David Wishart - Sejanus

Publius Vitellius.

The Cyprian Street place wasn't nearly as bad as I'd expected. It was much bigger, for a start, and it took up a good half of the tenement's first floor.

'That was your father's idea.' Agron was showing us round. 'We knocked through the party walls into three other flats. He thought maybe you'd like some extra space to scratch yourself.'

'You sure they were party walls and not load-bearers, pal?' I said.

He grinned. 'Yeah. Don't worry, the building's safe. I had a friend of mine in the trade go over it thoroughly before I gave Messalinus the go-ahead. I haven't skimped on repairs, either.' That was a relief. Most tenements are built by speculators more interested in rents than bodies, and these guys cut their investment to the bone: property's a seller's market, and there're always more punters than rooms. I had enough problems with Sejanus without worrying about waking up under five tons of rubble and the guy upstairs's furniture. 'There're eight rooms altogether. Sextus says he got lost when he first moved in.'

'Sextus?'

'You remember. Little guy with a squint. He used to help me out in the metalsmith's shop. I brought him in as caretaker. Rent-free, too, so he's saved enough to buy a nice property near the Shrine of Libera.'

Uh huh. That was another worry out of the way. Sextus was an old friend of Agron's, and he'd keep his mouth shut. Especially if he'd got no reason to grumble. Blacksmiths' assistants could work for a lifetime and still not be able to afford a place of their own.

'But Marcus! This is lovely!' Perilla was out on the tiny balcony. The view wasn't great, but at least it was a view because it looked out over a scrap of waste ground instead of into another flat across the alley the way most tenement balconies do. Someone was cooking meat on a stick in the street below, and the smells that drifted up were pretty appetising. 'It's like being on holiday.'

'Tell me that in two months' time, lady,' I said.

'Don't be jaundiced.' She came back inside and kissed me. 'Your father and Agron have done very well for us.'

'Yeah, I know.' They had; they'd performed miracles, in fact. It mightn't be what we were used to, but it was luxury compared with what I'd expected. And way beyond your average tenement dweller's wildest dreams. 'Thanks, pal.'

'You’re welcome,' Agron said. 'Come and see the rest.'

The rooms were small, but like he'd said there were a lot of them. He'd even managed to fit up a small kitchen. Meton had taken up residence already, and he was looking almost perky. For Meton, that is, which isn't saying much.

'Everything fine?' I said.

'Fine?' He frowned. 'What with?'

'With the kitchen, sunshine. Does it meet your exacting culinary standards or should we instal a couple more ovens for you?'

Sarcasm goes straight past Meton. He sniffed. '"Fine" isn't exactly the word I'd use,' he said. '"Barely adequate", now…'

Jupiter in a basket! Chefs! I cut him short. 'That's good. Just forget the sucking pig, okay? We won't be hosting any dinner parties.' Just then I noticed three large wine flasks propped up in the corner. I looked at the labels and whistled. 'Hey, now!'

The wine was Setinian. Life suddenly seemed a whole lot brighter.

Agron had come up behind me. 'Your father said you'd appreciate these. They're from his own cellar, eighteen years old now. I brought them round myself from home last night. I'd trust Sextus with my sister or my last copper penny, but three flasks of vintage Setinian might've been pushing things a bit.'

Too right! And I'd move them, too, first chance I got. Meton's kitchen was no place for this liquid gold, and we couldn't afford to risk any more unilateral binges. Meanwhile, though, they were just what I needed.

'Agron, scare up a mixing bowl and three cups, will you?' I looked at Meton and Alexis the skivvy, who'd been hard at work stashing away the stuff we'd brought with us. 'Ah, hell. House warming. Special occasion. Make it five.'

We left Meton and the skivvy with their own private party in the kitchen and took the opened flask and our cups into the living-room, the one with the balcony. You could've swung a cat in there, but only just, and there were chairs instead of couches, but at least it was homey. We sat down and I spilled some of the wine to Dad's ghost. I hoped the old guy could taste it, wherever he was. As a thank-you it was little enough. For what he'd given me he deserved all three flasks.

'So.' I raised my own cup. 'Screw Sejanus.'

'You reckon this is going to work, then?' Agron said.

'Sure it is. I just wish I could see that bastard's face when he knows I've slipped off the hook.'

'You need anything else from my side?'

'You've done enough for me already.' I sipped the wine. It was good stuff, better than mine. 'But there is one more thing. You know where Publius Vitellius lives these days?'

Perilla glanced at me sharply: she hadn't heard Marilla give me that last bit of information.

'Vitellius?' Agron set his cup down. 'Germanicus's old pal?'

'Right. If you can call him that.'

'Somewhere on the Esquiline, isn't it? Near the Virbian Incline?'

'Could be. Wherever it is I'd like his house watched for visitors. I need faces, names if I can get them. Possible?'

'You think Vitellius is involved with this, Marcus?' Perilla said.

'I know so.' I told her what Marilla had told me. 'Maybe it's coincidence, but the description fits. And the guy's a prime possibility.'

Yeah, and I'd give my eye teeth to see him nailed, too. He'd been sitting on my conscience for ten years.

Agron had been thinking. Now he said: 'It's possible. Names, no, but faces I can manage, maybe. You ever meet Cass's nephew Paullus?'

'No.' Not surprising. Cass was Agron's wife Cassiopeia. She came from a big family, and she had more nephews and nieces than a dog's got fleas.

'Paullus is the artistic one, just turned ten. Give the kid a stick of charcoal and something to draw on and he's happy. Good at it, too. He did a sketch of Cass's father that had the ugly old bastard to the life. Took him about two minutes, and then three days before he could sit down again.'

Uh huh. Paullus sounded perfect. 'This would be a long-term job, and it might be a waste of time. He'd need cover, too. Even a street kid hanging around day in day out is going to get himself noticed, especially in a high-class residential district like the Esquiline.'

Agron rubbed his jaw.

'We could give him a pastry-stand,' he said at last.

'A what ?'

'A pastry-stand. Paullus's mother makes the best spiced sweet-cakes in Ostia, and the family's got three stalls there already. One more in Rome's not going to stretch them, if you can cover the pay-off to the syndicate that he'll need to get him a patch that far off his home ground.'

'Sure.' It was ideal. No one notices a corner pastry-seller. I might even be doing the family business a favour; the Esquiline's a rich area, and if the quality was good they'd coin money hand over fist. 'Can you fix it?'

'Leave it with me.' Agron drank the rest of his wine and stood up. 'Speaking of which, it's been a long evening. I'd better be getting back.'

'To Ostia? At this time of night? Come on, pal!'

'It's almost dawn. I can get a lift on a wagon from Cattlemarket Square. Besides,' he winked, 'Cass gets lonely when I'm away.'

'How is your family?' Perilla said. 'We should have asked.'

'Growing. There's another on the way. That'll make four.'

'Congratulations.' I glanced at Perilla, but she seemed okay. 'Which do you want this time? Boy or girl?'

'A boy would be handy in the business, but another girl would even things up. I'm not fussy.' He yawned and stretched. 'I'll leave you to settle in. Don't worry, I'll keep in touch.'