Family Commitments (Marcus Corvinus Book 20)

by David Wishart

  True. ‘So what did happen to the ring?’

  ‘I don’t know, dear,’ Perilla said. ‘It’s just another mystery.’

  Fuck. I felt tired: there were just too many unanswered questions, and at present it didn’t look like I had a hope in hell of finding the matching answers. We’d simply have to wait and see what transpired. Trouble was, I had no idea how that was going to work; without Damon, we were well and truly stymied.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Leave it for now. I’ll go back round to Eutacticus’s tomorrow, check out the possibility of a crooked colleague angle.’ That was something I really, really wasn’t looking forward to – the odds were that I’d just end up with a flea in my ear at the very least – but it had to be done, if only for completeness’ sake. ‘You want to go and find out where we stand regarding dinner, Bathyllus?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course.’ He turned to leave, then hesitated. ‘I wonder, though, if I might go round to the tenement tomorrow morning. See if by any chance Damon has decided to come back after all.’

  He’d be a fool if he did, in my view; chances were that Eutacticus would’ve had the place staked out and he’d just be putting his head in a noose. However, I could see how worried the little guy was. It couldn’t do any harm, and at least he’d feel he was doing something. ‘Yeah, no problem,’ I said. ‘You do that, sunshine. And if Damon does happen to get back in touch with you somehow you let me know at once, right? No hassle, I promise.’

  ‘Understood, sir.’ Bathyllus left.

  Ah well. We’d just have to sweat this out.

  11

  So back I went next day to the Pincian. This was getting monotonous, and I’d no illusions about the likelihood of a warm welcome and an amiable hug.

  I wasn’t disappointed, either. The lad himself was sitting in the garden, obviously in conference with a couple of his minions, and he looked about as pleased to see me as Thyestes was when he found out he’d just eaten his sons.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here again, Corvinus?’ he said. ‘It’d better be because that thieving slave has shown up with the necklace, because if not–’

  ‘Uh, no,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid he’s still missing.’

  He glared at me for a good soul-searing half-dozen heartbeats, then grunted and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘You two push off for the present,’ he said to the minions. ‘We’ll carry on later when this bastard’s gone.’ Then, when their retreating backs were half way to the house: ‘Okay. So what’s it about this time?’

  I pulled up one of the minion-vacated chairs and sat. Here we went.

  ‘Ah...Perilla and I were talking yesterday about this necklace business,’ I said. ‘You know Perilla? My wife?’ That only got me a stony stare. ‘Anyway, I’d just got back from seeing Oplonius’s girlfriend, name of Lydia, works in the local wineshop.’

  ‘So?’

  Now we got to the hard part. ‘Seemingly a day or so after he was murdered Lydia gets a visit from what must’ve been the guys who did the job. They’re asking whether Oplonius left something valuable with her for safe keeping.’ I saw his interest sharpen. ‘Which he didn’t, by the way.’

  ‘So what has it to do with me? If she didn’t have the necklace then–’

  ‘They, uh, claimed to represent the original owner. Quote. Fair enough, they were probably spinning a line, but we thought, at least my wife thought, that there was an outside chance that, ah, not to put too fine a point on it, it was just remotely possible that maybe–’

  ‘Spit it out, Corvinus. You’re babbling.’

  Oh, hell. ‘The guy you bought the necklace from. The colleague in Brundisium. I suppose he came by it legitimately in the first place, yeah?’

  That got me the long, slow death-stare again. Jupiter! I started to sweat. Well, maybe using the word legitimately, given where I was and who I was talking to, had been a step too far.

  ‘You’re suggesting he stole it.’ Statement, not question. ‘And that whoever he stole it from was making an effort to get it back.’

  ‘Ah...yeah. At least in principle. Although I wouldn’t’ve put it as strongly as a suggestion myself. Maybe a possibility would be better. A remote possibility. Or simply one theory out of many. And not the most likely one, either.’

  Gods!

  ‘You think I’d give Occusia a piece of hot jewellery for our anniversary?’ His voice was dangerously low. ‘Something I knew had been stolen?’

