There was a couch and a couple of chairs, which was about all the available floor space could manage; simple, but good quality. I sat on one of the chairs and looked round. The same description applied to the decor; nothing flashy, but one wall had a very nice fresco of deer in a wooded landscape, and the others were plain-colour-washed with a frieze of acanthus at the top and painted-in panelling at the bottom. In the corner opposite me was a small table with a pottery vase full of narcissi, in the same style as the vases I’d seen on display in Vibius’s workshop. Someone had good taste; probably his wife.
A couple of minutes later the door opened again and a guy in his early fifties came in. Tall, thin, slightly stooped, grizzled hair, dressed in a lounging-tunic.
‘Valerius Corvinus?’
‘That’s me.’ I stood up.
‘What can I do for you?’ Vibius waved me down again and sat on the other chair. ‘If it’s business, you’d do better talking to my foreman at the workshop. He handles most of the orders these days.’
‘No, it’s not, actually. Or rather, not that kind of business.’ I went through my usual spiel. ‘I’m acting for a lady by the name of Annia, Gaius Tullius’s widow.’
His eyes widened. ‘Widow? Tullius is dead?’
‘Yeah. You didn’t know?’
‘Why should I? And in what way are you “acting for” her?’
‘Tullius was murdered. Four days ago, in an alleyway near the Trigemina Gate.’
‘Merciful heavens!’ Well, the surprise seemed genuine enough. And he was right; there wasn’t any reason why he should know. ‘Who did it?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. Like I said, I’m going around asking questions on his wife’s behalf.’
‘So why talk to me? It’s more than a year since I saw him last.’
‘So I’d heard. No hassle, I’m just being thorough, and it won’t take long. You got ten minutes to spare?’
‘Certainly. More, if you need them. But I’ll tell you now that you’re wasting your time. There’s nothing I can say that will help you.’ He paused. ‘And I’ll tell you something else, Valerius Corvinus. If and when you find out who the killer is, you bring him round here and I’ll be honoured to shake the man’s hand.’
I blinked; there’d been real venom behind the words, not just casual dislike, and coming suddenly from this gentle-looking, soft-spoken guy it put me off my stride.
‘According to Tullius’s partner, Poetelius, you used to be one of the firm’s main suppliers,’ I said.
‘That’s right. For ten years, or thereabouts, practically since they set up in business. I supplied Tullius’s father, too, before he died.’
‘Care to tell me what happened? Why you decided to part company with them?’
‘It’s simple enough, and the parting company was no doing of mine. Fourteen months ago the contract came up for renewal. Tullius told me he was awarding it elsewhere. End of story.’
‘He give you a reason?’
The barest smidgeon of hesitation. ‘No. No, he didn’t.’
‘And you weren’t expecting the decision?’
‘No, again. In fact, just a couple of months previously he’d talked about doubling the existing order. That made things even worse.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘We were working flat out as it was. With double the order I couldn’t deliver fast enough and still guarantee the same quality, so before the new contract could be signed I had to expand – buy more slaves, suitably skilled ones, install an extra kiln, order and pay for extra materials, make a dozen other improvements. That doesn’t come cheap, especially when it all has to be done on only two months’ warning. I wasn’t exactly living hand-to-mouth at the time, but I didn’t have nearly enough ready cash to meet the expense, which meant I had to borrow.’
I was getting the picture here. Money-lenders aren’t known for their generous and philanthropic natures, and the interest rates for a big loan advanced at short notice would be crippling; Vibius would’ve had to pay through the nose. ‘And then Tullius suddenly cancelled the contract, right?’ I said. ‘Leaving you with a debt you couldn’t service.’
‘We could, just, although it wasn’t easy. I had other customers, of course, Tullius’s firm wasn’t the only one, but their order was the biggest on our books by a long chalk, and because it had been coming in regularly for the past ten years we’d got into the habit of relying on it to keep things turning over. It takes time to build up a replacement market, and the sudden fall in sales and the wait to bring them up again nearly broke us. Certainly it swallowed every copper piece I had in savings. We’re over the worst now, but things are still difficult, and will be for years to come.’ He gave me a straight look. ‘Which is why, Valerius Corvinus, you will not catch me shedding any tears for Gaius Tullius. And now, if that’s all you need to know’ – he stood up – ‘I’ll let you go about your business. I’m sorry, but I can’t wish you luck.’
I stood up too. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Thanks for your time.’ I paused, my hand on the door handle. ‘That your daughter, by the way? The girl upstairs.’
He frowned. ‘Yes. Yes, it is. My daughter, Vibia.’
‘She’s a lovely-looking girl. You and your wife must be proud.’
A pause. ‘I am, certainly. My wife is dead.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ I opened the door. ‘Thanks again. And my apologies for disturbing you.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
I left.
Interesting, yes?
SEVEN
I got back to the Caelian well before dinner time, to find Perilla in the atrium babysitting, with the Sprog on the couch beside her and Mysta in attendance; evidently the currently sprogless Clarus and Marilla hadn’t rolled in yet from whatever junketing they were indulging in today, which suited me fine, because I could fill the lady in on recent developments. Not, I knew, that the blessed status quo would hold for much longer; at the very least, when I told Marilla – as I’d have to straight off, because she was sure to ask – that I’d turned my nose up at her murder the shit was going to hit the fan in no uncertain terms. So a bit of quiet before the storm was welcome.
‘Oh, hello, Marcus, you’re back,’ Perilla said. ‘Look, he can almost sit up on his own now. Isn’t that marvellous?’ Then, to the Sprog: ‘Who’s a clever boy? Grandad’s home.’ The Sprog blew a respectable raspberry at me and tried to stuff the little wooden horse he was holding into his mouth. ‘He’s getting on really well for his age. And I think he might be teething.’
‘Is that so?’ I lay down on the couch opposite and set the full wine-cup that Bathyllus had given me on the table. It’s always amazed me how even when they’ve no kids of their own women turn into hands-on experts inside of five minutes where babies are concerned. That, and pick up the gooey voice which seems to be an essential part of the communication process.
‘Do you want him for a bit?’ Perilla said.
‘Uh-uh. Not me.’
‘He won’t break, dear. And he’s really very amenable.’
‘Yeah, I’m sure he is.’ I eyed the Sprog warily. He’d evidently got the horse’s head just where he wanted it and was giving it a thorough gumming while he stared back at me with fascinated interest. ‘Even so.’
‘Well, have it your own way. Actually, though, he is feeling a bit moist underneath, so I think he might need changing.’ She turned round to Mysta. ‘Would you, Mysta? You can bring him back down again later when your mistress gets home.’
‘Yes, madam.’ Mysta collected the Sprog from her and carried him off, holding the wooden horse in place. Perilla smoothed her tunic – I was sure I saw a damp patch there; a lucky escape, then – and turned back towards me.
‘So,’ she said. ‘How was your day?’
‘Pretty successful, all told,’ I said. ‘I talked to the husbands. Vecilius is our boy.’
‘You’re sure?’ Perilla said.
‘He said he’d been at the workshop all day, which was a complete out-and-out porky. There was at least an hour unaccounted for, which would’ve been plenty of time to commit the murder.’ I told her what the wineshop owner had told me. ‘Chances are he came on Tullius sniffing around again and knifed him.’