Luckily, though, the house belonging to the guy I was (hopefully) going to be staying with – a doctor friend of Clarus’s father – was near the gate I came in through. No problems there, fortunately: Clarus had given me clear directions plus a letter of introduction, while the old doctor turned out to be a widower desperate for company and only too pleased to put me up for the night. I got a pretty funny look when I asked him where I’d find the local brothel, mind.
I found stabling for my horse and then went straight round to the address he’d given me. The place was in a narrow street off the centre of the lower town, appropriately enough near the main meat market. I pushed open the door …
‘Good afternoon, sir!’ A youngish slave in a natty mauve tunic who’d been sitting on a bench in the small entrance lobby sprang to his feet.
‘Uh, hi, pal,’ I said, closing the door behind me. ‘A good afternoon to you. I was wondering if—’
‘Of course you were, sir. And the answer is yes.’
‘Ah … pardon me?’
‘A stranger in town, are you? Or perhaps you’ve just heard of our amazing two-for-one pre-festival offer?’
‘Your what?’ Jupiter! I didn’t believe this! ‘Hang on a minute, sunshine; just let me finish, OK? I only wanted to—’
‘Quite natural! And believe me, we can cater! If you’ll take a moment to read our extremely comprehensive and reasonably priced list of staff and services displayed on the wall to your left I’m sure we can accommodate you.’
Sod this for a game of soldiers. I reached out and grabbed him by the neck of his tunic, and he froze, goggling. ‘Now look,’ I said. ‘I only want to talk to the boss, OK? Strictly business. She around at present?’
‘Ah …’ He swallowed. ‘Possibly. If you’d care to wait I’ll enquire.’
‘Fine, pal. You do that small thing.’ I let him go, and he scuttled off. Gods, I hate this modern high-pressure salesmanship.
I looked round. The place, or the lobby, at least, was a bit cramped, but not bad for a provincial town, and streets ahead of its equivalent in Bovillae. The decoration – mini-fresco of badly drawn nymphs and satyrs partying in a sylvan landscape, plus a surround on all four walls of painted rectangles representing wooden panelling – looked new, for a start, which I supposed was fair enough: it could only have been eighteen months or so since the fire that had given Andromeda her freedom, and the brothel had almost certainly moved to different premises. Mind you, if the front man was anything to go by the general laid-back ethos of these places had certainly changed a lot since my young day, that’s for sure. Ah, well, you couldn’t stop progress.
Mauve-tunic came back. ‘If you’d like to follow me, sir,’ he said stiffly. I did, along a short corridor. He opened a door and stepped aside.
I’d been expecting a sitting room like Andromeda’s, but what I got was a functional office with a desk and document cubbies. Not that that had been its original purpose: the building must’ve been a private house at one time, and quite a swish one, because the room was pretty big and its far end looked out on to a peristyle court with a small garden. The result was that at this time of year it was cold as an icebox, despite two sizeable charcoal braziers. I was glad I’d kept my cloak on.
‘Thank you, Publius,’ said the woman sitting behind the desk. ‘Off you go, dear.’ Mauve-tunic closed the door behind me, and I took stock. Sixties, easy, but made-up to the nines. Auburn wig that would’ve made two of the normal variety, with a fair bit left over. Nose like the business end of a trireme and earrings that, if they moved, would clank rather than tinkle. Not exactly a subtle dresser, was Andromeda’s ex-mistress.
She didn’t look all that friendly, either. The eyes above the trireme’s beak were as frosty as the air in the room.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘What do you want?’
‘Opilia?’
‘Opilia Lucinda, yes.’
‘Valerius Corvinus. I’m looking into a couple of murders on behalf of the senate over in Bovillae.’
‘Are you, now?’ The heavily made-up eyebrows went up a notch, and she smiled. ‘That’s nice. So?’
‘One of them was your freedwoman. Andromeda. She was found dead yesterday morning. In her flat above the brothel.’
The smile disappeared and the expression on her face under its inch or so of powder and rouge suddenly went blank. There was a cup of what looked like neat wine on the desk beside her. She picked it up, drained it at a swallow and closed her eyes. I waited.