  ‘No! No! Perish the thought!’ I could feel the sweat beginning to soak through my tunic at the armpits. ‘Certainly not deliberately. But we wondered, at least Perilla wondered, whether you might possibly have been accidentally and unwittingly, ah, sold a pup. As it were.’

  ‘Really.’ The death-stare still hadn’t let up, and I felt a tic start in my right eye. Then, finally, he turned away. ‘I’d agree with her; as you say, it’s a possibility. A remote one, but still.’ Glory and trumpets! ‘I’ve done business with’ – he hesitated – ‘with this colleague of mine before, and he’s always been trustworthy in the past. All the same, he’s a relatively small-timer, and to be honest with you considering the sum and the temptation involved I wouldn’t put it past the bastard to try it on. Thanks for telling me, Corvinus, I’m grateful. Leave it with me and I’ll look into it.’ I breathed again. ‘Still, it doesn’t change nothing where the necklace itself is concerned. That fucker has it, we both know that. The deal still stands; if I find him he’s history. Now bugger off, I’m busy.’

  I stood up. Well, that hadn’t been so bad after all, and it had opened up a possible avenue. Whether or not it would lead anywhere was a moot point, but at least it was there.

  ‘You’ll let me know if there are any developments?’ I said. ‘On the, ah, colleague front, I mean.’

  He turned a liverish eye on me.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I pay my debts, you know that. It’ll take time, of course, because I’ll have to send a man down to Brundisium to nose around and ask a few pertinent questions. In the meantime, though, I’ll put the word out that I want to talk to your wineshop friends. If I find them I’ll let you know. After I’ve done with them myself, naturally. Fair enough?’

  I swallowed. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Bugger off, then.’

  I did. With both relief and alacrity.

  So. We were moving again, or possibly we were. Mind you, it hadn’t escaped me that in all likelihood the whole point of this case was scuppered, or at least close as dammit thereto. I’d taken it on originally to help Damon, or Bathyllus, rather, which came to the same thing, but with the distinct possibility – practically a certainty – that that poor bugger’s days would shortly be numbered I doubted that would serve as a viable reason for much longer. Still, whatever happened, I was into it now, and I couldn’t see myself giving up just because the client, as it were, was likely to be taking a one-way trip to the bottom of the Tiber before the month was out.

  Even so, there wasn’t much I could do at present, or rather, scratch that, there was absolutely sod all. Not as far as the case was concerned, at least. Oh, sure, with my other hat on there was the visit to Priscus’s girlfriend’s curio shop to get over with, but – and call me a coward if you like – I couldn’t quite bring myself to muster up the bottle for that one yet. Besides, I did feel pretty strongly that whatever Mother’s views on the subject were it was shoving my nose into something that was none of my damn business, and laying up serious trouble for the future. I reckoned a compromise was in order: I’d hang fire until Mother started needling, then take things from there.

  So. In the absence of gainful employment I might as well cut across town to Iugarius and stop in at Renatius’s wineshop for a cup of Spoletan and a natter. Besides, after that visit to Eutacticus I needed to unwind.

  So that’s what I did.

  I got back home close to sundown feeling a bit more cheerful, which had only a little to do with the wine: now that Eutacticus was on the team, albeit for reasons of his own a
nd with his own axe to grind, the chances of finding Lydia’s gruesome twosome had taken a definite hike, and with Damon effectively out of the picture they were the only game in town. However things panned out vis-à-vis Eutacticus’s Brundisium colleague things were looking a lot more promising.

  I climbed our steps, but the door remained closed. Odd; one peculiarity about Bathyllus – one of many, to be fair, but let that pass – is that he has this almost psychic ability to tell when the Master is Home. The front door opens and he’s standing behind it with the obligatory cup of wine. That had been the pattern for years, and I could count the number of times he’d broken it on the fingers of one hand.

  This was evidently one of them. I knocked, and the guy who opened up for me was one of the run-of-the-mill household skivvies. I gave him my cloak.

  ‘No Bathyllus, pal?’ I said.

