Trade Secrets

by David Wishart

  ‘Not exactly.’

  I thought the answer would surprise him, but he just grunted.

  ‘Vinnia’s a widow,’ he said. ‘Has been for the past ten years. Her husband’s name was Manutius, Gaius Manutius, and he worked for your Marcus Correllius.’

  Uh-huh; it had to be something along those lines, because I couldn’t really see the lady in the role of a jilted mistress. Mind you, it wasn’t altogether beyond the bounds of possibility; there was no accounting for personal taste, and from what I’d heard of him so far Correllius hadn’t exactly been an Adonis himself.

  ‘Is that so, now?’ I said. ‘Doing what?’

  He hesitated. ‘Well, sir, that I can’t rightly say, and Vinnia’s never told me. That’s if she knows herself, of course. It was nothing too grand, but it brought in the silver pieces hand over fist, and no mistake. Which was how she had the money to buy the wineshop after Manutius died.’

  ‘You’re telling me there was something shady going on, yes?’

  Another hesitation. ‘As to that, I wouldn’t like to swear,’ he said. ‘But, well, it’s more than likely, under the circumstances and given the gentleman in question. Not where Vinnia was concerned, mind, I’d not believe that for a moment. She’s a good girl, is Vinnia, hard as nails, sure. She keeps herself to herself and no mistake, like you saw, and she has a tongue like a razor. But she’s straight, straight as they come. Manutius, now, he was another thing altogether. A bit of a bad lot all round, by all accounts. She wouldn’t thank me for saying so but she’s better off without him.’

  ‘So what exactly happened? How did he die?’

  ‘There was an accident. Over at the docks.’

  ‘An accident?’

  ‘That’s the story, at any rate, and me, I couldn’t tell you no different. Vinnia, now … well, she’s always been sure it was Correllius’s doing.’

  ‘She say why?’

  ‘No. Like I said, she’s close-mouthed at the best of times, and that goes double where Manutius is concerned. But she hates Correllius like poison, that I can say.’

  ‘You have any details? About the accident, I mean.’

  ‘Nah. I never knew the man myself. I only know Vinnia through the wineshop.’

  ‘You know of anyone who did?’

  He considered. ‘She’s talked about a Cispius once or twice. Him and Manutius worked together, and they were close mates, seemingly. The place was pretty run down when she bought it, and he did a few odd jobs for her as a favour when she was putting it to rights. Plastering and that.’

  ‘Where would I find him?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue, sir. That was before my day, and he was no spring chicken even then. He’s probably retired now, or maybe even dead himself.’ Bugger. ‘Except—’ He frowned. ‘Hold on, hold on! Let me think.’ I waited, while he stared into space. ‘There was a daughter that Vinnia mentioned once. I can’t recall her name, but she was married to a fuller with a shop up by the river near Guildsmen’s Square.’

  Yeah, well, it was better than nothing. And a fuller’s shop in that part of town shouldn’t be too difficult to trace; I could give it a shot, at any rate.

  ‘Vinnia runs the wineshop on her own, right?’ I said. ‘No family?’

  ‘Not in Ostia. Not even in Italy, for all I know; she’s from Gaul originally, Narbo, I think, down in the south. Her first husband – there was one before Manutius, but I can’t even tell you his name – emigrated to Ostia with her and died a year or two later. Then she took up with Manutius, the gods know why, and remarried. She has a brother, that I do know, but he’s in the army. He signed up twenty-odd years back, so he’s in Germany now, on the Rhine with the Second Augustan, and liable to stay there.’

  ‘No kids?’

  ‘Not by the first marriage, no. She and Manutius had two, but they died young.’

  ‘And she didn’t think of marrying again after his accident?’ A fair question; it’d been ten years, after all, and for someone in Vinnia’s position getting by as a woman on her own wouldn’t be easy.

  He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It hasn’t been for want of asking, neither; it’s eight years since my Atellia died, and I’d’ve taken the lass on myself like a shot, still would if she’d have me.’

  Uh-huh. Well, I reckoned I’d got just about all that was going at present where our taciturn wineshop lady was concerned. Not that I was complaining, mind: at least I’d got another strand to follow up, and you never knew; something might come of it in the end.