‘Holy Mother Juno!’ she murmured. ‘Oh, the poor little bleeder!’ She opened her eyes again. ‘Who did it?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. I wondered if you could help.’
She shook her head. ‘Not me, dear, I’m sorry. I haven’t seen her for over a year now.’
‘Yeah, right, I understand that. I was hoping, though, that you could fill in a bit of her background for me. About the time before she came to Bovillae. Before she came here, even.’
‘Park yourself.’ There was a stool to one side of the desk. I pulled it up and sat. She took a deep breath. ‘What did you want to know?’
‘You bought her from a guy named Quintus Caesius. About twenty years back.’
‘Seventeen. Which was her age at the time too. Lovely girl, she was. Clever, also.’
‘You happen to know why he sold her?’
‘There was a bit of trouble over a young man. One of the family. Her master wanted rid of her.’
‘Was that all?’
‘All that the gentleman told me, lovey.’ Bugger! My heart sank; it looked like I’d had a wasted journey. ‘Not that I asked for more, mind, because I was lucky to get her, particularly at the price. She was a good little worker, Andromeda, took a real interest in the job. Customers appreciate that. And she kept her looks, until we had the fire. That doesn’t happen with many in the trade, not past thirty. You’ll know about the fire, I suppose?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Dreadful, that was, and I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for her, none of us would. She kept her head, and she got us out, all of us, me and the girls. Got herself badly burned doing it, too, the silly cow.’
‘That was why you freed her, right?’ I said.
She nodded. ‘It was the least I could do, and she was finished in the trade. Scarring’s a proper turn-off for the punters.’ She frowned. ‘And now she’s dead, holy Juno rest her bones. What a bloody waste.’
‘So there isn’t anything else you can tell me?’ I said. ‘About her life before you bought her?’
‘No. I’m sorry, dear, but I can’t.’ Hell. ‘Mind you, you could always ask Galla. She might know more.’
‘Galla?’
‘One of the girls. They were very thick together, her and Andromeda. Galla was … you could call her a protégée, if you were being fancy.’
‘You think I could do that now?’
‘No reason why not. We’re quiet at the moment. Pre-festival’s always a quiet time; the punters tend to have other things on their minds. And I’m sure Galla will help you if she can.’
‘That’d be great. Thanks.’
She stood up: the chair she’d been sitting on must’ve been raised, because she was tiny. ‘You just stay here and I’ll get her, then,’ she said. ‘But give me a minute or two to break the news to the little bitch myself, because it’ll come as a bit of a shock. All right?’
‘Sure. No problem.’
She went out, and I waited. It was a good quarter of an hour before the door opened again and a girl came in. Reddish hair, probably dyed (which would explain her name), late teens, pretty, thin face. She’d obviously been crying.
I got up. ‘You like to sit down, Galla?’ I said.
She sat on the stool, while I perched on the edge of the desk.
‘How did she die?’ Quiet voice, clear vowels. I could see why she and Andromeda had got on so well. Or maybe if she’d been Andromeda’s protégée she’d used
the older woman as a model.
The kid was upset enough already. I hesitated before I answered.
‘Uh … does that matter?’ I said gently.
‘No. Not really. But I’d like to know, please.’ She was sitting prim as a well-brought-up schoolgirl, knees pressed together under her short tunic and hands folded in her lap. She sounded like one, as well. I wondered, fleetingly, what her own background was.
‘Someone hit her on the head,’ I said. ‘Probably while she was sleeping. At least, that’s what my son-in-law told me. He’s a doctor. He said she wouldn’t have known anything about it.’ Actually, when we’d had our talk about the when and how of Andromeda’s death, Clarus had said nothing of the kind. But a lie about a thing like that doesn’t do any harm.
She nodded; just once, but there was a sort of satisfied finality to the movement. ‘The mistress said you’d questions to ask me,’ she said. ‘About her life before she came here.’
‘Yeah. That’s right. It might be important.’
