Illegally Dead (21 page)

‘Hey, Roman.’

There were two of them, big guys, filling the space between the dead cart and the wall of the yard, blocking the entrance to the alleyway that connected it with the street. The one on the left was red-headed, and although I couldn’t quite place him he looked vaguely familiar. On the other hand, I’d no problem recognising the two as a pair because I’d seen them both earlier that morning, propping up the wall outside the draper’s near Mundus’s house waiting for someone who obviously hadn’t been their mistress to come out. Mind you, on that occasion they hadn’t been swinging blackjacks and looking like they were just dying to try them out on me. Little details like that tend to fix your attention.

Bugger; so much for premature senility clouding the judgment. When the hairs on the back of my neck had prickled, I should’ve listened.

The guy on the left took a step forward. ‘Broken arms or broken ribs, friend?’ he said. ‘Which is it to be? Your choice.’

Something clicked in my brain. Finally. ‘You’re one of the slaves from the Hostilius place,’ I said. ‘I saw you when I was over there last, three days ago. Who sent you? Castor or the widow?’

‘Oh, now, then.’ He paused, glanced at his pal, then back to me. ‘Okay, so maybe you don’t have a choice after all.’

Slowly, deliberately, he tucked the blackjack into the belt of his tunic, reached behind his back, drew out a knife and grinned.

Oh, shit. Nice one, Corvinus. I looked around for a weapon. Zilch. Whatever junk the Veturini, senior and junior, had thrown out over the past thirty years or so hadn’t included lengths of two-by-four or useful sections of lead piping. Or not within grabbing distance, anyway. Of course, there was the collecting bucket...

They were moving as I turned, but I got a grip on the thing and swung it just as Blackjack was closing in on my right side. Stale urine might not figure all that prominently in the military manual as an offensive weapon - not offensive in the army sense of the word, anyway - but a  gallon of it in the face at point-blank range ain’t something you can ignore, and Blackjack reeled back spluttering and cursing. The wooden bucket itself caught Red-head on the shoulder: not enough to do any real damage, but it threw him off-line. I moved in and made a grab for his wrist, driving my own shoulder into his chest.

He ducked under my left armpit and shoved hard. My heels met the concrete ledge of the latrine floor and I went arse over tip backwards, pinning the guy’s head between the inside of my elbow and my chest, my right hand pushing down against his neck, forcing it lower. There was a dull thud as his skull hit the floor. He grunted and went limp.

One down and out, or hopefully so, anyway. I rolled sideways, letting go and trying to ignore the stab of pain as my elbow met the concrete; just as Blackjack came at me for a second shot. There was a flash of metal in his right hand: another knife. Fuck; we weren’t out of the woods yet, not by a long way. I lashed out desperately with my foot, felt it connect against his shin and saw him stagger. Good, but not good enough; and I was still on my back.

The bucket was where I’d dropped it, just within reach. I grabbed it and swung it round, bottom up, as the knife came down straight for my chest. There was a thunk! as the point bit deep into the wood. I held the bucket steady for a split second, then heaved upwards and to the side, wrenching the knife from his hand, and tossed the whole boiling away from us as hard as I could. Blackjack swore and grabbed at my throat, thumbs pressing against my windpipe. I brought my knee up into his groin, and he gasped; his grip relaxed and I rolled again, forcing myself out from under him into clear space, scrabbling onto my hands and knees, then to my feet.

I was just in time. I’d scarcely got upright before he hit me again with a roundhouse punch that caught my shoulder, knocking me sideways. I managed a straight left that rattled his teeth but didn’t stop him, and he came at me with both fists swinging...

‘Hey!’

He turned his head; not by much, but the break in concentration was enough. I planted another left, then swung a punch of my own that met square with the side of his jaw and sent him sprawling against the latrine wall.

‘What the hell’s happening here?’

One of the slaughterhouse lads, latrine-bound himself; no quick thinker, obviously, because he was just standing at the exit to the yard like a bovine third actor in a play, but it was enough for Blackjack. The guy staggered to his feet, broke into a stumbling run, pushed him out of the way and hared off down the alley fast as a professional sprinter.

I moved over to the nearest wall and leaned against it, gasping my lungs out.

The slaughterer hurried over. ‘You okay, sir?’ he said.

‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.’ I caught my breath, finally, and stood up straight. ‘Thanks, pal.’

...which was when he noticed Red-head, and his eyes widened.

‘He dead?’

