‘Oh, yes. But by name only. He’s never set foot in the house, nor had the master in his, although he often talked about him. Not in complimentary terms. They were rival collectors — I think I told you about the master’s hobby? I’m afraid I know no more about him than that.’
‘I was told they had a head-to-head over buying a figurine two months back, and that Baebius lost out. That right?’
Anthus nodded. ‘Perfectly correct, sir. A very fine Hellenistic bronze of a runner removing a thorn from his foot.’
‘You think I could see it?’
‘Of course. It’s in the study. If you’d like to come through?’
I followed him. He opened the door and went over to one of the display shelves, then stopped.
‘Something wrong?’ I said.
He was looking blank. ‘Now that is very curious. Very curious indeed. It isn’t there.’
‘What?’
He pointed to an empty space on the shelf. ‘That’s where it was, sir. But it’s gone.’
‘When did you last see it?’
‘The day of the master’s death. In the morning, when I did the dusting. I haven’t been in here since, except when we had our talk. And then I can’t say whether it was here or not.’
‘Would someone have taken it since?’
‘Not to my knowledge, sir. The room hasn’t been entered. It’s a mystery, I’m afraid.’
Yeah, I’d agree with him there. ‘OK, pal,’ I said. ‘Leave it for now. Thanks again for your help. I’ll see myself out.’ I paused. ‘Oh, incidentally. Brother Lucius. When does he move in?’
‘The day after tomorrow, sir, or so I understand. I’ll be staying on until then, but one of the other members of the household staff will be taking on my duties. Temporarily, at least.’
‘You going to stay with your baker girlfriend?’
‘That’s right. We’re being married straight away.’
‘Good luck, then. Oh’ — I took out my purse and removed a gold piece — ‘maybe you can buy yourself a wedding present.’
‘That’s very generous of you, Valerius Corvinus. And good luck to you. I’ll sleep easier when my master’s killer is found. He was a decent man, at heart.’
Yeah, well, I’d heard worse obituaries. And coming from a guy like Anthus, short as it was, it had weight, more so than Manlius’s public eulogy.
I left.
ELEVEN
So, to Quintus Baebius. And with the new development regarding the missing statuette I now had something definite to ask him about. The business with Caesius Senior’s will had been a facer, though. I’d been convinced — as Perilla had — that there was something screwy about it, and where it left us vis-à-vis Mettius as a suspect I couldn’t think. Still, I had the name and address of one of the witnesses, so at least I could make a confirmatory check.
I made my way up towards the Alban Lake Gate. Baebius, it transpired, lived in a very tidy property on the street that ran along the inside of the town wall, one of several similar tidy properties in what was obviously a prime residential district. There was a young slave outside, polishing the brass door knocker, so I gave him my name and waited in the atrium while he went to enquire whether the master was receiving.
Caesius’s collecting rival wasn’t strapped for cash, that was for sure: if the house’s setting hadn’t shown me that already, there was a very nice mural of the Judgement of Paris on the wall that from the quality of the artwork must’ve cost a packet, and three or four life-size bronzes which were either originals or first-rate copies. I was examining the one which had been given pride of place in front of the peristyle opening — a young Bacchus, holding up a bunch of grapes to Eros on his shoulder — when the man himself came in.
‘Valerius Corvinus,’ he said. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. Do sit down and make yourself comfortable. A cup of wine, perhaps? It’s not too early for you?’
‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘That’d be great.’
Cultured voice, mid to late forties, fit-looking despite the small paunch evident under the cover of his lounging tunic. Totally at ease, and very sure of himself. Antiquities nut Baebius might well prove to be, but one along the lines of Priscus he wasn’t: Perilla had it right there. This was a guy in the prime of life who was socially confident and kept himself in good physical shape. I sat down on the nearest couch. That was impressive, too; one of a matching set of three that could’ve come over with Lucius Mummius two hundred years back, after he’d sacked Corinth for us.
The young slave I’d met at the door and who’d gone to fetch his master had come in at his heels. Baebius turned to him.
‘Clitus? Wine, please, if you’d be so good,’ he said. ‘And some of those Alexandrian dates.’ Well, that probably explained the paunch. Still, he had to have some weaknesses. The slave bowed and left. ‘You’re from Rome, Corvinus, I understand?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. Staying over with family in Castrimoenium for the festival.’
‘I visit there quite often. Rome, I mean.’
‘Business or pleasure?’
‘Both, generally.’ He smiled. ‘Oh, nothing very demanding or wearying where the first’s concerned. Quite the reverse. I’ve business interests in the city, yes, but I’m in the fortunate position of being largely a man of leisure and independent means. I’m ashamed to admit that what few business interests I have are really only an excuse for the frequency of the visits. A pleasant excuse, mind, because they do have a close connection with my private hobby.’
‘Buying and selling antiques?’
His eyes widened. ‘You know, then? Or was it an educated guess? But of course it wasn’t; that’s why you’re here. You were talking to Nausiphanes the other day, I understand, and he gave you my name.’
‘If he’s the old freedman who manages the shop you own near market square, then yeah, that’s right. I was in there buying a present for my stepfather, Helvius Priscus. You know him?’
‘Priscus? No, not really, although we have met. An expert on the Etruscan period, isn’t he?’
‘Yeah, that’s him.’
‘It’s not an area I’m particularly interested in as a collector, although if you like that sort of thing it produced some very fine pieces. I hope Nausiphanes gave you a good price. What did you buy?’
‘Nothing too expensive. An ivory plaque.’
‘Ah. One of the Sicilian ones, I suppose. Yes, they are rather nice, aren’t they?’ The slave came back with a loaded tray. Baebius smiled at him. ‘Thank you, my boy. Just pour for us and leave us to it, if you will. The wine’s Greek, I’m afraid, Corvinus. Pramnian. I prefer Greek wines, myself. A little idiosyncratic, perhaps even downright blasphemous, considering where we are, but the Alban ones are a little too forthright for my taste. See what you think.’
The slave gave me the cup, and I sipped. Too much on the perfumed side for me, but I couldn’t complain about the quality, which was top-of-the-range. Only to be expected, I supposed: I was beginning to realize that Quintus Baebius didn’t do second-rate. ‘Very nice,’ I said.
The slave handed Baebius his own cup, put the tray with the wine flask — antique Corinthian again, and solid silver — within reach, together with the tray of stuffed dates, bowed and went back out.
‘Now,’ Baebius said. ‘To business. How can I help you? It’s about that fellow Caesius’s death, obviously, I know that, but beyond the simple fact I’m at a bit of a loss. Nausiphanes will have told you that we weren’t on friendly terms, certainly, which is no doubt why you’re here talking to me, but I’m afraid there’s no more to it than that.’
‘You had a disagreement a couple of months ago,’ I said. ‘Over a figurine?’
‘Ah.’ He laughed. ‘Nausiphanes told you about the Runner, then, did he? My, what an old gossip he is! Well, it’s true enough. A small bronze, yes, a beautiful little piece, made in Pergamum in the time of the first Attalus, probably by Epigonus or one of his better pupils. It was part of the estate of old Plautius Silvanus, who died in the summer, and Caesius had the good fortune to acquire it.’