Family Commitments (Marcus Corvinus Book 20)

by David Wishart

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘In that case, dinner before you go, nothing fancy, just a family meal, us, you, and this new wife of yours. Can you manage that?’

  ‘Sure. Dinner’s no problem.’

  ‘Call it the day after tomorrow, then? Sunset do you?’ That’d give Meton sufficient time to reconcile himself to cooking for four, and if it didn’t then tough luck: the recalcitrant bugger could go and fry himself.

  ‘Perfect.’ He settled back in his chair. ‘Now. What did you want to see me about?’

  ‘Ah...’

  He laughed. ‘Come on, Marcus! I may be cabbage-looking, but I’m not as green as all that. It’s connected with the sleuthing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Uh, yeah. Actually it is.’ Hell; I felt rotten, and more than a little guilty. Two and a half years’ silence, and then when I did get back in touch it was because I needed his help with a case. It’d been that way last time as well, for that matter, even though the meeting in Tasso’s wineshop had been accidental.

  ‘Then go ahead. As long as you don’t want me to spill any military secrets this time around. I enjoy my job and I want to keep it.’

  ‘No. No, there isn’t anything undercover involved, at least I don’t think so. Just straightforward information. Catonius Justus.’

  Secundus’s eyebrows rose. ‘The Praetorian commander? He’s dead. Tried and executed last year for treason.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ I said. ‘But that’s all I know at present. That’s why I’m asking. You have any more details for me?’

  ‘Not a lot. The trial was held behind closed doors, with the emperor himself presiding.’

  ‘So what form did the treason take?’

  ‘Pass again. Presumably, given who he was and the fact that Claudius took a personal interest, it had something to do with a planned assassination attempt. That’s a guess, of course, but it’s a logical one. The Praetorians are the emperor’s private guard, they’re the only guys allowed to come anywhere near him armed on a regular basis, and naturally since Gaius was murdered he’s been a bit wary of that arrangement. What else could it have been?’

  ‘So what’s the likelihood of the charge being true, do you think? He a likely candidate for treason? Justus in himself, I mean?’

  Secundus gave me a long, considering look: not Rome’s deepest or fastest thinker, Gaius Secundus, sure, but like he’d said green he certainly wasn’t.

  ‘That what this is about?’ he said finally.

  ‘Yeah. That is what this is about. But I’d appreciate your opinion.’

  He cleared his throat and steepled his fingers. ‘In that case, no,’ he said. ‘Not your obvious one, anyway. He’d a good record of loyalty, to begin with, which was naturally why he got the prefect’s job in the first place. Claudius chose him himself.’

  ‘Claudius? Claudius made the appointment?’

  ‘Sure he did. As soon as he was made emperor. Justus had served as a centurion with his cousin, Tiberius’s son Drusus, in Pannonia, the time of the revolt just after Augustus passed on. Served with distinction, too: in fact, Drusus chose him to send back to Tiberius as his and the squaddies’ rep. When the mutiny spread to the Rhine legions he did well enough to be promoted into the senior officer class, and after that he never looked back.’

  Uh-huh. And Drusus, eh? Drusus had been Julia Livia’s father. Things were definitely shaping up here. ‘You ever meet him?’ I said.

  ‘Sure I did. I knew him quite well, actually. And respected him, totally.’ He hesitated. ‘The simple truth is, Marcus, Catonius Justus was old-style legion to his fingertips. He hadn’t a treasonous bone in his body, that I’d swear to.’

  Shit. I sat back. ‘He was also accused of being Julia Livia’s lover,’ I said.

  That got me another look. ‘That’s pure garbage. Wineshop filth, and not even barely believable wineshop filth at that. Justus was in his sixties, happily married with grandkids, and like I said he was one of the straightest, most honourable men alive. He wouldn’t have looked at Livia that way, never, not in a million years. I’d sooner believe the treason charge, and I wouldn’t believe that at all.’

  Well, that was pretty categorical, and more or less what I’d been expecting. The direct connection with Livia’s father Drusus was new, though, and news. And, like I say, it went with the theory like fish sauce on beets. I stood up.

  ‘Thanks, pal,’ I said. ‘I’ll get going, let you get on.’ One last thought struck me. ‘Oh, incidentally. Justus’s replacement as prefect. Who would that be, now?’

