What kept you, Junia?’ Camillus said drily.

  ‘I was on my way round in any case.’ Torquata pulled up a chair. ‘The door-slave – a most reliable girl – said you had a visitor, and when she described Caecinus here I put two and two together. Ah.’ Her eyes lighted on the wine jug. ‘Fruit juice. How nice. I do believe I’ll have a small cup of that.’

  Jupiter! I’d been through this before! However, Camillus didn’t bat an eyelid. He filled the cup and handed it over.

  ‘More for you, Corvinus?’ he said.

  ‘Uh, yeah. Yeah, thanks.’ I held my own cup out for a refill.

  ‘Now.’ Torquata took a belt of the Falernian and then fixed me with an eye steady as a prizefighter’s. ‘Come on, young man. No shilly-shallying.’

  ‘Cornelia was murdered,’ I said. ‘At least I think she was.’

  The chief Vestal sagged slightly. ‘Thank the gods!’ she murmured. ‘Thank all the h
oly gods!’

  ‘Hold on, Torquata. That’s the, uh, good news.’ Jupiter! So much for the reservations! And after that reaction I wasn’t even going to hint that pregnancy was still an option. ‘If I don’t miss my guess, the murderer was a man.’

  They both stared at me. Camillus was the first to speak.

  ‘But, my dear fellow,’ he said gently, ‘that’s impossible. The house was –’

  ‘Sealed. Yeah. I know. Only one of the flutegirls was a man in disguise.’

  Torquata set her cup down. ‘You’re sure?’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure. What his reasons for being there were exactly I don’t know, but I’d bet a year’s income on that, at least. He slipped out into the garden just after Cornelia left the room, went round to the hall, murdered the girl and escaped through the back door.’

  ‘But how could he expect to get away with it?’ Camillus was still looking like someone had belted him from behind with a sacrificial stunner’s hammer. ‘The imposture, I mean. Although obviously he did, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

  ‘As far as physical appearance was concerned he must’ve been soft-featured enough to pass for a woman,’ I said. ‘For the rest, he could play the flute. Not just pretend to play; play. How he managed actually to get himself included among the twelve musicians I don’t know yet – there’s a woman called Thalia who might have the answer – but he did.’

  ‘Clodius Pulcher all over again.’ Camillus filled himself a cup of wine and took a sip. ‘I’m impressed, Corvinus; most certainly I am. My congratulations, young man. You confirm Lucius Arruntius’s predictions.’ He turned to Torquata. ‘You realise, Junia, that if what Valerius Corvinus says is true – even if there’s a possibility of it being true – you’ll have to repeat the rite.’ He paused. ‘Junia? Did you hear what I said?’

  The chief Vestal blinked and shook herself. ‘My apologies, Marcus; I was wool-gathering. Yes; yes, of course we will. A nuisance, of course, but it has to be done.’

  Camillus chuckled. ‘Nomentanus isn’t going to be pleased either, not when he’s had to fork out more from his own pocket than he can afford already. If I were you, Corvinus, I’d keep clear of the city judges’ offices for the foreseeable future, because you are not going to be popular in that quarter. You’re absolutely sure of your facts, I suppose?’

  ‘Yeah. Certain.’ Hell! I’d forgotten about Nomentanus! Sure, I’d got a special commission, but technically as a city judge – or one of the college, at least – the case lay in his province. I could do without stepping on sensitive toes. Also, forget avoiding the city judges’ offices because I’d be going over there later to see Caelius Crispus…

  ‘Well, that’s that, then,’ Camillus said. ‘Junia, you’ll just have to… Junia? What on earth is wrong with you, woman?’

  I glanced at Torquata. She still looked fazed. ‘Nothing,’ she said quietly. She emptied her cup and set it down. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just… the thought of a man at the rites is shocking, that’s all. I’ve had too many shocks recently, and I’m too old for them. Of course we’ll repeat the ceremony, that goes without saying. And we owe Corvinus here our thanks. The gods know what the repercussions might have been if the goddess had been slighted and we hadn’t found out in time.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll go and make the arrangements at once.’

  She left. Camillus stared at the closing door for a moment, frowning. Then he turned back to me. ‘And I,’ he said, ‘will have to give some thought to the appointment of a sixth Vestal. No doubt the emperor will be asking for suggestions, at the least. Corvinus, my dear fellow, I’m afraid I’ll have to throw you out. Most inhospitable. My apologies.’

  ‘Hey, that’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’m used to being thrown out.’

  I did my obeisance to Jupiter at the door and set off for the Capitol. All the way up the hill my brain was buzzing.

  Shock, nothing, nor old age neither; that lady was as hard-boiled as they come. Camillus had seen it too, although he’d been too much the gentleman to give her the lie in her teeth. Something had thrown her, and I’d missed it…

  What the hell was biting Junia Torquata?

  9.

  I thought, when Caelius Crispus saw me, he was going to call in the half-dozen Axemen that city and out-of-town judges rate. Either that or die from a stroke on the spot.

  ‘Hey, Crispus,’ I said, sitting down uninvited on the chair in front of his desk. ‘How’s the lad?’

