Ostia. That’d been odd, if you like. I’d only mentioned it for something to say and to get myself out of an embarrassing hole; the case had moved on since Annia had told me about the incident at the docks, and to tell you the truth I’d considered ignoring it, or at least putting the trip off indefinitely. Purely for selfish reasons: I’m no horseman, and a journey to Rome’s port is almost thirty miles, there and back, probably with an overnight stay involved if the business took more than a couple of hours. Which, to be fair, with luck it might not, under the circumstances. I was glad that Lippillus hadn’t pushed me re Marilla’s Ostian businessman; interesting though the circumstances of Marcus Correllius’s death – stabbing, whatever – had been, I just didn’t need the complication at present. And if Marilla had got even a whiff of the notion that her pet personal murder case hadn’t quite been shelved after all, she’d’ve pestered me to death to follow it up. Oh, sure, going down to Ostia would give me an excuse to shoot the breeze over a jug with my pal Agron, which didn’t happen all that often, and no doubt he and his wife, Cass, would’ve arranged a bed for me, but thirty miles on the back of a horse isn’t my idea of fun. Plus, like Annius had said, the business with the falling amphoras would probably turn out to be a run-of-the-mill, straightforward accident with no sinister connotations …
Only now, thinking back on the interview, if I was honest with myself I wasn’t at all sure about that. Again, it was a gut feeling, with nothing particularly concrete to back it up: the mention of Ostia had touched a nerve somewhere, I’d swear to that. Which was strange, because again unless he was a damn good actor Gaius Tullius’s nearly getting flattened had come as news to Annius, while if his sister didn’t want me sticking my nose into the business’s whys and wherefores then why the hell had she mentioned it in the first place?
It didn’t make sense. But what it did mean was that I was going to make a trip to Ostia a priority after all.
I finished the wine and pressed on to Trigemina Gate Street. Well, if nothing else I was getting plenty of exercise this time around.
Vibius was at the pottery, talking to the guy who’d given me his address two days before. His eyes widened when he saw me.
‘Corvinus, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, as far as Gaius Tullius goes I’ve told you all I know.’
‘It’s not about him,’ I said. ‘Or not directly, anyway. I just wanted to check something. It won’t take long.’
He turned back to the older guy. ‘That’s fine, Sextus. Tell Nomentanus delivery by the end of the month should be no problem.’ The foreman left. ‘Now, Corvinus, we’ll go into the office. It’ll be quieter in there.’
‘Sure.’ I followed him through the workshop to a small room at the back, with the usual desk and cubbyholes for the paperwork. He closed the door behind him.
‘So how can I help you this time?’
‘Publius Poetelius came to see you the day of the murder, is that right?’
He frowned. ‘When would that be again, exactly?’
‘Six days ago. On the Ides.’
‘Then yes, he did.’
‘You care to tell me why?’
‘To ask if I’d be willing to act as the firm’s supplier again. Seemingly his partner had had a major argument with Titus Vecilius and the contract wasn’t likely to be fulfilled.’
‘You agreed?’
‘Of course I did. I’d no time for Tullius, as you know, but business is business, and like I said, it was a big order, and a regular one. So long as the man himself didn’t put his face round my door in future – which was the first and only condition I made – I was happy to take it on. And I owed Poetelius a great deal, so it wasn’t as difficult a decision to make as it might’ve been otherwise.’ He gave me a straight look. ‘What’s this all about? You surely don’t think that he’d anything to do with Tullius’s death, do you? Because if so you’re completely wrong.’
‘No,’ I said easily. ‘No, I’m just checking, like I said. Uh … “owed”? Owed in what way?’
‘I told you. When I lost the contract I’d my back squarely to the wall. Poetelius lent me some money, interest-free; not a lot, because he hasn’t got it to spare, only a thousand or two, but it made servicing the debt to the money-lender and paying back the principal over time just the right side of possible. Without it, I’d’ve gone under in three months.’
‘His own money? Not the firm’s?’
‘Oh, yes. He was very clear about that. Tullius knew nothing about it, and he wouldn’t know, either. I paid Poetelius back as soon as I could, which was just about a month ago, but debts can be more than money, can’t they?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, they can.’ I put my hand on the door knob. ‘Well, thanks again, pal. And don’t worry: you’ve probably seen the last of me this time.’
I was half out of the door when he called me back.
‘Corvinus?’
I turned round. ‘Yeah?’
‘Wait. I can’t let you go without telling you how much of a bastard Tullius was. Just so as you’re clear about it.’
I went back in and closed the door behind me. ‘Oh, I think I’ve got that pretty clear in my mind already,’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘No, you haven’t. Or not clear enough. I told you my wife was dead; I didn’t say how or why she died. She killed herself, just over a year ago. Two days before the contract was due for renewal.’
I said nothing, but I had a fair idea of what was coming. Score one for Perilla.
Vibius had turned his face away. ‘Paullina was a good bit younger than me,’ he said, ‘and she was a looker. Or at least I thought so. Before she died she left a note on my chair, where I’d be sure to see it, saying that Gaius Tullius had been trying to seduce her for months. Finally, he’d offered her a trade: a new contract in exchange for a single … Well, you have the idea. She knew how important not losing the order was to me, so she agreed. Afterwards, Tullius told her that wasn’t enough, she’d have to throw in our daughter as well, as a sweetener to the deal. He said to go away and think about it. She hanged herself that night.’ He turned round again to face me and smiled. ‘So you see, Corvinus, I’ve every reason to hope the bastard is burning in hell. And that you’ll never catch the person who killed him.’
I got back home well in time for dinner, to find, when I walked into the atrium with my usual wine-cup, that from the look on Marilla’s face I’d been seriously Waited For. As far as she was concerned, anyway. Not that there was anything at all wrong with that, in my view, quite the reverse: me, I’d’ve said that the Princess’s interest in working out the whys and wherefores of a murder and fingering the perp was a pretty healthy sign in a young woman.
Perilla, now … well, for some strange, unaccountable reason she can be funny about these things. Sometimes I don’t understand the way that lady’s mind works at all.
Apropos of which, I wondered from the current vibes whether there hadn’t just been a slight clash of personalities here. Clarus was toying with a cup of something probably non-alcoholic – like I say, he’s no wine-drinker, Clarus – and looking a tad embarrassed as if he’d rather be somewhere else, while Perilla’s attention seemed to be fixed on young Marcus Junior, currently lying face-up on the floor between her couch and Marilla’s and Clarus’s and trying his determined best to roll over onto his front.
‘Hi, Corvinus.’ Marilla was grinning at me. ‘Have a good day?’
‘Not bad.’ I bent over to give Perilla the usual welcome-home kiss: frosty, distinctly frosty. ‘How was yours, Princess?’
‘OK. So. How’s the investigation going? Did you talk to the two wives?’
I took my wine over to my usual couch and lay down. Opposite, the lady cleared her throat slightly, her eyes still on the Sprog. Her lips were pursed, but she didn’t say anything. I grinned to myself: yeah, well, if there had been a personality clash it was clear who’d come out on top here. She’s no pushover, young Marilla.
‘Yeah. Among other things,’ I said. I gave her the rundown of the day’s activities, glancing at Perilla now and again. Frost or not, her ears were twitching. I grinned again: sometimes the lady is her own worst enemy, if she’d only realize it.