The Lydian Baker (Marcus Corvinus Book 4)

by David Wishart

  'Yes, sir.'

  There was another knock on the door. Bathyllus this time.

  'Don't tell me,' I said. 'Nestor's making ornithological history by screwing the kitchen-maid.'

  'No, sir.' He had on his disapproving look. 'A visitor. A carriage driver. He says you wanted to see him personally.'

  Hey! Dida! 'Sure! Show him in!' I turned to Alexis. 'You know what you're doing?'

  'Of course.' He held up the bag. 'I give this to the captain of the Thetis at Piraeus, with your compliments, and bring back a receipt.'

  'Right. Hang on.' I opened the desk and took out a second, smaller purse. 'See Harpalus gets this, will you? Give it to him direct if you can, otherwise leave it with the harbourmaster.'

  Alexis nodded, tucked the purse into his belt and left just as Bathyllus came back.

  'The carriage driver, sir,' he said.

  'Great. Go polish the spoons.'

  Bathyllus exited with a sniff. I turned to Dida. Polycleitus material he wasn't: a little runt of a guy as wide as he was long with brown teeth and a rheumy left eye. No wonder Bathyllus had practically ushered him in with a pole.

  'Stichus down the Piraeus Gate rank said you wanted to talk to me, lord,' he said. 'About one of my regulars.'

  'Yeah.' I lay down on the reading couch and waved him into a chair. 'Melanthus of Abdera.'

  He shook his head. 'The name wouldn't mean anything. Big florid man, middle aged, neat beard, going grey. Good talker.'

  'That's him,' I said. I reached for the wine jug. 'You want some, by the way?'

  He looked surprised. 'Sure. If you're offering.'

  I poured two cups and handed him one. He sipped.

  'Good stuff,' he said. 'Italian?'

  I raised my eyebrows. 'Yeah. Setinian.'

  'Thought so. From Latium, near the Pomptine Marshes, right?'

  My eyebrows went up a notch or two more. 'Uh...yeah. Right.'

  He sipped again. 'Don't see it much here. They use a different grape. Not better, just different. Puts people off.'

  Well, it just shows you can't go by appearances. I was beginning to like this guy. 'You know your wines, pal,' I said.

  'Some of them. I'm from Kyrenia originally. Father was a wine-shipper before he went bust. He had a few Roman customers.' He set the cup on the table. 'I'd've come before, lord, but this eye laid me up. I didn't get the message until this morning.'

  'That's okay.' I took a swig from my own cup. 'So. Only one question, but that's the big one. You took Melanthus somewhere three nights ago. Where was it?'

  'Simple. Where I usually take him. Aphrodite's Scallop.' I must've looked blank, because he grinned. 'You married, lord?'

  'Yeah, I'm married. So what?'

  'That explains it. A bachelor wouldn't need telling. The Scallop's a brothel near Ptolemy's Gym. Very select, and pricey as hell, but you get what you pay for. Or so they tell me.'

  'You say it's where you usually take the guy?'

  'Sure. Twice a month, maybe three times.'

  Uh-huh. That squared with what Timon had said. 'And this has been going on for how long?'

  'Four years. Maybe five. Ever since the place started up, in fact.'

  So. My first scenario had been right after all, and Melanthus had been doing a bit of innocent tomcatting. Hell. There went the theory. Still, it didn't explain why the guy had disappeared. And Melanthus was too good a bet to give up on that easy.

  'You pick him up when he's finished?' I said.

  'Sometimes. Mostly, though, he stays the night. Like I say, the Scallop's upmarket. They don't throw their customers out in the street until they want to go.'

  'But this time he stayed?'

  'That I can't tell you, lord. All I know is he didn't tell me to wait.'

  I drummed my fingers on the edge of the couch. It would probably turn out to be a wild goose chase, but at present it was the only lead I'd got. And, like I say, tomcat or not Melanthus was still my number one suspect. 'You bring your coach with you, pal?' I said.

  'Sure. I had a lucky fare to Dionysus Theatre.'

  'Fine.' I stood up, opened the desk and took out my remaining petty cash. What there was of it: this business was costing me an arm and a leg. It would have to be the safe again for Dida. I unlocked it and handed him a gold piece. 'Here. Thanks.'

  His jaw dropped. 'That's too generous, lord.'

