I’d been looking for it, and it came: a flicker of the eyelids and a slight turn of the head. ‘What about him?’ he said. Then, to the slave, ‘You can go, Scorpus. I’ll talk to you later.’ The guy left at a run.
‘You know he killed himself three days back?’ I said.
‘Yes, I know that. I was sorry to hear it. Papinius was a nice kid.’
‘So everyone tells me.’ No offer of a chair, so I sat on the corner of a handy stone flower-chest. Placida was making use of the outdoor toilet facilities. ‘He owed you money, I understand. A gambling debt.’
‘That’s right.’ The tone was cool, but I could feel that beneath his patrician shell the guy was nervous as a cat: he hadn’t moved a muscle since he’d dismissed the slave, and his eyes hadn’t left my face. ‘Or partly right.’
‘“Partly right”?’
‘He paid it. Oh, it must be a month since or near about.’
‘Care to tell me how much was involved?’
‘That’s none of your business.’ I waited, and he shrugged. ‘Very well. It’s not important anyway. Two thousand sesterces.’
‘That so, now?’ I said. ‘So what was the other forty-eight thousand for?’
His jaw dropped. ‘What?’
‘About a month back, the same time you say he paid you off, Papinius took out a loan from a money-lender for fifty thousand sesterces. Coincidences like that just don’t happen, pal, or if they do they stink like ten-day-old fish.’
‘I don’t know anything about –’
‘Come on, Soranus!’ I was on my feet. Placida looked up from where she was doing a bit of impromptu topiary and growled. ‘Two thousand for a gambling debt, sure, I could believe that; any lack-brain kid can lose that much with a little encouragement from bastards like you. But fifty thousand, now, fifty thousand’s pushing it, especially where Papinius is concerned, and that’s what you got from him. So what were you soaking him for? Taking backhanders from property owners who reckoned they were owed more than their fair share of the Aventine fire fund? Or was it something else?’
He’d gone grey. He stood up himself, raised a trembling arm and pointed. ‘You get out,’ he said quietly. ‘You get the hell out. And if you repeat one word of these lies in public you’ll find yourself sued from one end of the civil courts to the other. Is that clear?’
Placida was really growling now, and her hackles were rising. I reached out to grip her collar and felt her muscles tense. Soranus flashed her a look and swallowed. ‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s clear,’ I said. ‘No problems on that score, pal. I just wanted to tell you that I knew, that’s all. To make you sweat. Because when I have got the proof - and believe me I’ll get it - I’m going to take it round to the city judge’s office myself and then watch them nail your fucking hide to the Julian Hall floor.’ I turned to go, pulling the still-growling Placida with me, and then another thought struck me and I turned back. ‘Oh, by the way, who’s Albucilla?’
If he’d been grey before he’d’ve doubled now for week-old uncooked pastry dough. I thought for a moment that he was going to do a Cluvia into the ornamental flower-bed, but he pulled himself together.
‘Get out of my house!’ he shouted.
‘OW-OOO-OOO-OOO!’ Placida launched herself forward, almost dragging me with her. Soranus half-screamed and took a step back against the chair, arm raised. For two pins I’d’ve let go the collar, but then the authorities might object to one of the top five hundred having his throat torn out in his own garden. Besides, she’d probably have got food poisoning.
‘Pleasure’s all mine, friend,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you around.’
We left.
Well, that’d been fun. Maybe not exactly politic, but the bastard would only have lied anyway, and as far as cage-rattling went I didn’t think I could’ve done better. Soranus had been frightened; that much was obvious, and it had nothing to do with Placida. Also, it was all to the good, because when I’d threatened him with the city judge I’d been bluffing. With Papinius dead, there wasn’t a hope of proving he’d paid Soranus hush-money. At least, not much of a hope. At least...
Hell. We’d just have to see. It would give me a great deal of personal satisfaction to nail the slimy bugger, and he’d find himself hard put to try any more blackmail when he was twiddling his thumbs out in Lusitania or living on frozen beets somewhere north of the Hellespont.
His reaction to Albucilla’s name had been interesting, too, whoever the lady was; which last was something I’d have to chase up before I was much older. Food for thought again.
And speaking of food I’d done enough for one day. We both had. Home, for Meton’s fish.
