David Wishart - Solid Citizens

‘ What? ’

‘“No member shall for any reason divulge the name or personal details of a fellow member to a third party, or give any account of transactions between them outside club premises, subject to the summary removal of their own name from the club’s membership roll.”’ He picked up the stylus again and reached for another tablet. ‘Perhaps you could inform your friend the next time you see him. And now I’m afraid I’m extremely busy. Publius will show you out and under the circumstances your entry fee will be returned. Just tell him that I have so instructed.’

‘Now wait just a minute!’

‘That’s all, Valerius Corvinus. A pleasure to have met you. Have a nice Festival.’

He opened the tablet and began to read. Interview, obviously, well and truly over.

Bugger! Crispus would kill me! Still, it was done now, and he wouldn’t find out until our pal Rhadames gave him the bum’s rush the next time he dropped by. I’d just have to hope our paths didn’t cross in the remotely foreseeable future.

On my way through to the lobby, escorted by the gentleman in question, I happened to glance over towards the far wall of the common room, just as a ministering slave bent over to talk to the punter lying on the single couch next to one of the candelabra. The man turned his head, and the light caught his face clearly.

It was Quintus Baebius.

Well, well, well.

When I checked on the weather for the ride back next morning it had taken a turn for the worse: a gusting wind with snow on its boots straight out of the north, with a mixture of rain and hail thrown in for good measure. Me, I’m no masochist — there’s no fun in spending three or four hours on horseback getting soaked to the skin and frozen — so I put off going until the day after in the hopes that things might settle down.

Which, for a marvel, they did late in the afternoon, when the wind suddenly died, the sun came out, and Jupiter gave us what was left of a fine December day. Even so, it made for a late start. Worse, I’d only got about half way to Bovillae when the weather changed again with a vengeance. By the time I’d reached it and covered the last four miles to Castrimoenium it was long past dinner and I was long past caring. I had a much-needed steam in the villa’s baths and lugged my shattered carcass upstairs to bed.

Not that I felt too bad next morning; grouses aside, all that riding exercise I’d been putting in between the villa and Bovillae recently seemed to be paying off. When I came down to breakfast — as usual, I’d left Perilla snoring away and dead to the world — the only one in the dining room was Clarus.

‘Morning, pal,’ I said, lying down on the couch. ‘Where’s the Princess?’

‘Been and gone,’ he said. ‘Out with Placida. How was Rome?’

Ah, the joys of owning a pet with a daily need to roll in and then consume the remains and excreta of the local wildlife. ‘Still there.’

‘Successful time?’

‘Not a complete waste, in the end,’ I said. ‘Tell you later.’

Lupercus buttled in. ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said. ‘Would you like an omelette?’

‘No. Bread and honey’ll do fine, pal.’ Me, I’m not normally a breakfast person, unlike Perilla, who can really shift it, or the Princess who can eat as much as both of us combined, and although I’d missed dinner the night before, a day and a half of Meton’s cooking had set me up nicely. ‘No Bathyllus? I thought that was part of this silly deal of yours.’

‘Ah … Bathyllus is slightly incapacitated this morning, sir.’

‘You mean he’s ill? ’

‘Not exactly, no.’

I looked up at him. The guy had an angry-looking bruise on his forehead. ‘You have an accident, Lupercus?’

‘It’s nothing serious, sir. I bumped into a door.’

Clarus’s full attention was focused on his omelette. No eye contact, no reaction. Lupercus might as well not have existed. There was definitely something screwy here.

I sighed.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Wheel him in.’

‘Wheel who in, sir?’ Lupercus said. I just looked at him. ‘Really, there’s absolutely no need to-’

‘Just do it. Spit spot, if you will. Breakfast can wait.’

Lupercus went out.

‘You know anything about this, Clarus?’ I said.

‘Not in any detail, no.’ Clarus was still not looking at me. ‘I was careful not to ask.’

‘Bugger that.’

Lupercus came in with Bathyllus tagging along behind. The little guy had a beautiful shiner which was rapidly turning purple.

‘Good morning, sir,’ he said. ‘Did you have a good trip?’

‘Never mind the trip, sunshine,’ I said wearily. ‘Let’s get this over with. And I won’t believe a repeat of the door story, either. Who threw the first punch?’

Bathyllus fizzed for a moment. Then he said: ‘Actually, sir, it was a pot of metal polish. I happened to be holding it at the time.’ I goggled at him. ‘In my defence I have to say that he called me a superannuated fossil.’

‘What the hell is a fossil?’

‘Only after he called me a talentless whippersnapper,’ Lupercus said.

‘I did not!’

‘You did!’

‘I did not say “talentless”. The word I used was “incompetent”.’

‘That’s even-’

Gods alive! ‘ Will you both shut up! ’ I shouted. They subsided. ‘You’re acting like five-year-olds, the pair of you! Bathyllus, you especially. What started all this in the first place?’

‘Your mother, sir. The Lady Vipsania. And Helvius Priscus,’ Bathyllus said stiffly. ‘They’re arriving tomorrow.’

‘Yeah. So?’

‘I’ve always looked after them when our visits here coincide. You know that. They expect it.’

Gods give me patience! I took a deep breath. ‘Sure you have, Bathyllus, so far,’ I said carefully. ‘No arguments. But that was while the Lady Marcia was alive, and only because she sent Laertes down to Baiae to visit his sister for the duration. Marcia’s gone, and so has Laertes. The household’s got its own major-domo now.’

‘That’s exactly what I told him, sir!’ Lupercus said. ‘But he wouldn’t listen!’

‘Hold on, pal.’ I held up a hand. ‘Just leave this to me, OK? Bathyllus?’

‘The Lady Vipsania and her husband are family, sir, and as such according to our agreement — ’ he gave Lupercus a fifty-candelabra glare — ‘they fall within my area of responsibility.’

Lupercus glared back at him. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’ve told you a dozen times, they are not family, they are fu-’ He caught himself. ‘They are guests . Guests are my affair.’ He turned to Clarus. ‘Isn’t that right, sir?’

Jupiter! ‘Just hang on a minute, Clarus,’ I said. ‘This is easily enough settled. Bathyllus, pack your things.’

He stared at me. ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

‘Toothbrush and smalls, please, straight away. I warned you. Lupercus is absolutely right. If you can’t get along with him — which you obviously can’t — then you can go back to Rome.’

‘But …’

‘No buts. It’s the Winter Festival in a few days, and nobody wants squabbling and temper tantrums then. No doubt there’ll be a cart going through at some time or other today. See that you’re on it. I’ll talk to you when we get back.’

‘But you can’t …’

‘Oh, yes, I can. Watch and marvel.’

He drew himself up for a bit more self-righteous fizzing, then caught my eye. Finally, teeth firmly clenched, he said: ‘Yes, sir. Will that be all?’

‘Yeah, Bathyllus. That’s about it. Put some raw steak on that eye.’

‘Yes, sir.’