David Wishart - Last Rites

‘Uh-huh. So what went wrong?’

I might as well not have spoken; the guy looked straight through me. Oh, yeah; indulgence.

‘Twelve years passed. I mean, from the beginning. During that time the girl – or woman, now, rather – had changed, become more withdrawn.’ He hesitated. ‘It is not our policy, Valerius Corvinus, to interfere between master and slave. Although the cult is long-established and widespread in Rome, we are still tolerated rather than respected. We cannot – dare not – take sides. You must know that slaves, female slaves especially, are required to perform certain services for their masters which may be repugnant to us but are none of our concern.’

Yeah; I was beginning to get his drift. ‘You mean Proculus raped her.’

‘You do not “rape” a slave,’ the archigallus said gently. ‘Slaves, according to your Roman law, are property, not people.’ Ouch; he was right, though. And I knew guys who thought less of their butlers than their fruit dishes. ‘Let us say he used her sexually. Had been using her, over a considerable period, perhaps since he first acquired her. There was, I repeat, nothing we could do. He was quite within his rights. That brings us up to last year. Myrrhine ran away. After, I’m afraid, having stabbed Proculus’s head slave and abstracted certain valuable items of silverware.’

Gods! I sat back. We weren’t talking petty here: under the law runaway slaves get pretty short shrift: when a society’s built on slavery you can’t afford just to shrug and go out for a replacement, or it would be happening all the time. Runaways who use violence and take a slice of the master’s property with them are right beyond the pale. Forget branding on the face and a spell at the treadmill; all they can expect if they’re caught – and they usually are, eventually – is to be nailed to a plank and hung up for the crows.

‘She came to us demanding sanctuary. Not asking, note, demanding, as a right. Of course we had to refuse. She was held while the authorities were contacted; or at least an attempt was made to hold her.’ Again, the archigallus hesitated. ‘She became abusive. Finally she drew a knife and fatally wounded two of our acolytes. In the temple itself, if you can believe that. She escaped as a consequence, and we haven’t seen her since.’

I sat back. Shit. No wonder the guy remembered her. And no wonder she’d pulled Harmodia across the street when she’d seen a priest of Cybele coming towards her. An exit like that wouldn’t be forgotten easily.

‘Where did she get the knife?’ I said.

‘She always carried one. She had a fascination with knives, even as a girl.’

Yeah, that figured. I’d bet she looked after them, too. Harmodia hadn’t mentioned that aspect of things, but maybe their acquaintance had been too short or the bitch hadn’t wanted to arouse her suspicions. Waking up to see your partner carefully stropping a knife blade is enough to give anyone second thoughts about continuing a relationship. ‘And she didn’t get in touch again?’

‘No. We informed the Religious Officer’ – that would be one of the Board of Fifteen responsible for overseeing foreign cults – ‘and buried our dead. I hadn’t thought about Myrrhine since, until Hermodotus told me you were asking for her.’

Well, I’d got my information, and it all fitted. We weren’t any closer to motive, though; or associates. ‘She have any contact with the dead Vestal at all? Cornelia?’ I asked.

‘Not that I’m aware of. And it’s most unlikely.’

‘What about other Romans? Members of the upper classes, I mean?’

The archigallus smiled. ‘I told you, Corvinus, and in any case you must know yourself: our cult is not one that is attractive to the Roman establishment, certainly not to the aristocracy. Again I have to say no.’

Bugger; well, that was that. I stood up. ‘Thank you for giving me your time, archigallus.’

‘You’re very welcome. I’m sorry about Myrrhine. She was, as I said, a valuable member of the cult; perhaps, had circumstances been otherwise, she might even eventually have become a priestess, although of course not here in Rome.’

Jupiter! Still, where these whacky mystery cults were concerned maybe a fascination with sharp instruments and a readiness to carve up anyone who got in your way wasn’t an impediment to a religious career. And who was I to judge?

I left.

It was still only mid-morning when I left the Temple of Cybele, and a lovely day for walking. I came down off the Palatine into the Septimontium and headed towards the Public Ponds district. If I was lucky I’d catch Lippillus at the Watch House; maybe, if he wasn’t too busy, split a lunch-time jug. I’d got Thalia’s murderer for him, sure, and he’d want the name, at least; but I could also pick his brains about the Crocodile. If we could find that, then maybe – just maybe – we might find the woman herself. It was worth a try, anyway.

The gods were smiling: he was in, beavering his way through a small mountain of paperwork. From what I could see of him behind it he didn’t look too happy.

‘Hey, Lippillus.’ I sat down on the bench next to his desk. ‘How’s it going?’

His head came up. Unhappy was right: the guy had that frayed-at-the-edges look that suggested late nights, early mornings and not much free time in between. That made sense: being a Watch commander these report-conscious days is no joke, and if you liked to stay personally at the investigative cutting edge, which Lippillus did, it meant holding down what amounted to two jobs.

‘Oh, hi, Corvinus.’ He tossed a wax tablet on top of the pile and picked up another. ‘Sorry, I’ve been meaning to get in touch. No luck on your flutegirl. I’ve had one of my best men knocking on every door of the tenement, but no one saw nothing, Watchman. Par for the course.’

‘The killer’s name was Myrrhine. She’s a Thracian. Runaway slave, belonged to a guy called Considius Proculus.’

He stared at me. ‘You found her?’

‘No. Not the lady herself. But I’ve got a description. Maybe some sort of a lead as well.’

‘Yeah?’ He grinned. It took years off him. ‘That’s great! Any time you want a job with the Watch, pal, just ask. What kind of lead?’

‘You happen to have heard of somewhere called the Crocodile?’

‘The Hippo’s place? Sure.’

It was my turn to stare. ‘You know it?’

‘I should do. My lads are round there breaking up brawls three, four times a month regular. Or picking up the pieces, rather. It’s a cat-house this side of the Raudusculan Gate, specialises in the rougher end of the market. We’d’ve closed it down long ago, but the punters would just move somewhere else and give us the same headaches, and at least the Hippo cooperates.’

The Raudusculan was where the Ostian Road passed through the old city wall, in the valley between the two main peaks of the Aventine, west of the Remuria. Right on the edge of Lippillus’s patch, in other words. I’d been lucky right enough.

‘Can you take me there?’ I said.

That got me another grin. ‘Corvinus, believe me, if it meant getting away from these reports I’d take you all the way to Capua. You’ve got it. That where you think this Myrrhine hangs out?’

‘Could be. She mentioned the name, that’s all.’

‘Fine.’ He paused. ‘You want a couple of the lads as well? For back-up?’

I hadn’t thought of that, but it might be an idea: if we did find Myrrhine then I didn’t fancy taking her on single-handed, even with Lippillus there. Like Aquillia had said, that bitch was evil, and if she was as handy with a knife and as ready to use it as past events suggested then now was no time for heroics. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘If they’re free.’