‘Certainly, sir.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m terribly sorry. There isn’t anything I can do, naturally, but–’
‘Thanks, pal. It can’t be helped, these things happen.’ I waved him away.
Perilla was watching me anxiously.
‘You’ll be all right really, won’t you dear?’ she said. ‘I mean–’
‘Yeah, I’ll be fine, honestly.’ I poured the last half cup from the jug. ‘I just need a bit of time to adjust, that’s all.’
I felt drained, and sick. Drained, sick, and hopeless.
Fuck.
21
It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep will do. I woke up next morning not exactly full of the joys of spring, but at least reconciled to throwing in the towel. Like Perilla had said, it was the only sensible thing to do by a long chalk: I was beat fair and square, and although I might not like it considering the alternative it was no big deal. Rufus, I knew, would keep to his part of the bargain; personalities aside, he’d no reason to do otherwise, particularly since if he did go through with the trial whatever the outcome was he’d be publicly opening a can of worms that both he and Messalina would be far happier to keep closed.
Besides, I was looking forward to the family break in Castrimoenium: the grand-sprog, young Marcus, was rising five-and-a-half now, just getting to the interesting stage. Oh, sure, we were back and forward two or three times a year, or Marilla and Clarus came to us if Clarus could find a locum for his medical practice, but even so it was good to keep up. And if all that rustic bosk didn’t exactly suit a confirmed townie like me at least the place had a decent wineshop.
So I spent a very pleasant day bumming around while Perilla supervised the packing. Where dinner with Secundus and his wife was concerned, Meton had risen to the occasion: evil-minded, anarchic, antisocial bugger he may be, but the guy is a true professional, and one of the best chefs in Rome. So we were having a full range of starters followed by poached mullet in a honey-mint sauce, then pork in a cumin-lovage sauce with vegetables for main, and various tarts, candied dates and fresh fruit to finish. All served with a very nice Velletrian white that I’d picked up on our last Alban trip and set aside for a special occasion, plus whatever fruit juice abomination Perilla currently favoured for her and Helena, unless the lady showed a bit of sense and went for the wine instead.
Yeah, well, life wasn’t too bad, after all.
They arrived just short of sunset; perfect timing. From what Secundus had said, and knowing the guy’s tastes, I’d expected Helena to be another Furia Gemella, especially since he’d told me the two women had been friends: good looking and knows it, sassy and brassy, with a penchant for over-jewellerying themselves and a brain the size of a pickled walnut. Good looking Helena certainly was, but although I couldn’t make any judgment re the brainpower yet she didn’t fit the rest of the description at all: mid- to late thirties, slim, fairish hair, medium height, simply and tastefully dressed, and with a quiet, confident air about her that was still a long way from mousey. Large clashing earrings were something that definitely didn’t feature.
‘Valerius Corvinus,’ she said, putting out her hand for me to shake. ‘I’m delighted to meet you at last. Gaius has told me a lot about you.’ A fleeting smile that lit up her face. ‘Most of it good, you’ll be glad to know. And...Perilla, yes?’
‘That’s right.’ Perilla smiled too. ‘Pleased to meet you, Helena.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Did Gaius call me that?’ She laughed and half-turned to Secundus, who shrugged. ‘Actually, Helena’s just a family nickname. Gaius uses it, of course, but practically no one else does now except my brothers. Brother, rather. I’m really Sentia.’ Bathyllus, busy with the cloaks, paused and gave me a startled glance over her shoulder. I nodded briefly to him to show that I’d made the connection as well. ‘And no, it doesn’t matter a bit. Call me Helena, by all means.’
‘Sorry, Marcus.’ Secundus was grinning. ‘My fault.’
‘Always is, pal, always is.’ My brain was itching; oh, sure, the purple-striper world was a small one, it could easily be a coincidence and probably wasn’t important in any case, but still... Leave it for now, certainly. ‘Dinner’s on its way, but we’ve time for a quick drink first. Atrium or dining room, Bathyllus?’
‘Dining room, I think, sir. Meton is almost ready to serve.’
‘Fine.’
I led the way through and we parked ourselves on the couches, Perilla and me versus Secundus and Helena. Bathyllus did the rounds with the wine and fruit juice. Helena stuck to juice; well, no one’s perfect.