  ‘A guy called Rufrius Crispinus.’ Secundus frowned. ‘I’ve met him as well. A complete no-accounter. He’s from Egypt originally, and rumour has it he started out selling fish down the market. None too fresh fish, either, which having met the slimy bastard I’d believe. After Justus he’s a disgrace.’

  ‘So how did he get one of the top jobs in Rome?’

  ‘Search me. The gods know he’s not up to it, not nearly, that’s for sure. I’ve a lot of respect for the emperor’s judgment normally, but this time he had his head up his rectum.’

  I grunted non-committally. Me, I very much doubted if the idea for Crispinus’s appointment had originated with Claudius himself at all; where Messalina was concerned, a weak, venal ally in one of Rome’s key political and military posts might prove useful. Still, that was by the way.

  ‘Well, at any rate,’ I said, ‘thanks again, Gaius. You’ve been a great help.’

  ‘No problem.’ Secundus stood up too. ‘Any time. Good luck with the case, whatever it is. And thanks for the invite. We’ll see you in two days, Helena and I.’

  ‘Looking forward to it,’ I said, and left.

  So. What now?

  The answer to that, unfortunately, was obvious. I’d a couple of hours to kill, at least, before the senate meeting was likely to end, and the walk between Priscus’s curio shop on the Sacred Way and the senate house was no any distance at all. As a consequence, I’d no excuse not to go and have my little chat with Priscus’s bit on the side. Besides, although I’d half-forgotten about it – or maybe just subconsciously shoved it to one side in my memory – today was the day that Mother’s three-day ultimatum was due to expire.

  It was time to grit my teeth, take the bull by the horns, grasp the nettle, and get the finger out. Or whatever.

  Fuck; I was going to hate this!

  I knew I’d struck the first snag as soon as I came through the door. No curvy brunette proprietrix this time: a burly, dark-skinned guy who looked more like a wrestler than a shopkeeper.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘That’s okay, pal,’ I said. ‘I’m just looking.’ Damn! Although to be fair I felt a small prickle of relief: embarrassing encounter postponed, and not by my doing either.

  He smiled. ‘Look all you like, sir. No hurry; take your time.’

  I wandered round the shelves. I’d misjudged the place: there was some pretty nice stuff here, even as a non-expert I could see that. Small, sure, and not-all-that-old Greek, mostly, but in very good nick, and when I checked the tags the prices seemed better than fair. If I hadn’t seen Priscus playing the elderly satyr with my own eyes I wouldn’t have had the least suspicion about his coming here: as I’d said to Mother, that was what he did, keep a lookout for likely places, particularly newly-opened ones, and add them to his browsing list.

  There was a small pottery exercise-oil flask in the shape of a goose on one of the shelves. Perfect. I picked it up and checked the tag: fifteen silver pieces. Slightly more than I’d expected, but it wouldn’t break the bank. And it would give me the conversational in that I needed. Okay; so here we went. I took it to the guy behind the counter.

  ‘Found something you like, sir?’ he said. I handed the thing over. ‘Oh, yes, the oil flask. Nice little thing, isn’t it? Corinthian, not very old, perhaps a century or so. Would you like me to wrap it as a gift for you?’

  ‘Sure, if you wouldn’t mind.’ I reached into my belt-pouch for th
e coins while he took a scrap piece of thin paper and made it up into a small parcel. ‘You Greek yourself, pal?’

  ‘I am. Athenian born and bred.’ He put the money into a box on the counter. ‘We only moved here from Athens three months ago.’

  ‘“We”?’

  ‘Me and the wife.’ He handed the parcel over.

  Uh-huh. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Dark-haired lady, quite short, yes? She was in charge the last time I was here.’

  ‘You’ve been in before, sir?’ I said nothing; if he assumed I’d actually come inside rather than hung about in the street watching Priscus snog his wife, then fine. ‘Well, that’s encouraging. We’re trying to build up a regular clientele, but it’s quite difficult in Rome, what with all the competition and the antiques business being such a specialised market. Yes, that was my Polyxene.’

  ‘She look after the shop on a regular basis?’

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed. Her family’s been in the antiques business for generations, and she knows more about the trade and the stock than I do. In fact, if anyone looks after the shop in a temporary sense it’s me, not her. She’s only popped out for half an hour to get the stuff for dinner.’

