David Wishart - Solid Citizens

Clarus was helping himself to the haricot bean purée. ‘I’d heard about that,’ he said. ‘It was a real scandal at the time. Rumour was that Manlius had shifted a lot of the bales elsewhere beforehand, sold them off privately, and started the fire himself to cover things up.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That much I got at the wine shop. Mind you, that’s par for the course. A warehouse fire’s a conspiracy-theory godsend to your wine-shop punter, particularly when a public figure’s involved. Me, I’d’ve been surprised if there hadn’t been rumours.’

‘Wouldn’t something like that be noticed?’ Perilla said.

‘Oh, no.’ Marilla shelled a quail’s egg and dipped it in the fish sauce. ‘Or at least it probably wouldn’t. Once the shearing was over there’d be no need for anyone to go into the place, would there? Not until the fleeces were sold, anyway. And scams like that go on all the time.’

‘How interesting. Do they really, dear?’ Perilla said quietly. She had her prim look on. ‘And how would you know, now?’

Uh-oh.

‘Corvinus?’ Marilla grinned at me. ‘I am right, aren’t I? They do.’

Uh-oh was right: straight in with both feet. A lovely girl in many ways, our adopted daughter, but sometimes she was as sen-sitive to the nuances as a brick. I glanced sideways at Perilla. Her lips were set in a disapproving line: it was OK for me to play the sleuth, but the lady had her standards where Marilla was concerned. We might be in for a few squalls here. Time for a bit of tact. ‘Yeah, well, Princess,’ I said. ‘Maybe so. But so far it’s just that — no more than a rumour. Oh, sure, Manlius and his pal Canidius might well be as bent as a couple of tin sesterces, in which case it may be relevant, but I’m suspending judgement at present.’

‘I’d take the whole thing with a pinch of salt myself, Corvinus,’ Clarus said. ‘From what I’ve heard, those two may have an eye out for the main chance, but they’re no worse than your average local politician, and even if they were it doesn’t make them potential murderers, does it? Besides-’

There was a loud crash just outside the dining-room door.

‘What the fuck?’ I said.

‘ Marcus! ’ Perilla snapped.

‘Yeah, well …’

Bathyllus came in holding a silver tray; just the tray itself, with nothing on it. He was closely followed by Lupercus, and neither of them, to use a gross understatement, looked a happy bunny. No eye contact between them, for a start.

Bugger. This did not look good. The family dinner was turning into a major disaster.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Lupercus said stiffly to Clarus. ‘There’s been an accident with the wine. No real damage done though, and I’ll see that the mess is cleared up immediately.’

‘Yes, OK, Lupercus,’ Clarus said. ‘No problem. These things happen. Go ahead.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ He turned.

Accident, nothing: I hadn’t seen our respective major-domos put in a simultaneous appearance since we’d got here. And going by the body language blood was within an ace of being spilled on both sides.

‘Hang on a minute, Lupercus,’ I said. ‘OK, Bathyllus, your turn. Let’s have your version of the story. In detail, and unexpurgated this time, please.’

‘I don’t know what you mean, sir.’ Innocence radiating from every pore, combined with overtones of politely understated outrage: a chief Vestal nailed for shoplifting couldn’t’ve done it better. Still, I wasn’t having any of that, not even from Bathyllus. When someone says I don’t know what you mean , the chances are that they know damned well, and the business smells as high as an eight-day-old sprat.

‘Think about it, sunshine,’ I said. ‘Weigh up all the semantic possibilities. Meanwhile, I’ll count to five, and if you still haven’t given me a straight answer you’ll be mucking out the latrines with a very small sponge. Clear? One.’

‘Lupercus has already told you, sir. It was a simple accident.’

‘Two.’

‘He was carrying the tray of wine cups and the jug and he tripped.’

‘Three, four, five.’

‘Sir, that is not fair! You cheated!’

‘Bugger that. Just take a deep breath, think of the latrines and tell me the truth. Now. Last chance.’

Bathyllus fizzed for a bit. Finally, he held up the tray he was carrying.

‘There’s a thumbprint on this, sir,’ he said. ‘A greasy thumbprint.’

‘ What? ’

‘It’s perfectly distinct. Look for yourself.’ He thrust the tray under my nose. ‘I’ve told him several times about washing his hands before he touches the silver, but he just won’t listen. It’s appalling! Besides, serving the wine is my job. It has to be done properly.’

I stared at him. He was almost gabbling, which was about as likely from Bathyllus as seeing him do a tap dance round the dining room wearing a tutu and clogs.

‘Is that all?’ I said. ‘This is all about a fucking thumbprint ?’

‘But, sir!’

Jupiter in bloody spangles! ‘Right, little guy,’ I said. ‘A word, please. Outside. Now.’

He gave me a look, then tucked the tray under his arm and marched out into the corridor. I got up and followed.

‘Now,’ I said quietly when I’d got him alone. ‘You remember what I said when we arrived? About give and take while we’re here?’

‘Yes, sir, I remember very well.’

‘So quote me. Verbatim.’

‘You said, “We are not at home to Mr Refuse to Compromise”, sir.’ A sniff. ‘Whatever that meant.’

‘Correct. And never mind the qualification; you get the general gist, don’t you?’ He didn’t answer. ‘Listen, pal, we’ve all got to learn to share, OK? It’ll be the Winter Festival in a few days, and that’s no time for throwing tantrums, is it?’ Still silence. ‘Now you go back in there and apologise to Lupercus, or you go straight home on the next available cart. Got it?’

‘But …’

‘Ah-ah. I mean it. No buts. Just do as you’re told. Repeat after me: “Lupercus, I am very sorry …”’

‘Sir!’

‘Come on, Bathyllus. You can do it if you try. “Lupercus, I am very sorry …”’

He clenched his teeth. ‘Lupercus’m’ver’sorry …’

‘“For the way I behaved …”’

‘F’r’way I b’haved.’

‘“And it won’t happen again.”’

‘’N’ it won’t h’ppn ’gain.’

I patted him on the shoulder. ‘Good. Well done. That wasn’t so difficult, was it? Now in you come.’

I went back in, with Bathyllus trailing behind.

‘Bathyllus has something to say to you, Lupercus,’ I said, lying down again. ‘Go ahead, sunshine. In your own time.’

Bathyllus drew himself up to his full five feet four. ‘Lupercus,’ he said, ‘I apologise for having tried to take the wine tray from you before you brought it in, even if its filthy condition was totally obvious to anyone not completely devoid of-’

‘Bathyllus!’

‘Yes, sir,’ he said stiffly. ‘I am doing what you asked. Apologising.’ He turned back to Lupercus. ‘Please accept my assurances that the incident will not be repeated. Always, that is, given that in future you-’

Gods! ‘ Bathyllus! Just cut it out, OK?’

‘Yes, sir. Of course. That is all I have to say at present, Lupercus. Now if you’ll excuse me, sir, madam.’ He left, with huge dignity.

Bugger.

‘You can go too, Lupercus,’ Clarus said. ‘Tidy up the mess, please, and bring us some more wine.’

‘Certainly, sir.’ Lupercus left. There was a long silence.

‘Oh dear,’ Perilla said faintly. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’

Marilla giggled.

The lady put down the stuffed olive she’d been holding. ‘It’s not funny, Marilla,’ she said. ‘Not really. Bathyllus takes himself and his position very seriously. And he has very high standards.’