‘So,’ I said to Helena, ‘how did you happen to get landed with this guy?’
‘Marcus!’ Perilla snapped.
Helena laughed. ‘Oh, that’s perfectly all right, Perilla. And Gaius did warn me.’ She turned to me. ‘We’ve been married for over two years now. Both divorced: mine didn’t work out either, and I went first. We met through Gemella.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Right. Right.’ Shit; straight in with both feet.
Secundus chuckled. ‘No cause for embarrassment, Marcus,’ he said. ‘Our divorce – Gemella’s and mine – was perfectly amicable on both sides. And although we’d known each other for two or three years by then Helena was definitely an after, not a before. Let alone a because, if that was what you were wondering.’
‘Perish the thought.’
‘Mind you, we’d always been attracted. We’d’ve married sooner after my divorce came through if–’ He hesitated, and I felt, rather than saw, Helena stiffen. ‘If we’d been able to.’
Interesting: that hadn’t been what he was going to say originally. Still, it was none of my business, not even to the length of speculating.
In came the skivvies bearing loaded trays, plus a hand-washing bowl and napkin. Meton had done us proud: as well as the usual quails’ eggs, fish sauce, olives, and crunchy raw vegetables there was an assortment of small pastries, grilled chicken livers, and a dish each of snails in oil and thyme.
‘This is amazing,’ Helena said, holding out her hands for the skivvy to pour water over. ‘I thought this was supposed to be an informal family meal.’
I grinned. ‘Yeah, well, we don’t do much in the way of entertaining,’ I said. ‘And Meton – that’s our chef – likes to do things properly. Besides, like I told Gaius here it’s a guilt-offering for being out of touch for so long.’
The trays emptied and the skivvies left us to it, leaving Bathyllus on drinks duty. Time for a little gentle fishing.
‘By the way, Helena.’ I reached for a snail. ‘You happen to be any relation to the Sentius Saturninus who used to govern Syria?’
Beside me, Perilla froze and then shot me a sharp look over her shoulder. Probably just suspicious on principle, because I hadn’t mentioned to her that Saturninus had been Damon’s first owner, but the lady wasn’t stupid. No doubt I’d pay for this later, but at present I gave her a bland smile in return.
‘That was my father.’ Helena was shelling an egg. ‘Or maybe my grandfather, depending what time you mean. They were both out there as governors. Why do you ask?’
‘It’s just that Bathyllus here’s just got back in touch with a long-lost brother he hadn’t seen since they were kids.’ Perilla made a small, exasperated hissing noise through her teeth and dug me hard in the ribs. I winced, and covered the movement by digging the snail from its shell with the spiked end of my snail-spoon. ‘They were both sold at the same time, in Pergamum. His brother was bought by the governor, Saturninus.’
‘Grandfather, then. How interesting.’ She turned to look at Bathyllus. ‘What’s his name? Your brother?’
‘Damon, madam,’ Bathyllus said.
‘Damon.’ She frowned. ‘No, sorry, no bells. Mind you, Grandfather died before I was born, and of course he had hundreds of slaves. Was he part of the actual household, do you know?’
‘I’m not sure, madam. When the governor’s tour of duty finished he was brought back to the family’s Paduan estate.’
&nb
sp; ‘We certainly had property near Padua, yes. We still have, in fact.’ She turned round fully on the couch. ‘How absolutely fascinating! And quite a coincidence. Is he there now?’
‘No, madam. I understand that when your grandfather died he was sold on to a local merchant by the name of Oplonius.’
‘Really; what a pity. Ah, well.’ She rolled over to face the table again. ‘But it is a coincidence, isn’t it, Gaius?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ Secundus was eyeing me speculatively. ‘This, uh, wouldn’t have anything to do with why you came round to see me at the office, would it, Marcus?’
Not so green was right.
‘Absolutely nothing whatsoever,’ I lied. ‘In fact, that side of things is in abeyance, probably permanently.’ I surreptitiously massaged my bruised rib; the lady could be downright vicious when she put her mind to it. ‘You mind if we leave that alone? It’s delicate ground at present.’
He shrugged and helped himself to a stuffed olive. ‘Sure. No problem.’
