David Wishart - Illegally Dead

‘How do you mean, a Bovillan?’

‘He came with the lady as part of her dowry, quite a slice of it too because he knows his job back to front. Not that I sold him to old Veturinus myself, naturally, that was my predecessor in the business. Good eye for a slave, Scopas has. You know him?’

‘Yeah, I know him. So Scopas was Veturina’s slave originally? Not Hostilius’s?’

‘No. Technically he was the gentleman’s. But old Veturinus paid the bill.’

I frowned. ‘Uh…thanks, friend. I’m much obliged.’

‘You’re most welcome, sir. While you’re here you wouldn’t care to look over — ?’

‘No. No, not today.’

‘As you please, sir. Don’t forget where we are, though.’

‘I won’t. Thanks again.’

Okay; onward and upward, to Publius Novius’s. Like Acceius’s office in Castrimoenium, it was quite a swish affair, with a prominent sign, a marble-columned porch and a smartly-dressed door slave. A good business to be in, obviously, the legal trade.

‘Good morning, sir.’ The clerk was a younger version of Fuscus, but with the same brisk efficiency. The anteroom was impressive, too: marble and bronze statues seemed to be de rigeur where law practice decor was concerned.

‘I was hoping to talk to Publius Novius, pal,’ I said. ‘He around at present?’

‘I’m afraid not. He’s in Antium until tomorrow. Was it urgent?’

‘Fairly urgent.’ Damn.

‘Then I’m sure I can help. Your name is..?’

‘Corvinus. Valerius Corvinus.’ Was that a flicker? ‘Actually, though, it’s sort of private and personal. Could I make an appointment, do you think?’

‘No problem at all. Let’s have a look at the book.’ He consulted a wax tablet on the desk beside him. ‘The day after tomorrow’s relatively free, the morning at least. I can let you have one first thing, or would you prefer later?’

‘Later’d be better. I have to come over from Castrimoenium.’

‘Really?’ Definitely a flicker there. ‘Very well. Shall we make it the fifth hour, then?’

An hour before noon. ‘That’d be great,’ I said.

He made a note. ‘And you’re sure you wouldn’t like to give some sort of indication of what the matter’s about? In the most general terms? Just so that Publius Novius can be prepared for you.’

Uh-uh; now that I certainly didn’t want. ‘I’d rather not, friend. Like I say, it’s private and personal.’

‘Just as you like.’ He set the tablet aside. ‘I look forward to seeing you then, Valerius Corvinus.’

‘Fine.’

So. Just shy of noon, time for a bite of lunch and a cup of wine before I ran a last check on Alexis and headed back. There was a wineshop in the main square with a small terrace outside that looked inviting, but while I was in Bovillae I might as well mix business with pleasure and have them at Veturina’s family’s place. Next to the Appian Gate, Tuscius had said, so I must’ve passed it on the way in.

The mare looked quite happy where she was, by the horse-trough, it wasn’t all that far and I’d have to come back anyway. I set off towards the gate on foot.

It was an old-fashioned wineshop, the sort that Gaius Marius might’ve sneaked his first underage drink in: stone-flagged floor, counter that was solid enough to have formed part of the town’s defences, no tables, just stools at the bar, and a very respectable selection of very local wines on the rack. My kind of place, definitely: these days, with the influx into Latium of rich, holiday-home smoothies from the Big City, you’re getting an increasing number of chichi winebars a la Tuscan Street and points adjacent, with carefully co-ordinated or themed decor and third-rate wine masquerading under a first-rate name and priced accordingly.

Old-fashioned clientele, too. The only other guy in the place apart from me and the barman looked like he could’ve bought the young Marius his second cup.

‘Day, sir.’ The barman was a close ringer for Castor, but a much older version: twenty years older, at least. ‘What can I get you?’

‘A half jug of the Bovillan’d be fine, pal,’ I said. ‘You do food?’

‘Cold sausage, cheese and pickles. Nothing hot.’

‘That’ll do nicely.’ I reached into my belt-pouch and pulled out some coins while he hefted the flask and poured. Big lad, and he’d worn well, late fifties or not.

‘You from Rome?’ he said.

‘Yeah. ‘Fraid so.’

‘Holiday?’

‘Yeah. My wife’s got an aunt in Castrimoenium.’

‘Really?’ His back was to me, but I caught the tonic equivalent of the lowered eyebrows and the frown. The old guy at the other end of the bar lifted his head and stared at me. Yeah, right: I could see the family resemblance there, too.

‘I understand you’ve got relatives there yourself,’ I said. No harm in putting out feelers.

He turned round and set the filled half jug with a cup on the counter. ‘Who told you that?’ he said sharply.

‘No hassle, pal.’ I poured and sipped. It was good stuff, almost as good as Pontius’s, in its class, and that’s high praise. ‘I was just making conversation. Maybe I’ve got the wrong wineshop.’

‘No, you’re right enough, sir. You know Veturina and Castor?’

‘I’ve met them.’

‘Yeah, you would have.’ Then, when I raised an eyebrow: ‘Oh, no offence, sir, none in the world, that’s not the way I mean it. It’s just that purple stripe of yours…well, Veturina and Castor move in higher circles than we do. Right, Dad?’

The old man at the end of the bar nodded. ‘The girl made a good match, right enough,’ he said smugly. It was like hearing a whisper through gravel.

‘You don’t see much of them now, then,’ I said.

‘Nah. Nothing since Castor left a couple of years back and moved in with her.’ The barman sliced sausage and arranged it on a plate with pickles from the jar and a wedge of goat’s cheese. ‘Helping us to run this place wasn’t good enough for him. Wanted to be a fucking lawyer.’ He set two quarters of a loaf onto the plate. ‘Sorry, sir, there was no call for that.’

‘No problem.’ I pulled the plate towards me and tried the sausage. That was good as well, smoked pork with cumin and lovage. A real find, Veturinus’s. ‘I’m not too keen on lawyers myself.’

‘He was always ambitious, young Castor,’ the old man said. ‘Even when he was a boy. He knew what he wanted and he’d go right for it, whatever was in the way. Him and Veturina, they was a pair even though there was twenty years between them and they’d different mothers, always together when she came visiting. And close as — ’

‘Dad! Gentleman doesn’t want to hear no ramblings, now.’ The barman wrapped up the rest of the sausage.

‘Oh, that’s okay,’ I said. ‘Brother and sister. What would you expect?’

That got me a sideways look, but the guy didn’t say anything more. I took a proper swallow of the wine.

‘She’ll be well set up now, though, won’t she?’ the father went on. ‘Rich widow with everyone chasing after her. You’ll know that the husband died, sir? Not long back?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, so I heard.’

‘They say he’d been ailing for a long time. A shame. He was a fine man in his day, Lucius Hostilius. Used to have a practice here in Bovillae, before he moved over to Castrimoenium. Lived just down the road, came in here a lot and sat just where you’re sitting, sir. This was where they met, because Veturina used to help out sometimes when we were busy after her mother died and before I married again.’

‘That so, now?’

The old man chuckled. ‘“I’ll have him, Dad, just you wait.”. That’s what she used to say to me, the minx, after he was gone of an evening. And why not? He was a bachelor, good-looking, rich enough but nothing special because he was only just starting out and only half a dozen years older than she was. And she was a cracker, my Veturina. All the lads were after her, not that they got any encouragement after she clapped eyes on him. Hostilius, too: proper taken, he was, hook, line and sinker. Have him she did, in the end, and good luck to her.’