  I stood up. ‘Thanks, pal. You’ve been really helpful.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Don’t mention it. I mean, really don’t mention it. If she found out I’d been blabbing she’d have the skin off me. And I’ve still hopes in that direction.’

  I nodded. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘You’ve got it, friend; my lips are sealed. And good luck with the lady, OK?’ I paused. ‘Oh – one more thing, before I go. You happen to know a guy by the name of Fundanius?’

  He frowned. ‘I’ve heard of him.’

  ‘Businessman, right?’

  ‘Not the kind I’d care to do business with, or any of mine.’

  ‘Crooked?’

  Rubrius hesitated and tugged at his ear. ‘Well, now, sir, that I wouldn’t like to say, not in so many words, like. He’s a big wheel locally, he has a finger in quite a few pies on the business side, and he’s well in with the gentlemen that run the guilds. A past president himself, as it happens, a year or two back. But the word on the street is that he can sail pretty close to the wind, and he’s not above cutting corners when he can get away with it. Him and Correllius are a pair, if you want the truth. I’d not trust either of them to tell me the time of day.’ He glanced up at me. ‘You have a reason for asking?’

  ‘Not particularly. It’s just when I was at Correllius’s house earlier on talking to his widow the guy showed up to offer his condolences.’

  Rubrius chuckled. ‘Is that so, now?’ he said. ‘Well, there’s a turn-up!’

  ‘Yeah? How so?’

  ‘From what I’ve heard the buggers couldn’t stand each other. Famous for it. They’ve been at daggers drawn for years.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Sure. Personal and business both. Give either of them the chance to do the other down and they’d grab it with both hands any day of the month. I said they were a pair, but cat and dog’s more like it. Or maybe two dogs after the same bone. “Condolences”, right? Me, I’d’ve thought Fundanius was more likely to spit on Correllius’s grave.’

  Uh-huh. Interesting. And it might explain Mamilia’s reaction, too, when the guy had walked in; there was no love lost there, from what I could tell. Mind you, if that was the case it didn’t explain why Fundanius had called round in the first place. Quite the reverse, in fact …

  ‘You happen to know where he lives?’ I said.

  ‘He has one of them fancy villas outside of town, on the coast between the two gates.’

  So we were practically neighbours, currently. I logged the information for possible future use. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Thanks again, pal. I’ll let you get home. Apologize to your daughter for me, will you?’

  ‘Bless you, Secunda won’t mind. She’ll be busy enough getting the dinner ready, and I’m always grateful for a chat. I’ll see you again some time no doubt, if you’re back in to Vinnia’s place.’

  ‘Yeah, that I can guarantee.’ I could, as well: close-mouthed or not, the lady had serious beans to spill, that was for sure. ‘And the wine’s on me, right?’

  ‘That’s kind of you, sir, although there’s no need. I look forward to it. You’ll remember your promise, though?’

  ‘Sure. No worries.’

  I gave him a wave, and set off for Agron’s yard. The afternoon was wearing on now, Agron’s was on the other side of town and if I wanted to avoid putting Meton’s nose out of joint over the dinner timing – always a bad idea – what with recent developments, it would have to be a quickie. Still, I’d plenty of time
now the accommodation problem was sorted out: tracking down Vinnia’s ex-husband’s pal, although Guildsmen’s Square was on my way, could wait for another day. As could the question of Fundanius. That looked like opening up a profitable avenue to explore as well. All in all, then, I was left with plenty of food for thought here, and no mistake. A talk with Perilla was definitely in order.

  Things were progressing nicely.

  SIXTEEN

  I was lucky; Agron was still at his yard, helping one of his workmen to fit the wheels onto a new cart. He looked up when I came through the gate and did a double-take.

  ‘Corvinus?’ he said. ‘What’re you doing here?

  ‘Hi, pal.’ I went over. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Busy, as you see. We’ve got an urgent order in. Give me a moment, right?’ He lifted the wheel he was holding onto the raised axle, gentled it into position, fitted the restraining bolt, and stepped back. ‘So. What brings you back to Ostia?’

  I shrugged. ‘You know that case I mentioned?’ I said. ‘Well, there’ve been developments.’

  ‘Just leave it at that, Sextus,’ he said to the workman. ‘We’ll finish the job tomorrow.’ Then, to me: ‘Involving that Nigrinus bastard? The guy who was going to punch your lights out in the wineshop?’

