I glanced at the barwoman, but she’d turned away and was replacing the flask in its cradle. It isn’t very often that a wineshop owner’ll let a compliment pass them by without some sort of response, or at least a smile, and I’d got neither, just the back view of her tunic. Not one of nature’s born talkers, obviously, this Vinnia. Not the sunniest of dispositions, either, I suspected.
The old guy nodded. ‘Aye, it’s good stuff, the Veian,’ he said. ‘Vinnia here gets it from a cousin of one of the other regulars. He’s got a farm up that way, not a big one but he’s a dab hand with the vines. Most of it goes locally, but he sends her a few flasks every year. That right, lass?’
She turned and reached for the empty plate in front of him. Not a smile; not an anything, really.
‘It’s a nice enough wine,’ she said, washing the plate in the sink by the counter and reaching for the drying cloth. ‘I’ve had no complaints.’
I took another swallow, a larger one this time. For a wineshop owner – and I assumed, now, that the lady was the owner – she wasn’t exactly showing all that much in the way of customer rapport. Maybe that was why the place was so empty; certainly it had nothing to do with the quality of the wine, and your usual wineshop punter expects a bit of chat with his lunchtime cup. Still, it took all sorts. Maybe Ostian punters were a more introspective bunch than their Roman counterparts.
I leaned my elbows on the counter and turned back to my more communicative fellow-drinker.
‘You live around here yourself, pal?’ I said.
‘Nah. Not exactly. I’m up by Tiber Gate, me. But I’ve a butcher’s shop in the market, so it’s handy. I’m in here most days for an hour or so this time, after the morning rush is past, while my daughter looks after things.’ He drank some of his own wine. ‘What sort of business are you in yourself, sir? If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘It’s, uh, a bit complicated.’ Well, there was no harm in fishing; you never knew your luck, and I always say that if it’s local information you want the best place to get it is in the nearest wineshop. ‘You happen to know a man by the name of Correllius? Marcus Correllius? Lives near here. Big house on the Hinge.’
The woman set the dry plate down hard on the stone counter with a sharp click, and I wondered if it had broken. I gave her a curious glance, but she was already turning away and standing with her back to me.
‘That who your business is with?’ the old man said casually. Too casually, and I’d noticed his eyes flick to the woman’s back and away again.
‘Not exactly, no,’ I said.
He grunted, raised the wine-cup to his lips, took a sip and set it down carefully, then cleared his throat.
‘You know Correllius well yourself, do you?’ he said.
Over-casual again. Something was screwy here; what it was, I didn’t know, but we definitely had an Atmosphere.
‘No, I’ve never even met the guy,’ I said. ‘It was an honest question, no strings.’
‘Honest question, eh? In that case, and you’ll forgive me for saying so, because it’s kindly meant, if it was me doing the business I’d watch my step.’
Uh-huh. ‘Yeah?’ I said. ‘In what way?’
He hesitated. ‘Let’s just say “honest” and “Correllius” aren’t words that go together all that neatly.’
‘You’re telling me he was a crook?’
‘“Was”?’ He frowned. ‘How do you mean, “was”?’
I cursed, mentally, but the damage was done. ‘He’s dead, as it happens. About half a month ago, over in Rome.’
Rubrius looked at Vinnia and I followed his eyes. She still had her back to us, but she was standing rigid, the dishcloth clutched in her hand, obviously listening hard.
‘Well now,’ he said slowly and softly; his eyes didn’t waver. ‘There’s a thing.’ He turned back to me. ‘And that’d be why you’re here, would it, sir? The “business” you mentioned?’
‘Yeah, more or less. Like I said, it’s complicated.’
‘Now there’s good news, eh, Vinnia?’ Rubrius said to the woman. There was no answer, but she turned round. Her face was as grey as the dishrag she was holding, and she was staring at me like I’d just grown an extra head. ‘Come on, girl! What’s wrong with you?’
Yeah; me, I’d’ve liked to know the answer to that as well. I’d definitely touched a nerve here, that was for sure, but what it was I hadn’t a clue.
‘You have some sort of connection with the guy, lady?’ I said to her.
‘No.’ That came out in a whisper. She still hadn’t taken her eyes off me.
Rubrius chuckled. ‘Come on, lass!’ he said again. ‘You’ve told me a dozen times that-’
‘You hold your tongue, Titus!’ she snapped at him.
He frowned, opened his mouth to say something, then shrugged, picked up his wine-cup, drained it, and set it down on the counter.
‘Fair enough, girl,’ he said. ‘As you like. Have it your own way.’ He stood up. ‘I’d best be getting back in any case. A pleasure to meet you, sir.’
‘Yeah. Likewise.’ Gods! What was going on here?
He went out, closing the door behind him. The woman set the dishcloth down, picked up the plate she’d been drying – it couldn’t’ve broken after all – and turned her back on me again as she laid the plate with the others on the shelf above the wine flasks.
There was a long pause.
Finally: ‘No hassle, sister,’ I said gently. ‘None in the world. All I wanted to know was-’
‘Look.’ She turned round. ‘You asked and I answered, right? There’s an end to it. Now I’m sorry, sir, but I’d be grateful if you’d just finish your wine and go. You understand?’
‘Sure. No problem.’ I took a last swallow, put the empty cup down on the counter, paid, and left.
Interesting. And, to say the least, puzzling.
The market area wasn’t far off, in the triangular space formed by the junction of Ditch Street and Sea Gate Road. This late in the afternoon there weren’t many shoppers around – like Rubrius had said, the main rush, where foodstuffs are concerned, certainly, is in the morning when the punters are putting together the wherewithal for dinner, and most of the shops and stalls were closed. I found the butchers’ section easily enough, opposite the west gate of the old fort; just in time, because Rubrius and a middle-aged woman I assumed was his daughter were hauling down the shutters.
‘Hi again, pal,’ I said. ‘Can you spare a minute?’
He was bent down fixing the padlock to its hasp. He straightened and turned, and there was no surprise in his face.
‘Oh, it’s you, sir,’ he said. ‘I thought it wouldn’t be long before you looked me up.’ Then, to the woman: ‘You get yourself off home, girl. I’ll follow you directly.’ She gave me a quick, curious look – the purple stripe again – nodded and left. ‘By the horse trough do you? I could do with a sit-down.’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Wherever you like.’
We went over to the horse trough and sat side by side on the stone lip.
‘How did he die?’ Rubrius said.
‘I told you, it’s complicated. But basically he was stabbed from behind, on a bench outside the Pollio Library in Rome.’
‘Uh-huh.’ He nodded. ‘And the family want you to find out who did it, right?’
‘Not exactly.’
I thought the answer would surprise him, but he just grunted.
‘Vinnia’s a widow,’ he said. ‘Has been for the past ten years. Her husband’s name was Manutius, Gaius Manutius, and he worked for your Marcus Correllius.’
Uh-huh; it had to be something along those lines, because I couldn’t really see the lady in the role of a jilted mistress. Mind you, it wasn’t altogether beyond the bounds of possibility; there was no accounting for personal taste, and from what I’d heard of him so far Correllius hadn’t exactly been an Adonis himself.
‘Is that so, now?’ I said. ‘Doing what?’
He hesitated. ‘Well, sir, that I can’t rightly say, and Vinnia’s never told me. That’s if she knows herself, of course. It was nothing too grand, but it brought in the silver pieces hand over fist, and no mistake. Which was how she had the money to buy the wineshop after Manutius died.’