11
It turned out I had plenty of time. Meton (I got this from Bathyllus, when he handed me the usual belt of Setinian at the door) had had a slight contretemps with the guy down at the fish-market who was standing in for his usual supplier over the quality of the sea-urchins, which resulted in said guy almost having to have the offending crustacea surgically removed and Meton being forcibly restrained by five of the fish-seller’s mates and a handy tunny. The result was fish was off the menu, Meton was nursing a glorious shiner plus a sulk at the market officer who had taken the fish-seller’s side, and we were having slow-marinated lamb’s liver and long-cooked pork. Eventually.
Yeah, well; it’s all part of life’s rich tapestry.
‘Where’s the mistress, little guy?’ I said, sinking the first welcome mouthful of Setinian.
‘In the bath suite, sir.’ Bathyllus was eyeing Placida with a look that was so jaundiced it was practically the colour of his snazzy yellow tunic. Evidently I’d walked our barbarian house-guest off her paws because as soon as we’d cleared the lobby she’d sprawled out full-length on the atrium floor. ‘Apropos of which...’ He sniffed, pointedly, and gave the dog another sizzling glare.
Yeah, I’d noticed the smell myself. It would’ve been hard not to at any distance of less than ten yards. ‘Penetrating’ is the word; or maybe ‘corrosive’ is better. ‘She, uh, rolled on something,’ I said. ‘In the gutter outside that new butcher’s shop halfway down Head of Africa. My guess would be past-its-sell-by-date tripe, but it was too far gone to judge.’
‘Indeed, sir?’
‘Still, no problem, sunshine.’ I was taking off my sweaty tunic. ‘You can heat up a couple of buckets of water, take her out into the garden and sluice her down.’
Heh-heh!
Not an eyelid did Bathyllus bat. ‘Actually, sir,’ he said, ‘the mistress left strict instructions in that regard. To apply if you came home in time, sir.’
I paused re the tunic. Oh, hell! I was beginning to get a bad, bad feeling about the way things were going here. There were too many ‘sirs’ for a start, and the little bugger was wearing a smug expression which I didn’t like the look of by half.
‘Cut the faffing, Bathyllus,’ I said. ‘Just tell me.’
‘Well, sir, we’ve put a tub in the bath suite and –’
Jupiter bloody Almighty! I held up my hands, palm out. ‘Oh, no,’ I said. ‘No way! Look, pal. I have had sole and total charge of that brute ever since breakfast and I reckon I’ve done my whack. All I want now is a quiet bath, a few cups of wine and dinner. I am not playing bath-time games with a fucking Gallic boarhound, especially one that’s been rolling in decomposed pig offal. All right?’
‘Perhaps you’d like to tell the mistress that yourself, sir.’ Smirk.
Hell. Fuck. Double fuck. I finished removing the tunic and pitched it into a corner.
‘Come on, Placida,’ I said.
She was waiting for us, sitting on the bench.
‘Oh, hello, dear.’ She brushed a damp strand of hair out of her eyes and gave me a welcome-home kiss. ‘Good, you’ve brought her. Everything’s ready, and the water shouldn’t be too hot now, it’s been standing for half an hour.’
‘Perilla...’
‘The sponge is over there with another two bucketfuls for the rinse, and I’ve put som
e perfumed oil in. Down, Placida, no, I don’t want licked, thank you very much. My goodness, she does smell a bit, doesn’t she, Marcus? What’ve you been doing with her?’
‘Lady...’
‘Never mind, we’d best start. Get her into the tub.’
I goggled. ‘What?’
‘Oh, really, dear! It can’t be all that difficult!’
Hell. I took hold of Placida’s collar and pulled in the required direction. The first two or three feet were okay, but the last bit, when she caught sight of the water and realised what was happening, was something else...
‘Uh, I don’t think she wants to go,’ I said. Understatement: it was like trying to haul the temple of Saturn up Capitol Incline.
‘Nonsense. She loves being bathed. Calvina told me.’
‘Really? Is that so, now?’ I was beginning to develop a real respect for that woman’s powers of falsehood and duplicity. ‘You care to pass the message on to the dog, lady?’
‘All right. Then you’ll just have to lift her in.’
