David Wishart - Illegally Dead

‘No. But they will, won’t they?’ The big hands flexed at her sides in spasmodic jerks; if this wasn’t hysteria it was the next thing to it. I wondered if I should call the slaves. ‘As far as not reporting the fact that Cosmus had gone missing is concerned, I’m sorry, however important it may be it hasn’t been up to now. Or not to me. But I’m not a fool, Corvinus, I know the boy wouldn’t have murdered Lucius unprompted, he had no cause and he didn’t have the wit. And when a man dies from poisoning his wife’s the first to be suspected, isn’t she, especially when she…when there were disagreements between them. So don’t pretend that the possibility that I’m a murderess hasn’t crossed your mind!’

‘Veturina, I never — ’

She held up a hand. ‘Now I want you to listen to me very carefully, please,’ she said. ‘I loved and respected my husband for thirty-six years, since the day he took me from my father’s wineshop in Bovillae. If he changed towards me — and that was only in the past year or so — then it was because he was ill. It wasn’t him any longer, not Lucius, and in his right mind he would have despised himself for behaving as he did. I may have hated the way he treated me latterly, indeed I found it unbearably painful, but I did not stop loving him for what he had been for one single minute. Now under these circumstances if you or anyone else thinks that I could murder him then you’re totally wrong.’

Well, if she’d been acting there then Roscius couldn’t’ve managed it better. Not that the little speech didn’t open up another intriguing avenue, mind, although in her present mood I wasn’t going to bring that up with the lady. Not yet, anyway.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Point taken. Then who do you think did?’

She held my eye for a good half minute. Then the anger and stiffness went out of her and she dropped her gaze. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘That was unfair, completely unfair. None of this is your fault, and you’ve been very kind. It’s just that somehow I feel guilty for Lucius’s death. Even although I’ve no reason to. Does that make sense?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It makes perfect sense.’

She’d moved across to a pedestal with a marble bust on it crowned with cypress: Hostilius himself, presumably, when he was younger. The face was strong-featured and confident. If the artist hadn’t lied, or exaggerated the way they sometimes do, he’d been a very good-looking guy who knew his own mind and took a pride in himself. Veturina rested her fingers on the bust’s shoulder, like a caress. Then she turned back to me.

‘The answer to your question is no,’ she said. ‘I can’t even suspect. I’m sorry again, but there you are.’

‘How about his partner in the firm?’ I said.

‘Quintus?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Why would Quintus want to kill Lucius?’

Quintus. Not Acceius. Interesting. ‘Someone did. They didn’t get on too well, I understand, and the situation was getting worse. Also’ — I hesitated; we were on dangerous ground again here — ‘there was your husband’s, uh, personal accusation.’

Veturina coloured. ‘You mean that we were committing adultery together.’ I said nothing. ‘Listen, Corvinus. Quintus and I were — are — friends, close friends and have been for years, ever since he and Hostilius became partners. I have the greatest respect for him, as he has for me, but I swear to you, and you can believe me or not as you please, that we are not and never have been lovers. Is that perfectly clear?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s clear.’

‘Good. I’m glad.’ She turned her head away sharply and her voice tightened. ‘Many of the things Lucius said to me — and about me, to other people — over the past year I found very, very hurtful. The charge that I was committing adultery with Quintus was among the worst. And, just to complete your education, if you’re interested in other salacious details of a similar nature you might also like to know that he accused me, both in private and in public, of sleeping on a regular basis with a selection of our better-looking slaves.’ She turned back to face me. Her cheeks were wet. ‘If you should care to believe that unpleasant little squib then I’m sorry for you. You don’t know me, and you didn’t know Lucius in the final stages of his illness.’

‘Right. Right,’ I said. Then, gently: ‘Veturina, I’m sorry, but I’m only doing my job, okay? The Castrimoenian senate have asked me to — ’

‘Then it’s a filthy job, that’s all I can say.’ She wiped her eyes clear with a fold of her mantle. ‘Whether it has to be done or not. As far as I’m concerned both you and the Castrimoenian senate can go to hell.’

‘Yeah.’ There was an awkward silence; then, abruptly, she turned her back on me again and lowered her forehead against the bust’s. Well, it was time to leave — past time — and I’d got as much as I could reasonably expect at present. ‘Ah…I wonder if I could talk to Scopas now?’ I said. ‘Oh, and maybe your brother, if he’s around, and your adoptive daughter?’

She stood motionless for a second or two more. Then she turned round again and wiped her eyes. ‘Scopas, of course,’ she said, and from her voice you’d’ve thought we’d spent the last ten minutes discussing the weather. ‘Castor’s out at present, I think; he lives almost completely separately from Lucius and me in the other wing, so I can’t be sure, Scopas will know for certain. Paulina, I’m afraid — there’s been no formal adoption, by the way, she’s simply our ward — has gone to Rome for a while to stay with Lucius’s sister. She found the death very upsetting, and I thought it was for the best.’

Damn. Still, if she was little more than a kid she probably couldn’t help much anyway. I really wanted to talk to this Castor, though. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Thank you for your time, Veturina. And I’m deeply sorry if I — ’

‘You’ll find Scopas in the servants’ quarters, just across the courtyard from where you came in. He is expecting you. The door-slave will take you.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, right.’ I turned to go, and I’d got about half way to the atrium’s exit when she called:

‘Valerius Corvinus!’

‘Yeah?’ I turned back. She was still standing by the plinth, her fingers against Hostilius’s marble cheek.

‘He was a lovely man,’ she said. ‘Before. A good, fair-minded man and a kind and faithful husband. We had thirty-five happy years together, and set against these that last horrible year was nothing, nothing at all. I want you to understand that, please, and remember it.’

I nodded, and left.

Hell. I could be wrong, sure, but I doubted it.

Scopas was a surprise: a big guy, broad-shouldered, with a boxer’s face and close-cropped bristly grey hair, more like a prizefighter than a major-domo. Not that he was young: I’d put him sixty, at least, which was probably — although I’d never asked — about Lucius Hostilius’s age. He was sitting on a bench outside the servants’ quarters, whittling a stick.

‘Valerius Corvinus, sir?’ He laid the stick and the knife to one side and stood up. Slow, broad-vowelled local-Latin voice, with nothing servile about it. This guy knew what he was worth. He was probably bang-on, too.

‘Yeah. Sit down, Scopas.’ He did, and I sat down on the bench beside him. ‘Know why I’m here?’

‘Of course. Because the master was murdered, sir. We’re grateful.’

I frowned. ‘Grateful for what?’

‘A lawyer’s slave knows a bit of the law. Should’ve meant the thumbscrews by rights, now, shouldn’t it?’

‘So long as you give me all the help you can, pal, you won’t find me objecting.’