  'Part of it takes me to the Scallop and back. Fair?'

  That got me a brown-toothed grin. 'More than fair.'

  'Okay.' I opened the study door. Bathyllus was dusting the bronzes, but carefully out of earshot. Not that he'd dream of listening at keyholes, anyway. Eavesdropping was outwith Bathyllus's moral code. 'Hey, little guy!' I said. 'Bring my cloak, will you?'

  'You're going out, sir?' Bathyllus cast a jaundiced eye over Dida.

  'You have a problem with that?'

  'Of course not.' A careful sniff: no fighting in front of the lower classes. 'What about dinner?'

  'We agreed late, right? I should be back.'

  'And the mistress? What should I tell her?'

  Bugger. Perilla. She'd be back long before I was, and she'd want to know where I'd gone. Saying I'd taken a public coach to an upmarket city cathouse was not an option. Or not one I cared to contemplate, anyway. 'Just tell her it's business, Bathyllus. She'll understand.'

  'Business.' You could've used Bathyllus's tone to pickle radishes. 'Very well, sir. Have a nice time.'

  Bastard! Perspicatious bastard! I collected the cloak myself, and we left.

  18.

  Aphrodite's Scallop was in a side street just short of the Hill of Ares: a good district, although we weren't in its best part, and like Dida had said definitely upmarket. Jupiter knew what a brothel was doing there in the first place, mind, because like with most cities Athenian brothels tended to cluster round the main gates or in the less salubrious districts. The neighbours were either more than usually tolerant or the place catered for a very select clientele.

  Probably the latter: right from the first view the Scallop had class written all over it. It was the biggest and neatest of a row of old two- storey courtyard houses sharp as a new set of pins. Above the freshly- whitewashed outer walls trees poked, and I could hear the sound of birds and splashing water.

  We pulled up in front of the door. It was shut. Yeah, well, maybe we were a bit early: the sun wasn't properly down yet and the torch-cressets along the wall were still empty.

  'You want to wait?' I said to Dida as I got out.

  'Take your time, lord. I'll be in the alley round the corner. Go ahead, knock. The Scallop never closes.'

  I walked over to the door. It could've belonged to an ordinary private house, except that there was a discreet plaque cemented into the embrasure with a relief of the naked goddess on her shell. Tasteful stuff. Good quality artwork, too, not all hips and boobs and horse-face like you usually get outside these places. No graffiti phalluses or crude comments scrawled by drunken punters, either. If first impressions were anything to go by it didn't surprise me that Melanthus was a regular here. Pre-Perilla, I'd've used it myself. I might have been tempted still, if I didn't know the lady would skin me for it when she found out. Not if. When.

  I lifted the heavy dolphin door-knocker and let it drop.

  No spyhole. Only, when the door opened, a guy so big he could've doubled for Hercules; a full head taller than I was, twice the width, and most of it hard muscle. Obviously the bouncer, and as such a man deserving of respect.

  'The boss around, pal?' I said.

  He stood aside, and the air shifted around him. 'Come in, sir. Welcome.'

  Tasteful was right: the hall was light, airy and decorated with pictures: not murals, proper paintings on boards like you get in the Porches, hanging from the moulded cornice. No smut, either, even tasteful smut. The nearest they came to that was a six-by-four of Achilles hiding among the women, and there wasn't an unclad nipple in sight. One bronze centre stage, a beauty, of Venus braiding
her hair: I was no expert, but it looked old, and original. Chips of sandalwood were smouldering in an alcove on an incense burner that Priscus would've gone into ecstasies over.

  Classy. More than classy; the place had style. However, I wasn't here to gape. Or for anything else other than business, unfortunately. I tried the big guy again.

  'The name's Marcus Valerius Corvinus,' I said. 'I was hoping to talk to the boss.'

  'I'm afraid he isn't here at present, sir.' Cat-house bouncer or not, the guy could give Bathyllus lessons in buttling any day. 'However, the Lady Hermippe will be arriving shortly.'

  'The Lady Hermippe?'

  'She runs the house in his absence, sir.' He paused. 'Could I enquire what your business is exactly?'

  Polite enough, sure, but an order all the same, and there was no way of getting round it. Not with a guy this size doing the asking.

  'I was hoping to trace one of your clients.' I used my best patrician vowels. 'He was here a few nights ago and he seems to have disappeared.'

