David Wishart - Foreign Bodies

‘Sure. He’ll be in the cookshop round the corner.’

Yeah, well; that was a bit of good news, anyway. After a morning spent traipsing around Lugdunum I could do with something to eat myself. Even if I did have to pass up on the wine accompaniment. I nodded my thanks and went in the direction he pointed.

The cookshop was halfway down the side street. I went in. Obviously a popular place, which was fair enough given that it was bang in the administrative centre of town. What few tables there were were pretty full, and most of the clientele looked like they were clerks from the nearby government offices. There was one guy, though, twenty max, dressed in a military uniform, sitting on his own at a table in the corner. I made my way to the counter, ordered up a plate of bean stew, and carried it over.

‘Titus Cabirus?’ I said.

‘Yes.’ He looked up in surprise. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘The name’s Corvinus. Marcus Corvinus. You mind if I join you?’

Like most people I’d talked to that day, his eyes had gone to the stripe on my tunic.

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘You’re the one from Rome, aren’t you? Looking into my father’s death?’

‘Yeah, that’s right. I only wanted to introduce myself and have a quick word, that’s all. If you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not. Pull up a stool.’ I put my bowl of stew down on the table and sat. There were the remains of a plateful of sliced sausage in front of him. He took a piece and chewed. ‘So. When did you arrive?’

‘Yesterday. But I went round to your mother’s this morning. And I’ve talked to your Uncle Quintus.’

He frowned. ‘You haven’t wasted much time, have you?’

‘True.’ I scooped up some of the beans with my spoon. They weren’t bad; cooked in a good stock, with sage, carrots and onion. No wonder the place was popular. ‘Still, it’s let me see a bit of the city. And I like to get things clear in my head as quickly as I can.’

‘If you’ve already talked to Mother then there’s not much I can tell you. I wasn’t home at the time. Not until sunset.’

‘So your mother said. You were on duty?’

He hesitated. ‘Yes. Yes, I was.’

‘And you’ve no theories of your own?’

Another frown. ‘Theories?’

‘About why your father was murdered. Who might’ve done it, even.’

‘No. It’s a complete mystery.’ He picked up another piece of the sausage. ‘There’s a man called Julius Oppianus who-’

‘Yeah, I know. I’ve seen him this morning too.’ Well, where the perp was concerned, as far as the vox pop. went Oppianus seemed to be up there on his own. Or at least his was the only name everyone had mentioned.

‘Gods, you have been busy.’

‘Actually, the interview didn’t take all that long. He practically threw me out after five minutes.’

He grinned. ‘That’s Oppianus, all right.’

‘So.’ I lowered my eyes to my plate and took another spoonful of the stew. ‘What sort of man was he, in himself? Your father?’

The barest smidgeon of hesitation. ‘He was OK.’

‘You got on well together?’

‘How do you mean?’ There was a definite edge to the question. ‘Why shouldn’t we get on?’

‘It’d be natural enough for there to be a bit of friction. You’re the elder son. He might’ve expected you to follow him in the business.’

‘Maybe he did, at first. But when I told him two years back I wanted an army career he didn’t make an issue of it. Besides, he had my Uncle Quintus. They were managing it pretty well between them. They didn’t need me.’

‘He told me you wanted to move to a legion eventually.’

‘Nothing secret about that. Or surprising.’ There it was again; I had the distinct impression that, as far as young Titus was concerned, his uncle wasn’t exactly flavour of the month and he’d prefer that I dropped the subject. Odd; Quintus Cabirus had seemed perfectly OK when I’d talked to him, and there hadn’t been any hint of friction with his nephew on his part. Quite the reverse. ‘I don’t want to spend the rest of my life here in Lugdunum. The army’s the best option.’

‘Fair enough.’ I spooned up more of the stew. ‘There’s nothing to keep you? Barring family?’

‘Such as what?’ A definite note of suspicion there.

‘I don’t know. Girlfriend, maybe?’

‘No. No one special.’ He was scowling now. ‘Look. What the hell does all this have to do with my father’s death?’

‘Nothing. Just making conversation.’

‘Then mind your own bloody business, OK?’

Gods! ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. Maybe I was a bit out of turn.’

He took a deep breath and shrugged. ‘Forget it; I’m sorry, too. No harm done.’ He stood up. ‘Now, I’m afraid I have to be getting back. I’ll see you around, Corvinus.’

‘Yeah. No doubt. Nice to talk to you.’

He left.

Parts of that had been curious. Very curious indeed. Whether or not they had anything to do with the case, mind, was another thing entirely.

I finished up the bean stew and set off for home.

Evidently, with the governor away on walkabout, we had the residence to ourselves. Which sounds better than it was, because as I say the place had been built on, or adapted to, an imperial scale – or at least a provincial imperial scale, which wasn’t quite so grand – and I had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that we were rattling around like two dried peas in an empty bucket. A gold-plated bucket, mind, but still. Not that the place was empty, of course: even with the staff Gabinius had taken with him on tour and the local conventions re the employment of skivvies there was more bought help around than you could shake a stick at. As I mounted the steps at the front, the door-slave in his natty green tunic almost bounded off the stool he was sitting on and yanked the door open for me.

‘Thanks, pal,’ I said to him, and went inside.

Bathyllus was waiting in the seriously large frescoed and mosaic-floored vestibule: evidently the move to foreign parts hadn’t adversely affected his skills in precognition any. No welcome-home cup of wine, mind; Bathyllus had had firm instructions from Perilla where that side of things was concerned, and no one – but no one – bucks the lady when she’s really set her mind on something.

‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said. ‘Did you have a productive morning?’

Smarm, smarm; the amount of oil in his voice would’ve kept a decent-sized bath-house going for a month. Bathyllus was vicariously enjoying this upgrade to a five-star lifestyle to the full, that much was obvious. Not that I hadn’t expected it: Bathyllus was to snobbery what fish sauce was to braised sturgeon, and my promotion to personal imperial rep, however temporary, put the cap on it. If that isn’t an unfortunate mixture of metaphors. He’d probably been waiting for an opportunity like this all his life.

‘Oh, hi, little guy,’ I said. ‘What happened to the local staff?’

‘The governor’s major-domo has accompanied him on his tour of the province, sir. We came to an arrangement before he left.’

‘“Arrangement”?’

‘I pointed out to him that, since you currently hold the rank of imperial procurator, your own major-domo should outrank his deputy. He appreciated my point of view at once.’

I was grinning. I’d met the guy – his name was Euthymius – briefly the previous day, when we’d first arrived, and he’d definitely been the unassuming, inoffensive type. No match, in other words, for our Bathyllus on the make. If there had been a skirmish over roles and proper protocol – which I’d guess was likely as tomorrow’s sunrise – then Bathyllus wouldn’t even have had to break sweat. It was just lucky for Euthymius that he’d escaped when he did. Otherwise we might be cleaning blood off the walls.