Yeah, well, fair enough; maybe I had been out of order, at that. I let it go.
‘Caesius named him as heir in his will?’ I said.
‘No, as it happens he died intestate. Or rather, in his only existing will, made shortly after his marriage thirty-five years ago, he left everything, barring some small personal bequests, to his wife Vatinia, and should she predecease him to any children of the union. In the event, of course, there was no family, and his wife died two months ago. I’d advised him very strongly after her death — and naturally several times on previous occasions over the years — to draft a new will, but as far as I’m aware he had not yet done so.’
‘Yeah? Why would that be, now?’
Novius shrugged. ‘Quintus, I’m afraid, was the lawyer’s nightmare, the chronic procrastinator. The situation was made even more complex by the fact that he genuinely could think of no alternative principal heir, and so put things off sine die. As a result — and I agree that the result is an unfortunate one, which Quintus himself would have deplored — under the circumstances the estate reverts to the nearest male relative, who is his younger brother.’
‘And Lucius Caesius knew this?’
‘That I’m afraid I can’t tell you. You would have to ask him.’
There was something puzzling me. ‘His major-domo, Anthus. He said his master had freed him.’
‘Indeed he did. But the freeing was done not in accordance with a will but as the result of a Declaration of Intent.’
‘Which is?’
‘Exactly what it says. Fortunately for Anthus, it happens that several years ago Quintus promised him, in my personal hearing and in the presence of other witnesses, that when the time came he would have his freedom. I was delighted to be able to confirm this and so make it legally binding, as no doubt Quintus would have wanted.’
‘The two brothers had nothing to do with each other, as I understand. And it went a long way back. In fact, the estrangement was originally between Lucius and his father.’
‘Who told you that?’ Novius said sharply. I said nothing. ‘Well, it’s true enough, as it happens, and no secret. Lucius was always a wastrel. Old Caesius — Marcus Caesius, that was, the father — was extremely patient with him for many years after he’d put on his adult mantle, but finally he gave him up. Oh, he didn’t actually go as far as disinheriting him, or not at that stage, but he did make it clear that he wanted no further contact. The feeling, I should say, was quite mutual, and from the time Lucius was about twenty-five until his father’s death they had no connection barring the financial one.’
‘Financial?’
‘Yes. I acted as the intermediary myself, as it happens. Marcus Caesius made his son a small allowance, payable each month. After he died, Quintus continued it.’
‘Hang on, pal,’ I said. ‘I’m no lawyer, sure, but even I can see an inconsistency there. If the father didn’t disinherit Lucius then why was it necessary? Why didn’t Lucius get half the property in his own right when the old man died?’
‘I did say “at that stage”, Corvinus. Old Caesius disinherited Lucius in his will. The whole property went to Quintus.’
I sat back. ‘What?’
Novius shrugged again. ‘It was perfectly legal. And Lucius had no right to expect anything else, after all that time. He and his father — and, of course, his brother — had been virtual strangers for most of their lives. Also, Lucius had got quite enough out of him already over the years.’
‘When did the father die?’
‘Comparatively recently. Only eleven years ago, in fact. He was a very old man, well into his eighties.’
‘Just before Aulus Mettius was relegated, in other words.’
This time Novius did blink. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Mettius. Caesius’s nephew.’ I’d rattled him, which was the hope and intention. ‘He was working for you at the time, I think.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t see the connection.’
I gave him my sunniest smile. ‘I didn’t say there was one. Is there?’
‘Certainly not! Why should there be?’
‘No reason. But he was the other thing I wanted to ask you about. Theft, wasn’t it? And you were the injured party?’
Rattled was right: the old guy’s mottled face was almost purple.
‘Corvinus, this has nothing whatsoever to do with Quintus Caesius’s death!’ he snapped.
‘Maybe it hasn’t. I don’t know. But like I said I’m just getting an idea of the background here, so indulge me. Unless it’s a secret, naturally.’
‘Of course it isn’t! The circumstances are a matter of public record!’
‘Then there’s no problem, is there?’ I carried on smiling, and waited.
Novius frowned and cleared his throat. ‘Very well, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘But this is under protest, and only to prevent you from thinking that I’m concealing something from you. I should point out, however — and Silius Nerva would agree with me here — that you are greatly exceeding your mandate.’
‘Fine,’ I said equably. ‘I can go with that.’
‘Theft, then, is not quite the correct term for Aulus Mettius’s crime. What he was guilty of was embezzlement. He had been with me as clerk-apprentice for just under five years, initially on Quintus’s recommendation. I discovered that he was, and had been for much of that time, helping himself from the clients’ fees, of which he had administrative charge. Under the circumstances, prosecution was my only option.’
‘You didn’t think that maybe just a smack over the knuckles and a warning would be enough? Considering that he was your friend Caesius’s nephew?’
‘No. The man was a crook. And Quintus agreed with me. He’d already washed his hands of him.’ He picked up the stylus. ‘And now, unless you have any other questions more germane to the issue, I’m an extremely busy man. No doubt there are already clients waiting outside. I’ll bid you good day.’
I stood up. ‘Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘Thanks for your time, pal. If I do have any more germane questions — which I probably will, when things get going — I know where to find you.’
I left him glaring after me.
EIGHT
So, onwards and upwards. Time to talk to the brother and — as far as the cui bono aspect of things went — prime contender for wishing Caesius dead and burned. If I could get a hold of him …
My barman friend Scaptius had said that Lucius rented a room in the street to the right of the market square, above a bakery. That should be easy to find, although at this time of day he probably wouldn’t be at home, unless he was sleeping things off. Which, I supposed, was possible.
I came back down the steps. Before turning left and heading towards the centre of town, I happened to glance the other way, up the road in the direction of the baths at the end of it. And I noticed something odd.
It was a quiet street, virtually a backwater. When I’d first arrived, there’d been only one other punter in evidence, on the far side of the road but walking parallel at the same pace: a big guy in a freedman’s cap. When I’d gone into Novius’s office he’d kept on going, presumably bound for the baths. But now there he was again, leaning against the wall and communing with nature a few yards up from me.
Uh-huh.
I set off slowly down the road, gave it a couple of minutes, then turned round as casually as I could manage. Chummie was tagging along, a few dozen yards behind, moving at the same unnaturally slow speed. So. Unless my paranoia was getting worse in my old age the bugger was tailing me sure enough. The big questions, of course, were why and who for?
OK. The first thing was to rule paranoia and coincidence out of the equation. I crossed the next street, stopped on the far side and turned round. Chummie, a dozen yards behind, slowed almost to a halt and became very interested in the sandals on display outside the shop just shy of the corner itself. I ignored him, but instead of retracing my steps, or carrying on past the street, I turned down it: by my reckoning, it would run parallel to the top end of the square, so it’d bring me out more or less where I wanted to go in any case.