  The guy's expression didn't change but I had the distinct feeling that little speech, patrician vowels or not, had gone down like a slug in a salad. Well, I wasn't surprised: brothel customers tend to insist on privacy. Also however delicately I'd phrased that last bit it was bound to seem like I thought they were running a catmeat factory in the basement and Melanthus had just gone through the mincer.

  'I doubt very much if that will be possible.'

  Perfectly polite, but final as a slammed door. I noticed the lack of the 'sir', too. Still, I couldn't afford to back down. I tried again.

  'The gentleman's an associate of mine. Melanthus of Abdera. And like I say it's business.'

  He was looking at me like I'd just crawled out of the woodwork, and I felt my ribs constrict. 'Bouncer' was the operative word for this guy: he could punt me off all four walls like a football if he wanted to without breaking sweat, and both of us knew it. That doesn't make for an easy relationship.

  'Very well,' he said. 'When the Lady Hermippe arrives I'll tell her you're here. But you do understand the decision rests with her.' Another pause. 'And that there will be no further discussion of the matter. Absolutely none. You understand?'

  'Yeah.' I swallowed. 'Yeah, thanks.'

  'Meanwhile perhaps you wouldn't mind waiting in the salon. Cotile will look after you.'

  He turned away, and I saw the girl.

  She'd come out of the door next the Achilles painting. Small, dark haired, dark eyed, with curves under her silk mantle that would've made Pythagoras give up geometry.

  Uh...no problem, friend,' I said. 'None at all.'

  'Follow me, sir.' The girl smiled at me. 'In here.'

  My eyes widened: she'd spoken Latin, not Greek. Good accent, too. I stepped past her into the room and got a whiff of her perfume on the way. Low-key, Alexandrian, and, cost-wise, the olfactory equivalent of a villa on the Janiculan. I was beginning to have a healthy respect for the Scallop's standards.

  The salon was a big room opening on to the courtyard garden, complete with dining couches and a beaut of a table that had a polish on it that would've reduced Bathyllus to tears. The place was probably used for dinner parties and discreet private functions. I don't mean orgies or bachelor club nights, either; in my experience these little get-togethers tend to leave traces even the best housekeepers can't get rid of. Like teeth marks in the furniture and gravy on the ceiling, for example.

  I took the couch with the best view of the flower beds and ornamental fountains. Jupiter! This place must've cost a bomb!

  'Would you like some wine?' the girl said. There was a silver jug and matching set of cups on the table.

  'Yeah. Thanks.' All this and wine too. Maybe I'd died and not noticed it.

  'I'm Cotile.' She smiled and poured. The silk sleeve of her tunic slid up her arm and my heart lurched. Shit. This was going to be tricky.

  'You speak Latin very well,' I said.

  'I'm only half Greek.' She brought me the cup then sat demurely on the couch opposite. 'I was born in Tarentum, and my father was Italian. Cotile's just an adopted name. My real one's Pigrina.'

  'Uh-huh.' I sipped the wine: Chian, and pure nectar. 'Good decision.'

  'Changing my name?' She giggled. 'The clients expect it. And the Lady Hermippe said Cotile described me perfectly.'

  Chatterbox. Well, even on this short acquaintance I'd believe it: you don't often meet someone who tells you their life history inside of two minutes. Maybe I'd struck even luckier than I'd thought. It was worth a try, anyway.

  'You've been here long?' I said.

  'No. About a year.'

  Long enough. 'You know a guy called Melanthus?'

  'I'm afraid we don't ask names unless they're offered, sir.' That came out prim as a dowager's put-down. 'It's one of the house rules.'

  'Big guy. Philosopher type, comes here regularly. And forget the "sir". My name's Corvinus.'

  'Corvinus. Perhaps, then. If it's the man I'm thinking of, yes, I've seen him, although we've never gone together.'

  'Uh, yeah. Right.' I took a swig of the Chian. If she'd been a painted hag, or even a bit less like someone's kid sister, I wouldn't even have blinked. As it was I was almost blushing. 'The problem is, the guy's disappeared. I'm trying to trace him, and I need all the help I can get. You understand?'

  'Disappeared?' Her beautiful eyes widened.

  'The coachman who brought me says he dropped him here three nights ago, just before sunset. That was the last anyone saw of him.'