‘Search me. I was too busy to check. You want to do it for me?’

He flashed me a worried look, then did, turning the body over. The forehead was a mess of blood and the eyes were closed. ‘Nah, he’s breathing,’ he said. ‘Just stunned.’

‘Pity.’

That got me another nervous look, but I ignored it. I wasn’t feeling too charitable at that point towards Red-head, myself.

‘So what happened?’

‘They jumped me. After my purse.’ No sense in complicating things, not with Brain of Bovillae here, anyway. I was still in one piece, relatively unscathed, with all my bits attached, and that was enough to be thankful for. ‘Do me a favour, pal, you and your mates inside.’

‘Sure.’

There was a length of half-decent rope beside the remains of the cart. I picked it up, took it over to Red-head and used the two ends to tie his wrists and ankles. ‘Keep an eye on him in case he wakes up, see he doesn’t do a runner, while I nip round to the local Watch-house and have someone collect him.’

‘You’ve got it. No problem.’ He watched with slack-jawed fascination while I tied the final knot and pulled it tight.

‘Great. Oh, and if you want to use the facilities you’d better replace the bucket.’ Not that, with the latrine floor already awash with the best part of a gallon of fuller’s delight, there was much point to that, really, but it’s the thought that counts.

I left him staring and headed for the alley.

So: Veturina or Castor? One of them, certainly, and my bets were on the second: Red-head had been on his way to the east wing when I’d seen him, so he was probably Castor’s slave rather than Veturina’s, and a physical attempt to put me out of the game seemed more Castor’s style than his sister’s. On the other hand, I didn’t trust Veturina the length of my arm, and I wouldn’t be too surprised to find I was wrong. At least I’d got one of the murdering bastards alive, and this time I wouldn’t object too strongly about what methods the authorities used to get the truth from him.

27

I was bang on time the next day for my appointment with Publius Novius. He must’ve been in his seventies, easy: a little guy with a face wrinkled like a prune whose pricey, well-starched mantle looked like it’d been meant for someone twice his size. There was nothing old about the eyes that considered me across the office desk, though. These were bright as a bird’s, and sharp as a razor. I thought maybe he’d comment on the state of my tunic - rolling around on a wineshop latrine floor in a fist-fight with two homicidal muggers doesn’t improve your sartorial elegance any - but if he noticed he was too polite to mention it.

‘So, Valerius Corvinus,’ he said. ‘How can I help you? My clerk said it was private and personal. The first I can understand, the second is a little more problematical. Oh, yes’ - he held up a hand - ‘I know who you are, you needn’t bother explaining that. We don’t have many murders in Latium, and word does tend to get around. Especially when the victim is a lawyer.’

Hell. Well, I couldn’t reasonably have expected him not to’ve heard of me altogether. And it might actually make things easier in the long run. ‘I’ve just got a couple of areas I thought you might be able to help me with,’ I said.

‘Yes?’

‘The first is a trial twenty-one years ago, where you prosecuted and Hostilius and his partner defended. A burglary and murder. The two accused were brothers, Lupus and Senecio Brabbius.’

He’d blinked at the start, when I’d mentioned the trial, like he’d been surprised; but then his expression had settled into what I’d bet was careful indifference. Interesting. ‘The Brabbii brothers,’ he said. ‘Oh, my goodness, now, that is going back! Just give me a moment to recollect.’ His fingers tapped the desk. ‘A silversmith’s shop by the precinct of Mercury, wasn’t it? The pair were interrupted by the owner, who got himself knifed in the process. Let’s see...Vexillius, was that his name? No, Vectillius, Titus Vectillius. The jury found both men guilty, the elder brother was sentenced to death and the younger to the galleys. Is that right?’

‘Yeah, that’s it. You’ve a good memory, sir.’

‘I’m a lawyer, Corvinus. Of course I have.’

‘You remember the details of the trial itself?’

If I hadn’t been looking for the slight flicker in the eyes I’d’ve missed it; but I was, and it was there. ‘Not every detail, no,’ he said. ‘But in broad terms I think I do. It wasn’t a difficult case, from my side. The pair were caught immediately after the crime, within minutes, at most. Lupus had a silver bracelet in his possession, which certainly came from the shop, and also a knife, which was why he was the one to be executed. The defence tried to argue that he had picked the bracelet up in the street after the real perpetrators had fled in the other direction, and also that the arresting party were mostly drunk at the time so their evidence was suspect, but they couldn’t get round the knife. Or the fact that Lupus and his brother were running when they were stopped.’