  Hell; so the relationship was definitely adulterous on both sides. And the husband seemed a nice enough man, fond of his wife. I felt really, really bad about this.

  Still, it had to be done.

  ‘By the way,’ I said. ‘I think you have a regular customer by the name of Helvius Priscus. Elderly man, looks a bit like a mildewed sheep buried in dry sand for a decade or so? Bleats a lot?’

  The change was remarkable. The guy stiffened, and the friendliness left his face.

  ‘Just exactly who are you?’ he said. ‘A relative?’

  Bugger; well, there went the ball game. I’d far rather have gone to this stage with the lady herself, gradually and in private, but it seemed confidentiality wasn’t an issue after all. Whatever was going on between her and Priscus, he was obviously aware of it already. This was not looking good.

  ‘Yeah, actually, I am,’ I said. ‘My name’s Valerius Corvinus. Priscus is my stepfather.’

  ‘Is that so, now? Then you can bloody well–’ He stopped. The shop door had opened and the woman herself came in. Her husband hadn’t actually taken me by the throat, but it would’ve been obvious to anyone who wasn’t completely insensitive to atmosphere that a situation was developing and now was definitely not the time to intrude. She paused on the threshold and her eyes went from him to me and back again.

  ‘What’s the matter, dear?’ she said.

  ‘This man’s your g–’ The husband hesitated. ‘He’s Helvius Priscus’s stepson.’

  Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh, no!’ she said, and switched to Greek. ‘Euthias, you haven’t told him about us, have you?’

  ‘Of course I bloody haven’t!’ Greek as well. ‘I only just found out myself.’

  ‘Only–’ She glanced through the open door behind her.

  Uh-oh; I knew what was going to happen next; I just knew it.

  I wasn’t wrong, either. Priscus sidled in, holding a string bag of vegetables.

  ‘Mmaah,’ he said. ‘Hello, Marcus, my boy. Now this is unfortunate.’

  Oh, shit. ‘Unfortunate’ wasn’t the word I’d’ve used. ‘Fucking embarrassing’ came close, but even that wasn’t half strong enough. The mind boggled: what the hell had we got here? Some sort of weird ménage à trois with a complaisant husband?

  ‘Ah...hi, Stepfather,’ I said. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to–’

  ‘Did Vipsania put you up to this?’ he said. Then, when I didn’t answer, ‘Ah, well, it had to come out sooner or later, I suppose.’ He closed the door carefully behind him and set the bag down. ‘In you go, darling.’ This to Polyxene, who was staring at me like I was some sort of nine-headed monster. ‘It’ll be all right, but we have to talk things over.’

  Perfectly true. And it was time for a little tact, on my side. Gods! I really didn’t need this!

  ‘Hang on, Priscus,’ I said. ‘No hassle, okay? Not as far as I’m concerned. We’re both men of the world.’ I thought for a moment. ‘At least, I am. So if you’ve, uh, decided you need some sort of an outlet for your feelings apart from Mother then it’s–’

  I stopped; Priscus was chuckling. Or snuffling, rather, which was as close to it as the old bugger had ever been able to manage all the time I’d known him.

  ‘No, no!’ he said. ‘You have it all wrong, Marcus. Mmaah! Polyxene isn’t my mistress. She’s my granddaughter.’

  I blinked. ‘She’s your what?’

  ‘My granddaughter. One I never knew I had until about a month ago.’ Oh, Jupiter! First Bathyllus, now Priscus. Maybe there was something in the air that was spontaneously creating long-lost relatives. ‘She’s my daughter’s child. I never even knew I had one of those, either, up to then, but there you are. Her name’s Melite, seemingly; my daughter, I mean. Lovely name. Lives in Athens.’

  I couldn’t get my head round this. ‘You have a daughter in Athens?’ I said. ‘How the hell did you manage that?’

  Another prolonged snuffle. ‘Dear, dear, boy! How do you think I managed it? In the usual way, of course.’ He turned to the husband. ‘Bring us out a couple of stools, will you, Euthias? I’m ready to drop, I’m afraid, and Marcus here could probably do with sitting down as well. A cup of wine, too, if you’ve got it. Not for me, for him. He looks like he needs one.’

  Too bloody right I did! The man disappeared into the rear of the shop.

  ‘You want to explain?’ I said.

