Solid Citizens

by David Wishart

  ‘Fair enough,’ I said easily. ‘I’ve no problem with that.’ I glanced round at the pyre, still blazing away: the undertakers’ men were pouring on perfume and adding dried, sweet herbs, to mask the smell of cooking meat: Caesius would be almost gone now. ‘You didn’t get on with your uncle, so I’m told.’

  ‘You were told right.’ His mouth twisted. ‘But that’s putting it far too mildly. I hated the bastard’s guts.’ I blinked; not something you expect to hear, under these circumstances, with the man himself turning to ash just a few feet away. ‘So. Surprised that I’m here, are you?’

  ‘A bit, yeah.’

  ‘Don’t be. The reason’s quite simple. I wanted to see him burn.’

  There was no anger in the tone, and that made the words more chilling. ‘And why would that be, now?’ I said neutrally.

  ‘It’s no secret. And if you don’t know already, which I doubt, some public-spirited citizen’ll be delighted to tell you eventually, so I’m getting in first. You know I was relegated? For theft?’

  ‘Yeah. I knew that.’

  ‘Caesius fixed that. Him and his lawyer friend Novius. They set me up.’

  ‘Set you up? Why would they want to do that?’

  He gave me a long, appraising look, then smiled and shook his head. ‘Oh, no, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘No, that’s my business, and the details don’t matter. All I’m telling you is that I was innocent, just so you know. Ten fucking years!’ He glanced around at the chatting groups. ‘Mind you, missing out on the company of this po-faced crowd was no hardship, so maybe I shouldn’t complain too much. Bloody holier-than-thou hypocrites, the lot of them.’ He hadn’t lowered his voice, and I noticed a few sharply turned heads and disapproving frowns. Mettius had noticed them, too; he grinned, carefully raised his middle finger in the direction of the nearest ones, and held it there.

  ‘Screw you,’ he said sweetly, loudly and distinctly. The heads swung back. ‘So.’ He turned to face me again, still grinning. ‘I wish you luck. You carry on digging, with my full blessing. The more dirt you find, the better. And believe me, dirt there will be. Well …’ He glanced at the pyre; the centre had collapsed now, and there was no sign of the corpse. ‘Fun’s over, and I’d best be getting on. Things to do, places to go. I’m pleased to have met you, Corvinus. Look after yourself, and a happy Winter Festival when it comes. I’ll see you around, OK?’

  And with that he walked off towards the main drag, leaving me staring. I was still looking at his disappearing back when Silius Nerva came over: he’d been, I’d noticed, one of the punters Mettius had given the finger to.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘Really sorry. The man’s a complete disgrace, and foul-mouthed into the bargain. From a good, respectable family, too; his father would’ve been ashamed. Why he came back to Bovillae after his period of relegation expired I simply don’t know. Never mind.’ He clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Thank you for coming today; it’s appreciated. Now. Come and meet our aedile, Marcus Manlius. I was just telling him about you, that you’re looking after things for us, and he’d like to thank you personally.’

  He led me across to where Manlius was standing with my barber pal’s long drink of water, Canidius. They turned and smiled at me.

  ‘Marcus Valerius Corvinus, Marcus Manlius and Sextus Canidius,’ he said.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Corvinus,’ Manlius said. Canidius gave me a benign nod. ‘We’re very grateful – I speak for the senate as a whole, of course – that you’re helping us over this business. Most embarrassing, most embarrassing! And I noticed that that woman from the brothel had the nerve to turn up. Very poor taste, that.’

  ‘You recognized her, then?’ I said.

  He coloured. ‘I’ve … seen her, yes. Around and about in town.’

  Uh-huh. There was a short, embarrassed silence that I wasn’t going to be the one to break. I just smiled and kept on smiling.

  ‘So,’ Canidius said finally. From close up he looked a bit like a fastidious ostrich getting ready to produce an egg. ‘How is the investigation going, exactly?’

  ‘Give the man a chance, Sextus!’ Nerva laughed. ‘He’s only just started!’

  ‘Not that we want to know too many of the sordid details, mind you,’ Manlius chuckled. ‘Leave poor old Quintus some shreds of his reputation intact, eh?’

  I felt my teeth grit; between Mettius and these solid Bovillan citizens I’d take the foul-mouthed one any time. ‘As it happens,’ I said to Canidius, ‘the investigation’s going not too badly.’

