Solid Citizens (7 page)

Which reminded me … I turned to my chatty neighbour.

‘Any sign of the dead man’s brother here, pal?’ I said. ‘Lucius Caesius? Or his nephew Mettius? You know either of them by sight?’

‘Sure.’ The barber scanned the crowd, taking his time and chewing on the last of his sausage. ‘I can’t see the brother,’ he said finally. ‘Although that’s not surprising. The two couldn’t stand each other, no secret about it. But there’ – he pointed again, over to the far left – ‘that’s your Mettius. Standing over there by the shrine of the Goddess Rome, next to the fat woman with the chickens.’

I looked. There was only one possible candidate, a middle-aged guy in a sharp tunic and hairstyle years too young for him. His back was against the shrine, his arms were folded, and he was smiling with the relaxed air of someone just out to enjoy the show.

Which was just about over. Manlius had delivered his last pompous phrase and was rolling up the text of his speech and nodding to the slaves carrying the death-couch; at least, most of them were slaves, but I noticed that one of them was Anthus, in his new freedman’s cap. So they’d let him carry his master on his last journey. I was pleased about that.

The flute and cymbal players struck up again and the cortège moved off, followed by the dignitaries and whoever was going on to attend the final burning outside the town limits. Quite a few of these last, it seemed, and a fair number of them were ordinary punters: despite the circumstances, Caesius must still be popular. There again, in these small country towns you have to take what amusement you can get, and maybe even a funeral wasn’t to be sneezed at. I said goodbye and thanks to my barber pal and tagged along, glancing over my shoulder to see who else was coming.

Surprisingly – at least, it was a surprise to me – it included the nephew, who’d slipped in at the tail-end of the crowd. An even bigger surprise was that walking beside him was the brothel owner, Opilia Andromeda.

Interesting.

We went through the town, back the way the procession had come, past Caesius’s house and out of the Arician Gate, where the tombs started. A few hundred yards on, there was a big funeral pyre covered again with branches of pine and cypress, next to what was presumably the family pile. The bearers manoeuvred the death-couch on to the top of the pyre and stepped back while one of the undertakers’ men handed Manlius, as chief mourner, the lighted torch. He pushed it into the oil-soaked wood, the flames leapt up and smoke billowed, caught by a freshening breeze and shrouding the corpse.

Once the fire had properly taken hold a fairly large chunk of the crowd began to drift off back in the direction of town, leaving a hard core mostly consisting of mantle-wearers. Me, I stuck around too: this is the point in the proceedings for socialising, while the corpse is burned and the chief mourners plus the undertakers’ men wait for the fire to die down so that they can cool the ashes with wine and collect the bones for burial. I looked for the lawyer, Publius Novius – after all, I’d have to talk to him before too long – but I couldn’t see him. That was understandable, sure: the day was turning cold, no weather for an old man to be out for long in, and he’d probably have packed it in as soon as it was decent. Nevertheless, most of the senators were still around, chatting in groups; I got a nod from Silius Nerva, although he didn’t come over. Also hanging on for the final rites – surprisingly, I thought, all things considered – was the nephew Mettius. Not Andromeda, though, who I’d noticed slipping away practically as soon as the pyre was lit – out of tact, probably, since the odds were that the high-profile mourners included some of her regular customers. But there again, maybe I was doing her an injustice. She’d come to the burning, after all, and she was a busy lady with a business to run.

Mettius was standing on his own, looking at the flames and obviously lost in his own thoughts. I drifted across to him, and he glanced up when he saw me coming. He did a double-take, and his eyes widened slightly.

I might’ve been wrong, but I had the distinct impression that the guy was steeling himself.

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘I’m—’

‘Marcus Corvinus,’ he said. ‘Yes, I know who you are. You’re down here from Rome, and you’re investigating the old man’s death, right?’

Old man
. Not
my uncle
. Well, it made sense, I suppose, given the background and the fact that they’d had no contact for over ten years. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Although there’s no actual connection between the two. So how did you know, exactly?’

He shrugged; an elegant lifting of the shoulders. Ageing lad-about-town was right: the guy might dress and be barbered like a twenty-year-old dandy, but he was at least thirty-five, probably closer to forty, and he looked ten years older; it’s not the mileage that gets you, sometimes, it’s the booze, and I reckoned Mettius had sunk his fair share over the years. Not that I’m one to talk, of course.

‘Andromeda told me,’ he said.

‘Right. Right.’ I nodded. ‘I noticed you were together. You, uh, know her well?’

‘That all depends on what you mean. We’re on familiar terms, yes, of course we are, as no doubt you’ll’ve guessed from the fact that we came out here in one another’s company.’ His eyes were challenging. ‘Knowing her
well
, however – in the sense in which I suspect you used the word –
is something else entirely. I’m not married, Corvinus, but like a lot of other men in this town, married and single, I enjoy sex for its own sake and am willing to pay for it, so I’m a customer of hers. The big difference between me and a large number of her other regular clients is that I’m not ashamed to admit it.’

‘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.

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.’