David Wishart - Illegally Dead

‘So what did you do then?’

‘Went straight round to Hyperion’s. There was no point doing anything else. I knew I was bleeding like a stuck pig but so long as I kept moving the actual pain wasn’t too bad, and it wasn’t all that far, closer than home and much more sensible. I hammered on his door and fainted on the bloody doorstep.’ He grinned. ‘Bloody being the operative word. He patched me up, sent round to my house for slaves and a litter, and here I am.’

‘You hadn’t thought of taking a litter originally? To the client’s house, I mean? Or slaves, at least?’

He shook his head. ‘This is Castrimoenium, not Rome. As far as distance goes you can walk from one side of it to the other, Bovillan to Caban gates, in fifteen minutes, and where street crime’s concerned it’s more likely to take the form of a straying mule than a footpad. Besides, I prefer walking about on my own, without dragging a pack of slaves along. Even after dark. I always have.’

Yeah, well, I could appreciate that. I was the same, and walking around town after dark without protective muscle in Rome was a whole lot riskier than out here in the sticks. Even so… ‘You were the one who said you were being watched, pal,’ I said. ‘And you’d been attacked once already. Or your partner had.’

‘Yes, I know.’ He drew his breath in sharply as Clarus pressed the new dressing over the wound while he made a start to the bandaging. ‘Corvinus, I know! It was stupid, I fully admit that, it almost got me killed, and I won’t make the mistake again. But you don’t think, do you? You imagine yourself immortal.’

True: Perilla was always complaining that that was how I looked at things.

‘A couple of questions,’ I said. ‘Since I’m here.’

‘Of course. Ask away.’

‘When was the last time you actually saw Lucius Hostilius?’

‘To talk to, you mean?’

‘Does it make that much difference?’

Acceius smiled. ‘Oh, yes. We…tended to avoid one another, as a rule, even when we were both in the office. Unless there was a reason not to, and then I was careful to be formal, polite, unconfrontational and brief. So I suppose it would be the day after we were attacked, five days before his death, when I went round to see him at his villa. He hadn’t felt strong enough to come into town and there were two or three relatively urgent bits of documentation I knew he’d want to look at and discuss, so I took them up myself. Not that it was a long meeting, naturally, no more than half an hour if that. As I say, all our dealings latterly were wholly confined to business.’

‘You said the documents were urgent?’

‘Relatively urgent, yes.’

‘Mind telling me what they were about?’

‘In detail? Oh, they were a ragbag, Corvinus, and relatively urgent doesn’t preclude trivial. The only really important one was a letter from Publius Novius over in Bovillae — he’s the arch-enemy, in case you didn’t know, the rival firm — saying that a client of his who was selling property, hopefully to a client of ours, had decided to up his asking price by ten thousand.’ He grinned. ‘Which made Lucius absolutely livid, because our client had written to him originally quoting what was now the take-it-or-leave-it price as the maximum he was prepared to pay. Still, these things happen, and the locals around here are far more aware of what their property will fetch than they were twenty years ago.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, right.’ I was frowning. ‘You discuss anything else? Like the Maecilius case, maybe?’

‘No. Not at all. There isn’t a lot to discuss about the Maecilius case, barring how to get Fimus out the other side of it with as much of his patrimony intact as possible. When it comes to court next month it’ll be a straightforward head-to-head, and I’m afraid that any exchange between me and Lucius on that subject latterly took the form mostly of mutual commiseration. It was one of the few topics we still saw eye to eye on.’

‘Right. Right.’ I’d been standing next to one of the pedestals with a portrait bust on top, the one of the young woman. Now I half-turned and caught it gently with the edge of my arm. The bust rocked a little and I put out a hand to steady it. ‘Sorry, pal. I’m getting clumsy in my old age.’

‘No harm done,’ Acceius said.

‘That, uh, your first wife?’

Clarus had finished winding the bandage and was slitting the end and tying it in place. He hadn’t said a word all the way through, although I’d’ve betted he was listening hard, but our eyes met and he half-grinned at me over Acceius’s shoulder. A smart cookie, Clarus.

Acceius hesitated, just for a moment. Then he said: ‘Yes, that’s Tascia. How did you know I’d been married before?’

I shrugged. ‘Someone mentioned it to me. Maybe it was Aunt Marcia. She’s a devil for family histories, especially when they don’t concern her.’

Acceius was reaching for his tunic. ‘Thank you, Clarus. That’s very comfortable.’ He pulled it over his head and said: ‘She died a long time ago, Corvinus. More than twenty years, now, before I moved here. It was…she died in childbirth; something went wrong, she wouldn’t stop bleeding. She was only eighteen.’ His head reappeared; there was a trace of tears in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

He stood up. ‘Nonsense. I told you, it’s twenty years ago and more. Water under the bridge, long forgotten. Now; is there anything else I can tell you?’

‘Uh-uh.’ I shook my head. ‘That’s it for the present, pal. Glad to see you’re not too much the worse for wear. Clarus? Walk you back?’

‘Fine.’ Clarus took a box of pills from his belt-pouch and set them on the table. ‘To help if the pain gets bad, sir,’ he said. ‘And to help you sleep. They’re quite strong, so only one in four hours.’

‘Thank you. And thank your father, too.’

‘He’ll call in ten days to remove the stitches. One of your own slaves can change the dressing for you — daily, please — but if there’s any inflammation of the wound you’re to contact us at once.’

‘Understood. Thank you again. Goodbye, Valerius Corvinus.’

We left. There was no sign of Seia Lucinda — hadn’t been, when I’d arrived — but it was early, so presumably she was in the family rooms having her hair done and her makeup applied. I wondered if Tascia had been anything like her replacement; probably not, from the fresh, girlish look of her portrait.

Clarus didn’t speak until we were well clear of the door. Finally, he said: ‘Is Acceius still on the suspect list, Corvinus?’

I grinned. ‘Pal, at this stage of the game I am not ruling anyone out.’

‘Well, he most certainly didn’t stab himself. Or have himself stabbed to get himself off the hook. Dad says if the knife had gone in he’d’ve died for sure. He almost did, anyway, the amount of blood he lost.’

‘What about that description of the attack? It work out?’

‘Sure.’ Clarus frowned. ‘Upward-slanting wound, left lower back, deeper nearer the spine than at the side. If the man came from behind and held the knife low, underarm stab upwards from the right, and Acceius had twisted to his left then that’s how it would’ve happened. The description of the man’d work too: tall, but not as tall as Acceius, capable of a fair degree of force.’

‘Also no amateur,’ I said. ‘Real knifeman’s punch, no overarm shit.’

He nodded. ‘You noticed that.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Perhaps you should forward the description to Quintus Libanius. Not many strangers in Castrimoenium, and if Acceius belted him in the mouth it’ll make him even easier to recognise.’

I looked at him sideways. ‘Fancy going and telling your granny to suck eggs, son?’ I said.