  ‘Really?’ He beamed at me. ‘That is encouraging! Well done, you!’

  ‘Yeah. In fact, I’ve got a few promising leads already. This business with the burned-down wool store, for example.’ I was still smiling. ‘I understand you and Manlius here were directly concerned. I mean with the original contract, of course, not the burning itself. You like to fill me in on the background to that, while I’m here?’

  I could feel the temperature plummet like the slate from a tenement roof. The smiles vanished, and the looks I got from Bovillae’s two serving magistrates would’ve skewered a rhino.

  ‘That has nothing whatsoever to do with Caesius’s death!’ Canidius snapped. ‘It was a complete accident, and it happened six months ago!’

  I’d kept my own smile going. ‘Even so,’ I said, ‘and correct me if I’m wrong – when he took up office as censor in January he was going to set up an enquiry, wasn’t he? And that won’t be happening now. Or will it?’

  I was still getting the glares, but they were silent ones.

  ‘That has yet to be decided, Corvinus,’ Nerva said. ‘By the senate as a body.’

  ‘Not by the new censor? I was sort of assuming there’d be a new election.’

  ‘Of course, naturally there will be, but …’

  ‘And from what I’m told, Manlius here is likely to be the lucky replacement, right?’

  The aedile’s glare went up a notch. ‘Only if the citizens of Bovillae elect me as such,’ he said stiffly. ‘Which would be the outcome of due democratic process.’

  ‘Yeah. Right,’ I said. ‘Naturally, so it would, at that. I’m sorry. And of course there’ll be other candidates, won’t there?’

  ‘That is up to any interested parties to decide for themselves!’

  I nodded. ‘Sure. Sure. My apologies again. Well, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens, won’t we?’

  ‘You will not, Corvinus,’ Canidius said sharply. ‘You’re not a citizen of Bovillae, only a visitor. You’ll be long gone.’

  ‘Assuming I’ve cleared up this little problem for you by then.’

  ‘Oh, I’m convinced you’ll’ve done that, my dear fellow!’ Nerva beamed at me, after shooting Canidius a sideways look. ‘Don’t be so modest. Quintus Libanius over in Castrimoenium tells me he has every confidence in your abilities.’

  ‘Well, I’ll certainly do my very best in that direction, sir. We’ll get there eventually, don’t you worry. Wherever there happens to be.’ I gave him a corresponding beam of my own. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be getting back home. Delighted to have met you, gentlemen. A real honour.’

  I turned and walked away, feeling their eyes boring into my shoulder blades. I’d enjoyed that little exchange. Like I said, I’d take Mettius over those two smarmy buggers any day of the month.

  The flames were dying down, and the undertakers’ men were beginning to move in, pulling the pyre apart at its edges with hooked poles so that it collapsed completely in a flurry of burning wood and sparks. Enough for today; I reckoned I’d done pretty well, all told. At least it was a start. And I could consider Manlius’s and Canidius’s cages well and truly rattled.

  Home.

  SIX

  I got back just a smidgeon late for dinner, which with Clarus and Marilla’s chef Euclidus running things as opposed to the ultra-picky Meton was no big deal for a change. Euclidus might not be anything like Meton’s class, but at least you didn’t get the
five-star tantrum and the three-day sulk if you weren’t exactly on time for a meal. As it was, the slaves had just ferried in the plates and the range of starters, so we hadn’t missed anything important. I lay down on the couch next to Perilla, filled my wine cup, and helped myself to a selection.

  ‘So how did you get on, dear?’ she said when I was firmly ensconced. ‘Successful first day?’

  ‘It was OK,’ I said, reaching for the snails in oil and oregano. ‘In fact, pretty good, all told.’ While we worked our way through the nibbles, I gave the three of them – Clarus and Marilla were sharing one of the other two couches – the basic run-down of events. ‘It’s a lot too early for any definite theories yet, sure, but at least the leads and the list of possible perps are firming up nicely. Pillar of the community and solid citizen the guy might have been, but he was obviously a lot less than popular in some quarters. And getting himself murdered less than a month before he was due to take up office when he’d promised to look into a fire in the town’s wool store is a tad too coincidental for comfort.’

