David Wishart: No Cause for Concern

‘So you contacted young Paetinius and cut and ran. You’d stay here while Paetinius kept an eye on the boat in case I turned up. Right?’ I didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Incidentally, what sort of string did you keep him on, lady? I wouldn’t’ve thought just a brother and sister relationship would be enough to persuade him to murder. Either of Astrapton or me.’

‘Oh, Paetinius didn’t take much persuading,’ she said. ‘He was really quite a vicious little brute, and not all that clever. Also, he was very open-minded, sexually. The fact that it was incest, whether we had both a mother and a father in common or not, was a plus rather than otherwise, and it didn’t worry me.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t look so shocked, Corvinus! The old Egyptian kings did it all the time. Officially, of course, we were brother and sister – that held true as far as his father and Mother were concerned, and would have done on the trip over and beyond – but our private relationship was our own business. And, as you say, it did provide the necessary bond.’

I felt sick. ‘And he’d meet with an accident as well, when you got to Massilia, yes?’

‘Perhaps. If he’d proved difficult. Although being family he was more of a problem. Besides, it would probably not’ve been necessary by then. Ocean voyages this late in the season can be quite dangerous, and if we’d hit a patch of bad weather there was always the possibility that he might disappear overboard.’ She smiled again. ‘As you can see, I’m being quite candid with you about all of this.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I’d been wondering about that. You weren’t hoping to get rid of me, too, after all, were you? Because -’

‘Oh, no. Or at least not in the way you’re thinking. I know that would be impossible.’ She spread her hands. ‘I’m not armed, and besides there could be no element of surprise, so I wouldn’t stand a chance. No. I was going to make you a business proposition.’

‘Namely?’

‘The crate we were taking with us. Astrapton’s last. It contains, I would guess, something just short of half a million sesterces in gold. Under the circumstances, I’m willing to lose that; I have enough in Massilia already to set me up very comfortably until I can make other arrangements. I’m suggesting a simple exchange. I have the captain unload the crate, you let me sail without it.’

‘That wouldn’t sit too well with Eutacticus, lady.’

‘He’d never know. As far as my father’s concerned, the money’s gone already.’

‘Plus I told the captain it contained stolen goods. He’s an honest man, as far as I can tell. He’s probably put it ashore with the harbour-master by now in any case.’

‘Then you tell him you made a mistake. Or I have a word with him myself, see if he really is honest. I told you, over in Massilia I’m a rich woman, and the Sestii are a powerful family. The captain’s a Massilian. One way or another, he’ll be sensible about things.’

‘And if I tell you to go to hell?’

She frowned; I honestly don’t think that she’d considered that possibility. Which told me a lot about sweet Sempronia. Mind you, as bribes went it was a pretty hefty one. ‘That would be very stupid of you, in more ways than one. Believe me. After all, why should you care if I got away with things? My father forced you to become involved in this, you don’t owe him anything, quite the reverse. If you come out of it half a million to the good, what does it matter?’

Gods! The chilling thing was that I could see she genuinely thought that it didn’t.’

‘People have died,’ I said gently.

‘A crooked accountant. A vicious thug. And a couple of slaves.’

‘Plus your stepbrother.’

‘Titus was nothing to you. You never even met him. What’s the life of an actor’s brat set against five hundred thousand sesterces?’

‘It’s enough. Go to hell.’

She flinched, as though I’d slapped her. ‘My father will never take your word against mine,’ she snapped. ‘And when I persuade him – as I will – that this is all a mistake I’ll see you buried!’

‘I’ll take that chance, lady,’ I said. ‘Now go and get your cloak. We’re going down to the local Watch office where they can make arrangements for you until I can get word to your father where you are.’

She got up without a word and went into the bedroom.

I waited for a good five minutes before the door opened again. But it wasn’t Sempronia. It was Cleia, and she was holding a knife at arm’s length, like it was a snake. The front of her tunic was a mass of blood.

She dropped the knife and just stood there, head lowered.

Oh, shit! I pushed past her through the open door…

Sempronia was lying slumped over the dressing table. That was covered with blood too, which, considering her throat had been cut, wasn’t surprising. I came back out. Cleia hadn’t moved.

‘Uh…you care to tell me what happened?’ I said gently.

‘I killed her, sir.’ The usual mouse’s whisper. She didn’t look up. ‘While I was tidying her hair.’

‘Where did you get the knife?’

‘From the travelling trunk. It was open beside the bed.’

‘You, uh, want to explain why?’

‘She was evil. She murdered Lynchus and Alexander.’

‘Yeah. I know. But -’ How could I put this? Slaves are brought up from birth to see themselves as goods, not people. Oh, sure, they have feelings and emotions like anyone else, but they’re conditioned to keep them buried where necessary, whatever the provocation. For a slave to murder her master or mistress just isn’t done, the worst crime possible; not just from a legal viewpoint but more important in the mind of the slave herself. The fact that it’s a fast shortcut to an inevitable and very painful death helps reinforce things too: there are no extenuating circumstances, none, not under any conditions; our society can’t afford to let there be. Cleia would die, that was sure; quickly, if she was lucky, but almost certainly not. Much more likely was slow and systematic torture, followed by crucifixion.

‘She was getting away with it,’ she said. ‘Oh, she’d have got round the master, like she told you. I was listening, I heard every word, and she was right: he’d take her word over anyone’s, believe anything she told him. It was the only way to make sure she got what she deserved. I was going to do it anyway, on the ship, if I got the chance, and then throw myself overboard. Don’t worry, sir, I won’t give you no trouble.’

I hesitated. Then I decided. It’d be easier that way, for all concerned.

I picked up the knife, went into the bedroom, put it on the dressing table beside Sempronia’s outstretched hand, and came back out.

‘Okay, Cleia,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’

I rode the mare back to Rome next morning, after squaring things with the Ostian authorities and telling them where to send the news; I’d left Cleia with Cass and Agron for collection, stressing to her how important it was to remember that Sempronia had committed suicide when she’d seen the game was up. I still had to have a long talk with Eutacticus, of course, and that I wasn’t looking forward to; but I reckoned I’d done enough trotting back and forth to the Pincian at his behest for a while. Besides, I wanted to wait until the dust settled. Another day wouldn’t matter.

Bathyllus was looking smug when he opened the door for me.

‘Welcome back, sir,’ he said. ‘Did you have a pleasant trip?’

‘Uh…yeah. Yeah, it was all right.’ I took the cup of wine he held out. ‘The mistress around?’

‘Yes, sir. Oh, and we had a bit of excitement ourselves while you were away.’

‘Really? What was that?’