Check. ‘So it was a unanimous verdict? On the part of the jury, I mean?’

Another slight flicker. ‘Yes. Yes, it was.’

‘You see, I was wondering whether...well, the word is that at that point in his career Quintus Acceius wasn’t quite so...scrupulous as he is now.’ I had to go delicately here; after all, it was only an idea, but it was one that fitted, and if I was right it’d go a long way towards explaining the whole boiling. Besides, Novius was being cagey over something; that I was sure of.

‘Were you, indeed?’ Bland as hell; but the eyes had sharpened. ‘And?’

‘I sort of thought that, if he couldn’t do much about the strength of his case, he might’ve tried working on the verdict angle instead.’

Silence. Long silence. Novius was frowning and drumming his fingers again on the desk. Finally he said: ‘It was a long time ago, Corvinus. People - especially young lawyers, just starting out - make mistakes, mistakes that they bitterly regret later. Quintus Acceius and I have had our differences over the years - we’re frequently on opposing sides in court, for a start - but I have always had every respect for him professionally. Even then he was, not to put too fine a point on it, brilliant; much more capable than his partner. It would have been a shame to have ruined such a young man’s career over a moment of idiocy.’

Bull’s-eye! ‘So he bribed the jury?’ I said.

‘No.’ Novius sighed. ‘He meant to bribe the jury. It never happened, because I got wind of it in time. One of the more honest members came to me privately and told me he’d been approached, and I had a quiet word with Acceius before things could go any further. He had no option but to drop the plan, of course: if he’d persisted I’d have taken the whole matter straight to the judge, he would have been facing prosecution himself and his legal career would have been over before it had properly started. I made that very clear to him.’ He rubbed his temples. ‘I need hardly say that this is totally confidential. As I said, it’s ancient history now, no actual crime was perpetrated, and to my almost certain knowledge and belief it was an isolated incident. A single, stupid mistake.’

A single, stupid mistake. Yeah, that phrase, or something like it, had cropped up before, and it sent all sorts of bells ringing. The bribery aspect raised another question as well, but although it was important it had nothing to do with Novius and I didn’t ask it. Finally, everything was beginning to fit together. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s move on to the second area.’

‘Second area?’

‘Yeah. Castor. Lucius Hostilius’s brother-in-law.’

Novius’s face...froze. There was no other word for it. ‘What about him?’ he said.

‘You were helping the guy out. He wanted to be a lawyer himself, but thanks to his brother-in-law he wasn’t getting anywhere in Castrimoenium. You were...oh, I don’t know; training him as an apprentice might be overstating it, but supplying him with books, talking him through cases, things like that. Yes?’

‘I...took an interest, certainly.’ He’d leaned back in his chair and put the tips of his fingers together, touching his lips. ‘Although I can’t think why that should be of any –’

‘Cosmus. He used to be one of your slaves, didn’t he?’

That got me a long, slow stare. ‘I had a slave by that name, yes,’ he said at last.

‘You knew he was the one who...let’s say poisoned Lucius Hostilius?’

Novius stood up abruptly. ‘I think we’ll have my clerk in here,’ he said. ‘If you’re going to accuse me of –’

‘I’m not accusing you of anything,’ I said. ‘Or not of arranging a murder, anyway. But if you’d like your clerk to hear the next bit then go ahead and call him, pal. It’s no skin off my nose.’

He glared at me for all of five seconds. Then he sat down again. ‘Carry on,’ he said tightly.

‘You sold Cosmus to Marcus Tuscius, the local slave dealer, thirteen months ago. He was bought two days later by Veturina, Lucius Hostilius’s wife, and her brother Castor.’

‘Really? I wasn’t aware of that, but if you tell me he was then no doubt it’s so.’

‘Now correct me if I’m wrong, pal, but I’d bet a gold piece to a kick in the teeth that the transaction didn’t postdate the start of your association with Castor by all that much. And there’s the question of what you were getting in return for your interest in him.’

‘Corvinus, I do advise you that you’re getting perilously close to slander here.’

‘So call in your clerk, friend.’ He didn’t move. ‘Castor’s already admitted to me that he passed on the information about how high Hostilius’s client was prepared to go in the offering price for the Lutatius property. And that it wasn’t a one-off; you’d been running him as a mole for months, picking up what he could about areas you and the Castrimoenian practice shared an interest in until Hostilius caught on and pulled the plug. Me, I think the intention - the original intention - where Cosmus was concerned was to have someone else on the inside at the guy’s home as well as his office, to run along with Castor. The problem was that although Cosmus was personable enough for promotion to an upstairs slave Hostilius didn’t like or trust him, so that particular plan fizzled out in the end, but it was a sharp idea in principle. You’re the lawyer. You want to tell me how something like that would square legally?’

