David Wishart - Last Rites

Silence. Complete silence. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Lepida shifting on her couch, but her father hadn’t moved. Not a finger, not a muscle. You could’ve set a couple of the family busts next to him and if you hadn’t known which the real, living man was there would’ve been nothing to tell you. We stared at each other for a good minute. Then I straightened. ‘Ah, the hell!’

I was halfway out the door when he spoke. Even now he didn’t raise his voice.

‘Corvinus.’

I turned. ‘Yeah?’

‘You’re quite right. I apologise.’

Just that. Gods! Not so much as a batted eyelid! I’ll never understand these lord-of-the-world bastards; me, I’d’ve punched my lights out, or tried to, anyway. Still, I’d got what I wanted. I sat down again. ‘Okay, sir,’ I said. ‘You want to tell it in your own time?’

‘Very well.’ Still that calm, controlled tone of voice that made me want to thump him, but at least he was talking. ‘You asked me to answer your questions. That is what I shall do. If I remember correctly, they were: why did I want a meeting in the first place; why did I choose what one might call neutral territory; and why was the note not delivered in the normal way.’

‘Yeah.’ I kept my fists bunched below desk-level. ‘Right.’

‘Indeed.’ He cleared his throat. I had the distinct feeling that, poised aristo or not, the guy was nervous or ashamed; maybe both. ‘The first question, then. I’ve known for several years that my son harboured an affection for my former ward which was not wholly fraternal. Forbidding him to see her under any circumstances early in the course of things might have been wise; however, I doubt if it would have done much good, and I have never tried to control my children’s lives or curb their inclinations. Perhaps I have been at fault in this’ – I noticed that he was very careful not to let his eyes stray to Lepida – ‘but that is another matter. However distant we became, however wild he became, I trusted Marcus to keep his feelings in bounds. When Cornelia was found dead that trust was… strained.’

‘You thought he might have raped her and she’d committed suicide as a result.’

He nodded. ‘I didn’t believe for a moment Marcus would have killed the girl, whatever the consequences discovery would have brought on himself. But suicide – yes, suicide was very possible. I couldn’t ask Marcus himself, of course. He would only have denied it, whether it was true or not, and even my asking of the question might have precipitated a rupture which has been threatening for some years. Besides, as you saw yourself he was too distraught to be rational.’

‘Uh-huh.’ I glanced at Lepida. She was still sitting smiling, quite at ease, like she was watching a play. ‘So you decided to ask Niobe.’

‘She would have known, if anyone did. I’m not wholly in favour of friendships between slave and master or mistress, but when they are genuine they can be very strong. That between Niobe and my former ward was an instance of the latter case, and the two girls were extremely close. Certainly close enough for a frank exchange of confidences. In the event, of course, I learned nothing since for obvious reasons Niobe failed to appear at the appointed hour. Does that, Valerius Corvinus, answer your first question?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, it makes sense.’

‘Good.’ He half smiled. ‘Now the second: why not meet the girl here or at the House of the Vestals? Or at least, naturally, in Camillus’s apartments next door. The first location, in the light of what I’ve already said, was obviously impossible: Marcus was still alive, of course, and although we lived our separate lives we did so under one roof. I could not afford the risk of having Marcus find Niobe and myself together since that would have necessitated either a frank admission of the reason for her presence or an outright lie. The first would, for the reasons I gave you, have been impossible; the second would have been repugnant to me in the extreme. As for interviewing her at the chief priest’s residence, no, that I could not do either. It would have meant admitting to Camillus – as I would have felt obliged to do – that I suspected my own son, on very flimsy evidence, of the worst of crimes. Camillus and I have been friends for many years, and he had known Marcus since the boy’s birth. He would have found the thought as painful as I did myself. As far as choosing the Aemilian Hall specifically as a venue went, I had no special reason, except of course that it has family connections, is fairly well-frequented and was not at any great distance. So much, Corvinus, for your second question.’

I said nothing.

‘The third, pertaining to the matter of the clandestine delivery of the note, was the result, I confess, of a mistake. Or rather of a misinterpretation. I asked Venustus to carry it round to the House of the Vestals and hand it in with as little fuss as possible, again for reasons of preserving secrecy; or at least of preserving anonymity. Venustus, as you may have gathered, is one of my oldest and most trustworthy slaves, but he is somewhat’ – the half-smile again – ‘literal-minded. Instead of knocking on the front door and handing the letter in as I expected him to do he chose the method which you already know. Not that that mattered, or at least I did not think it did at the time. It was only subsequent events which rendered it… unfortunate.’ He stopped. ‘There. That is all I have to say. Have I answered your questions now to your satisfaction?’

I stood up. ‘Yeah. Yeah, thanks.’

‘I’m glad.’ He stood up as well. He was a big man, or had been in his time, and we were almost on a level. ‘My apologies again for my earlier rudeness. If you’ve quite finished your business here’ – this time he did look at his daughter; a considering stare, none too friendly. I glanced at her myself and saw her eyes drop – ‘then I’ll have Venustus show you out.’

The air of the Quirinal felt sweet, even with the rain. Alexis had left earlier, and he was shooting the breeze with the now-recovered litter-louts. I climbed aboard and we set off at a lumbering trot for the Caelian, via Market Square: I wasn’t too worried that Perilla would sniff my tunic for perfume or check my shoulder for stray strands of women’s hair, but I might as well keep my street cred with Bathyllus by having that second shave after all. If nothing else, a duly scraped and powdered chin would put the little bastard’s scandal-sensitive nose out of joint and earn me a point or two in the ongoing battle. Besides, I’d got Alexis to debrief, and we might as well do it with a jug of wine and a plate of bread and sausage in front of us. Added to which, I reckoned I needed a drink to get the taste of the Lepidus place out of my mouth. Sure, everything had worked out in the end, but I couldn’t say I’d enjoyed myself. Even if the lady had been a stunner she had the feel of a hungry arena cat about her, and old Marcus Lepidus, nice as pie as he’d been latterly, made my fists bunch with every plummy vowel. If I never saw either of them again it’d be too soon.

Still, they’d given me a lot to think about.

The rain had slackened off to an icy drizzle. I left Alexis and the lads kicking their heels in a cookshop I knew near the meat market and walked the last few hundred yards to Market Square itself, where Philemon the Syrian barber I sometimes used had his booth. I had my eyes closed and was halfway through the pumice stage and drifting nicely when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I came awake and turned.

‘How are things going, Valerius Corvinus?’

I didn’t place the guy at first; then I did: Sextius Nomentanus, the city judge who was footing the bill for the rites of the Good Goddess. Footing it again, rather, thanks to me. Shit, this could be embarrassing.