‘Look, Perilla, this was your theory originally, not mine, so cut it out, right? I know there are problems. But we’ve got problems all down the line in this case, so what’s different?’
She smiled. ‘I’m simply raising reasonable objections, dear. Actually, if it did arise from a deliberate decision on her part as opposed to being a spur-of-the-moment reaction like she told you then it would make perfect sense. After all, now Festus knew about the affair there was nothing lost, and the result of the spat was that Vecilius was out for Tullius’s blood too.’
‘Vecilius walked in on them. She couldn’t’ve known he’d turn up.’
‘Even so.’ She stretched. ‘You said yourself it’s only a theory. And yes, I’m sure there’re lots of problems with it we haven’t even considered yet.’
Yeah, there were. Still, it ticked a lot of the boxes. Too many, certainly, to dismiss it out of hand. And Memmius had also said that where Marcia was concerned, her husband couldn’t look past her. Love and the desire for revenge are powerful motives in anyone’s book. Add contrition on the wife’s part – and whatever lies she’d told me, I was sure Marcia’s contrition was genuine – and you’ve got a pretty strong incentive for murder. The hows and whys would come, no doubt, if they were there. Or, of course, the whole thing might be a load of horse feathers. You pays your money and you takes your choice. We’d just have to see what transpired.
‘So we’ll be going through to Ostia shortly, will we?’ Perilla said. ‘And for quite a while, probably, things being as they are.’
‘Hmm?’ I looked up from my wine-cup. ‘I will, lady, sure. Why the hell would you want to tag along? A straw mattress on Agron and Cass’s floor isn’t exactly much of an inducement.’
‘Oh, I’ve been thinking about that, dear, since you mentioned the Correllius connection this morning and it became a likely possibility. You know Caesia Fulvina?’
‘One of your poetry-klatsch pals. Yeah, you’ve mentioned her. Why?’
‘She and her husband have a villa on the coast half a mile from the town. They only use it in the summer, so it’s empty at present, apart from the caretaker staff.’
‘Hey!’ I brightened. ‘You think she’d lend it to us?’ I had to admit that the prospect of dossing down at Agron’s hadn’t exactly had me rubbing my hands.
‘She already has, if and when we want it. I went round to see her this morning, just after you left.’
‘Brilliant!’ I got up, went over, and kissed her. ‘Lady, that is brilliant!’ A sudden thought struck me. ‘What about the kids? Clarus and Marilla? Would they be coming too, or would they be staying here?’ Probably the former: I couldn’t envisage Marilla passing up the opportunity to be cheek-by-jowl with a developing case, particularly one she had, now, a vested interest in. Probably a hands-on opportunity, too; certainly that was an aspect of things I’d have to fight her over. Bugger.
‘Ah.’ Perilla smiled. ‘Actually that was another thing I was going to mention. There was a message waiting when I got back, from Lupercus.’ Lupercus was Clarus and Marilla’s major-domo in Castrimoenium. ‘The locum that Clarus arranged to cover his practice has come down with mumps, so I’m afraid they’ll have to cut the holiday short. Not that it matters all that much: they were only staying for a few days in any case, and Castrimoenium is only a few hours’ drive away. They can come back another time, or of course we can go down to them.’
‘Mumps,’ I said. ‘Really. How many adults come down with mumps?’
‘Quite fortuitous, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, it is. Very. Uh … you’re not a witch, are you, lady, by any chance?’
‘No, dear. Of course not. You’d’ve noticed.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I would.’ I went back over to my couch and drained my wine-cup. ‘The Princess is going to throw a fit.’
‘She won’t be happy, no. But it might be good for her in the end to know that she can’t get her own way all the time. And Clarus won’t mind. I suspect he might even be rather relieved to get back to normal.’
That I would believe. Still, when they rolled in later Marilla was definitely not going to be a happy bunny. Speaking of which-
‘Meton vouchsafe anything about the timing for dinner today?’ I said.
‘Actually, it’ll be later than usual. Marilla and Clarus wanted to take little Marcus over to Caesar’s Gardens on the other side of the river.’ She sniffed. ‘I told Marilla that the weather was too unsettled today for a long trip, and of course I was right, but you know her, she insisted. In any case, she persuaded Meton to delay dinner until an hour after sunset, so that they didn’t have to hurry back. I was sure you wouldn’t mind.’
Jupiter! Me, if I’d suggested to our touchy chef that he postpone a meal without a cast-iron reason and at least three days’ notice in writing I’d be taking my life in my hands. But then Meton, as I say, like Bathyllus, had always had a soft spot for the Princess. And, although the Sprog wasn’t quite up to roasted pheasant with a saffron nut sauce as yet, he got positively gooey over young Marcus. As gooey as Meton ever got over anything but a top-grade sturgeon, that is, but even so …
‘Uh-uh. I don’t mind at all,’ I said. ‘In fact it’ll give me time to go round and see this lady’s maid. There’s a fair chunk of the afternoon left yet, and she’s just up by the Carinae.’
‘Very well, dear.’ Perilla got up too. ‘Meanwhile I’ll start making the preparations for the Ostia trip. You’ll want to go quite soon, won’t you?’
‘Yeah. Within the next couple of days, if that’s possible.’
‘Oh, yes. As I said, Fulvina told me we could have the villa at any time we liked. It’ll just be a case of sending a messenger ahead to warn the staff that we’re coming. And I’d imagine that Clarus will want to get back to Castrimoenium straight away.’
Smug as hell. Still, she had a right to be this time round, I supposed.
‘Fair enough, then,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you later.’
I went to see Picentina.
The house was tucked away in a side alley off the main drag. I knocked at the door and it was opened by a young slave in a natty lime-green tunic.
‘The name’s Valerius Corvinus,’ I said. ‘You have a lady’s maid here called Picentina?’
His eyes widened, which was more than the gap in the doorway did. Well, the guy couldn’t get many purple-stripers turning up on his doorstep asking for one of the bought help, could he, now?
‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact we do.’
‘Could I talk to her, do you think?’
He hesitated. ‘That would be up to the mistress, sir. Could I ask your business, please?’
‘It’s about a stabbing she witnessed – possibly witnessed – two or three days ago at the Pollio Library.’
‘Oh, that!’ A barely concealed sniff. ‘If you’d like to wait in the lobby, I’ll tell the mistress you’re here.’
‘Fair enough,’ I said. I went in and he closed the door behind me, then trotted off to do that small thing.
I looked around. Pretty poky, as lobbies went, but decorated to kill, with an outsize fresco on the wall showing the tradesmen’s god Mercury hob-nobbing with a bald-headed guy in a plain mantle standing in the middle of what was clearly a shoemaking workshop: various slaves round about him were doing cobblery things involving bits of leather, lasts, hammers, and bradawls. No prizes for guessing what business the master of the house was in anyway, and he clearly wanted his visitors to know he was doing pretty well out of it.
The slave in the lime-green tunic came back.
‘The mistress will see you,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’
We went through to the atrium. The lady herself was sitting with her back to me in a chair by the ornamental pool, completely swathed from the neck down in a sheet, while a young girl – Picentina, presumably – applied make-up to the face under the elaborately coiffeured wig.