It was much busier than the street I’d been on. A couple of dozen yards further along it was a guy selling poppy-seed bread rings from a hand cart. I stopped and bought one, glancing behind me as I took the copper coin from my belt pouch. There was no sign of the freedman. OK; so maybe it had been straightforward paranoia, after all. Or maybe — which was just as likely, if not more so — the bastard had realized he’d been sussed and decided to cut his losses for the present. Whatever the reason, I’d lost him.
The strange thing was that, when I’d turned round at the corner and got a proper look, something about him had rung a bell. Not his face, which I’d seen clearly; I’d be ready to swear that to my knowledge I’d never clapped eyes on the guy before in my life. It was just the way he moved and held himself …
Memory tugged.
Ah, bugger. Leave it. No doubt if I wasn’t actually on the brink of wearing my underpants on my head and he had been tailing me for some reason it wouldn’t be the last time he did it. Next time, I’d be ready.
I carried on along the street and took a right at the corner. Yeah, this was the street the barman had meant, all right: I could see the bakery a few yards down. On the other hand, there was a wine shop a bit further along, on the opposite side, just after the entrance to an alleyway. Maybe a better place to try, at least in the first instance: the chances were that one so close to home would be Lucius’s local. I crossed the road and walked towards it, glancing down the alleyway as I passed.
It was a cul-de-sac, with two small shops in it: a general merchant’s and a bootmaker’s. Check. Yeah, I’d thought there was something familiar about the street I was on. I’d come down it, or the bottom half of it, rather, the day before, heading for the main drag and Caesius’s house, after I’d left the brothel by its back door. The alley was the same one, the one behind the brothel, seen from the other direction.
I carried on to the wine shop, pushed open the door and went in.
The place was pretty basic, cheap and not particularly cheerful, not much more than a stone counter beside which stood two or three barflies who looked like they’d come as a package with the furniture and fittings. There wasn’t a lot of choice on the board, either. Still, I wasn’t there for the wine list or the ambience. I waited until the barman had served the punter on my immediate left with his cup of wine and then caught his eye.
‘What can I get you, sir?’ he said.
‘Actually, I was looking for a Lucius Caesius,’ I said. ‘He come in here at all?’
The guy grinned. ‘He does. In fact …’ He turned towards the punter at the end of the row to my right and raised his voice. ‘Hey, Lucius. You’ve got company.’
The punter was half-slumped over the counter on his forearms, a jug and a cup in front of him. He raised his head. I recognized the resemblance straight off, but where Quintus Caesius’s silvery hair had been carefully trimmed his brother’s grey equivalent looked like he’d cut it himself. Sawn at it, rather, and with a blunt knife at that. Younger brother or not, he wouldn’t’ve passed for seventy, let alone ten years short of it. His tunic hadn’t seen the inside of a fuller’s for quite some time, either, and from its condition probably wouldn’t survive the experience if it did.
The phrase ‘human wreckage’ came to mind. Well-preserved, bursting with self-respect and in good shape for his age he was not.
‘Who wants me?’ he said.
I made another quick inspection of the wines on offer; none of them looked very promising this time round, either. ‘Make it a half jug of your best, pal,’ I said to the barman. ‘Whichever that is.’
‘That’d be the Arician, then.’
‘Arician it is.’ I moved over to join what was left of Lucius Caesius and pulled up the stool next to him. ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘The name’s Marcus Corvinus.’
‘Corvinus?’ He gave me an uncomprehending poached-egg-eyes stare. ‘Is that so?’ Then he nodded. ‘Oh. Right. I’ve got you now. You’re the Roman those bastards in the senate have got to look into my brother’s death. Doing the rounds of the suspects, are you?’
‘More or less,’ I said easily. The barman came over and set the jug and cup down beside me. I paid and poured, then held the jug poised. ‘You want some of this?’
‘If it’s going spare, sure. Mine’s dead.’
I filled his cup. ‘Health,’ I said, and sipped from my own. Actually, maybe I’d misjudged the place, because it wasn’t bad stuff, certainly a lot better than I’d been expecting. Mind you, if you can’t get a decent house wine in the Alban Hills then where else can you get it? And Aricia wasn’t far away; the landlord probably had family connections with the vineyard.
Lucius took a good long swallow and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Mind if we talk?’ I said.
‘Suit yourself. You’re buying, and I’m not doing anything special.’
I glanced behind me. There was one small table with a couple of stools, squeezed away in a corner. ‘Over there?’ I said. ‘It’s more private.’
‘I’ll be saying nothing that I’d be ashamed gets overheard,’ he said. But he picked up his cup, levered himself off the stool and walked carefully to the table. I followed and sat down opposite him. ‘Now. Talk away.’
‘You weren’t at the funeral,’ I said.
His face with its three-day-old stubble split into something between a grin and a snarl. He wasn’t doing so well in the teeth department, either. I reckoned four or five, all told, but I might’ve been overgenerous. ‘Bugger that,’ he said. ‘I’d no truck with my brother when he was alive and I’ll have none with him now he’s dead.’ He drained his cup at a gulp and edged it over in my direction. Wordlessly, I refilled it. ‘Shock you, that, does it? Offend your nice Roman-patrician sensibilities? Well, disapprove all you like. I’m no hypocrite, and I don’t do platitudes.’ He must’ve noticed my expression, because he said, ‘Also, I’m a drunk by choice and inclination. That doesn’t mean I’m a monosyllabic oaf. So don’t patronize me either, right?’
Jupiter! Talk about having a chip on your shoulder! The one this guy was carrying around was so big you could use it as a doorstop.
‘I wasn’t going to, pal,’ I said. ‘And no, it doesn’t shock me at all. Still, you’re his heir, aren’t you?’
‘Indeed I am, seemingly.’ He half-emptied his newly refilled cup and smacked his lips. ‘The Caesius now. The only living representative of the family. No surprises there, then.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘“Concerning the dead, nothing except good.” That how the old tag goes? Well, since I can’t in all honesty manage the qualifi-cation without gagging I’ll settle for the first option and say nothing. I can afford to, after all; I reckon I’m worth a good million plus now, thanks to dear brother Quintus, what with his own money and my late sister-in-law’s dowry, and if that means drawing a line under his sacred memory then so be it.’ He belched. ‘Pardon. He had his head beaten in, they tell me, coming out of our local knocking shop. That right?’
‘Yeah. More or less.’
‘Couldn’t’ve happened to a better person. And that fact in itself is a glittering wonder and marvel to all who knew and loved him. Or didn’t, as the case might be.’ He chuckled to himself and took another swallow of wine. I said nothing. ‘So. Rest his bones, whatever the truth of it. Concerning the dead and so on; I’ve no quarrel with him now. How’s your investigation going? If I’m allowed to ask?’
I shrugged. ‘As well as can be expected. I’ve just started. As you say, I’m just doing the rounds of the suspects at present.’