  ‘No, sir. He’s out.’ There was something odd about his voice, but I just took it for subdued nervousness at having to talk to the master direct.

  I frowned: Bathyllus had said he was going to the Suburan tenement to check if Damon had turned up, sure, but that had been right after breakfast, and even at the snail’s pace Bathyllus moved at he should’ve been back hours ago.

  ‘The mistress in?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, sir. She’s waiting for you in the atrium.’

  Waiting for you. That didn’t sound good, and the nervousness – if that’s what it was – was there in spades. I went on through.

  Waiting for me was right: she was on her feet and pacing up and down, looking anxious as hell.

  ‘Marcus, thank goodness you’re home,’ she said. ‘Have you seen Bathyllus?’

  ‘Uh-uh.’ The first real prickle of unease stirred in my gut. ‘Why should I have?’

  ‘I don’t know. No reason. I thought you might’ve gone to the tenement after you’d spoken to Eutacticus, perhaps met him there. If Damon had reappeared after all he might have stayed on and you might still be talking. Or something.’

  Oh, shit. ‘He hasn’t come back?’

  Silly question, I knew he hadn’t, of course, but her anxiety was infectious – it just showed how concerned she was that in her normal thinking state she’d’ve seen the obvious flaws in the scenario she’d offered me straight off – and I was getting seriously worried myself now.

  ‘No. And it’s almost dinner time.’ That might’ve sounded pretty inane, sure, under any other circumstances, but this was Bathyllus; he’d as soon have gnawed his own leg off as failed to turn up for one of the most important buttling offices of the day. ‘Do you think something’s happened to him? An accident?’

  ‘Look, let’s just take this calmly,’ I said, leading her back to the couch and sitting her down. ‘He’s just been delayed, that’s all. He’ll probably be back any minute.’

  ‘Do you believe that? Honestly?’

  Yeah, well, she had me there. Of course I didn’t. ‘Okay,’ I said, settling down on the other couch. ‘Scrub that for an explanation. But there’s still no reason to panic. Let’s talk it through. What are the possibilities?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, dear, you’re quite right. I’m sorry, just give me a moment to collect my thoughts, will you?’ I waited. ‘Very well. Perhaps Damon has reappeared. Or got in touch somehow.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ That was the one I’d’ve gone for, personally, first off, despite the obvious objections. They had to be voiced, though. ‘Problem is, lady,’ I said, ‘Bathyllus knows that if that happened he was to tell me straight away. It was the last thing I said to him yesterday when we discussed it, and he agreed it was the most sensible thing to do.’

  ‘He may not have had the opportunity. Eutacticus was almost certainly having the tenement watched; you said that yourself. If Damon was silly enough to go back there then Eutacticus’s men would’ve had him before he crossed the threshold.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So he may have got a message to him somehow. Damon may have got a message to Bathyllus, I mean. To meet him somewhere else, somewhere safer.’

  Yeah, barring the fine operational details, and we didn’t have the leisure to think about those at present, that would make sense: Damon was a natural at subterfuge – it was his main survival trait – and he’d keep moving around, not stopping anywhere long enough for his safety to be compromised. And if Damon was moving around Bathyllus wouldn’t have risked leaving him.

  ‘Why couldn’t they just have arranged to meet here?’ I said. ‘That’d be safe enough, surely, and it was the object of the exercise, after all.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Marcus. But if that is the explanation then Damon would’ve had his reasons, valid or not.’

  Uh-huh; I supposed that was true. Under the circumstances Bathyllus might not have been able to persuade his brother that I was on the level about granting amnesty. Or, indeed, that the bargain with Eutacticus was a genuine offer. We were still, I knew, dealing with the slave mentality: if you’re on your own with your back to the wall, never trust anyone but yourself, because it might well kill you.

  ‘So what do we do?’ I said.

  ‘Wait and worry. There’s nothing else we can do, I’m afraid.’

  Dinner came and went, still with no sign or news. So did bedtime.

  Neither of us got much sleep that night.

