David Wishart - Last Rites

I stood up. ‘Thanks, pal. You’ve been very helpful. I owe you one.’

Crispus grunted. ‘Just stay out of my life. That’s all I ask.’

I left. On the steps of the building I saw Sextius Nomentanus coming up, but I pretended I hadn’t seen him. He wouldn’t’ve known about Torquata having to repeat the rite, sure, but I wasn’t taking any chances: bad news travels fast.

The Temple of Juno Moneta, where the Mint is, was only a comparative step or two away. At least today I was saving on shoe leather: Murena could just as easily have been attached to the grain supply offices in Ostia, which would’ve been a real bugger. If finding the guy was easy, though, getting to talk to him was going to prove a bummer because I couldn’t just walk up and say, ‘Hey, my name’s Valerius Corvinus, I understand you’re screwing the senior consul’s wife and I was wondering if you played the flute.’ I needed an in, and an in I hadn’t got. I was still desperately trying to think of one when I reached the temple steps.

Which was when I saw Gaius Secundus limping towards me. Secundus and I had practically grown up together, and until our paths had split in our late teens he’d been my best friend. Then as one of the Wart’s son Drusus’s aides in Pannonia he’d taken a bad tumble from his horse and wrecked his right leg and with it a blossoming military career. Not that it had soured him. Nothing could sour Secundus; he was too nice a guy.

I waved. ‘Hey, Gaius!’

He looked up, did a double-take, beamed and came over. We shook hands and grinned at each other. He’d aged, of course, since I’d last seen him a few months after the accident, but then that happens to us all, and he was still the good-looking bastard who’d had half the unattached females in Rome twittering round him.

‘So, Marcus,’ he said. ‘You’re back.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Permanently?’

‘I think so. For the foreseeable future, anyway.’

‘How’s Perilla?’

‘She’s well.’ Then, before he could ask: ‘We’ve an adopted daughter. She’s living up in the Alban hills with Perilla’s Aunt Marcia. You?’

‘Married too, now.’ His grin widened. ‘Very much so. You remember Furia Gemella?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ I did: the little stunner with the soup, the earrings and the matrimonial gleam in her eye. So she’d got him in the end. ‘She any relation to the current deputy chief priest?’

‘The daughter of a cousin.’ Well, us old families did tend to marry into each other, and relationships were so involved sometimes it’d need an Alexander to cut through the tangle. Marrying Perilla had made me unusual. Not that I was complaining. ‘We’ve three kids. All boys.’

‘Congratulations.’ Hell; Murena could wait. ‘You have time to split a jug of wine?’

He shook his head. ‘Can’t, unfortunately. Not now, anyway. I’m working.’

‘As what?’

‘A city judge, believe it or not. Only I drew one of the short straws for the Mint.’

Yeah; that made sense. The two chief Mint officers were praetors. So the gods did reward those who led a blameless, upright life after all. I sent up a small prayer of thanks to Mercury, guardian god of snoops; the duplicitous old reprobate was obviously on my side, and he was working his winged sandals off. ‘Really?’ I said.

‘Really. If you’ve business, though, we could meet up later. Name the place and I’ll be there when the office closes.’

‘You’ve got a deal. Ah…’ I hesitated. ‘You happen to know a guy called Murena, by the way? Gaius Licinius Murena?’

‘Sure. He’s one of my finance officers.’

Better and better! Oh, thank you, Mercury! ‘Could you describe him? Physically, I mean?’

Secundus frowned. Intellectually gifted he wasn’t, but he was no fool either. ‘What’s this about?’

‘Maybe nothing. But I have to know what he looks like.’

‘Young. Twenty-something. Good-looking, eye for the girls.’

Yes! ‘He, uh, play the flute at all?’

The frown deepened. ‘Not that I know of, but I’d be surprised if he did. Marcus, you involved in something?’

‘Yeah. Only it’s complicated.’

Secundus’s face cleared and he laughed. ‘Meaning you don’t want to tell me, right?’

‘Right.’ I grinned back. ‘Not at the moment, anyway. Look, pal, I need a favour. A big favour.’

‘You only have to ask. You know that.’

‘Could you bring us together? I don’t want an introduction, in fact I’d rather not have one, but it’d help if I saw the guy myself. Is that possible?’

‘Sure. Nothing easier.’ He shrugged. ‘If he’s around he should be in the clerks’ room. I’ll take you there now.

‘That’d be great.’

We went into the Mint building. One thing about tagging along with the boss, you aren’t asked any questions and you don’t have to answer any. Secundus led me along a maze of corridors and opened the door of a long room stacked with shelves and smelling of ink and parchment. The dozen or so scribes sitting at desks took one look and began to be very busy indeed. One of them, an old guy with buck teeth and ink-stained fingers, came over.

‘Morning, Sestus,’ Secundus said. ‘Is Gaius Licinius here?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The slave’s eyes went to me briefly and slid off incurious. ‘In his office.’

‘Fine.’ He turned to me. ‘Excuse me, Marcus, this won’t take a minute. Do you want to wait or will you come as well?’

‘Oh, I’ll come,’ I said.

Murena was at his desk. As we came in he looked up and set the tablet he’d been reading aside. Yeah, he fitted. He fitted very well.

‘Ah, Gaius,’ Secundus said. ‘I wanted to have a brief word with you about the die stamp for the new issue.’ He glanced over his shoulder at me. ‘I’m sorry, Marcus. A little business, I’m afraid. You’re sure you don’t mind waiting?’

It was beautifully done. I hadn’t known Secundus had any acting talents, but he could’ve given old Roscius lessons. ‘No, I’m fine,’ I said. I leaned against the doorpost and did my best to look bored while Secundus talked technicalities.

The guy was perfect: twenty-four, twenty-five max, slim and muscular as a Games net-and-trident man and with a face like a Greek Apollo. Good voice, too: ‘husky’, like Aegle had said. I could just imagine women curling up when he whispered sweet nothings in their ears. No wonder Aemilia had lost her heart and her pants. The fluteplaying side of things was a problem, sure, but that was something I could check up on along with the guy’s movements on the evening in question.

Secundus gave it a good ten minutes then got us out. He didn’t relax the pose until we were back outside the building itself.

‘Well?’ he said. ‘You get what you wanted?’

‘Yeah. Thanks, pal.’ I grinned. ‘In spades. I owe you one.’

He grinned back. ‘You owe me one jug of the best Caecuban in Gorgio’s cellar. Or half a jug, anyway, this time of day. I’m not greedy and Gemella doesn’t like me going home pissed and reeking of strong drink.’

‘You too?’ I laughed. ‘Okay, you’ve got it. So when are you free?’

We arranged a time and I left him to do whatever praetors in charge of Rome’s mobile wealth do between sunrise and noon. Probably rest their feet on top of a desk and let the minions do the work. Then I went back down the hill towards Market Square and Tuscan Street to put myself a cup or two ahead while I waited. I reckoned I deserved the break. It’d been a busy and largely successful morning, and there ain’t no better way to unwind than in a good wineshop with a saucer of cheese and olives and a decent belt of Caecuban.

Also to think. How the hell did I go about finding out more about Gaius Licinius Murena?