‘Besides,’ Annius went on, ‘I couldn’t have stayed much longer in any case. I’ve some business to attend to in town. And Annia may talk to you more freely without a brother’s intimidating presence.’
‘No problem,’ I said. ‘Pleasure to have met you.’
‘The pleasure’s mine.’ He got up from the couch. ‘Annia, I’ll drop by tomorrow again, if I may, and we’ll take it from there. Meanwhile if there’s anything you need you know where I am. Corvinus.’
I gave him a parting nod, and he left.
‘Sit down, please,’ Annia said. I did, on the couch her brother had been using. ‘Now. What can I tell you?’
‘Practically everything, lady,’ I said. ‘All I know from your sister-in-law is the when and the where, plus the fact that your husband co-ran an import-export firm.’ I wasn’t going to mention the womanizing angle; that’d have to come from her, with due prompting if need be.
‘Did she give you his partner’s name? Publius Poetelius?’
‘Yeah, I got that.’
‘Good, because I’m afraid I can’t help you much on the business side of things. My father was in business, as indeed Gaius’s was, and Publius’s, for that matter – they were all close friends, which explains our various relationships, and we’ve known each other since we were children – but it’s an area of my husband’s life I know very little about.’
‘So, uh, what area do you know about?’ I was tactful.
She smiled and looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. They were smooth and well-manicured, but they wouldn’t’ve been out of place on a wrestler.
‘You mean the women, of course,’ she said. ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure Gemella will have mentioned that aspect, so we may as well get it out of the way.’ There was a bright tightness in her voice. ‘It’s been going on for years, practically since the start of our marriage. Which was, if you’re wondering, just over ten years ago. I know some of the names, but not all; Gaius tended to change his girlfriends almost as often as he changed his mantle, and the list would be a very long one. The two most recent, in chronological order, were a Marcia and a Hermia.’
I blinked and sat back. ‘You’re pretty well-informed, lady,’ I said.
‘Oh, Gaius wasn’t particularly concerned to keep his activities secret. Or not from me, at any rate; I don’t think his women were aware that they were only one of a series. Or indeed that the position of mistress might be filled by more than one incumbent at the same time.’
‘Did you mind?’
‘Of course I minded,’ she said calmly. ‘Although perhaps not in the way you might think. I’d been asking for a divorce for years, but Gaius wouldn’t agree to it.’
‘Why not?’
‘For the most obvious reason of all. My father was far wealthier than Gaius’s and he gave me a good dowry. Most of it’s in property, tenements on the Aventine and in Circus Valley, a shop or two here and there, that sort of thing. Nothing too grand, but the rents form a substantial part of our income. If Gaius had divorced me through no fault of mine, I’d have had most of it back. Gaius needs working capital for his business. Liquid capital, in the form of specie. Without the rents coming in on the first of every month he’d have a serious problem with cash flow, and in the export line a healthy cash-flow situation is vital.’ I must’ve looked a bit fazed because she smiled. ‘Yes, I know. I said I wasn’t up on the business side of things, and I’m not, because Gaius wanted it that way, but I didn’t say I was a complete ignoramus. I told you, all of us are from business families. Money and trade have been the standard topics of conversation at mealtimes as long as I can remember. I’m no stranger to either.’
‘Is your father still alive?’
‘Oh yes, and flourishing. Not Gaius’s, though; he died several years ago.’
‘So why did you marry him?’
She smiled. ‘Because I was nineteen, late for marriage, and a fool. Because he was the best-looking man I’d ever met, and the smoothest talker, and that counted with me in those days. And because my father – my mother died when I was two – was totally against it. That’s often a clincher where young women are concerned, particularly with stubborn ones who know their own minds, or think they do, which I was.’
‘But you brought him round?’
‘I brought him round. Against his plainly expressed and perfectly valid reservations. I told you: I was a fool.’
‘No kids?’
‘One, a year after the marriage. A girl. She died at birth. None since, for – again – the most obvious reason.’ She shifted on her chair. ‘I think we’ve exhausted that topic, Corvinus. Can you ask me about the murder now, please?’
Fair enough; that side of things – in detail, anyway – wasn’t really any concern of mine, and she was politely and quite rightly reminding me of the fact. ‘Your sister-in-law said it happened in an alleyway off Trigemina Gate Street,’ I said. ‘The west side of the city, near the river. Any significance in that?’
Was that a blink? I couldn’t be sure. ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘Not that I know of. It’s an industrial area, obviously, lots of warehouses, wharves, and factories, so he probably had business there. Certainly it’s not at all unlikely. But that’s all I can say, except that he didn’t mention a visit to me, which as I told you would have been completely in character. You’d do better to ask Publius.’
The surviving partner. Yeah, I’d get round to him. ‘He didn’t happen to mention anything out of the usual run of things at all?’ I said. ‘In the days leading up to his death, I mean?’
She considered. ‘Actually, there was one thing,’ she said. ‘And it’s something Publius may know nothing about, unless Gaius told him, which he may well have done.’
‘Yeah? What was that?’
‘An accident, six days ago. Or, in retrospect, it might not have been an accident at all, so perhaps it’s worth mentioning. Gaius told me about it when he got home.’
‘Go ahead, lady.’
‘It happened in Ostia. Gaius had gone down there to supervise a shipment. He was walking along one of the wharves past a crane when the netful of amphoras it was lifting slipped its hawser. He said he’d been lucky.’
Yeah, I’d agree with that. Lucky was right; those buggers are pretty big and heavy, especially when they’re full, and there isn’t much room on an Ostia wharf to dodge a netful of them. And six days ago would put it three days before the murder. My interest sharpened.
She was watching me closely. ‘Is it significant, do you think?’ she said.
I shrugged. ‘Could be. It’s something to check out, anyway. Did he give you any more details? Like which wharf it was, exactly?’
‘No. But you should be able to get the relevant information from Publius. Even if Gaius didn’t mention the actual accident itself, Publius would know the number of the wharf the shipment was going from, and that would be enough to start with.’
Right. Me, I’d be surprised if Tullius hadn’t told him, because it isn’t every day you’re nearly flattened by falling amphoras, and little details like that tend to get mentioned when someone asks you how your day went. In which case he might be able to tell me a bit more.
I stood up. ‘Fine. Thank you, you’ve been very helpful. Is there anything else you can tell me before I go?’
‘No. That’s all, I’m afraid. Everything I can think of for the present, at least.’
‘Yeah, well, if something else does occur to you I’m easy enough to find. We’re on the Caelian, first side street off Head of Africa Road before the Appian Aqueduct. Or you can get in touch through Tullia Gemella, of course.’
‘I’ll do that, of course. And thank you for coming.’
‘You’re welcome.’
I left. Maybe I should’ve signed off with a polite expression of my condolences for her loss, but it didn’t seem appropriate somehow. Certainly from all appearances she wouldn’t’ve wanted them.
Frankly, mind, from the way Tullius was rounding out at present I didn’t blame her.