Oh, Jupiter! ‘Yeah, and add a slipped disc and double hernia to all my other problems. ‘Perilla, come on! You know how much that fucking beast weighs?’
‘Marcus!’
Shit; I didn’t deserve this. I took a firm grip on the collar and pulled. Placida crouched down and pulled back. Her claws scrabbled on the marble and she held her ground.
Stalemate.
‘Perhaps you’d care to help,’ I grunted.
‘Oh, really!’ Perilla got up and joined me...
‘She is strong, isn’t she?’ she said after a bit. ‘And very determined.’
‘Yeah,’ I gasped. ‘Yeah, you could say that.’
‘I think she might be moving. One more pull.’
Scrabblescrabblescrabblescra-a-a-ape...
Yes! Well, at least we were within striking distance now. I let go the collar, lifted the brute’s front paws over the edge of the tub, went round to her rear end and heaved...
SPLASH
‘There’s a good girl!’ Perilla stepped back. ‘Stay there, now. Marcus, don’t let her climb out. Marcus!’
Hell and bloody damnation! I hung on, spat a mouthful of perfumed water over my shoulder and said: ‘Lady, I could do with just a little more help here, if you know what I mean.’
‘OW-OOO-OOO! OWOWOW-OOO-OOO!’
‘Ouch!’
‘Placida, be quiet! Don’t be silly, it’s only a bath, we’re not killing you.’
‘OOO-OOO-OOO!’
Threshthreshthreshthreshthresh...
Jupiter bloody Best and Greatest! I’d never actually mud-wrestled a manic hippo before, but this must’ve come pretty near, and the banshee howling in the enclosed space wasn’t doing my eardrums any favours, either. I gritted my teeth and held on for dear life...
‘Get me the sponge!’
‘What?’
‘OOO-OOO-OOO!’
‘The sponge!’
‘What? Marcus, I can’t hear what you’re –’
‘OOO-OOO-OOO! OWOO-OOO-OOO!’
‘For the gods’ sake, woman, get me the fucking sponge!’
She sniffed. ‘Very well, dear. There’s no need to swear. There, now. You hold her down and I’ll sponge her. Good dog, Placida, good dog! No need for all this fuss, is there?’
‘OOO-OOO-OOO-OOO!’
‘Shit!’
‘Marcus!’
‘Yeah, well.’
‘Just hold her down and let me do the work. She is really being very good. Underneath it all, I mean.’
‘WHAT?’
‘Well, she hasn’t actually bitten you, has she?’
I clenched my teeth. There are times when words just aren’t adequate.
Eventually...
‘Now. That should do it. Just the rinse and we’re done. There’s a clever girl, Placida! One more bucketful. Mind your head, Marcus. I said, mind your –’
‘Ouch!’
‘Well, I did warn you.’ She put the empty bucket down. ‘Good. You can let her go now, dear. Placida, careful!’
Placida emerged from the bath, not quite like Aphrodite from the foam off Paphos.
Shakeshakeshake. Splattersplattersplatter.
‘Oh, bugger!’ Still, I was soaked anyway. Another few gallons of tripe-and-perfume-
flavoured water wouldn’t make all that much difference.
‘Well,’ Perilla said as we dried ourselves. ‘I think on the whole that was quite successful, don’t you?’
‘Ah, there you are, sir. Dinner is almost ready. Did you enjoy your bath?’
‘Fuck off, Bathyllus.’
12
Dinner, when it finally came, was worth waiting for. Meton may’ve been sulking, but the guy is a professional to his gorilla-sized fingertips, and the long-cooked pork in cumin and aniseed was a dream.
No dog, either. I insisted on that, and for once Perilla didn’t object; maybe our bath-time romp had soured her, too, just a little. Where the brute was exactly at that precise moment in time and what she was doing I didn’t know, and cared less. The screams weren’t reaching us here in the dining-room, anyway, and that was the main thing.
Bliss.
‘So.’ Perilla dipped a crust of poppy-seed roll into her sauce. ‘Did you find why the boy killed himself?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘How do you mean, you don’t know?’
I reached for the puréed lentils that had come with the pork and helped myself to more. ‘According to Laelius Balbus, he was on the take and knew he’d been caught out.’
She put the crust down. ‘Oh, Marcus!’
