‘Not at all, Caesar.’
‘I have enjoyed our little chat. As I say, I’ve found it very refreshing. We must do it again sometime. Or perhaps you and your lovely wife — Rufia Perilla, isn’t it? — would like to come to dinner one evening soon. Nothing too formal, just a few friends.’
‘Thank you, Caesar. But we’ll be going through to the Alban Hills tonight to see our adopted daughter and her husband, and staying until after the festival.’
‘What a shame! Perhaps when you come back. We must arrange something.’
‘Certainly.’ Not if I could help it. ‘I look forward to it.’
‘I’ll let you know. Do have a nice time, and a happy Festival. My regards to Perilla.’ He stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes. ‘Goodbye, petal. The slaves’ll show you out.’
I left, and he was asleep before I reached the door.
Interesting, yes? Certainly there were avenues there that needed exploring. Even so, I’d given my word to Perilla, and besides, the conspiracy per se was dead and buried and so was the case: Surdinus, like Papinius, had been killed to stop him blabbing, and the identity of his actual killer was academic because the bastard was already dead or soon would be. If the itch was still at the back of my mind then I’d just have to live with it. In any case, Gaius was probably right about Capito’s evidence being useless; Felix had the business completely in hand, and everything else was a mare’s nest.
Possibly.
Or, there again, possibly not …
Fuck. Well, like I say, I’d just have to make the best of things.
I went home.
TWENTY-THREE
We took the carriage through to Castrimoenium that evening. Perilla had sent a skivvy on ahead, so at least we were expected; meaning that, when we rolled up well after midnight, we didn’t get the locked door and the dogs set on us. The hellhound Placida excepted, naturally, but then with her you stood more chance of being drooled to death than anything else, and she meant well.
Childbirth, of course, is a risky business at the best of times, but where Marilla was concerned I needn’t’ve worried; she was blooming. Clarus said the pregnancy was going as it should and the sprog looked like being on time. Which, in the event, he was. After several days of nail-biting tension and a couple of false alarms, young Marcus Cornelius Clarus came squalling into the world bang on the button an hour after dawn on the first day of the festival. He was introduced to the household and the household gods; Juno the Light-Bringer had her post-natal sacrifice and set of thank-you clothes, and after he’d thrown his ninth-day party and sicked up all over Perilla’s shoulder, life settled down into an easy holiday pace.
Oh, yeah, sure, I’d thought about Surdinus and the rest of it from time to time, but there’d been enough going on to keep my mind occupied. Plus the fact that being away from the city and completely out of things had given the whole boiling a sort of mental distance as well. By the time Perilla had finally had enough of playing the doting grandparent and given the thumb’s-up for heading home, I’d virtually drawn a line under it.
Until, that is, sixteen days into the new year and halfway through our second morning back, Naevia Postuma rolled up.
This time, both of us were at home. Perilla laid the book she’d been reading down on the table beside her couch and gave the lady her best smile.
‘Naevia Postuma,’ she said. ‘Well, this is a surprise.’
‘Then it certainly should not be.’ Postuma glared at Bathyllus until the little guy had wheeled out one of our broadest and strongest chairs and set it behind her. She sat; the chair creaked in protest. ‘Valerius Corvinus, you gave me your word of honour that you would find my uncle’s killer.’
‘Ah … in actual fact …’ I began.
‘Don’t prevaricate! That was certainly the impression I formed during our last interview, and you know perfectly well that you have done nothing of the kind. It’s an absolute disgrace!’
‘To be fair, Naevia Postuma, it wasn’t entirely Marcus’s fault,’ Perilla said. ‘How was he to know that the death was going to link in with a plot against the emperor? After which, of course, the whole thing was taken out of his hands.’
‘Stuff and nonsense. Uncle Lucius was no traitor.’
‘No one’s claiming that he was,’ I said patiently. ‘Quite the reverse. My guess is that one of the conspirators tried to recruit him, he was about to blow the whistle on the business and the guy panicked and had him killed. End of story.’
‘Which conspirator?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I hadn’t got that far. But the question’s academic because the conspiracy is busted, the emperor had everyone responsible in the bag well before the festival, and by this time they’re all dead as mutton. Like Perilla told you, as far as I’m concerned the case is closed.’
‘That it most certainly is not.’
I blinked. ‘Uh … I beg your pardon?’
‘Granted. The case, as you call it, Valerius Corvinus, is most definitely still open. Very much so. Alexander has given me his most firm assurance to that effect.’
Gods! I was prepared to make some allowances, sure — after all, the lady was right, in a way, and I hadn’t delivered in full in terms of the contract, if contract there had been — but my patience was wearing thin here. Besides, I couldn’t see what else she expected me to do. Not with the real professionals on the job and an emperor in the background who was as mentally stable as a rhino with a migraine.
‘Look, lady, you can tell Alexander from me that he can take a flying-’ I began.
‘Marcus!’ Perilla snapped.
‘Leap.’
Postuma stood up. ‘I repeat, young man, the case is not closed. Very far from it. Furthermore, because of your inexcusable shilly-shallying-’
‘My what?’
‘-time is of the essence. According to Alexander, you have only until the Palatine Games to do as you promised. Should you fail, the consequences will be disastrous; Alexander was most clear on that point as well. Now that is all I have to say, and the rest is up to you. I’ll see myself out. Good day to you both.’
And she left.
Bugger.
‘So, dear,’ Perilla said when the room’s vibes had settled and we were alone again. ‘How do you think that went?’
‘Come on, lady! What did she expect? And whose side are you on, anyway?’
Perilla sighed. ‘Yours, of course,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. And you’re quite right, there’s nothing more you can do.’
‘Isn’t there?’
She stared at me. ‘Marcus, I distinctly heard you telling her that there isn’t. And you are not taking this any further. For one thing it’s not safe.’
True, unfortunately. Still, although I hated to admit it, the safety angle was only one factor in all this, and not necessarily the most important one, either.
‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘No argument. Only, if we’re being totally honest here, the lady’s VIP pal is right about the case not being properly closed; there’re too many loose ends dangling around. And I didn’t like that bit about the Palatine Games much above half, either.’
‘Marcus Valerius Corvinus, you are not telling me you believe that nonsense about Alexander the Great? That is just silly!’
‘Yeah, well, maybe. Stranger things have happened, and me, I like to keep an open mind.’
‘I told you, it’s just a harmless eccentricity. Postuma’s been claiming he talks to her for years. No one pays any attention any more.’
‘Even so, the guy was bang up to scratch originally about Surdinus’s death being murder when all the evidence pointed towards an accident. And the Palatine Games are only eight days away. Plus there’re no prizes for guessing what the disastrous consequences will be, not when we’ve already got a conspiracy on the books.’