  'Is he a middle-aged man? Interested in sculpture? Old sculpture?'

  'Yeah.' My pulse quickened. 'Yeah, that's Melanthus.'

  She bit her lip and glanced towards the door. Her voice dropped to hardly more than a whisper. 'I really shouldn't talk about one client to another. That's another house rule.'

  Yeah. It would be! 'Sweetheart, this is business, right? And it's important. There'll be no hassle, I promise you. Cross my heart.'

  She hesitated; another glance at the door. 'Three nights ago, you said?'

  I nodded.

  'All right. He's one of Anthe's. Or mostly Anthe. Usually when he arrives late he stays the night. Only Anthe said the last time he was here he didn't.'

  'Is that so?' Maybe it hadn't been a wasted trip after all. 'He give her a reason?'

  'No. And Anthe wouldn't ask, of course, because that's –'

  'Another house rule.' Bugger!

  She nodded. 'She was upset because he's one of her nicest. And he seemed worried about something.' A frown. 'No, not worried. What's the word? Preoccupied?'

  'It'll do, sister. It'll do very well. Can I talk to this Anthe by any chance?'

  'She left for Corinth yesterday. With another of her regulars. They won't be back for a month. But I don't think she could've told you any more anyway.'

  'How long did he stay? You know that?'

  'Not long. Only enough to –' She made a gesture with her fingers that no kid sister I'd ever met would use. 'You know.'

  'Yeah. And then he left the building?'

  'Anthe wouldn't know that. Unless of course –'

  Behind us, the door opened, and Cotile clammed up tighter than an oyster. There went the interview, right at the interesting stage. Shit. We both turned round.

  It was my pal the friendly giant, and he didn't look pleased.

  'The Lady Hermippe will see you now, sir, if you'd care to follow me.'

  'Yeah. Sure.' I drained my cup and got to my feet. 'Thanks for the company, Cotile. See you again some time maybe.'

  'I look forward to it.' The primness was back, and she looked sexy as hell. Jupiter, I was tempted! But like I say Perilla would kill me.

  'This way, sir.'

  We went upstairs. The staircase was polished cedarwood, and there were pricey busts in alcoves all the way up. On the landing above a corridor with doors all along it led off to the right. On the left was a single door. The big guy tapped and opened it.

  I could've been in
any top-notch executive's office in the city, only there was a woman sitting behind the desk. I thought for a moment it was the old empress back from the dead, and the hairs stirred on my neck, but the Lady Hermippe was about forty years younger. She was a looker, too, and that was something even her best friends – if she had any – couldn't've said about Livia.

  'Valerius Corvinus.' Hermippe indicated the chair in front of the desk. 'Pleased to meet you. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. Do have a seat. That will be all, Antaeus.'

  The big guy nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

  At least the chair was solid, unlike Livia's bit of ancient Egyptian ivory. No smell of camphor, either. No smell at all. Hermippe obviously didn't have the traditional madam's love of either strong perfume or strong drink. We were still up at the top end of the profession here.

  I sat. Not a creak.

  'Now.' She rested her elbows on the polished desk top and steepled her fingers: executive was right, there was no nonsense about this lady. 'I understand from Antaeus you wish to contact a client of ours.'

  'Yeah.' I crossed my legs and tried to look nonchalant. 'That's right. A business associate by the name of Melanthus of Abdera.'

  'The Academician.' She nodded. 'We don't encourage names here, of course, but I do know the gentleman you mean. However, I'm afraid I can't help you.'

  'Can't or won't, lady?' I was perfectly polite, but I had to get this clear.

  She smiled. 'Under different circumstances it would be won't, because as I'm sure you realise a house like ours is committed to discretion absolutely. However in this instance I can say with perfect sincerity that I genuinely cannot help you, even if I wanted to.'

  'He was here three nights ago.'

  'Yes, he was. But he left shortly after he arrived. Where he went then I really do not know. Nor is it any of my business.'

  Yeah. Well, that squared with what Cotile had told me. And from her tone of voice there wasn't any point in prolonging the conversation. I stood up. 'Okay. It was just a thought. Thanks for giving me your time.'

  She stood up too. Definitely no Livia: she was almost as tall as I was, and stacked. 'Not at all. I do hope you manage to find him, and that this all ends...happily. You know what I mean. Melanthus would be a great loss to Athens. To the whole civilised world.'