David Wishart - Solid Citizens

‘Thank you, Publius,’ said the woman sitting behind the desk. ‘Off you go, dear.’ Mauve-tunic closed the door behind me, and I took stock. Sixties, easy, but made-up to the nines. Auburn wig that would’ve made two of the normal variety, with a fair bit left over. Nose like the business end of a trireme and earrings that, if they moved, would clank rather than tinkle. Not exactly a subtle dresser, was Andromeda’s ex-mistress.

She didn’t look all that friendly, either. The eyes above the trireme’s beak were as frosty as the air in the room.

‘Well?’ she said. ‘What do you want?’

‘Opilia?’

‘Opilia Lucinda, yes.’

‘Valerius Corvinus. I’m looking into a couple of murders on behalf of the senate over in Bovillae.’

‘Are you, now?’ The heavily made-up eyebrows went up a notch, and she smiled. ‘That’s nice. So?’

‘One of them was your freedwoman. Andromeda. She was found dead yesterday morning. In her flat above the brothel.’

The smile disappeared and the expression on her face under its inch or so of powder and rouge suddenly went blank. There was a cup of what looked like neat wine on the desk beside her. She picked it up, drained it at a swallow and closed her eyes. I waited.

‘Holy Mother Juno!’ she murmured. ‘Oh, the poor little bleeder!’ She opened her eyes again. ‘Who did it?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. I wondered if you could help.’

She shook her head. ‘Not me, dear, I’m sorry. I haven’t seen her for over a year now.’

‘Yeah, right, I understand that. I was hoping, though, that you could fill in a bit of her background for me. About the time before she came to Bovillae. Before she came here, even.’

‘Park yourself.’ There was a stool to one side of the desk. I pulled it up and sat. She took a deep breath. ‘What did you want to know?’

‘You bought her from a guy named Quintus Caesius. About twenty years back.’

‘Seventeen. Which was her age at the time too. Lovely girl, she was. Clever, also.’

‘You happen to know why he sold her?’

‘There was a bit of trouble over a young man. One of the family. Her master wanted rid of her.’

‘Was that all?’

‘All that the gentleman told me, lovey.’ Bugger! My heart sank; it looked like I’d had a wasted journey. ‘Not that I asked for more, mind, because I was lucky to get her, particularly at the price. She was a good little worker, Andromeda, took a real interest in the job. Customers appreciate that. And she kept her looks, until we had the fire. That doesn’t happen with many in the trade, not past thirty. You’ll know about the fire, I suppose?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Dreadful, that was, and I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for her, none of us would. She kept her head, and she got us out, all of us, me and the girls. Got herself badly burned doing it, too, the silly cow.’

‘That was why you freed her, right?’ I said.

She nodded. ‘It was the least I could do, and she was finished in the trade. Scarring’s a proper turn-off for the punters.’ She frowned. ‘And now she’s dead, holy Juno rest her bones. What a bloody waste.’

‘So there isn’t anything else you can tell me?’ I said. ‘About her life before you bought her?’

‘No. I’m sorry, dear, but I can’t.’ Hell. ‘Mind you, you could always ask Galla. She might know more.’

‘Galla?’

‘One of the girls. They were very thick together, her and Andromeda. Galla was … you could call her a protégée, if you were being fancy.’

‘You think I could do that now?’

‘No reason why not. We’re quiet at the moment. Pre-festival’s always a quiet time; the punters tend to have other things on their minds. And I’m sure Galla will help you if she can.’

‘That’d be great. Thanks.’

She stood up: the chair she’d been sitting on must’ve been raised, because she was tiny. ‘You just stay here and I’ll get her, then,’ she said. ‘But give me a minute or two to break the news to the little bitch myself, because it’ll come as a bit of a shock. All right?’

‘Sure. No problem.’

She went out, and I waited. It was a good quarter of an hour before the door opened again and a girl came in. Reddish hair, probably dyed (which would explain her name), late teens, pretty, thin face. She’d obviously been crying.

I got up. ‘You like to sit down, Galla?’ I said.

She sat on the stool, while I perched on the edge of the desk.

‘How did she die?’ Quiet voice, clear vowels. I could see why she and Andromeda had got on so well. Or maybe if she’d been Andromeda’s protégée she’d used the older woman as a model.

The kid was upset enough already. I hesitated before I answered.

‘Uh … does that matter?’ I said gently.

‘No. Not really. But I’d like to know, please.’ She was sitting prim as a well-brought-up schoolgirl, knees pressed together under her short tunic and hands folded in her lap. She sounded like one, as well. I wondered, fleetingly, what her own background was.

‘Someone hit her on the head,’ I said. ‘Probably while she was sleeping. At least, that’s what my son-in-law told me. He’s a doctor. He said she wouldn’t have known anything about it.’ Actually, when we’d had our talk about the when and how of Andromeda’s death, Clarus had said nothing of the kind. But a lie about a thing like that doesn’t do any harm.

She nodded; just once, but there was a sort of satisfied finality to the movement. ‘The mistress said you’d questions to ask me,’ she said. ‘About her life before she came here.’

‘Yeah. That’s right. It might be important.’

‘Do you know about Gratillus?’

‘Who?’

‘Gratillus. Her brother.’

‘Andromeda had a brother?’

‘Yes. He was seven years younger than her.’

‘Is that so, now?’ I said, trying to keep my voice level. ‘OK. Tell me about Gratillus.’

‘He … her master — Caesius, that was — used him.’

‘Used him?’

‘You know.’ She shrugged. ‘Bed, like. Finally he ran away. Only they caught him and brought him back. Caesius had him sent to the mines, and a month later, he was dead. A tunnel collapsed.’

Shit! I was staring at her. ‘And this happened just before Andromeda was sold, yes?’

‘Yes. One day, she took a knife and … Caesius wasn’t hurt, not even scratched, but Andromeda said it gave him a fright. She thought he’d have her killed, or mutilated at least as a punishment. She wouldn’t’ve minded either, if only she’d managed to stab him first. But Caesius sold her to the mistress instead. He said he was being merciful. That’s the word he used, merciful. On account of the circumstances. He believed it too, she said.’ She looked straight at me. ‘Andromeda hated that man.’

Yeah; I’d bet she did. Gods! ‘Was that why when she got her freedom she chose to move back to Bovillae?’ I said.

Galla nodded. ‘Even though she knew there wasn’t anything she could do to hurt him, she thought if she waited long enough there might be a chance.’

‘Of killing him, you mean?’

A slight shake of the head and a frown; not a denial, more like she hadn’t been clear and was annoyed with herself. ‘Destroying him. That was the word she always used. Death wasn’t bad enough; she wanted him to suffer first. Oh, she would’ve settled for second best, killed him outright if she could. In any case, what other way was there? The law wouldn’t help. Her brother was a slave. Caesius could do whatever he liked with him.’

True. Only it was truth with a qualification: the law’s one thing, sure, but society’s another. Caesius might’ve been within his legal rights, but if the respectable voters of Bovillae had found out that one of their great and good was in the habit of screwing ten-year-old slave boys the bastard’s political career would’ve been finished, and no one would’ve touched him socially with a barge pole. No wonder he’d got rid of her.