David Wishart: In at the Death

‘His superior being who?’

‘One of the aediles. A man called Laelius Balbus.’

Uh-huh. So at least I’d got a pair of names to follow up: his best friend Atratinus and his boss. They’d do for starters. ‘One last thing, Rupilia, and then I’ll go. Titus Natalis said he had the impression your son had been…he used the word preoccupied over the last month. Did you notice anything yourself?’

Again, she took a long time answering. Then she said slowly: ‘He was quieter than usual, certainly. But as I told you we didn’t talk much; he didn’t volunteer information and I’d learned from past experience that any prying on my part was counter-productive. So your answer is yes, although I can’t help you with reasons.’

Well, that was about as far as I could manage at present. I got up. ‘Thanks for your help, lady. I won’t take up any more of your time, and believe me — however this turns out — I’m very sorry.’

‘Yes.’ Her eyes went down to whatever was in her lap. This time her fingers unclenched, and I could see what it was: one of these small ivory portrait-miniatures. She saw me looking and passed it over. ‘That’s Sextus there. I had it done for his eighteenth birthday.’

It was good work, obviously taken from life rather than idealised the way these things sometimes are: portrait artists know the importance of flattery, the same as everyone else. Red hair, like his mother’s, a nice face, slightly heavy in the jowls; he must’ve got that from his father, because Rupilia’s face narrowed to a sharp chin. And he was smiling, quite content with life.

‘He was a lovely boy,’ Rupilia said. ‘Even now, I can’t believe he’s dead, and especially that he chose to kill himself. If you can tell me why, Valerius Corvinus, I’ll be eternally grateful.’

‘Yeah. Right.’ I handed the miniature back and stood up. ‘I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.’

Placida was still moored to the doorpost; disappointing, sure, but at least the surrounding countryside seemed intact, apart from a chewed cypress branch, and I actually got a few wags of the tail. Maybe I should push my luck a bit further: there was still a fair chunk of the afternoon in hand, plenty of time to go over to Market Square and see if I could catch young Papinius’s best pal Atratinus, talk to his aedile boss if he was available. That, though, I reckoned, would do me for the day. I wasn’t feeling too cheerful. Murder’s bad enough, but suicide is a real downer, especially where a kid’s involved.

On the way Placida discovered a very dead rat in the gutter and rolled on it. Ah, the joys.

Like anywhere in the centre of town, the streets between Octavian Porch and Market Square were pretty crowded; not that it mattered, because where clearing a path through crowds is concerned there ain’t much to beat a hundred and twenty pounds of single-minded Gallic boarhound. We did the trip in record time, barring the occasional sniff- and widdle-break, then took a sharp left along Iugarius and ploughed through the contraflow in the direction of theTemple of Saturn. I was getting the hang of this dog-walking business now. Half the secret’s to keep smiling whatever happens, ignore the screams and curses, and pretend that the brute on the other end of the rope doesn’t exist; while the other half’s to watch out for incoming problems and avoid ending up a horizontal third in a street chase. By the time we reached the aediles’ office at the other end of the Square I was getting almost blase.

‘Good dog, Placida,’ I said, patting her. ‘Good dog.’

Wagwagwag. Grin.

Yeah, well; we were making progress. Or at least established some sort of dialogue. I left her moored to the statue of a poker-arsed Republican general and happily chewing on something she’d picked up en route, went in and asked the freedman on the desk for Laelius Balbus’s department.

‘That’ll be the Aventine fire damage commission, won’t it, sir?’ he said.

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘Up the stairs and straight ahead of you. It’s the third door on the left.’

‘Fine. Thanks, pal.’ I paused. ‘Actually, I was looking for a youngster by the name of Sempronius Atratinus. You happen to know if he’s around today?’

‘I’m sorry, sir, I — ’

‘Who wants him?’

I turned. There was a young guy coming down the stairs; twenty, max, Saepta-bought cloak, sharp Market Square haircut and neatly-trimmed lad-about-town beard.

‘You Marcus Atratinus?’ I said.

‘I could be.’ He grinned. ‘That depends on who you are.’

‘The name’s Marcus Corvinus. I’m…ah…looking into the death of Sextus Papinius.’

‘Oh.’ The grin faded, and a lot of the lad-about-town bounce went with it, leaving someone behind that wasn’t much more than a kid. ‘Oh, right, then. I’m sorry. How can I help?’

‘You got time to talk? Fifteen, twenty minutes?’

‘Certainly. Longer, if you like. I was just going along to Publius’s. First chance I’ve had all day.’

‘Publius’s?’

‘It’s a cookshop on Iugarius. Unless you want to go back upstairs to the office, but it’s pretty crowded up there.’

‘No; no, a cookshop’s fine.’ I wasn’t hungry, not this close to lunch, but after being dragged across half of Rome I could murder a cup of wine. Personally, if we were going the length of Iugarius anyway, I’d’ve preferred Renatius’s — it’s a lot less pretentious than most of the places in this part of town — but it was the kid’s shout. ‘Uh…they allow dogs, do you know?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Never mind, pal. Not your problem. Is your boss around today, incidentally?’

‘Balbus? No, he had a senate meeting. We don’t expect him back at the office until tomorrow.’

Damn. Well, there was no great hurry to talk to him anyway, and I’d obviously been lucky to get Atratinus. ‘Okay, Publius’s it is.’

We went back outside and I unhitched Placida while he stared at her.

‘It’s a dog,’ I said. ‘A Gallic boarhound. Her name’s Placida.’

‘Is that right, now?’ He was still staring. ‘You, ah, usually bring her with you when you have business in Market Square?’

‘Uh-uh. This is the — ’ Placida’s head went up and her ears lifted. ‘Oh, shit!’

I’d just time to take the strain before were off, going like the clappers. The gods knew what she’d seen, but a group of what looked like Egyptian tourists clustered in front of the House of the Vestals screamed and scattered in panic while I pulled back frantically on the leash. A gaggle of elderly senators half a dozen yards further on weren’t so agile. It gave a whole new meaning to the phrase going through committee.

So much for blase; well, it’d teach me to be cocky, anyway. Atratinus had been keeping up. Now he grabbed the rope and together we hauled the brute to a tongue-lolling standstill.

‘Sorry about that, pal.’ I took a firm grip of Placida’s collar and held on. ‘She almost had me there.’

Atratinus gave me a strange look. We didn’t talk much the rest of the way.

Publius’s cookshop wasn’t far, no more than fifty yards down Iugarius from the start of Capitol Incline. The downside was that there were no mooring posts, no handy statues and no staples in the wall.

Bugger. Ah, well, time for the direct approach, man to…whatever. Worth a try, anyway.

I was still holding Placida by the collar. I bent down, lifted her ear and said: ‘Listen, sunshine, you’re on trust. Any trouble and you’ve chewed your last bone. Understand?’

Wagwagwag.

I straightened. Atratinus was watching me fascinated.

‘You okay?’ he said.