Marilla turned back to me.
‘So how did it go, Corvinus?’ she said.
‘Ah … how did what go?’
‘Your visit to what’s-his-name. Your Palatine Watch Commander friend.’ I hesitated. ‘You did go over and talk to him this morning, didn’t you?’
Hell; here we went. ‘Decimus Lippillus,’ I said. ‘Yeah, more or less. First thing, as it happens. A complete coincidence, that. He’s just been moved to Tuscan Street from Public Pond, and-’
‘Did he agree to let you look into things?’
‘In essence, but-’
‘That’s marvellous! So you’ll be taking the case.’
‘Um … no, not exactly.’
‘What?’
‘The fact is, Marilla, to tell you the truth, not to put too fine a point on it, I’m a bit busy with other things at present, so-’
‘What sort of …?’ She stopped. ‘You toad! You lying toad! You’re working on a case after all!’
‘Come on, Princess! Give me a break, OK?’ I glanced over at Perilla, but she was industriously picking a thread off her tunic. ‘I can explain.’
‘Are you or aren’t you?’
‘Uh … yeah, as it happens, I am, but-’
‘You told me at breakfast yesterday that you weren’t!’
‘No. To be fair, what I actually said was-’
‘All right. You fudged. Same difference. And you’d certainly told Clarus you weren’t in so many words the morning before.’
‘Hold on, Marilla! That was true enough at the time! Tullia sodding Gemella didn’t tell me her sodding brother had been killed until that afternoon.’
‘Marcus, dear, please,’ Perilla murmured.
‘Yeah, well.’
‘I call it mean.’ Marilla was glaring at me. ‘Mean, despicable and toadlike.’
‘She’s right, Corvinus,’ Clarus said.
Shit; what had happened to male solidarity? And I would’ve expected Perilla to have put in her pennyworth by now; she was as guilty as I was. I’d be having words with the lady later. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bathyllus come in with a loaded tray, do a sharp about-turn, and disappear again. Traitors, the lot of them.
‘Very well,’ Marilla said. ‘One murder is as good as another, I suppose. You can tell us – Clarus and me – about it now, please, because I assume Perilla knows the full details already.’ I saw the lady wince, and despite myself I grinned: she’d just have to grit her teeth, and frankly it served her damn well right. ‘Tullia Gemella, you said.’
‘Marilla, dear, I don’t think-’ Perilla began mildly.
The Princess just gave her a Look. I grinned again.
‘OK, Bathyllus,’ I said loudly. ‘You can come in now. Serve away.’ He did, like he was walking on eggs.
So while Marilla tucked into her cheese rolls, with pauses for mouth-full questions, I told them.
EIGHT
At least Marilla was committed to the extended shopping trip next day, and the more opportunities I had to establish clear lines of demarcation – i.e. it was my job to hike around Rome solving murders, and hers to keep off my back – the better.
Today was the Day of the Adulterous Wives. I started with Marcia.
The Capenan Gate, at the foot of the Caelian where Appian Road enters the south-east corner of the city, wasn’t all that far, sure, but because I didn’t have a name for the woman’s mother finding the cookshop itself was tricky, and it took me until just short of mid-morning. The place seemed pretty popular, which was a good sign where the food on offer was concerned: there was a queue in front of me and two women and a girl of about nine or ten serving. I waited until the last of the punters had collected his flatbread-wrapped chickpea rissoles and left, then moved up to the counter.
‘Yes, sir, what can I get you?’ It was the younger of the two women, mid- to late twenties, so ten, maybe fifteen years younger than Festus; pretty enough, but with a pinched, drawn look to her face. Her eyes were red, too.
‘Your name Marcia?’ I said.
She frowned. ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’
‘You think we could talk somewhere in private?’
The frown deepened. ‘What about?’
‘The name’s Corvinus. I’m looking into the death of a guy called Gaius Tullius. I understand you and he-’
Which was as far as I got before her eyes rolled up under the lids and she slipped down behind the counter, banging her head on the stonework. Shit.
The older woman and the girl were staring, frozen. Then the woman moved. She glared at me and crouched over the fallen body.
‘Get a cup of water for me, dear,’ she said sideways to the girl; from the facial resemblance, obviously her granddaughter and Marcia’s daughter. Yeah: Festus had said she’d taken the children with her. ‘Quickly, now.’
Without taking her eyes off Marcia, the kid edged over to the water pitcher, filled a cup, and handed it to her. The woman held it to Marcia’s lips and looked up at me, still glaring.
‘You!’ she snapped. ‘Outside!’
Yeah, well, in retrospect maybe I could’ve been a smidgeon more tactful, at that. Still, it was done now. I left without a word and stood by the door.
Marcia came out five minutes later, white as a ghost and with an angry-looking bruise on her forehead.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘That’s OK, lady. My fault.’ There was a street fountain with a stone step next to us. ‘You want to sit down?’
She did, and took several deep breaths.
‘Gaius is dead?’ she said at last.
‘Yeah. Five days ago.’
‘How?’
‘He was stabbed in an alleyway off Trigemina Gate Street.’
She closed her eyes and said nothing. I waited.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I didn’t know. I’ve been here helping my mother with the shop, ever since-’ She stopped.
‘Ever since your husband found out about the affair and threw you out. Yeah. I know.’
Her eyes opened. ‘Lucilius had nothing to do with it! He’s a good man! He wouldn’t hurt a fly!’
‘OK.’ I hesitated, then said, more gently: ‘You like to tell me what happened that morning, exactly?’
‘I had an anonymous letter pushed under the door, telling me Gaius wouldn’t be seeing me any more, he’d taken up with Hermia, Titus Vecilius’s wife. Lucilius was up already and he read it first. He was furious. He told me he was going round to Gaius’s office, which he did. Luckily, nothing happened because Gaius was out.’
My mouth was open to ask the obvious question, but I decided to let it go at present. Instead, I said: ‘So you went to Hermia’s, right? To have it out with her?’
She nodded. ‘I didn’t think. I was just … so … angry! Gaius hadn’t even had the courage to tell me himself, after we’d been …’ She swallowed. ‘I’ve known Hermia for years, I thought we were friends, and that made it worse. Anyway, we were screaming at each other when her husband walked in. He grabbed me and bundled me outside. Then I went back home, collected the children, and came straight here.’
Yeah, well; it all fitted with what Vecilius himself had told me. Not that it had anything specific to do with the actual murder, mind, but it was good to get independent confirmation. ‘How long had the affair been going on?’ I said.
‘For just over a year. Gods, I was stupid! I told you, Lucilius is a good man, he loves me and he loves the children. I should never have allowed it to start.’
‘So why did you?’
‘Because I was bored and wanted a bit of excitement. Because Gaius was rich and good-looking, and a good talker. Eventually, because he was good in bed. Everything Lucilius isn’t. And like I say, because I was stupid.’
I thought of Annia. Yeah, barring some aspects the same story. Tullius may have been a bastard, but clearly where women were concerned he was an attractive bastard. ‘You knew he was married?’
‘Yes. But I also knew he didn’t get on with his wife, and that she wouldn’t care what he got up to because she’d a lover of her own.’
‘Oh?’ I said. ‘And who would that be?’