David Wishart - In at the Death

‘Yeah. Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘Right. Right.’

We went in. It was more or less what I’d expected: one of these chichi places you get in the streets and alleyways around the Square, with fashionable wines at inflated prices and a menu that strains a gut to make itself look unusual and interesting. This late, it was practically empty, but what customers there were sitting at the tables were around Atratinus’s age and obviously, like him, down on their lunch break from the public offices. A few nodded as we passed. A few others — the ones in a direct line between us and the counter — took one look at Placida and pulled their stools in sharply to let us through.

The guy behind the counter was tearing salad leaves into a bowl. He looked at Placida too, then at my purple stripe, and cleared his throat.

‘Afternoon, gents,’ he said. ‘What’ll it be?’

‘Corvinus?’ Atratinus said.

I’d been checking the board. Half the permutations looked dubious as hell and the other half could’ve been contributed by Mother’s whacky chef Phormio. ‘You do simple sausages?’ I said.

‘Donkey, mast-fed wild boar or flamingo with walnuts and Sarsina cheese?’

‘Flamingo?’

‘Very popular, sir. And the walnuts are pickled in balsamic vinegar.’

I glanced down at Placida. What the hell; so far she was keeping her part of the bargain. And if she chased them then presumably she ate them as well. ‘Make it the boar,’ I said.

‘I’ll have the ostrich balls, Publius,’ Atratinus said. ‘With a rocket and radicchio salad.’ He turned to me. ‘Fancy the Massic? It’s pretty good here.’

‘Uh…sure. Massic’s fine.’ Don’t ask, Corvinus; just don’t…bloody…ask. ‘Half a jug, pal.’

The guy behind the counter nodded and gave the grinning Placida — she was sitting nicely, now — another leery look. ‘I’ll bring the food to your table, sir. Would you like to pay separately or together?’

‘That’s okay,’ I said before Atratinus could answer for us. ‘I’ll get it.’ I owed a bit of philanthropy: Natalis’s cheque was burning its way through my belt-pouch. I’d have to lodge it with my banker in Julian Square before I went home.

I paid the tab — pricey, but not as bad as I’d thought it would be — while Atratinus collected the wine and cups and led the way over to the quietest corner.

Curiosity won out. ‘Ostrich balls?’ I said.

‘Meatballs made of ostrich meat.’ Another sideways look. ‘What else would they be?’

‘Oh. Right. Right. Placida, settle!’ She collapsed on the floor beside my chair with a long-drawn-out sigh. ‘Good dog. Good dog!’ Hey! Success! Maybe we weren’t doing so badly here after all. Mind you, we’d been over half of Rome in the past couple of hours and she was probably as knackered as I was.

I turned back to Atratinus, poured wine for both of us and sipped. Not bad; not at all bad. Nowhere near Titus Natalis’s Massic earlier on, sure, but definitely no third-rate rotgut. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Tell me about Sextus.’

Atratinus took a swallow of his own wine, or more of a gulp than a swallow, like he was steeling himself.

‘What do you want to know?’ he said.

‘Whatever you’ve got. You were his best friend, weren’t you?’

‘That’s right. Since we were six years old.’

‘What was he like? As a person?’

‘Quiet. When the company was right he’d join in. Otherwise he’d just smile and keep to the background.’

‘And was the company usually right?’

‘Most of the time. But like I say, Sextus wasn’t the loud type, and he didn’t go out of his way to make himself popular. A lot of people found him too serious to be real fun.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe that’s why we got on so well, him and me. Cluvia was always on at him to loosen up more.’

‘Who’s Cluvia?’

‘His girlfriend. Well…not exactly a girlfriend, but you know what I mean.’ Yeah, I did: for a kid of Papinius’s age and background there was bound to be a not-exactly-girlfriend with a no-account name somewhere in the picture. ‘You hadn’t heard of her?’

‘No.’ Not that that was surprising, mind, because so far all I knew about the dead kid’s friends had come from his mother. And not-exactly-girlfriends are one thing mothers just aren’t allowed to know about. Mine certainly hadn’t. ‘She a cat-house girl?’

‘Gods, Corvinus!’ Atratinus laughed. ‘Don’t even suggest that if you meet her! No, Cluvia’s respectable. Strictly the independent entrepreneurial type. She’s got her own flat on Public Incline near the temple of the Moon, and when she’s not there she manages a perfume shop in the Saepta. That’s where she and Sextus met. They’ve been an item for about six months.’

‘She expensive to run?’

For the first time, Atratinus hesitated. ‘Pricey, but no more than most. She isn’t greedy, certainly. Although Sextus was on a pretty tight budget.’

‘Yeah. His mother told me that.’

‘You’ve talked to Rupilia? Oh, yes, I suppose you must’ve done.’

‘They got on all right, Sextus and his mother? From his side?’

‘Not bad.’ Atratinus took another swallow of his wine; he was looking a lot more relaxed now. ‘Better than me and mine, for a start. They lived their separate lives for the most part, and Rupilia wasn’t a pryer. So long as he didn’t come home drunk too often or get in trouble with the Watch — which he didn’t — she left him alone.’

‘Money problems?’

Again Atratinus hesitated, but when he did answer it was readily enough. ‘Sure. Some, anyway. Like I say, Sextus always was on a tight budget. He paid his share, though, and he was generous when he could afford it. Cluvia didn’t have any reason to complain.’

Yeah, well, that was as much as I could’ve expected. More. I’d’ve been seriously surprised if he’d said the kid didn’t have any problems with cash flow, whatever the situation at home. The phrases ‘strapped for cash’ and ‘young lad-about-town’ go together naturally.

Publius came over with the tray. Not bad portions; that’s another thing about these chichi places, they tend to be heavy on the garnish at the expense of what you thought you were paying for.

Placida stood up, sniffing.

‘Uh…excuse me a minute, pal,’ I said. ‘Bribery time.’I held the plate of sausages level with the floor. ‘Now you just settle, sunshine. Settle!’

She glanced at the sausages, then at me, and crouched down. I pushed the plate towards her…

Unk. Unk. Unk.

Hey again! Barbarian from hell Placida might be, but she could behave when she wanted to. She wasn’t stupid, either. Maybe we could live with each other after all. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘That’s your lot. Now let us talk, okay?’

Urp.

‘Good dog.’ I patted her, then resurfaced and turned back to Atratinus. ‘What about the rest of the friends?’

‘How do you mean?’ Atratinus was tucking into his ostrich balls like he’d been starved for a month.

‘There’s you and there’s Cluvia. Who else?’

‘You want particular names? Marcus Selicius. Quintus and Titus Memmius.’ He reached for a piece of bread. ‘Oh, and the other Titus, Titus Soranus. These’re the main ones, anyway.’

The first three didn’t ring any bells, but the last one did, very much so; also, Atratinus’s eyes had flickered before he’d given me Soranus’s name, and he’d slipped it in far too casually for my liking.

Shit.

‘Titus Mucius Soranus?’ I said slowly.

Atratinus took a sip from his wine-cup before he answered. ‘You know him?’ he said. Again, the tone was too casual. A nice kid, Atratinus, but he was no actor.

‘Uh-uh. Not personally. But I’ve heard of him.’ Sure I had; nothing good, either. I wondered if the lads’ fathers knew that Soranus was one of the gang. ‘Isn’t he a bit old to be running around with guys your age?’