David Wishart - No Cause for Concern

‘Fine.’

The maid was back, carrying a tray with the two cups on it.

‘Just set it down,’ Sempronia said to her. ‘Then go back inside. Tell Critias that Valerius Corvinus needs Sestia Galla’s address.’

The maid gave me another quick glance, then ducked her head and left without a word.

‘So what now?’ Sempronia said.

‘I wish I knew, lady. Frankly, our best bet is that he gets in touch with you direct. Or with someone, anyway. Otherwise I’m afraid we’re stuck. Unless you’ve got some more ideas yourself?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve thought and thought. Believe me, if there was the remotest chance of pointing you in a useful direction then I’d do it. But there isn’t one. Honestly. All I can say is that none of this is in the least like Titus. He’d never leave like that without telling me, never. Nor would Lynchus, where Cleia’s concerned.’

‘You’re sure he didn’t mention anything either? Lynchus, I mean?’

‘Absolutely. Cleia would’ve said. You can ask her yourself, if you like, but she doesn’t know any more than I do. And as you’ve seen she’s as worried as I am.’ She lowered her eyes, then went on quietly: ‘Because I am worried, Corvinus. Yes, I know it’s silly, that they’re both perfectly fine, but there you are.’

I hadn’t touched my wine, no more than she had her fruit juice, but I reckoned that, top-grade Falernian though it no doubt was, I’d give it a miss: I’m no hypocrite, and where offering reassurances I didn’t believe myself was concerned I’d already shot my bolt. I stood up.

‘Yeah, well,’ I said. ‘You never know, something may turn up. Meanwhile if your major-domo can give me Sestia Galla’s address I can talk to Paetinius, see what he has to say.’

‘Yes.’ She stood up too. ‘Thank you. I’ll see you out.’

I’d still got a fair slice of the day left, and the Paetinius place turned out to be half way up Patricius Incline: not exactly on my way home, but not too far out of it, either. Not quite in the same league as Eutacticus’s mansion on the Pincian, but whatever business Paetinius Senior was in nowadays it obviously paid the bills comfortably and to spare. The door slave was sitting on the lowest step, shooting the breeze with a friend. He looked up as I came over.

‘The young master in, pal?’ I said.

‘No, sir. Master Publius hasn’t got back yet.’

‘Back?’

‘From wherever he was last night. The mistress is at home, though, if you’d like to talk to her instead.’

‘Seeing the mistress’ll do me fine, then,’ I said. ‘Valerius Corvinus. It’s a private matter.’

‘Very well, sir. I’ll ask if she’s free.’ He got up. ‘Meanwhile if you’d like to wait in the atrium?’

‘Sure.’

I did, twiddling my thumbs for the next ten minutes or so while the house slave he passed me on to checked the lady’s current availability. Decor expensive but flashy, and the room was dominated by a huge mural featuring a respectful Mercury assisting a plump-faced, self-satisfied-looking guy dressed as Hercules heavenward to where a fair selection of the pantheon was waiting to greet him with knuckled forelocks. The master of the house himself, no doubt, allegorically transmogrified. Evidently modesty wasn’t one of Paetinius Senior’s failings. Nor, for that matter, was subtlety.

‘Valerius Corvinus?’

I turned round. Sestia Galla had been a looker in her time, which came as no surprise since Sempronia had had to get it from somewhere, and Eutacticus was a non-runner. The word ‘imposing’ comes to mind: the lady could’ve modelled for Juno in the mural. Also, she was dressed to the nines, made up and coiffeured to the eyeballs, and was hung with enough jewellery to kit out half of the Saepta.

‘You wanted to see me. What about?’ Careful vowels: I’d bet you wouldn’t have to scratch the surface too hard to reach an accent that was pure something else.

‘It’s, uh, personal,’ I said. ‘Not to say delicate.’

‘Really? Then you’d better sit down.’

I did, on one of the couches. She took a chair. ‘Your daughter gave me your address. Sempronia.’

‘Did she, indeed?’ The temperature dropped several notches. ‘I wasn’t aware that she even knew it.’

‘She’s worried about her stepbrother. Titus Luscius. He’s disappeared, and I’m trying to find him for her.’

She stood up. ‘Valerius Corvinus, let me say now, once and for all, that I have no connection with that family. Particularly that side of it. If your reason for coming here is concerned with them, then I think you should go.’

I didn’t move. ‘I understand your son had a quarrel with young Luscius in a wineshop about two months back. To do with…well, let’s just say it was to do with inheritance.’

If looks could kill, then the one I got from Sestia Galla was the sort of hatchet-job that leaves blood on the walls. ‘Are you accusing Publius of having something to do with Luscius’s disappearance?’ she snapped.

‘No. Nothing like that. But before I go any further I thought it was only fair to get the other side of the story.’

‘Publius has been treated shamefully. We both have. If he shows his resentment in a practical way then he has every right to do so. And I do not think, Valerius Corvinus, that it is any of your business, as certainly the disappearance of that young man is none of mine. Now leave my house, please, before I have you thrown out of it.’

Yeah, well; maybe it had been a mistake coming, at that. I stood up. ‘Thank you for your help, Sestia Galla. If you -’

– which was when the young guy came into the atrium from the lobby. He was about twenty years old, and he was wearing what was left of a party-mantle and wreath. When he saw me he stopped.

Evidently the wayward son and heir.

‘Who’re you?’ he said. Slurred.

‘His name’s Valerius Corvinus, dear.’ Sestia Galla shot him a nervous glance. ‘He’s just leaving.’

‘You’re Publius, right?’ I said. ‘Good party?’

‘Probably. Can’t remember.’ He threw himself down on the nearest couch, and his wreath slipped off and fell to the floor. Roses and ivy leaves: if the leaves were supposed to ward off drunkenness then they were doing a pretty poor job, because he was stewed to the gills.

‘You didn’t happen to see Titus Luscius there, did you?’

He raised his head and goggled at me. ‘That bastard? Why should he be there?’

‘Just asking. Seen him recently at all?’

‘Publius, dear, I think you should go upstairs,’ his mother said, then gave me a look that could’ve come straight off a glacier. ‘Corvinus, you get out, please. Now.’

‘Okay, lady. Just going, no problem.’ I hadn’t moved. ‘Well?’ I said to Publius.

He was still goggling. Finally, he said: ‘I haven’t seen him for months, if you want to know. Not since he broke my nose. And if I do I’ll do the same to him or worse. Now piss off like my mother told you or I’ll throw you out myself.’

Yeah, right. I gave him my best smile, resisted the urge to give him a finger as well, and made for the door.

Home.

Bathyllus was waiting with the obligatory cup of wine.

‘The mistress around, little guy?’ I said after the first swallow.

‘Yes, sir. She’s in the dining room. With the’ – he paused – ‘ artist.’

Oh, hell. No love lost there, evidently: there was more raw poison squeezed into that last word than could’ve been mustered on a good day by a dozen Egyptian asps working their little socks off. Not that I was surprised. I went through, taking the wine cup with me.

‘Oh, hello, dear.’ Perilla was looking flustered. ‘I didn’t expect you back so early. This is Daistratus. Daistratus, my husband.’