White Murder (Marcus Corvinus Book 7), page 35
I took a swallow of Caecuban. Okay. So far, so good; at least the connection was there. Now let’s imagine that somewhere, somehow – maybe during one of their drinking bouts – Typhon gets an inkling of Pegasus’s position as Natalis’s agent-in-place. That wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility: the guy might be a weasel, but from what I’d seen of him he was smart as a whip and on the look-out for the main chance. So. Having weaselled out Pegasus’s murky secret Typhon does a Sopilys: instead of running to Cammius or Hesper with the news, he comes to a private arrangement. From Pegasus’s point of view, Typhon’s a good man to have on the team. He’s been with the Whites for years, he’s the faction dogsbody, no one pays him any attention. Better still, he’s got the entrée to Polydoxus’s stall, which Pegasus, being a new boy fresh from the other side of the tracks, probably doesn’t, unsupervised anyway. Typhon, through Pegasus, sells out to Natalis. When the time comes, Natalis has his poisoner, and...
I stopped. Shit, it wouldn’t work. Not the poisoning itself, sure, there was no problem there: Typhon would’ve managed it anyway, whoever he was working for. Did manage it. The problems came before the poisoning.
First of all, why wait? If Pegasus had recruited Typhon early on, then Polydoxus could’ve died at any time; certainly there was no point waiting until the night before the Megalenses when the horse would be especially closely guarded. And he had to have recruited him in good time, because fully half a month before the Megalenses Pegasus was already dead. Which was another problem. If Natalis knew – as presumably he did – that he had Typhon in his pocket then why should he kill Pegasus? At least – if he wanted both Pegasus and Polydoxus dead in any case – before he’d got rid of the horse, because killing Pegasus would surely have spooked Typhon. And that raised yet a third problem: if Natalis knew he already had two agents in place, one with good access to the horse, then why faff around with the two other attempts which didn’t come off?
Then, finally, there was the problem of Cammius’s evidence. He and Cario had caught Pegasus – Pegasus, not Typhon – trying to kill the horse. If Pegasus had Typhon on the team, and Typhon had the better access, what was he doing acting on his own account? You didn’t keep a dog and bark yourself; that was axiomatic.
Shit. For all the drawbacks there was something there, I’d swear to it. I just wasn’t seeing things from the right angle. I took another mouthful of wine.
Okay. Start again.
Let’s say Pegasus didn’t recruit Typhon at all: the guy was on his own, with a mandate from Natalis to kill the horse, as per the original theory. That got rid of all the problems at a stroke. The two attempts could easily have been blinds, to draw the Whites’ attention away from Pegasus himself, the real potential killer in situ. Pegasus’s own attempt was thwarted, which made him a liability and led to his murder. So far so good.
Enter Typhon. The guy knows, or knew rather, because Pegasus is dead by this time, that he was playing a double game; see above. More, he knows who for, and since Pegasus had to have arranged some sort of meeting schedule with Natalis he’s had the wit to follow him and suss out the details, perhaps – again like Sopilys – with a view to blackmail. Maybe it was as simple as pinpointing Valgius and the Eighth District Watch-house. Then, suddenly, Pegasus is murdered. Typhon has no reason – then or later – to link the killing with Natalis: Pegasus is his agent, and why should Natalis have his own agent murdered? In any case, it clears the ground. Typhon knows that he’s the only game in town, and he sets up a meeting of his own with the Greens’ boss who – he presumes, rightly – is still interested in getting rid of Polydoxus. That would make sense. There was still the time lag, sure – the full half month plus between Pegasus’s death and the poisoning – but any arrangement would take a while to conclude, and in any case for Typhon choosing the night before the Megalenses wouldn’t pose a problem. Quite the reverse: his bringing the stall guards their wine was a standard thing, and all the faction’s attention would be focused on strangers breaking in, not on purely internal security because the night before a race was the only time when they could be sure the stables were sealed. The aftermath was no problem either, because the guy wouldn’t be sticking around, not when the whodunnit was obvious. And the interval would’ve given him a chance to plot his own escape in detail.
I sat back It would work; sure it would. As a theory, anyway. The actual truth would have to wait until I – or Eutacticus, rather – laid hands on Typhon himself. The bottom line was that I could make a case against Natalis on the grounds of all three categories, motive, opportunity and means.
The problem was that the same went for Acceptus. As far as Polydoxus went, anyway. Bugger; sleuthing wasn’t easy. Still, at least I was up and running again. Perilla had been right: if I’d chucked the case I would’ve been kicking myself.