  12

  News came the next morning, in the shape of a sealed flimsy that had been shoved under the door overnight. The stand-in skivvy brought it to me while we were having breakfast – both of us together, and early for a change, because Perilla hadn’t been in any mood for her long lie.

  I opened and read it.

  Oh, gods. Sweet gods almighty.

  ‘Marcus, are you all right?’ Perilla set down her honeyed roll. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Bathyllus isn’t with Damon after all,’ I said. ‘The bastards who killed Oplonius have got him.’

  ‘What?’

  I handed the flimsy over. ‘Read it for yourself.’ I felt sick.

  The note was short and to the point: We have your chief slave. If you want to know where, and you want him back alive, bring his brother to the Grotto of the Nymphs in the Asinian Gardens at the third hour today.

  ‘What do we do?’ Perilla was looking at me, wide-eyed and scared.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ I said. I was trying to fend off my own panic, and thinking hard. Dear immortal gods! How the hell was I going to handle this? ‘Not involving Damon, at least. They think we have him squirrelled away somewhere, that’s clear enough.’

  ‘If they have Bathyllus he must have told them we don’t.’

  ‘Maybe he had to say that we did to save himself from worse treatment. That would give him a bit of breathing space, at least, plus it would tell us indirectly what had happened to him. And the early handover would suggest he’s told them that Damon is here in this house already, which would mean there was no point in beating an address out of him where they could pick Damon up without involving me. He’s no fool, Bathyllus.’

  ‘No.’ She was looking at the flimsy again, and frowning. ‘It isn’t a direct exchange, is it? Bathyllus won’t be there.’

  ‘Uh-huh. I might be able to use that. Try a couple of delaying tactics of my own.’ For what they’d be worth, even if they worked to begin with. But then I needed to keep the lady optimistic to some degree; one of us looking on the black side of things was enough and to spare, and I couldn’t shake off the feeling that Bathyllus was already dead. After all, why would they need him once they’d put the pressure to deliver on me?

  ‘Would Eutacticus help?’ Perilla said.

  ‘He might have done, in the circumstances – he has his own reasons now for wanting to track those bastards down – but the Asinian Gardens are right at the southern edge of the city near the Latin Gate. Third hour doesn’t give me near enough time to go over to the Pincian to arrange things and still make the rendezvous. And even if I had the time to contact the First District Watch I couldn’t
risk involving the authorities, not when Damon’s involved. Fuck!’

  ‘Gently, dear. All this is quite deliberate, of course. On the kidnappers’ part this time.’

  Yeah, right; the third hour was half way through the morning, the sun was already well clear of the horizon, and the Asinian Gardens were half an hour’s brisk walk from here. Plus I’d have to locate the Shrine of the Nymphs when I got there. Never mind recruiting help, I’d have to get my skates on if I was to meet the deadline at all.

  What I was going to say when I did, though, I hadn’t the faintest idea. No doubt that was deliberate as well: keep your target under the maximum stress, don’t allow him any leeway for thought.

  Bastards!

  Well, there was no point in sitting around mulling things over. Whatever would happen, would happen. But I promised myself that if things did go pear-shaped and Bathyllus died as a result one way or another they’d be dead meat themselves within the month. I got up.

  ‘Okay, lady, wish me luck,’ I said.

  ‘At least take someone with you.’ Perilla stood up too. ‘A few of the household slaves.’

  I shook my head. ‘These guys are smart. Force won’t do this, and however they’re playing things they’d’ve taken that possibility into account. No, we’ll keep it simple, no tricks on my side. It’ll be just me.’

  She leaned over and kissed me. ‘Be careful, and good luck.’

  Yeah, I’d need it.

  I yelled in the direction of the servants’ quarters for my cloak and went through to my study where I kept the handy little knife I used to carry on occasions like this in one of the desk drawers. No tricks was one thing, but there was no reason for being stupid and going completely unprotected. Ideally, I’d’ve strapped it to the inside of my wrist, but there wasn’t time for that: I sheathed it and slipped it into my belt at the back, where I could reach it easily.