‘Do you know about Gratillus?’
‘Who?’
‘Gratillus. Her brother.’
‘Andromeda had a brother?’
‘Yes. He was seven years younger than her.’
‘Is that so, now?’ I said, trying to keep my voice level. ‘OK. Tell me about Gratillus.’
‘He … her master – Caesius, that was – used him.’
‘Used him?’
‘You know.’ She shrugged. ‘Bed, like. Finally he ran away. Only they caught him and brought him back. Caesius had him sent to the mines, and a month later, he was dead. A tunnel collapsed.’
Shit! I was staring at her. ‘And this happened just before Andromeda was sold, yes?’
‘Yes. One day, she took a knife and … Caesius wasn’t hurt, not even scratched, but Andromeda said it gave him a fright. She thought he’d have her killed, or mutilated at least as a punishment. She wouldn’t’ve minded either, if only she’d managed to stab him first. But Caesius sold her to the mistress instead. He said he was being merciful. That’s the word he used, merciful. On account of the circumstances. He believed it too, she said.’ She looked straight at me. ‘Andromeda hated that man.’
Yeah; I’d bet she did. Gods! ‘Was that why when she got her freedom she chose to move back to Bovillae?’ I said.
Galla nodded. ‘Even though she knew there wasn’t anything she could do to hurt him, she thought if she waited long enough there might be a chance.’
‘Of killing him, you mean?’
A slight shake of the head and a frown; not a denial, more like she hadn’t been clear and was annoyed with herself. ‘Destroying him. That was the word she always used. Death wasn’t bad enough; she wanted him to suffer first. Oh, she would’ve settled for second best, killed him outright if she could. In any case, what other way was there? The law wouldn’t help. Her brother was a slave. Caesius could do whatever he liked with him.’
True. Only it was truth with a qualification: the law’s one thing, sure, but society’s another. Caesius might’ve been within his legal rights, but if the respectable voters of Bovillae had found out that one of their great and good was in the habit of screwing ten-year-old slave boys the bastard’s political career would’ve been finished, and no one would’ve touched him socially with a barge pole. No wonder he’d got rid of her.
And she’d destroyed him right enough, in the end, or as near to it as she could manage. When he’d been found dead behind the brothel, Caesius’s carefully built reputation had taken a real hammering …
Something was nagging at the back of my mind. I reached for it, but it was gone.
‘Surely she could’ve said something,’ I said. ‘Told someone. When she came back to the town.’
Galla just looked at me; not a schoolgirl’s look this time, not within a hundred miles of it. ‘Who’d listen to an ex-slave who ran a brothel and who’d been a whore herself for the past seventeen years?’ she said. ‘Particularly since she’d another reason for bearing a grudge. You know about the nephew? The one who was sweet on her and got relegated?’
‘Mettius? Yeah, I do. He’s …’ I stopped myself.
‘He’s what?’
‘Never mind, it isn’t important.’ Telling her that Mettius was dead as well would only have complicated things. ‘Did he know? About Gratillus?’
‘Oh, yes.’
Said like it was obvious, which I supposed it was. Well, judging from Galla’s story everything added up, certainly. The only problem was that the result didn’t make sense. ‘So,’ I said. ‘The first opportunity she gets Andromeda kills Caesius. Probably with Mettius’s help. That’s what she said she’d do from the beginning, why she went back to Bovillae in the first place. Yes?’
‘She’d certainly have tried. But …’ Galla stopped. ‘Wait a moment. Are you saying that Caesius is dead too?’
‘Yeah. That was what started all this.’
She was frowning. ‘But in that case who killed Andromeda? And why?’
‘Right.’ I sighed, and stood up. ‘Good question. The answer is I don’t know, or not yet. But thank you, Galla. You’ve helped me a lot.’
‘Good,’ she said simply. ‘Can I get back to work, now? I’ve a customer waiting.’
Schoolgirl again, asking permission.
‘Yeah. Yeah, sure,’ I said.
She paused at the door, and turned.