  ‘Possibly. Probably, in fact. But not directly, at least for the present. It’s a long story. You got the time to split a jug?’

  He grinned and wiped his forehead with a rag. ‘Make it a cupful. Cass was expecting me back an hour ago. Unless you want to come straight round to the house, of course. You staying?’

  ‘No, not this time. At least, I am, but we’ve made arrangements.’ I told him about Fulvina’s villa. ‘And a quick cup is just fine with me, because I’ll have to be getting back too.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He took the gate key from his belt and laid it on the cart’s tailgate. ‘Lock up when you go, right, Sextus? I’ll see you in the morning.’ He turned back to me. ‘Balbus’s it is. But no more than a few minutes, mind, because Cass’ll kill me. You too, when I tell her.’

  Yeah, that I’d believe: Agron’s wife, Cass, was a lady that you did not cross. ‘Deal,’ I said.

  The wineshop wasn’t far, opposite the theatre at the corner of Boundary Marker Street and on Agron’s way home. We went in, I ordered two cups of Massic, and we took them to one of the side tables.

  ‘So,’ Agron said. ‘What exactly is this case of yours?’

  I took a sip of the wine. ‘You know a guy by the name of Marcus Correllius? Local businessman. One of the town’s Great and Not-so-Good, if I’ve got it right.’

  Agron frowned. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard of him, certainly. And from what I’ve heard, Not-so-Good’s putting it mildly. He involved in this?’

  ‘In a way. He’s dead, murdered or as good as.’ I gave him the details. ‘Me, I’d like to know why, but it turns out I’m in a minority of one. Even his wife seems to be glad enough to be shot of him. When I called round she practically threw me out on my ear.’

  Agron was still frowning; a serious-minded guy, Agron, at the best of times, but he was currently looking even more serious than usual.

  ‘You want a piece of advice?’ he said.

  ‘Sure. Always in the market.’

  ‘Then drop it. Just take this case of yours, at least the Correllius part, to the deepest hole you can find, drop it in, and pile the dirt on the top. When that bastard was alive he wasn’t a safe man to mess with. If someone killed him then it goes double where they’re concerned.’

  Ouch. Even so, I shook my head. ‘I can’t do that, pal. You know I can’t.’

  He grunted. ‘Then be careful. Be very, very careful. You hear me?’

  I took a swallow of my wine. ‘So, ah, why would that be? If he was an out-and-out crook, surely the authorities—’

  ‘Listen, Marcus.’ Agron set his cup down on the table. ‘I’ve just heard vague stories, right? Stories and rumours, third, fourth hand. I don’t actually know anything. On the face of it, Marcus Correllius is – was, now, from what you’re saying – one of the town’s top businessmen. As far as the legal side of things goes, he’s squeaky-clean respectable, and he was careful to keep it that way. But there’ve been … accidents. People who’ve run foul of him have got themselves hurt, one way or another. Businesswise, financially, physically, you name it. Sometimes fatally hurt, OK?’ I remembered the wineshop owner Vinnia’s husband. ‘Nothing anyone can prove, that’s the point. Certainly nothing to implicate Correllius himself. So my advice, particularly if no one’s twisting your arm over this, is just back off. It isn’t worth the risk. Understand?’

  ‘Yeah, I understand. Point taken.’

  ‘But it won’t make a blind bit of difference, yes?’

  I grinned. ‘How about a Publius Fundanius? You heard of him as well?’

  He was staring at me. ‘Gods alive, Corvinus! You certainly know how to pick them, don’t you?’

  ‘It’d seem so, yeah. He’s crooked as well?’

  ‘Fake as a wooden denarius. Everything I said about Correllius applies to him too. In spades.’

  Uh-huh. I’d thought it might, at that. Bugger. ‘OK. To change the subject. Or rather, not to, but you know what I mean. You manage to trace Siddius yet? The careless crane operator who dropped or didn’t drop that load of amphoras over at the docks?’

  ‘No. No luck so far. I’m still trying.’

  A pity; Siddius was someone I really wanted to talk to. Even so, Agron and his contacts had jobs and lives of their own to see to. I couldn’t expect a twelve-hours-a-day job, and I couldn’t expect miracles.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘You need any help here? Help in general, I mean. This isn’t your town, and I know some pretty big lads who’d be glad to act as minders. Watch your back for you, that sort of thing.’