‘I think, perhaps, dear, we’ll change the subject altogether.’ Perilla gave me her best dazzling smile, and I winced again, internally this time; shit, that really boded. Well, if there was going to be trouble later when she got me alone – as there undoubtedly was, in spades – at least I’d got something out of it: whatever had happened to him subsequently I was pretty sure now that Damon had told the truth about his connections with the Sentius family, which left open the possibility that...
Yeah, yeah; I know. Call it the ingrained habit of half a lifetime, sure, but with the best will in the world – and I was serious about closing the lid on the case completely, deadly serious – I couldn’t stop myself thinking. So long as it went no further than that, and I promised myself that it wouldn’t, whatever the temptation, we were okay.
Not that Perilla would’ve agreed, mind.
It was a very enjoyable dinner, and Secundus had been right: I did like Helena, I liked her a lot. But as far as any more furthering of the case went, even in the academic sense, the sum total was zilch; which, I supposed, was reasonable under the circumstances. We had the dessert, and then the ladies went off to powder their noses. Or whatever the hell women do together for half an hour when they leave the crude men behind to neck a few more cups of wine and swap all the dirty jokes they’ve been holding in all evening.
We could manage the wine part, at least, because with only the two of us drinking it there was plenty of the Velletrian left. And if not a descent to the dirty jokes level a certain degree of loosening up.
‘So, Marcus.’ Secundus held out his cup for Bathyllus to refill. None too steadily, mind: plenty of the stuff left or not, we were both of us well on the way to being stewed. ‘You sure this case of yours is permanently on ice, or were you just saying that for Perilla’s sake?’
I grinned. Yeah, he was no fool, Gaius Secundus. Mind you, we’d known each other practically all our lives, and if anyone could read between the lines as far as I was concerned then Secundus was the boy.
‘Uh-huh,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Want to tell me why?’
‘Yes. But I won’t.’
‘Political again, right?’ I didn’t answer, which I suppose was an answer in itself. He grunted and swallowed some of the wine. ‘Fair enough. But don’t forget, if I can help in any way you only have to ask. Okay?’
Well, you couldn’t say fairer than that, and something had definitely been niggling, in fact banging on the door to get in, as it were. You couldn’t really dignify it by calling it an idea, but still...
Brothers. Brother, rather...
Shit; go for it. After all, it was likely to be the only chance I’d get.
‘Uh...listen, pal,’ I said. ‘This might sound strange, but–’ I hesitated and started again. ‘You married Helena just over two years ago, yes?’
‘Sure. I told you. Or Helena did. Actually, two years and five months, if you’re counting. We married a few days before the Winter Festival.’
‘And you said you’d’ve got married before then if you’d been able to.’
‘That’s right.’
‘You care to tell me why you couldn’t?’
He frowned. ‘Marcus, what is this about, exactly?’
‘Maybe nothing,’ I said. ‘Just an itch. But believe me, I’ve learned to trust itches.’
‘She was in mourning. For her brother.’
Yes! ‘Ah...which brother would that be?’
‘She had two. Three at one time, if you want to be picky. This was the youngest one, the baby of the family, four years younger than her. Gaius.’
‘So how did he die?’
‘He was executed. For treason.’
‘What?’
Secundus made a face. ‘Yeah. Right. Simple fact is, she’s never quite got over the shock. They were always really close, far closer than she’s ever been to Gnaeus; that’s the surviving one, the ex-consul. Not that that should come as much of a surprise. I don’t like to say anything against a brother-in-law of mine, but–’ He waved his hand, luckily not the one holding the wine cup. ‘Well, there you go.’
‘So what did Gaius do?’ I prompted. ‘To deserve execution?’
‘Not a lot, if you believe Helena, which I do. But he was Scribonianus’s aide. You heard of Scribonianus, Marcus? Arruntius Scribonianus? The Dalmatian governor who staged a revolt three years back? Scribonianus committed suicide, sure, but Gaius got himself chopped a month or so later. Agents sent out from Rome specially for the purpose.’
Oh, shit. The ice was forming in my stomach. ‘Sent out by who?’
‘Claudius, of course. The emperor himself. The two legions, the Seventh and the Eleventh, that had refused to back Scribonianus, they had “Dutiful Claudian” tacked on to their titles, and the officers were given a pat on the back for being such good boys, all forgiven and forgotten. But Gaius, he was chopped. He’d been too close, you see, or that’s what was claimed.’