‘I did nothing illegal.’

‘No, I’m sure you didn’t. Not as such, because you’d be very careful not to. But can you answer for Castor?’ The lips formed a tight line. ‘Over the Maecilius business, for a start. Colluding in the suppression of a will is definitely on the criminal side of the fence. Now I’ll admit that that doesn’t, on the face of it, seem to be to your advantage, quite the reverse, but –’

‘Colluding in what?’

‘– even though the chances are he was working on his own there you and he were definitely in bed together otherwise, and if it came out then you’d have awkward questions to answer.’

‘Are you blackmailing me, Valerius Corvinus?’

I shook my head. ‘No. Not at all. As far as I’m concerned you can play your lawyers’ games until hell freezes. All I want to know is how Castor fits in with the deaths of Lucius Hostilius and Brabbia Habra.’

‘Who?’

‘The brothers’ younger sister. Her body was found up by Caba a few days ago. Did you know her?’

‘No. I knew there was a sister, but not her name. And I never met her.’ He was frowning. ‘Corvinus, what’s this about Castor suppressing a will? Presumably you mean the one my client Gaius Maecilius - Bucca - says his father made shortly before he died, in which case if you have proof of its existence then you’re legally obliged to reveal its whereabouts.’

‘No proof, not yet, but I will have because I’m right. I just mentioned it to show you that covering up for Castor to save your own skin might not be such a smart idea in the long run. Oh, he’s inoffensive and mild-mannered on the surface, sure, but his father said that when he was a kid if he wanted something then he’d go for it, whatever stood in the way, and I’d bet that sums the guy up neatly, especially the last bit. Believe me, pal, there is something very rotten about Castor, and it goes a long way past the games you’re involved in.’

He was quiet for a long time. Then he said quietly: ‘What do you want to know?’

‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘He was here perhaps seventeen or eighteen days ago.’

Uh-huh. That would put it - I did a quick calculation - just a day or so after Hostilius’s conversation at the villa with Acceius, which I would bet that Veturina had overheard a hell of a lot more of than she’d told me, and duly passed on to her brother. ‘For any specific reason?’

‘He wanted to talk to me about the Julian law. Its precise terms and ramifications.’

Yeah; Veturina had mentioned a Julian law. ‘Hang on, pal,’ I said. ‘This would be the Julian law on inheritance tax, would it?’

Novius chuckled. ‘No, it wouldn’t. At least, yes, there is a Julian law on inheritance tax - the Julia Vicesimaria -, in fact there are several Julian laws. But the one Castor wanted to discuss - and before you ask, Corvinus, in purely theoretical terms - was the one on adultery and the punishment of adulterers.’

Everything went very still. ‘You, ah, care to take me through that one, pal?’ I said.

‘Certainly. The gist of it is that if a man has proof that his wife is committing adultery he is legally obliged to divorce her forthwith. He then has sixty valid days - days when public business can be transacted - to instigate her formal prosecution, which, again, he is obliged by law to do. If the adultery is proved in court then, where the marriage is childless, as it was in Castor’s theoretical scenario, the husband retains a sixth of the original dowry, the rest going in fines to the state; while the adulterer loses, again as a fine, half his property. The wife and adulterer are punished by exile to separate islands.’

I sat back. Sweet immortal gods! Unless I was really, really mistaken I’d just been handed the key to the whole case. The only problem was, which lock did it fit? Wife and adulterer, eh? I reckoned that if you stretched the definition of the second category a little we’d had three possibilities for that combination over the last few days, and they all made sense, of a kind at least. So which was it? You paid your money and you took your choice. ‘And that’s what Castor wanted to check up on?’ I said.

‘Oh, no. He already knew that much. It was the next proviso of the law that he wasn’t altogether clear about.’

‘Namely?’

Novius told me.

Jupiter bloody Best and Greatest. One possibility; not three. Just the one.

Shit!

Puteoli and Spain, nothing. He’d still be around, that I’d bet on, because he’d nothing to gain by running now. And I knew where to find him, sure I did; he’d told me that himself.

I left Novius and headed for the town granaries.