‘Yeah, well. He wouldn’t be the first to go that road. Kid in need of money finds himself in a job where there’re plenty of rich punters who want to get richer. They suggest that if he turns a blind eye to certain inflated figures on their claims sheets a few gold pieces might find their way into his purse. Where’s the harm? The only party to lose out is the state, and the state can afford it. So long as he’s careful and no one gets too greedy it wouldn’t be noticed.’
‘And you think Papinius wasn’t careful.’
‘No. Or that’s the theory to go with the scenario, anyway. In the event, he was doubly unlucky. First, his boss wasn’t the type who just signs things unread; which wouldn’t necessarily have been fatal, mind, because Balbus is a nice guy, he knew what the result would be if he blew the whistle, and he didn’t want things to go that far unless they had to. Second, though, and prior to this, he had a pal - a so-called pal - by the name of Mucius Soranus. And he is another thing altogether.’
‘Soranus found out somehow that the boy was taking bribes and decided to blackmail him.’
‘Yeah. Again, that’s the theory. Soranus is no Balbus. He’s greedy and he’s ruthless. One word in the wrong ear - like to Domitius Ahenobarbus, say, or one of the other commission bosses - and Papinius would be finished. Career over, next stop exile. So in exchange for not telling Soranus wants serious gravy: fifty thousand silver pieces. The only way Papinius can get that kind of money is to go to a loans shark, which he does and pays Soranus off. Only a month down the line he finds out from Balbus that he’s been sussed in any case.’
‘And so he kills himself. Marcus, that’s dreadful! The poor boy.’
‘Right. Problem is’ - I hesitated - ‘as a scenario, it stinks.’
Perilla had been helping herself to the stew. She put down her spoon.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘It doesn’t work. No way does it work. Or if it does I’m a blue-rinsed monkey.’
‘But surely –?’
‘Papinius was no crook, I’d bet my last copper on that. And if he was honest then there was no kickbacks scam and the whole scenario collapses. A priori, a fortiori, QED.’
She was staring at me. ‘Marcus, be reasonable! You can’t just dismiss the bribery aspect out of hand, because from what you say it’s central to all the facts. Without it Soranus had no grounds for blackmailing
the boy, and if he wasn’t then why the money-lender? Not to mention that your Laelius Balbus confirmed it. Or do you think he’s lying? And if so then why on earth should he be?’
I sighed. ‘Look, I’ve been through all this myself, right? Sure, it all adds up, right down the line, no arguments. For everything to make sense Papinius had to be bent. Only, believe me, he wasn’t, and if he wasn’t on the fiddle then why should he kill himself?’
‘Very well. What proof do you have that he wasn’t crooked? Real proof, I mean.’
‘He’s just not the type.’
‘Oh, Marcus! Very objective! I’m afraid that’s not an answer, dear.’
‘Okay.’ I leaned back and pushed my plate away. ‘He’s got glowing character references all round. Titus Natalis, his mother, bribery accusation apart even Balbus. Young Marcus Atratinus practically threw me down the aediles’ office steps for suggesting he might be dishonest, his ex-girlfriend went all dewy-eyed when she talked about him and even that shit Soranus called him a nice kid.’
‘You don’t think they might all be rather biased as character witnesses? Soranus aside? After all –’
‘Jupiter, Perilla! We’re talking unanimous here, and that doesn’t happen often, not to that degree, certainly. If it was all a front then as a con artist the guy must’ve been bloody brilliant. Besides, there’re other things that don’t fit either.’
‘Namely?’
‘How and where he died. By rights the kid should’ve slit his wrists in comfort at home. Diving from an Aventine tenement just doesn’t make sense. And you can add the fact that he’d just paid the loan off, as well.’
She sat up. ‘He had what?’
‘Yeah. Right, that’s what I thought. Vestorius told me himself, the loans shark. Principal and interest, sixty thousand sesterces. Where the hell did the money come from?’
‘The bribes. Naturally.’ A fighter, Perilla.
‘Sixty thousand sesterces? That’s some whack, lady. And if he was raking it in to that extent he wouldn’t’ve needed a loan in the first place, would he?’
‘Hmm. You’re right, it is rather strange.’ She went quiet for a moment. ‘Then...Marcus...’
‘Yeah?’
In at the Death (Marcus Corvinus Book 11) Page 10