  Clarus was helping himself to the haricot bean purée. ‘I’d heard about that,’ he said. ‘It was a real scandal at the time. Rumour was that Manlius had shifted a lot of the bales elsewhere beforehand, sold them off privately, and started the fire himself to cover things up.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That much I got at the wine shop. Mind you, that’s par for the course. A warehouse fire’s a conspiracy-theory godsend to your wine-shop punter, particularly when a public figure’s involved. Me, I’d’ve been surprised if there hadn’t been rumours.’

  ‘Wouldn’t something like that be noticed?’ Perilla said.

  ‘Oh, no.’ Marilla shelled a quail’s egg and dipped it in the fish sauce. ‘Or at least it probably wouldn’t. Once the shearing was over there’d be no need for anyone to go into the place, would there? Not until the fleeces were sold, anyway. And scams like that go on all the time.’

  ‘How interesting. Do they really, dear?’ Perilla said quietly. She had her prim look on. ‘And how would you know, now?’

  Uh-oh.

  ‘Corvinus?’ Marilla grinned at me. ‘I am right, aren’t I? They do.’

  Uh-oh was right: straight in with both feet. A lovely girl in many ways, our adopted daughter, but sometimes she was as sen-sitive to the nuances as a brick. I glanced sideways at Perilla. Her lips were set in a disapproving line: it was OK for me to play the sleuth, but the lady had her standards where Marilla was concerned. We might be in for a few squalls here. Time for a bit of tact. ‘Yeah, well, Princess,’ I said. ‘Maybe so. But so far it’s just that – no more than a rumour. Oh, sure, Manlius and his pal Canidius might well be as bent as a couple of tin sesterces, in which case it may be relevant, but I’m suspending judgement at present.’

  ‘I’d take the whole thing with a pinch of salt myself, Corvinus,’ Clarus said. ‘From what I’ve heard, those two may have an eye out for the main chance, but they’re no worse than your average local politician, and even if they were it doesn’t make them potential murderers, does it? Besides—’

  There was a loud crash just outside the dining-room door.

  ‘What the fuck?’ I said.

  ‘Marcus!’ Perilla snapped.

  ‘Yeah, well …’

  Bathyllus came in holding a silver tray; just the tray itself, with nothing on it. He was closely followed by Lupercus, and neither of them, to use a gross understatement, looked a happy bunny. No eye contact between them, for a start.

  Bugger. This did not look good. The family dinner was turning into a major disaster.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Lupercus said stiffly to Clarus. ‘There’s been an accident with the wine. No real damage done though, and I’ll see that the mess is cleared up immediately.’

  ‘Yes, OK, Lupercus,’ Clarus said. ‘No problem. These things happen. Go ahead.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ He turned.

  Accident, nothing: I hadn’t seen our respective major-domos put in a simultaneous appearance since we’d got here. And going by the body language blood was within an ace of being spilled on both sides.

  ‘Hang on a minute, Lupercus,’ I said. ‘OK, Bathyllus, your turn. Let’s have your version of the story. In detail, and unexpurgated this time, please.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, sir.’ Innocence radiating from every pore, combined with overtones of politely understated outrage: a chief Vestal nailed for shoplifting couldn’t’ve done it better. Still, I wasn’t having any of that, not even from Bathyllus. When someone says I don’t know what you mean, the chances are that they know damned well, and the business smells as high as an eight-day-old sprat.

  ‘Think about it, sunshine,’ I said. ‘Weigh up all the semantic possibilities. Meanwhile, I’ll count to five, and if you still haven’t given me a straight answer you’ll be mucking out the latrines with a very small sponge. Clear? One.’

  ‘Lupercus has already told you, sir. It was a simple accident.’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘He was carrying the tray of wine cups and the jug and he tripped.’

  ‘Three, four, five.’

  ‘Sir, that is not fair! You cheated!’

  ‘Bugger that. Just take a deep breath, think of the latrines and tell me the truth. Now. Last chance.’

  Bathyllus fizzed for a bit. Finally, he held up the tray he was carrying.

  ‘There’s a thumbprint on this, sir,’ he said. ‘A greasy thumbprint.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s perfectly distinct. Look for yourself.’ He thrust the tray under my nose. ‘I’ve told him several times about washing his hands before he touches the silver, but he just won’t listen. It’s appalling! Besides, serving the wine is my job. It has to be done properly.’

