Well, it was all part of life’s rich tapestry.
Vinicius had lain down in the host’s place at the top end of our bottom couch. The three wives were already there, together on the couch opposite; at least, I recognized Livilla and Messalina, and the third, on Livilla’s far side at the couch’s end, had to be Vinicianus’s.
‘You’re next to me, Perilla.’ Vinicius patted the place to his left, where the principal guest usually lay. ‘No, I insist. I told you.’ Livilla shot him a look that was pure venom, but he either missed it or chose to ignore it. Not the happiest or best-matched of couples, Vinicius and Gaius’s sister. I noticed she’d put on even more weight than she’d been carrying the last time I’d seen her; Messalina and Vinicianus’s wife were going to be pretty pushed for space here. ‘Claudius on my other side, Vinicianus beyond Perilla, if you will, Lucius, my boy, and then Corvinus. Can’t have husband and wife together, can we?’ Hell; that put me next to Messalina reclining at the near end of the top couch. Relative or not, I’d’ve preferred to steer well clear of that lady. ‘Oh, and I’m sorry. Corvinus and Perilla, I should’ve introduced you to Vinicianus’s wife, Fulvia Procula.’ We nodded to each other. ‘Now. I think that should do us. Let’s get on with it, shall we?’
We reclined. Messalina gave me a sunny smile and what was almost a wink. She was a looker, sure, always had been, and even now in her mid-twenties and two husbands down the road with her slim figure, soft features and clear skin, she could’ve passed for ten years younger, easy; minimum of make-up and jewellery, although I noticed that she was wearing a ring with a ruby in it the size of a quail’s egg that must’ve cost Claudius an arm and a leg.
‘Why, Cousin Corvinus,’ she said. ‘What a surprise.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, it is.’ I kept my voice neutral.
‘A pleasant one, of course.’ She laughed and held her hands out to the slave coming round with the perfumed water. ‘And Perilla’s looking extremely well. For her age.’
Uh-huh. I glanced sideways, but fortunately the lady was already in deep conversation with Vinicius, as was Livilla with Procula. It looked like Messalina, Vinicianus and me were going to form a threesome. At least for the moment. I held my own hands over the basin while the jug slave poured.
‘So, Corvinus,’ Vinicianus said. ‘What’s this sleuthing business my uncle mentioned? It sounds fascinating.’
The slave behind the one with the water jug dried my hands with a napkin. Including the guy holding the basin, that made three of them. Obviously hand-washing duty was pretty labour-intensive: there was certainly no shortage of bought help around.
‘Oh, it’s nothing much,’ I said.
‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’ Messalina held up her cup without looking at the wine slave who was following behind the hand-rinse guys. He poured. ‘Quite the little busy bee, so I’m told.’
I held up my own cup. The slave filled it.
‘Thanks, pal,’ I said. ‘Yeah, well, it keeps me off the streets and reasonably sober.’ It didn’t do either of those things, mind, but at a dinner party you’re not under oath.
‘Are you working on anything at the moment?’ Vinicianus said, lifting his cup for the slave.
His tone was polite interest, no more. Uh-huh. Well, if that was how he wanted to play it, it was absolutely fine with me.
‘Actually, I am,’ I said. I sipped the wine and blinked as the taste registered. Shit, that was Caecuban! Real imperial Caecuban, from Gaius’s own cellar. By tagging along with Vinicius we’d obviously moved up a considerable notch on the drinks scale. ‘A guy by the name of Naevius Surdinus, murdered on his estate a couple of months back. You know him?’
‘I’d have recognized the face, yes, and I’ve certainly heard his name. But no, I didn’t know him, not personally.’ On the open side of the table, the slaves were laying out the starters. ‘How dreadful. Do you have any idea who killed him?’
‘I’m getting there,’ I said easily. ‘The actual perp, yes, because he was seen. A freedman with a distinctive scar or a birthmark on his left cheek.’ I took another swallow of wine. Beautiful! ‘You don’t happen to know who or whose that might be, do you?’
‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. Why on earth should I?’
I shrugged. ‘No reason. I’ve just got into the habit of asking people, that’s all.’ Interesting; very interesting. I’d been watching closely, and his eyelids had definitely flickered. The bastard was lying.
‘I had a freedman once,’ Messalina said, reaching for an olive. ‘Or rather Daddy did. He’d always been a bit strange as a slave. Talked to himself, you know? Muttered. Anyway, when he freed him Daddy set him up in a hardware shop. One day for no reason at all he picked up a vine-pruner’s knife from the bench and killed a customer with it. Slit his throat from ear to ear. The man had only come in for a set of door hinges.’ She smiled. ‘You can’t trust the poor dears — slaves and freedmen, I mean. They’re quite unreliable. Something to do with the breeding, I expect. Oh, lovely, we’ve got these little cheese and fig things again.’
‘I had a curious slave myself, actually.’ Vinicianus took a stuffed vine leaf from the dish next to him, put it on his plate and dissected it with his knife, frowning as he inspected the contents. ‘Curious in both senses of the word. The man was always poking, couldn’t leave anything alone. We had a stork’s nest on the roof one year, and he decided he’d go up and have a look at the eggs. Only he stepped on a loose tile, lost his balance, fell off the roof and broke his neck.’
He raised his eyes and looked straight at me.
Messalina laughed. ‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ she said. ‘Sometimes they are so silly, and then they’re their own worst enemies. Don’t you agree, Corvinus?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, I do.’ I reached for the pickled cheese balls.
No doubt about it. I’d been warned.
There was a movement to my left, behind Messalina. I looked over. A Praetorian tribune in dress uniform, helmet under his arm, was approaching Gaius’s table. He stopped and saluted.
‘Oh, hell,’ Vinicianus muttered.
I glanced back at him. ‘What’s going on?’ I said. ‘Trouble?’
‘No. Nothing like that. Just the evening watchword.’
‘Watchword?’
His face was set. ‘For the palace guard. It changes every night, and the emperor gives it. Nothing to do with us. Eat your dinner, Corvinus.’
And he turned back to his plate. I’d noticed, though, that a lot of the other guests seemed to be taking a great interest in what was happening. There were a few suppressed giggles.
Gaius was in deep conversation with the man next to him; a pantomime artist, by the look of him, with hair frizzed out in golden spangles. The Praetorian didn’t move. He stood at the salute, ramrod straight, waiting: not a young guy like Sextus Papinius or his brother Lucius had been, but a balding veteran, fifty if he was a day.
Finally, Gaius looked up.
‘Ah, Chaerea, it’s you,’ he said. ‘You’ll be wanting tonight’s word, will you?’
‘Yes, Caesar.’ Although the words were barked out in strict military fashion, the voice didn’t match; it was high, almost feminine in pitch.
‘Right. Right. Let’s see now.’ Gaius frowned. ‘What was it yesterday? Not a single word; a phrase. On the tip of my tongue. Come on, man! Remind me!’
There was a perceptible pause. Then the tribune said stiffly: ‘“Give us a hug”, Caesar.’
The spangly haired guy next to Gaius choked on his wine and had to have his back pounded. All of the people occupying the nearby couches had been watching what was going on, and most of them, men and women, were laughing openly now, as if it were part of the evening’s entertainment. Which, in a way, I supposed it was. Certainly Gaius was showing all the signs of playing to the gallery here, and his sycophantic dinner pals were obviously eager to show their appreciation.