  ‘You…’ He was pointing at me, eyes goggling. ‘You…’

  ‘Yeah. Me. I’ve come because I need some help. A favour. Some information.’

  ‘Get the hell out of my office!’

  ‘On the private life and passions of Aemilia, the senior consul’s wife.’

  ‘Corvinus, I swear to you if you’re not out of that door in five seconds flat I’ll –’

  When in doubt, ask for more. ‘Also, I wouldn’t mind an inside edge on the senior consul himself. If you’re feeling generous.’

  He gagged. Interesting; I wouldn’t’ve said, personally, that a face could match exactly the colour of a windfall plum that’s slightly gone off, but Crispus’s was doing its best. And I could’ve sworn the hairs in his ears were smouldering.

  ‘Screw you, Corvinus! Screw you and your whole family, twice, and six times on the kalends! Especially that bitch of a wife of yours!’

  ‘Perilla sends her regards. She still talks about the visit we made to the Pincian all those happy years ago. In fact, she was just saying we should meet up again soon, now we’ve moved back to Rome.’

  That one always gets him. It did this time, too. He blanched like an almond. ‘Keep her away from me! You hear me?’

  ‘In fact, as soon as I find out where you spend your free time these days, which shouldn’t be all that difficult, we intend to drop in one evening. Unexpectedly. With no prior warning whatsoever.’ I gave him my best smile. ‘Won’t that be nice?’

  Crispus stared at me, his mouth working. Then he drew a long breath and shuddered. ‘All right,’ he said quietly. ‘What exactly do you want this time?’

  ‘That’s better. I told you, but you weren’t listening. I want to know about Aemilia.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Does she have a lover?’

  ‘Jupiter’s balls, Corvinus!’

  ‘And if so what’s his name and where can I find him?’

  ‘Corvinus, read my lips, right? We are talking about the consul’s wife. The senior consul’s wife. Consul as in “consul”. You understand me?’

  ‘Sure. I told you that myself, pal. Twice. Of course I understand.’ I waited. Nothing. I stood up. ‘Well, Crispus, it’s been really nice talking to you again. We’ll see each other again very soon, and –’

  ‘Sit down,’ he growled. I did. He breathed deeply for a while with his eyes shut then leaned over the desk, close enough to whisper. His breath smelled of violet comfits. ‘All right, you bastard. The man’s name’s Gaius Licinius Murena. He’s a junior finance officer at the Mint.’

  ‘Your old stamping ground,’ I said. ‘No pun intended.’

  ‘Hah-hah. Right. Now get the hell out of here. Go for a swim in the Tiber. I’ll lend you the bricks.’

  I didn’t move. ‘What about Galba?’ Then when he hesitated: ‘Come on, Crispus! Give! We’re all alone, the door’s closed and you know you’ll have to tell me eventually.’

  He grinned evilly. ‘Oh, you are pushing it, aren’t you? You want his lovers as well?’

  ‘Plural?’

  ‘Sure, plural. Our senior consul likes variety. But no one important. Actors. Fluteplayers. Freedmen. Even the occasional slave, if he’s hosed down first.’

  Something with lots of legs was strolling up my spine. ‘Fluteplayers?’

  ‘Why not? There’s nothing like a good fluteplayer.’ Crispus sniggered. ‘They’ve got the lips for it.’

  ‘You have any names?’

  The snigger died. ‘No. And if I had I wouldn’t give y
ou them. You can push only so hard, Corvinus, and pleasant though it’d be to see you tangling with Galba and getting your long patrician nose lopped off he might trace the information back to me. Whatever the Wart might think of him, Galba’s a close pal of the prince, and you don’t mix with Gaius. Especially now with his mother and brother dead he’s Tiberius’s blue-eyed boy.’

  Yeah, I’d heard about that: Agrippina and Drusus Caesar, both in exile, had committed suicide by starving themselves a couple of months back. Or that was the official version, anyway. ‘Galba and the Wart don’t get on, you say?’ I was fishing here, sure, but you never know what you might catch. And to give Crispus his due, he had the true professional’s interest in his job, even if that job was raking over muckheaps.

  He shrugged. ‘You know the senior consul. If he spotted a copper piece in a latrine he’d have it out no matter what he had to grope through to get it. And he’s close enough to skin a flint. He’s had his knife into Tiberius for years, ever since the old empress’s bequest. And it’s quite mutual.’

  ‘The empress’s bequest?’

  ‘Sure. You don’t know that story?’ Now we’d moved – I assumed – on to the safe ground of old gossip Crispus was beginning to relax like a Suburan grandmother swapping scandal with a crony over the shelled peas. Sickening to watch, but then that was Crispus for you, and I wasn’t complaining. There was just the chance that he might come across with something useful.

  ‘Uh-uh,’ I said. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Seemingly the two were related through Galba’s stepmother, and they were as thick as beets and fish sauce.’ Crispus had leaned forward and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Gods, Suburan grandmother was right; all the guy needed was the shawl and a few less teeth. ‘Anyhow, when the will’s opened it turns out that she’s left him a cool half-million. Gold, not silver.’

  I whistled; half a million gold pieces was a lot of gravy.