  I stared at him. He was almost gabbling, which was about as likely from Bathyllus as seeing him do a tap dance round the dining room wearing a tutu and clogs.

  ‘Is that all?’ I said. ‘This is all about a fucking thumbprint?’

  ‘But, sir!’

  Jupiter in bloody spangles! ‘Right, little guy,’ I said. ‘A word, please. Outside. Now.’

  He gave me a look, then tucked the tray under his arm and marched out into the corridor. I got up and followed.

  ‘Now,’ I said quietly when I’d got him alone. ‘You remember what I said when we arrived? About give and take while we’re here?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I remember very well.’

  ‘So quote me. Verbatim.’

  ‘You said, “We are not at home to Mr Refuse to Compromise”, sir.’ A sniff. ‘Whatever that meant.’

  ‘Correct. And never mind the qualification; you get the general gist, don’t you?’ He didn’t answer. ‘Listen, pal, we’ve all got to learn to share, OK? It’ll be the Winter Festival in a few days, and that’s no time for throwing tantrums, is it?’ Still silence. ‘Now you go back in there and apologise to Lupercus, or you go straight home on the next available cart. Got it?’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Ah-ah. I mean it. No buts. Just do as you’re told. Repeat after me: “Lupercus, I am very sorry …”’

  ‘Sir!’

  ‘Come on, Bathyllus. You can do it if you try. “Lupercus, I am very sorry …”’

  He clenched his teeth. ‘Lupercus’m’ver’sorry …’

  ‘“For the way I behaved …”’

  ‘F’r’way I b’haved.’

  ‘“And it won’t happen again.”’

  ‘’N’ it won’t h’ppn ’gain.’

  I patted him on the shoulder. ‘Good. Well done. That wasn’t so difficult, was it? Now in you come.’

  I went back in, with Bathyllus trailing behind.

  ‘Bathyllus has something to say to you, Lupercus,’ I said, lying down again. ‘Go ahead, sunshine. In your own time.’

  Bathyllus drew himself up to his full five feet four. ‘Lupercus,’ he said, ‘I apologise for having tried to take the wine tray from you before you brought it in, even if its filthy co
ndition was totally obvious to anyone not completely devoid of—’

  ‘Bathyllus!’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said stiffly. ‘I am doing what you asked. Apologising.’ He turned back to Lupercus. ‘Please accept my assurances that the incident will not be repeated. Always, that is, given that in future you—’

  Gods! ‘Bathyllus! Just cut it out, OK?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course. That is all I have to say at present, Lupercus. Now if you’ll excuse me, sir, madam.’ He left, with huge dignity.

  Bugger.

  ‘You can go too, Lupercus,’ Clarus said. ‘Tidy up the mess, please, and bring us some more wine.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’ Lupercus left. There was a long silence.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Perilla said faintly. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’

  Marilla giggled.

  The lady put down the stuffed olive she’d been holding. ‘It’s not funny, Marilla,’ she said. ‘Not really. Bathyllus takes himself and his position very seriously. And he has very high standards.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ I said. ‘Like I told him outside, he’s got to learn to share. This isn’t his house; he’s a guest, even if he is one below stairs. Lupercus is the major-domo here, and there’s an end of it. He’ll just have to accept that.’

  ‘Do you think he will?’ Perilla said.

  ‘Maybe not. But that’s his problem, unless he wants to be shipped back to Rome and spend the festival there. I told him that, too.’

  ‘You ever happen to notice the interesting thing about thumbprints, Corvinus?’ Clarus said. ‘Any fingerprints, really.’

  ‘What?’ I looked at him blankly. Shit, you expected non sequiturs like that from airheads like Priscus, but Clarus was the solid, no-nonsense, sensible type.

  ‘They’ve got sort of whorls, and every one’s just that little bit different.’

  ‘Yeah?’ I said. ‘So?’

  ‘So if someone picked something up, like a silver tray, like Lupercus did, and left a fingerprint on it, you’d be able to tell who’d done it. Picked up the tray, I mean.’ He was looking at the expression on my face. ‘Because if you got him to leave another fingerprint on something else and compared the two it’d prove that … I mean, you’d know …’ We were all staring at him now. He tailed off and cleared his throat in embarrassment. ‘Or there again maybe you wouldn’t. Forget it. It was just an idea.’