David Wishart - Solid Citizens

‘Living in Bovillae?’

‘Yes. Or so I believe.’

‘So you believe ?’

A hesitation. ‘He and the master didn’t get on, sir. Not for a great many years, since their father died, in fact.’

‘Why would that be, now?’

‘I really couldn’t say.’

Flat statement, delivered with a poker face and with all the indications that that was all I’d be getting on the subject. Bugger; I recognized the signs. I’d hit the Faithful Retainer syndrome head on. Couldn’t say summed it up: I’d bet a combination of the thumbscrew and wild horses wouldn’t have dragged the words out of him. Not to a stranger, certainly.

Leave it. For the present, at least.

‘Pity,’ I said easily. ‘So. Do you have any idea where I’d find him? Brother Lucius?’

‘I’d imagine in one of the local wine shops.’ That came out sharper than probably even he’d expected, because he visibly clammed up after he’d said it. Still, his loyalties would lie with the elder brother, not the younger one, so it didn’t come as the shock that it might have.

‘He, uh, likes a cup or two of wine, then?’ No answer. ‘Are you saying he’s an actual drunk?’ Again, silence, which was an answer in itself. ‘Come on, pal! You’re not breaking any major confidences here. Bovillae’s a small town. Someone else’ll tell me anyway, if you won’t. Besides, it’s no big deal. Lots of families have them.’

‘Master Lucius does have a problem in that regard, sir, yes. A very long-standing one.’

‘He’ll be his brother’s heir, though, won’t he? If there aren’t any children?’

‘That I can’t strictly say, sir.’ Anthus was looking prim. ‘Presumably. Although that’s no concern of mine, because the master has given me my freedom. I know that already.’

So when Lucius the Lush moved in — if he moved in — Anthus would be gone, and from the looks of things not sorry to go, either. Well, fair enough. ‘Congratulations,’ I said. ‘You have any plans made?’

A blush — or what, in this Bathyllus lookalike, passed for one. ‘There is a certain widow-lady, sir. A baker with a shop near the Circus. We’ve had an understanding for several years now, ever since her husband died. She’s freeborn, so up to now that’s been an impediment. But when I get my cap … well, yes, I do have plans.’

‘Good for you, pal. The best of luck.’

‘Thank you.’

‘So, uh, Brother Lucius is the only living relative, is he?’

Another hesitation. ‘Well, sir, to be strictly accurate, no, he isn’t. The master also had a nephew on his wife’s side. A young gentleman by the name of Aulus Mettius.’ There was just the smidgeon of an edge on the word ‘gentleman’.

‘Uh-huh. And he lives where, exactly?’

‘Here in Bovillae. Or rather, the family villa is just outside town, beyond the Tiburtine Gate. He isn’t married, and he lives there with his mother. She, as I said, was the late mistress’s younger sister. She’s been a widow now for many years.’

‘And this Aulus Mettius and his uncle didn’t get on either, I suppose, right?’

‘No, sir. In fact, I don’t think the master has had any contact whatsoever with him for the past ten years, at least. Not since he was relegated.’

‘Relegated?’ I said sharply. Relegation’s the punishment for a crime, a minor form of exile where the convicted man is forbidden to come within, say, a hundred miles of his home town for a fixed period; the difference being that he isn’t permanently deprived of citizenship or stripped of his assets. ‘For what?’

‘Theft, sir. He was caught stealing money from his employer. A local lawyer. Master Aulus was relegated for ten years, and the period only expired recently.’

Uh-huh. ‘The lawyer wouldn’t be a guy called Publius Novius, would it, by any chance?’

He looked surprised. ‘Yes, it would, as it happens. You know him?’

‘Yeah. Slightly. He was your master’s lawyer, too, wasn’t he?’

‘Of course. Naturally. Publius Novius is the only lawyer in Bovillae, sir, and has been these forty years and more. Master Aulus was his apprentice clerk. In fact, it was the master who got the young man his position, originally. He and Novius were long-standing friends. He felt very guilty over the affair, sir. Very guilty indeed.’

Yeah, well, no surprises there. As far as the original recommendation was concerned, it was normal procedure in any family, particularly a well-connected one: a close relative had a duty to help launch a young man just starting out on his career, if he could, and if he was part of the Old Boy network, as Caesius obviously was, then that was the way it was done. The guilt was understandable, too: as his nephew’s patron and sponsor Caesius would’ve felt personally responsible when everything went pear-shaped.

‘So that was the reason for the estrangement,’ I said. ‘The theft and his nephew’s relegation, yes?’

Anthus shook his head. ‘Oh, no, sir. Not at all,’ he said. ‘Although of course it did confirm the master in his opinion. The actual break itself had already taken place, a few years previously but subsequent to the young man’s being taken on by the legal gentleman. His nephew was always a great disappointment to Master Quintus.’

‘So what was the reason, then?’

The major-domo hesitated, and I thought he wasn’t going to answer; Old Retainer Syndrome kicking in again. Finally, though, he cleared his throat and said, ‘Master Aulus entered into an unsuitable romantic entanglement with a girl well beneath him socially, sir. He always was a very unconventional young man, and completely unrealistic in his outlook.’

Uh-huh. Reading between the lines, I could make a fair guess at what had happened, and given the guy’s family circumstances why it had led to a breach. A casual sexual liaison between the son of the house and a girl from a lower class, sure, that wouldn’t have mattered: it happened all the time, and no one gave it a second thought. He might even set her up as a mistress without raising too many eyebrows, let alone hackles. But anything more serious — which was what Anthus was implying here — would cause major ructions. And I’d guess, from what I knew of him already, that Quintus Caesius hadn’t been one to hold liberal views.

‘So who was the lady?’ I said. Silence. ‘Come on, Anthus! Give!’

‘I’m sorry, sir. That I can’t tell you, and in any case it’s old history now.’

Can’t or won’t again? Probably the second. Ah well, being ancient history it probably wasn’t important, anyway. Mind you, I’d have to have a word pretty soon with this Aulus Mettius. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘So let’s talk about the murder itself. Anything there you can tell me about?’

‘Such as what, sir?’

‘Your master had, uh, made a habit of visiting the local brothel these past couple of months, so I understand.’

Anthus’s lips formed a tight line. ‘I’m afraid, Valerius Corvinus, that I really cannot help you there.’

‘Oh, come on, pal! It can’t be a sensitive subject, surely. That’s where he was found, remember.’

He shook his head. ‘No, sir,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m sorry. The master was a very private man, who kept himself to himself. His personal life was none of my concern, unless he chose to make it so. He did not, in that regard, and it was certainly not my place to pry. Nor, if you’ll forgive me, to discuss the matter with strangers.’

Yeah, well; that was me told. And maybe I had been pushing things, to be fair. Besides, I’d already got all the information on the subject that I needed from Andromeda.

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘OK. Moving on. What about the period immediately prior to his death? Anything significant there that you noticed?’