David Wishart - Food for the Fishes

I grinned. ‘Is that so, now?’

‘Oh, yes. Most women would. But, well, as far as any conspiracy to murder is concerned — if you’re thinking along those lines — I suspect the influence would have to go the other way, with him being the motivating force. He’d be too…selfish to have it otherwise. And that isn’t likely, is it? Why would Diodotus — Diodotus, not Gellia — want rid of Murena?’ She tugged a stray fold of her mantle into place. ‘Besides, he was quite correct: doctors have to be terribly careful to avoid any suspicion of scandal, especially in places like Baiae. Young good-looking ones above all. He certainly struck me as sincere and anxious to be helpful as far as he could.’

‘Right.’ Bugger. Still, what she’d said about him being no cat’s-paw was a fair point; me, having seen the guy I’d tend to agree. And what little evidence we had that Diodotus and Gellia were an item hadn’t exactly come from an unbiased source. Chlorus and Nerva had their own axes to grind. Apropos of which: ‘These nicknames. What made you ask about them?’

‘I don’t know. Just a feeling. But I’m glad I did.’ She was still twisting her hair. ‘Licinius Murena doesn’t seem to have been a very…pleasant person, does he, Marcus? Not in himself.’

‘Uh-uh.’ Not pleasant was putting it mildly; bastard — the general consensus so far — summed up the guy pretty well. ‘He had Chlorus pinned, though, didn’t he? And Nerva as well, from what I’ve seen of him. Vagabond’s a good name. Whatever his faults, I’d bet Murena knew people.’

‘What kind of man gives his sons nicknames like Scowler and Vagabond, Marcus? Not to mention calling his wife Butterfly?’

‘All three fit, lady. From what I’ve seen of the trio, anyway. And they’re not exactly a close family.’

‘No, they aren’t, are they?’ She was still looking thoughtful. ‘Quite horrendous, really. What about Gadfly? For the partner? What’s his name, Tattius?’

I shrugged. ‘Pass. I haven’t met him yet.’

‘Do you know anything about him at all?’

‘Only what Diodotus told us.’

‘That he was a former colleague of Murena’s and wasn’t directly concerned with the business. Yes. So why “Gadfly”? What’s gadfly-ish about him?’

‘Gods, Perilla, I don’t know! There could be a dozen reasons for calling him that. And like I say I’ve never met the guy.’

‘Perhaps you should, then.’ She smiled. ‘It’s probably nothing, dear. Just a fancy. But it is curious.’

Yeah, now she came to mention it it was: I could see how the other names worked, after all. And the whole business angle was definitely one we still had to go into. This freedman of Murena’s, Philippus, was certainly an oddity. Slaves freed young aren’t all that common, to put it mildly; slaves’re valuable commodities, part of their owner’s capital, and it either takes them years to save enough to buy themselves out or they get their freedom as a reward for a lifetime of service, usually in the master’s will when he personally has had everything out of them he’s going to get and doesn’t have a vested interest any more. And from what I’d heard of Licinius Murena I doubted if he’d been the kind of woolly philanthropist who’d do things any different. So how had this Philippus got his slap on the ear? Not to mention the nest-egg he’d need to bankroll a career in business? That was a question that needed answering, too.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘First thing in the morning I’ll — ’

‘Mmmaa! Marcus, my boy! How are you today? Perilla, you’re looking radiant.’

I glanced round. The wanderer had returned. Priscus was coming up through the garden from the direction of the side gate.

He was looking pretty radiant himself, in a snazzy new mantle. That would’ve been unusual enough — snazzy mantles and Priscus just didn’t get on, or not past the first meal, anyway — but he’d also been freshly barbered. Scented, too: I could smell him even over the flowers in Lucia Domitilla’s flower garden.

‘Ah…hi, Priscus,’ I said. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Not bad. Not bad at all, thank you.’ He sat down on the chair Diodotus had vacated.

‘You, uh, have a nice chat with your friend? What’s-his-name, the oil-lamp man?’

‘Leonides? No, I’m afraid he was out for the day. Some unexpected business in Puteoli. Still, it was a pity to waste the journey so I had a wander round the town instead.’ He beamed at us like a louche myopic monkey. ‘Fascinating. Quite fascinating. Especially — mmaaa — that quaint little district behind the market square. Do you know, Marcus, Vipsania and I have been coming here for years and I never knew it existed?’

Yeah. Right; I could see how that might be, with Mother in charge. Baiae may be the playground of the idle rich, but even in that bracket tastes vary considerably and the old town behind the forum caters for most of them, legal and otherwise. Mostly after sunset, but the entrepreneurial locals being what they are some places stay open all day. ‘Ah — is that so, now?’ I said cautiously.

‘Speaking of Vipsania, Priscus,’ Perilla said, ‘you know you were supposed to take her shopping this afternoon then on to Cornelia Gemella’s?’

He blinked at her. ‘Mmmaaa?’

‘She went on her own. She was quite upset.’

‘But that was tomorrow, surely.’

‘Today,’ I said. ‘And upset’s an understatement. You may live to see another sunrise, pal, but I wouldn’t give odds.’

‘How very unfortunate.’ The old bugger was still blinking away like a stunned owl. ‘I was certain it was tomorrow. She’s already gone, you say? In the carriage, no doubt? Oh, tut!’ He sighed. ‘Well, there isn’t much that I can do about it now, is there?’

‘You could take the litter,’ Perilla said.

‘Oh, I don’t think so. Gemella’s place is well out in the country. It’d take hours. But to get back to the quaint little district I was telling you about, Marcus — ’

Perilla stood up suddenly. ‘I have things to do, dear,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you’d like to chat to Priscus on your own for a while. In private.’

Oh, shit. ‘Uh…right. Right,’ I said. ‘Catch you later.’ As she walked towards the house I reached for the jug Bathyllus had left, poured myself a belter and downed half of it at a gulp. I had a feeling I was going to need it here. ‘Okay, Priscus,’ I said. ‘Confession time. Let’s have the gory details.’

That got me the shell-shocked owl look again. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Look, cut it out. It’s just us now, I’m no fool and you’ve got beans to spill, so level. First off, you didn’t get your dates mixed up, did you? You knew damn well you were supposed to take Mother jewellery-shopping today. And I’d bet a gold piece to a corn plaster you never went near your pal Leonides’s.’

‘Ah…’

‘Now personally I couldn’t care less whether you worked your way through every wineshop and cat-house in Baiae. But after Mother’s had your guts for bootlaces she’ll rip out mine for an encore, and that’s something I have a definite vested interest in. Understand?’

‘Marcus, my boy, I assure you I didn’t…I would never…maaa…’

‘So let’s just have it straight, right? No flannelling.’

He blinked at me for a good half minute; seventy-plus or not, the image of a sulky teenager. Finally, he cleared his throat and said stiffly: ‘I simply — mmaa — felt the urge this morning to have a shave and a haircut in one of the barber shops off the market square. Also to purchase a new mantle at a draper’s emporium which I had noticed yesterday and indulge in a short stroll. There was nothing wrong in any of these actions, I trust?’