‘Look, pal, how do you know all this? Or how does Helena, rather?’
‘One of Gaius’s fellow officers came back and told her. We were due to get married a month later, but as it was we had to wait half a year.’
Oh, Jupiter! Good sweet Jupiter! My head was buzzing, and not altogether because of the wine.
‘Hang on, pal,’ I said. ‘One more thing. You said Helena had three brothers. Gaius and the consular, that makes two. Who was the third? Did he die or what?’
‘Uh-uh. That was Sextus. He was the second eldest, between Gnaeus and Helena.’
‘You know anything about him?’
‘Only what Helena told me, which wasn’t much. He was wild and bad both, seemingly, and there was a scandal of some kind. A big one. Helena doesn’t know the details, but the upshot was that her father managed to hush the matter up for the sake of the family and then threw the guy out on his ear. Disinherited, never wanted to see him again, the whole works.’
Yes! The back of my neck was prickling. ‘When was this?’ I said.
‘About twenty years back. Helena was sixteen, seventeen when it happened. She wasn’t too fussed – she never did take to Sextus, he was too clearly a bad lot – but young Gaius was gutted. As far as he was concerned the sun shone out of Sextus’s backside.’
‘And that was the last time Helena saw him?’
‘More or less. He came mooching back when her father died – that’d be ten or so years ago – but Brother Gnaeus sent him packing. He hasn’t shown his face or tried to get in touch since. Dropped completely off the map.’
Dear holy gods, I’d cracked it! It couldn’t be a coincidence, no way could it be a coincidence! We’d got our Oplonius!
‘Uh...look, pal,’ I said. ‘This was just between us, right? Not a word even to Helena.’
‘Forgotten already.’ He grinned. ‘Missing piece of a puzzle, was it?’
‘Yeah, something like that. Mind you, if I hadn’t asked–’ I froze as the implication registered. Oh, shit! Oh, holy ever
-loving Jupiter God Almighty!
Secundus was staring at me. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, just a thought. Nothing to do with you, Gaius.’ The hell it wasn’t; it had everything to do with him, and possibly with Helena as well...
Oh, gods!
At which point the girls came back, and all I could do was lie there and worry.
‘What on earth made you do it?’ Perilla snapped when we’d waved Secundus and Helena off in their coach and were back in the atrium. ‘I thought we were past all that!’
Here it went. I took a deep breath.
‘I can’t drop the case,’ I said.
The anger disappeared from her face, and she simply looked at me for a long time. Then she said, very quietly, ‘Marcus, you bloody, bloody fool.’
I held up a hand. ‘Just hear me out. It’s not what you think. And it isn’t as bad as you think, either.’
She sat down on the couch; I was still standing.
‘Very well, I’m listening,’ she said. Just that, and in the same quiet, expressionless voice. ‘Carry on.’
‘When I asked Secundus and his wife round for a meal I hadn’t the slightest idea who she was, right?’
‘If you say so, dear. Knowing you, however, I wouldn’t be surprised if–’
‘Jupiter, Perilla, come off it! It’s the simple, honest truth! How the fuck was I to know she’d turn out to be our Oplonius’s sister?’
Her chin came up. ‘What?’ she said sharply.
Yeah, well, at least I wasn’t getting the ice-maiden treatment any longer. And I’d certainly got the lady’s full attention. ‘Fact. I had an interesting talk with Secundus while you and Helena were out of the room using the facilities. It transpires that up until twenty years back she had a ne’er-do-well brother by the name of Sextus who was disinherited by their father and who she hasn’t had news of since. Her younger brother–’
‘Hold on, Marcus. Why should this man be Oplonius?’
‘That’s Damon again, keeping as close to the truth as he can. He told me his first master was the Syrian governor, Sentius Saturninus; oh, sure, he didn’t have any alternative, because Bathyllus already knew that from the enquiries he’d made, but still. The next step was his smoke-screen. According to Damon, when the old man died he was sold on to the Oplonius family and passed down to the son. My guess – my bet, and it’s a good one – is that there was no sale at all; that he carried on being a slave of the Sentii, and when young Master Sextus got his marching orders he went along with him.’
Family Commitments (Marcus Corvinus Book 20) Page 20