‘Sextus Garganius live here?’ I said.
‘Yes.’ She hefted the baby. ‘Who wants him?’
‘He doesn’t know me,’ I said. ‘I just wanted a quick word, if that’s OK.’
She frowned, but opened the door wider and stepped aside. ‘You’d best come in, then,’ she said, then shouted, ‘Dad! Someone to see you!’ She turned back to me. ‘Go ahead. He’s in the kitchen, round to the right. Excuse me, I was just going to change Quintus here.’
Yeah, I could smell that that was pretty urgent. She took the kid off to some inner fastness to repair the spreading damage while I followed her directions.
Garganius was standing next to the kitchen brazier, stirring a pot of bean stew: a little old guy with grizzled hair and a wall eye. He looked round.
‘Yeah?’ he said. ‘Who’re you?’
I gave him my name. ‘It’s about the fire a few months back. In the town’s wool store. I understand you were the night watchman.’
His single good eye looked me over suspiciously. ‘I was,’ he said. ‘So what?’
‘I was hoping you’d tell me what happened.’
‘What’s to tell? The place caught fire and burned down. That’s all there was to it, and you could’ve got that much from anyone.’
‘I was talking to a guy named Battus.’ No point in complicating the issue. ‘He said it wasn’t an accident.’
The suspicious look toned down a tad. ‘I know Battus, sure. He send you here?’
‘More or less. He told me where to find you, anyway. I’m looking into the death of Quintus Caesius. The censor-elect. Seemingly he was planning to open an investigation.’
That got me a grunt. ‘Maybe he was,’ Garganius said. ‘But that isn’t going to happen now, is it?’
I shrugged. ‘It might. It all depends.’
‘Depends on what?’
‘Maybe on what you tell me.’
He went back to stirring the pot. A minute passed in silence. Then without looking at me, he said, ‘You down here from Rome?’
‘Sure.’
‘Official?’
‘More or less, again. Where Caesius is concerned, certainly.’
‘Fine.’ He nodded, like he’d made a decision. ‘OK. They’re saying I knocked over a lamp when I was drunk. That’s a lie. I wasn’t, and I didn’t. Truth is, I’d nothing to do with starting the fire.’
‘Who did, then?’
‘Search me, pal. All I know is that I was in my cubby just inside the door as usual. Oh, I may’ve been dozing, sure — what do you expect at that time of night — but I was stone-cold sober. I woke up and found the place full of smoke, so I got the hell out and raised the alarm. For all the good it did. By that time the rafters’d caught and the roof was coming down.’
‘This wouldn’t be the burned-out warehouse just off the main drag the other side of the market square, would it? In the same street as the brothel?’
‘That’s right. It was lucky the place was free-standing, or the whole middle of town could’ve gone up. Specially at that time of year. Everything was dry as a bone.’
‘Could someone have got in? To start the fire, I mean?’
‘Sure. No problem, it would’ve been easy enough. I told you, I was inside, wasn’t I? You think I locked the door behind me? And after all, who’s going to steal a warehouse worth of fucking wool bales?’
‘Unless they’d been stolen already.’
He gave me a long, considering look, tasted the bean stew and put the spoon back in, all without a word.
‘Of course,’ I went on, ‘that would’ve been pretty difficult to cover for, during daylight hours, considering the number of bales that must’ve been involved.’ No response. ‘I mean, something on that scale would tend to get noticed, wouldn’t it, during the day? A night operation, now, small loads, a bit at a time spread over a month or two, single-cart stuff, early hours of the morning, well, that’d be different.’ Still silence. ‘Come on, pal! If that was how it was done then you must’ve known all about it from start to finish. And if so you’re up the proverbial creek without a paddle. Now, I don’t want to make trouble, especially for the little guy who probably had his arm twisted and only got a handful of silver pieces out of it. I’m not even a fucking Bovillan citizen, for the gods’ sake. Arson’s not my business; I couldn’t care less about a little thing like that. What is my business, however, is murder. All I want is to get the facts straight so I can get on with my job. Clear?’
He took a deep breath. ‘OK, fair enough,’ he said. ‘Let’s say — just for argument’s sake — that most of the wool was already gone and what was in nine tenths of the bales was rags; that I may’ve suspected it, but I didn’t know for certain because I made damn sure that I didn’t; that I had nothing to do with the switch; and that you forget you were here talking to me. No names, no pointing fingers, and no comeback, right? I’m just a dumb watchman who doesn’t know zilch. That do you?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I’ll settle for that.’
‘Good. We have a deal.’ He went back to stirring the pot. ‘Mind you, putting me in the frame wasn’t nice. I don’t like that. The guy who had the wool contract. Name begins with “M”. You know who I’m talking about?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, I know.’
‘Well, he might be able to help with a few facts, too. I’m not saying he will, you understand, just that he might. Only a suggestion. Fair enough?’
‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Thanks, pal.’ I turned to go.
‘Not a word, right? And it stops here?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Cross my heart. Thanks again.’
Well, I reckoned I’d got enough to be going on with. Back to the water trough by the Tiburtine Gate where I’d moored my horse, and then home for a think.
On my way along the main drag, I thought I spotted my pal the lounging freedman walking parallel to me on the opposite pavement. But he was only one face in a crowd, and I could’ve been wrong.
There again, there weren’t any flying pigs.
NINE
Bathyllus was waiting for me with a cup of wine when I got back. No sign of Lupercus. Oh, yeah; the demarcation arrangements. Silly, like I said, but there you went, that was the bought help for you; these guys aren’t on the same wavelength. Anything for a quiet life.
‘Truce still holding, pal?’ I said, taking the cup and handing him my wet cloak in exchange.
‘Yes, sir, thank you.’
‘See that it does, OK?’
‘Yes, sir. The family are having lunch in the dining room.’
I took the cup through.
‘You’re home early, dear,’ Perilla said when I’d kissed her.
‘Yeah.’ I settled down on the couch beside her. ‘No problems, I just thought I’d done enough for the day. And, like you said, we’re on holiday, so there’s no point in overdoing things, is there?’
Smarm, smarm.
‘So how are things going?’ Clarus asked.
I helped myself to cold pork, bread, olives and cheese (Euclidus didn’t take his cheffing duties as seriously as Meton did, at least where lunch was concerned, so as usual we were getting yesterday’s dinner leftovers padded out with sundries from the store cupboard) and gave them the usual run-down of the morning’s events.
‘There you are, Clarus,’ Marilla said with huge satisfaction. ‘I told you the fire was a scam.’
Clarus shrugged.
‘It looks like it, sure,’ I said, reaching for my wine cup. ‘But that’s not to say it’s connected with the murder. Whether or not Manlius — or his pal Canidius, or both of them together — would go to the lengths of killing Caesius just to stop an investigation and avoid a theft and arson charge is a moot point.’
‘I don’t agree at all, Marcus,’ Perilla said. ‘Not if they thought the investigation was a certainty and that the outcome was a foregone conclusion. The punishment for arson and theft on that scale would be relegation, or at least a crippling fine.’ She spooned a reheated chicken dumpling on to her plate. ‘In any case, you’re forgetting the social side of things. You know how people’s minds work in these small towns. If they were convicted, the disgrace would destroy them in Bovillae, socially and politically, and for men of their standing that would be far worse. No, dear, I’d say the motive was quite sufficient.’