‘I’m glad Caesius is dead,’ she said. ‘Andromeda will be pleased.’
She left, and I watched her go.
I needed to think.
I was in front of the shoe shop in the alleyway behind Andromeda’s brothel, trying to fit a pair of hobnail boots on to Marilla’s donkey Corydon, and getting more and more frustrated by the second because they wouldn’t go on over his hooves. Suddenly, there was Lucius Caesius, looking down at me, arms folded and laughing.
‘What’s up with you, pal?’ I snapped at him. ‘Never seen a donkey wearing boots before?’
He shook his head and laughed even harder. ‘You just don’t listen, do you, Corvinus?’ he said. ‘I told you, you idiot. He’s no donkey, he’s a mule. You’ll never get boots on a mule. He’s the wrong kind of animal.’
… And then I woke up. I was lying on the truckle bed in Clarus’s father’s pal’s spare room, bedclothes everywhere, soaked with sweat. Which was absolutely fine by me, because I’d got it all now, the whole boiling: in somno veritas, right enough. The details were still to come, sure, but they could wait until I’d had another heart-to-heart with Carillus.
Gods! I’d been an idiot, like the guy had said. Right from the beginning. Lucius – the real Lucius – had blown the whole case wide open that day in the wine shop; he had given me the key on a silver platter, practically in words of one syllable, and I’d ignored him.
Fool!
Oh, I knew who the murderer was now, sure I did; that much was obvious from the dream-Lucius’s crack about a mule being the wrong kind of animal. The why … well, that I could only make an intelligent guess at, but it’d come in time, no doubt, along with the rest of the fine detail.
It was just after sunup, but luckily my host was an early riser. I ate a quick breakfast, left as hurriedly as politeness would allow me to, collected my horse from the stable, and headed back down the road to Castrimoenium and Bovillae.
TWENTY-ONE
I didn’t bother stopping off at the villa in passing: Bovillae was only another four miles, it was barely noon, and I might as well finish this now.
Confirmation first. There was a hackney stables next to the Tiburtine Gate itself and it’d been a long hard ride, so instead of leaving my horse as usual at the water-trough to drink himself sick I took him in there for a rub-down and a well-earned rest with a full nosebag while I carried on to the brothel.
This time the door was open, although there was a sign on the door saying the place was closed for business due to a bereavement, and the posts and lintel were hung with cypress. I didn’t bother to kno
ck.
Carillus met me in the lobby. He must’ve read my face, because he stopped himself from saying whatever he’d been going to say, and just stood there with an expression like a patient waiting for the surgeon’s knife, or a sacrificial bull for the hammer.
Ah, hell. Get it over with.
‘Caesius was never in here at all,’ I said. ‘Not while he was alive, anyway. Not on the night he died, not at any time. That whole side of things was an invention from beginning to end.’
Carillus closed his eyes briefly, swallowed, and then nodded.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘How did you know?’
‘It’s the only answer that makes sense, pal. Why should the guy visit a brothel? One that only provided female partners, anyway. He didn’t like women, everything points to that. There was the business with your mistress’s brother Gratillus seventeen years back, and his own brother Lucius dropped enough hints about his relationship or lack of one with his wife for it to be obvious to anyone but a cloth-eared idiot like me. Oh, he had a wife, he was married, sure; but it was a marriage of convenience, on his side at least, and for him not being married wasn’t an option. Not if he wanted to get on. Bovillae’s pretty strait-laced. The good townsfolk expect their representatives to be solid family men with solid, dutiful wives in the background, even if the marriage does turn out to be childless. And there was his wife’s income from her first marriage, which would’ve helped bankroll a political career. His major-domo was in on the secret, of course: you can’t keep things from your major-domo, and he’d been with Caesius all his life. His wife and sister-in-law, too. But they were all on Caesius’s side, as it were: they wanted his reputation kept intact.’
‘He wasn’t a bad man, sir,’ Carillus said. ‘Oh, I know my mistress hated him, and she had good reason. But he was honest enough by his own lights, and he served the town well.’
Solid Citizens Page 21