  Priscus shrugged. ‘There isn’t much to tell,’ he said. ‘And it was seventy-odd years ago, after all. I was seventeen. My father had sent me to Athens to finish me off.’ Yeah, right; par for the course. It still happened; once they’ve finished their schooling boys from upper class families are sent abroad for a year, usually east to one of the Greek cities like Athens or Pergamum, to give them a bit of culture. Unofficial liaisons aren’t too uncommon, either, although Greeks tend to be even more careful about what their womenfolk get up to than we are. Things were beginning to make some kind of sense. ‘The girl’s name was Polyxene, too. Her father had an antique shop in the Collytus district near Roman Market Square, and she helped out there sometimes. We – mmaah! – became friendly, and that was that.’ He glanced at the current Polyxene, who was standing stiff as a statue. ‘After I came home she never tried to get in touch, or if she did my father destroyed the letters. I forgot about her eventually. Heady days, my boy. Heady days. Anyway, she’s long dead now, poor girl.’

  Gods! You think you know someone and... Mind you, like he’d said, it was a lifetime ago, practically two lifetimes. Although that version of Priscus I just couldn’t get to grips with; even seeing him as a raw seventeen-year-old with an eye for the girls was pushing the bounds of imagination to their limits.

  Euthias came back with the stools, and we sat. I took the cup of wine he gave me and swallowed half of it at a gulp.

  ‘So how did you know that this lady’ – I nodded towards Polyxene – ‘was your grandchild?’

  ‘Oh, my dear boy, she’s the spitting image of her grandmother!’ Priscus said. ‘Slightly older than when I knew her, of course, but it was quite eerie. I knew who she was as soon as I came into the shop, and when I asked her her name and where she came from... Well, it just confirmed things. In any case, there you are.’

  ‘So what happens now?’

  For the first time Priscus looked his usual sheepish self. ‘I suppose now that you’re here – mmaah! – I’ll have to tell Vipsania. She’d have had to know eventually anyway. All the same, it isn’t something I’m particularly looking forward to.’

  Right. Right; and I didn’t blame the poor sap. I doubted whether the crime of retrospective adultery existed on the statute books, but that would make no difference to Mother: whether she’d reasonable cause to or not, when her husband owned up to having a daughter in Athens and a spurious grandchild who ran a second
-rate antique shop on the Sacred Way she would hit the sodding roof.

  ‘Unless, of course–’ Priscus paused meaningfully and looked at me.

  I stood up quickly. Some things need nipping in the bud before they even think about getting started, and the gleam in the old bugger’s eye was definitely one of them.

  ‘Uh-uh,’ I said. ‘No way. Absolutely no way. I am not breaking the happy news to Mother. Your problem, pal, you solve it.’

  He sighed. ‘Very well, Marcus, if you’re going to be unreasonable about it.’ Jupiter! ‘I suppose you’re right. In any case, the affair was long dead and buried before I even met Vipsania, and finding Polyxene was a complete accident, so she can’t really complain, can she?’ I said nothing; pigs might fly. ‘All right, perhaps she can, at that. But worse things happen at sea, and at least I have a granddaughter I never knew existed.’

  Bathyllus again.Yeah, well: unexpected depths was right, although maybe not quite in the way that Mother had meant the phrase. Like I say, you can know someone for years and at a pinch they can still surprise you.

  ‘You’re sure you’re up to it?’ I said. ‘Telling Mother, I mean?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’ll think of something.’ A quick, sharp look that I would’ve said until ten minutes ago was completely unPriscan. ‘You can’t be married to someone like Vipsania for twenty-odd years without developing some talent for invention. Off you go, my boy. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of things.’

  ‘Fair enough, Stepfather,’ I said. ‘Good luck.’

  I nodded to Polyxene and her husband, and left.

  Gods!

  After that little revelation all I wanted to do was go home, or maybe find a wineshop somewhere, but I still had the case to consider and Marcus Vinicius to see, if I could catch him. The flag was flying above the senate house, showing that they were still in session; all the same, I hadn’t been kicking my heels outside for long before the doors opened and the august city fathers streamed forth, their deliberations ended, bound for a well-earned truffled quail or two and a pint of Falernian.

  Vinicius was one of the last to leave. I peeled myself away from the wall that I’d been propping up and went over to him. He paused, and turned towards me.