David Wishart - Foreign Bodies

‘And no one in the family knew what he’d done at the time?’

‘No. Like I said, he’d kept it secret. Uncle Licnus didn’t get the chance to tell them, either; he suspected it, yes, but he only knew himself for sure some time later, when he was already on the run.’

Check. I frowned; this next bit was going to be difficult, and I’d far rather have avoided it altogether – would have, if the lad hadn’t come round to see me. Still, what was done was done; he was here, he had a right to know the truth, and I couldn’t very well in all conscience shirk my responsibilities.

‘Maybe you’d best sit down after all,’ I said.

He looked at me blankly. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Just do it.’ I waited until he was perched uneasily on the other couch. ‘Your uncle might be a traitor and a killer three times over, but he didn’t murder your father.’

‘ What? Then who did?’

I told him.

We got back to Lugdunum twelve days later, too quick a trip this time round for my liking.

Walking past the summer house where Claudius Cabirus had been killed, I glanced up at the house’s second storey. Sure enough, young Publius Cabirus was looking down at me through the window from his seat at the table where, no doubt, he was working on his models. I gave him a wave, but for all the response I got he might not have noticed me.

He had, though. That was the point.

I knocked at the door, and the maid I’d seen last time opened it.

‘Ah … Cotuinda, isn’t it?’ I said.

‘That’s right, sir.’ She gave me a guarded look.

‘The mistress at home?’

No answer, but she opened the door wider and stepped back. I went in and followed her through to the living room.

Diligenta was sitting next to the open window, stitching what looked like a piece of embroidery.

‘Valerius Corvinus!’ She set the embroidery aside. ‘You’re back!’

‘Yeah.’ I glanced at the wickerwork chair opposite. ‘You mind if I sit down?’

‘Not at all. Something to drink?’

‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ I lowered myself into the chair.

‘Very well. Thank you, Cotuinda. That’s all.’ The servant went out. ‘Now. What can I do for you this time?’

‘Nothing at all, as a matter of fact,’ I said. ‘I know now who killed your husband, and why.’

Things went very still. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘You found that out in Augusta?’

‘Not exactly.’ Bugger; I hated this. ‘But I did talk to your brother there, and it cleared things up for me.’

She stared at me. ‘My brother ?’

‘Licnus. Or Segomarus, as he was calling himself. He admitted he was responsible, which in a way he was. Not that that matters much.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not with you.’ She’d gone pale as a ghost. ‘And Licnus ? I told you: Licnus has been missing these twenty years. He’s probably dead.’

‘Yeah, well, I hope that’s the case by now. Certainly for his sake.’

‘Corvinus, you’re not making sense.’

‘I’m afraid I am,’ I said gently. ‘He’d’ve been executed for treason.’

‘ Treason ?’

I told her, the whole boiling. Or the treason part of it, anyway. She sat and listened without saying a word, her face expressionless.

‘The thing is,’ I finished, ‘traitor or not, whatever he claimed to the contrary he couldn’t have done your husband’s murder. Oh, sure, he had good reason to, your son Titus explained all that. He had the opportunity, too, because he was in Lugdunum at the time. And like I say he admitted to the killing of his own free will. Even so, he couldn’t have been the killer. It’s just not possible.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because he may have told you and your son Titus who he was, but he didn’t tell Publius.’

She shook her head. ‘Valerius Corvinus, I’m sorry to have to repeat myself, but you really are not making any sense. Why should that matter?’

I sighed; we were at the heart of it now, and I couldn’t put things off any longer. Much although I would’ve liked to.

‘It’s crucial,’ I said. ‘When I talked to him Publius insisted that he hadn’t seen anyone go into the summer house that afternoon. Me, I’m certain that it wasn’t because he was resting with the shutters closed, like you and he claimed; he’d been at his table working all the time, with a good view of the garden, just as he is now. If he’d seen Licnus – Segomarus – then he would’ve said. Oh, if it’d been anyone else – one of the family, his brother or his Uncle Quintus, for example – then he might have kept his mouth shut to protect them. But as far as he was concerned Segomarus was a stranger; he had no reason not to peach on him. So the logical assumption was that he was telling the absolute truth: he didn’t see anyone, no one at all.’ I paused. ‘That is, not until you went in yourself, to wake your husband up, and found the body. Which of course can mean only one thing.’ She hadn’t moved; she could’ve been a statue, for all the reaction I was getting. ‘You want to call him down, let me ask him again? Just to make certain?’

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No, that won’t be necessary.’

‘So,’ I said gently. ‘There was no early business appointment that your husband had forgotten about and that you had to wake him up to remind him of. When you went into the summer house he was still asleep, and alive. Which is when you stabbed him.’

‘Yes.’ I could barely hear the word.

‘You want to tell me why, exactly? I mean, I can understand your basic reasons, but after all you had been married to the guy for twenty-odd years. That must’ve weighed, surely.’

She lowered her head. When she lifted it again, she looked me straight in the eye.

‘I told you before,’ she said. ‘You’re a Roman. You don’t understand these things.’

‘Try me,’ I said.

‘I loved my brother. I still do. It pulled the heart out of me twenty years ago when he disappeared so suddenly, and there hasn’t been a day since that I haven’t thought about him, wondering if he was alive somewhere. Then, three months ago, Tiberius was away on business, I was sitting here as I am now, and he walked in. I recognized him at once, despite the long hair and moustache; I’d have recognized him anywhere. He told me the whole thing, how after the revolt Tiberius had lied about him so that he’d be arrested, possibly even executed. And that he hadn’t been the only one my husband betrayed.’

‘You believed him? Just like that?’

‘I’d had my suspicions. Oh, not where Licnus himself was concerned; I’d never have believed Tiberius was that rotten, or I’d have left him long ago. But the rest of it, the betrayals …’ She stopped. ‘The final months, before we left Augusta, were quite bad. Nothing was said as such, not directly, but the atmosphere was poisonous. I found I had no friends any more, not even acquaintances, and enough hints were dropped to show we weren’t welcome and to suggest why. Quintus noticed it too. I faced Tiberius, asked him straight out whether there was any truth behind it, and he swore that there wasn’t. He swore. He was my husband; what else was I to think but that he was telling the truth, and it was all a misunderstanding?’

I said nothing.

‘So eventually we gave up and moved away, down here to Lugdunum. Oh, we kept the wine business on, or rather Quintus did: they’d nothing against Quintus as such, quite the reverse. He’d been no supporter of Florus, and made no secret of it at the time, but afterwards he’d spoken up in defence of those who were to the Roman authorities, even although it made him a suspect himself. That had got noticed. They’re not bad people, the Augustans; they can make allowances.’