  I shook my head again. ‘Uh-uh. Thanks, Agron, but I’m OK. At least, I think I am.’

  ‘Thinking isn’t the same as being sure, and it can get you killed. I’ll say it again: Ostia isn’t Rome. We may be a small pond here, but our big fish have pretty large teeth, and it’s those bastards’ pond.’

  ‘I won’t forget.’

  ‘Fair enough. But remember, the offer’s always open if you change your mind.’ He drained his cup and stood up. ‘Right. I’d best be shifting. Keep in touch, OK?’

  ‘Sure. We’ll have you and Cass round to dinner at the villa once Meton gets his act together.’

  ‘Look forward to it. Say hello to Perilla for me.’ He turned to go, then turned back. ‘And Corvinus. One last warning: no heroics, agreed? If you can’t be smart then be sensible.’

  ‘You’ve got it.’

  He left. I finished my own wine, took the cups back to the counter, and set off for the villa.

  SEVENTEEN

  I got back in time for a quick steam in the bathhouse before the dinner gong went. Then, changed into a fresh tunic, I joined Perilla in the garden. Bathyllus had had the local minions carry out the requisite furniture, and he was currently supervising the ferrying of the starters.

  ‘We eating al fresco then, little guy?’ I asked him as I stretched out on the other couch.

  ‘That was my idea, Marcus,’ Perilla said. ‘It’s a lovely evening, and it’d be a shame to eat inside. Besides, it’s part of the holiday.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ I held up my wine-cup for Bathyllus to pour. ‘So what are we having tonight, Bathyllus?’

  ‘Braised chicken with a pungent ginger dressing, puréed greens with a lovage-savory sauce, and a chickpea and fennel casserole, sir. Meton brought the ingredients in the coach with us from Rome.’

  Yeah; that made sense: Meton likes to do his market shopping first thing, as soon as the stalls open for the day. And he would’ve as soon sent out for a takeaway from the nearest cookshop as trust the local staff to order in before we arrived. He might be a surly bugger when he liked, which was most of the time, but where food was concerned he was a professional to his grubby fin
gernails.

  ‘Great.’ I reached out for a quail’s egg and dipped it in fish sauce.

  ‘So.’ Perilla did the same. ‘How did your afternoon go?’

  I gave her the rundown. ‘The Correllius ménage is a weird set-up. And my informants – Agron and my butcher pal – were pretty much agreed that the guy was crooked as they come, or the next thing to it.’

  ‘It’s odd that his wife wasn’t interested in finding out who stabbed him, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, well, there could be several reasons for that. Barring the simplest one that she’s just a cold-hearted bitch.’ I leaned over for the wine jug and topped up my cup. ‘Which she is, no question. Mind you, from what I know of Correllius they weren’t exactly a well-matched couple. He had a good twenty years on her for a start, and he was a real barrel of lard, while she wouldn’t’ve been out of place at a Top Five Hundred get-together. Soignée. That the Greek word?’

  ‘It’ll do.’

  ‘Right. That lady was soignée in spades.’

  Perilla selected a fried broad-bean rissole. ‘Do you think she might’ve been behind the stabbing herself?’ she said.

  ‘It’s the most obvious explanation, sure.’ I took a swallow of the wine: if Meton had brought along a stock of culinary supplies with us, I’d had Bathyllus do the same on the liquid side, and we were well-fixed. Oh, the villa would have a pretty good cellar, no question, and Fulvina’s husband would keep it stocked, but you can take cadging too far. Besides, I wouldn’t altogether trust a guy whose métier was Aqueducts and Sewers to have a good nose for wine. ‘The fact that he hadn’t actually been murdered and the authorities weren’t interested in an investigation would be a godsend to her. And we wouldn’t have to look far for the actual perp. His exec, Doccius, fits the maid’s description perfectly, Mamilia clearly has him eating out of her hand, and equally clearly he’s not too cut up about his boss’s death either.’

  Perilla set the remaining half of the rissole down on her plate.

  ‘You’re saying that Doccius and the missing businessman, Marcus Pullius, are the same person?’ she said.