David Wishart - Solid Citizens

Caesius’s collecting rival wasn’t strapped for cash, that was for sure: if the house’s setting hadn’t shown me that already, there was a very nice mural of the Judgement of Paris on the wall that from the quality of the artwork must’ve cost a packet, and three or four life-size bronzes which were either originals or first-rate copies. I was examining the one which had been given pride of place in front of the peristyle opening — a young Bacchus, holding up a bunch of grapes to Eros on his shoulder — when the man himself came in.

‘Valerius Corvinus,’ he said. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. Do sit down and make yourself comfortable. A cup of wine, perhaps? It’s not too early for you?’

‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘That’d be great.’

Cultured voice, mid to late forties, fit-looking despite the small paunch evident under the cover of his lounging tunic. Totally at ease, and very sure of himself. Antiquities nut Baebius might well prove to be, but one along the lines of Priscus he wasn’t: Perilla had it right there. This was a guy in the prime of life who was socially confident and kept himself in good physical shape. I sat down on the nearest couch. That was impressive, too; one of a matching set of three that could’ve come over with Lucius Mummius two hundred years back, after he’d sacked Corinth for us.

The young slave I’d met at the door and who’d gone to fetch his master had come in at his heels. Baebius turned to him.

‘Clitus? Wine, please, if you’d be so good,’ he said. ‘And some of those Alexandrian dates.’ Well, that probably explained the paunch. Still, he had to have some weaknesses. The slave bowed and left. ‘You’re from Rome, Corvinus, I understand?’

‘Yeah, that’s right. Staying over with family in Castrimoenium for the festival.’

‘I visit there quite often. Rome, I mean.’

‘Business or pleasure?’

‘Both, generally.’ He smiled. ‘Oh, nothing very demanding or wearying where the first’s concerned. Quite the reverse. I’ve business interests in the city, yes, but I’m in the fortunate position of being largely a man of leisure and independent means. I’m ashamed to admit that what few business interests I have are really only an excuse for the frequency of the visits. A pleasant excuse, mind, because they do have a close connection with my private hobby.’

‘Buying and selling antiques?’

His eyes widened. ‘You know, then? Or was it an educated guess? But of course it wasn’t; that’s why you’re here. You were talking to Nausiphanes the other day, I understand, and he gave you my name.’

‘If he’s the old freedman who manages the shop you own near market square, then yeah, that’s right. I was in there buying a present for my stepfather, Helvius Priscus. You know him?’

‘Priscus? No, not really, although we have met. An expert on the Etruscan period, isn’t he?’

‘Yeah, that’s him.’

‘It’s not an area I’m particularly interested in as a collector, although if you like that sort of thing it produced some very fine pieces. I hope Nausiphanes gave you a good price. What did you buy?’

‘Nothing too expensive. An ivory plaque.’

‘Ah. One of the Sicilian ones, I suppose. Yes, they are rather nice, aren’t they?’ The slave came back with a loaded tray. Baebius smiled at him. ‘Thank you, my boy. Just pour for us and leave us to it, if you will. The wine’s Greek, I’m afraid, Corvinus. Pramnian. I prefer Greek wines, myself. A little idiosyncratic, perhaps even downright blasphemous, considering where we are, but the Alban ones are a little too forthright for my taste. See what you think.’

The slave gave me the cup, and I sipped. Too much on the perfumed side for me, but I couldn’t complain about the quality, which was top-of-the-range. Only to be expected, I supposed: I was beginning to realize that Quintus Baebius didn’t do second-rate. ‘Very nice,’ I said.

The slave handed Baebius his own cup, put the tray with the wine flask — antique Corinthian again, and solid silver — within reach, together with the tray of stuffed dates, bowed and went back out.

‘Now,’ Baebius said. ‘To business. How can I help you? It’s about that fellow Caesius’s death, obviously, I know that, but beyond the simple fact I’m at a bit of a loss. Nausiphanes will have told you that we weren’t on friendly terms, certainly, which is no doubt why you’re here talking to me, but I’m afraid there’s no more to it than that.’

‘You had a disagreement a couple of months ago,’ I said. ‘Over a figurine?’

‘Ah.’ He laughed. ‘Nausiphanes told you about the Runner, then, did he? My, what an old gossip he is! Well, it’s true enough. A small bronze, yes, a beautiful little piece, made in Pergamum in the time of the first Attalus, probably by Epigonus or one of his better pupils. It was part of the estate of old Plautius Silvanus, who died in the summer, and Caesius had the good fortune to acquire it.’

‘Before the auction.’

‘Yes. Hardly ethical on his part, and very annoying, but there you are.’

‘Nausiphanes said you were … the word he used was “livid”.’

Baebius took a careful sip of his wine before replying. ‘He exaggerates,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t pleased, certainly, in fact I was quite upset at the time — as I say, that is not how things are done in the antiques business — but “livid” is putting it far too strongly.’

I let that one go. ‘And you’d be surprised to know that the thing’s disappeared, would you?’

He gave me a sharp look. ‘I certainly would. When did this happen?’

‘According to Caesius’s major-domo, sometime between the day of the murder and now. He can’t explain it.’

‘And nor can I, Valerius Corvinus, if that’s what you’re implying. I’ve never been inside Quintus Caesius’s house in all the years I’ve known him, nor he in mine.’

‘Yeah, so the major-domo said. It’s a puzzle, right enough. Still, who else would be interested in it apart from you?’

‘Oh, now, hold on a moment.’ He’d set down his wine cup, and there was more than a touch of steel in his voice underlying the polite, civilized tone. ‘You think I stole it? Or acquired it illegally by some means? Because if you do-’

‘Look,’ I said easily. ‘All I’m interested in are the circumstances of Caesius’s death, right? If the missing figurine has no connection with that, then fine, but I need to know one way or the other. Or to find out. Which, believe me, I will, eventually.’

‘Now you look.’ Baebius stood up; the steel was in his eyes, now, and the politeness was gone. ‘I’m not used to being called a thief, let alone being accused by implication of murder. Certainly not in my own house by a guest who has invited himself in here. Nevertheless, I give you my word — and I’ll swear to it, if you like — that it is not now and never has been in my possession. Now I’d be grateful if you’d leave, please. Good day to you.’

‘Fair enough.’ I set my own wine cup down carefully on the table beside me and got to my feet. ‘That’s that, then. Thanks for your time.’

I walked off towards the lobby. I’d reached the entrance to it and was heading through towards the front door when he called out: ‘Corvinus!’

I looked round. ‘Yeah?’

‘Just a moment.’

I came back into the atrium. He was still standing there, frowning.

‘I can’t let you go like this,’ he said. ‘And perhaps I was rude in my turn, or at least a little abrupt. If so then I’m sorry. You have your job to do, and I should have taken that into consideration. Sit down, please.’ I did; he did the same, and took a deep breath. ‘Caesius sent me a note, the day he died. In it he said he was willing to let me have the Runner in exchange for a piece which I own — of the same date and quality, and by the same artist, a small bronze of a fisherman — plus a sum in cash; he’d bid against me for it a year or so ago, and on that occasion I was the one who’d been successful. Sheer opportunistic profiteering on his part, of course, since the pieces were of equal merit and value, and the sum of money he demanded was not small. If I agreed, he said, we could meet on neutral ground that evening and make the trade.’