I glanced up at the sun. Not all that far off noon. If we weren’t to keep the Lady Sextilia waiting I’d have to get a move on. It was good brain stuff, though, that Caecuban. That had been a useful half-hour’s work.
I took the rest of the carafe as slow as I dared, giving it the attention it deserved, which was a considerable amount. This close to lunch, the place was filling up a little: the senate was in session again, but not all broad-stripers by any means were conscientious attenders and there was a fair scattering of the buggers at the other tables just getting into name-dropping gear. I winced as the voices carried over Wine first-rate but pricey as hell, clientele the pits. Average it out and I’d rate the place six out of ten: worth the occasional visit, sure, if your bank-balance could stand it, but give me Renatius’s every time. I mixed the last cupful, drank it down, paid my score (ouch! But at least this time they hadn’t asked for money up front) and headed back to the Caelian for the bath and beauty treatment.
We’d have to see what Sextilia had to offer.
34.
We took the litter. Perilla had on her best glad-rags, and I’d had Bathyllus look out the snappy mantle the lady had given me for the Winter Festival that I hadn’t got round to wearing yet. It felt uncomfortable and scratchy as hell.
Estranged in practice they might be, but Vitellius and Sextilia still lived together. The house was on the posh southern slope of the Esquiline, near the grove and shrine of Beech-tree Jupiter. It was expensive but not showy, yet again an indication that Vitellius was being careful to keep his head below the politically-correct parapet, because the Wart, who was technically still in charge although he hadn’t set foot inside the city boundaries for years, had a thing about ostentation. We drew up outside and I sent our chief lardball – carefully groomed – to knock at the door. Then we made our entrance.
While the slave went to check that the lady was all set to receive I gave the place the once-over. Nice; very nice. Decor pricey but subdued, good taste. It didn’t have a very lived-in feel, though, and there was a coldness about it that had nothing to do with the weather.
The slave came back. ‘If you’ll follow me, sir and madam, the mistress is expecting you,’ he said.
He took us into what turned out to be a sitting-room overlooking the garden. This had a lot more life to it: there were bowls of spring bulbs on the table, bronze and silver knick-knacks and one of those snooty pedigree Egyptian cats with the high pointed ears who stared at us from a cushioned stool with eyes like emerald ice, then carried on with its interrupted ablutions. Fresh air blew in through the opening onto the portico and the garden beyond.
Sextilia was lying on the couch near the cat. ‘Perilla, dear,’ she said. ‘Lovely to see you. And this must be your husband. So nice to meet you at last, Valerius Corvinus. Have a seat, please.’
She was a looker, or must’ve been when she was younger: small, prim, early forties maybe, impeccably got up. Nice voice, too.
‘Did you have a good festival, Sextilia?’ Perilla sat on a Gallic chair with red leather upholstery. I took the second couch.
‘Very pleasant, thank you.’ She smiled. ‘I went to the production in Balbus Theatre with Silvia Gemina. The Antigone. You didn’t see it? Oh, but you should have, my dear, it was marvellous. Alciphron was so good as the princess, and the costumes you wouldn’t believe!’
Uh-oh; here we went. I hate this social chit-chat stuff, and this bit I hadn’t been looking forward to. I sighed mentally and switched off. We’d talked things over, Perilla and me, before we’d left and agreed that it was her show, which included handling the small talk. Very wise. The lady hadn’t, of course, let on to Sextilia about any ulterior purpose and officially we were here just for honey-wine-and-cake-klatsch reasons with me tagging along for decoration. Speaking of which, the refreshments turned up ten minutes into the dissection of Sophocles and the slave served me with a bumper cup. I set it down on the delicate little table next to me and forgot about it.
I was just nodding off nicely when Perilla said: ‘We saw your husband and brother at the races, by the way. Marcus had passes for the Whites’ row from Lucius Cammius. Such a pity for the poor man, first his lead driver dying and then that horse.’ She turned to me. ‘What was its name again, Marcus?’
‘Polydoxus.’ I sat up. Business at last. Mind you, I wasn’t going to push things. Perilla could make the running.
‘I don’t really take much notice of racing.’ Sextilia was holding her piece of cake delicately with the fingers of both hands. She reminded me of a very neat dormouse. ‘It’s very much a man’s thing, isn’t it? Father was a real aficionado, and of course Gaius has inherited his interest. Lucius, naturally –’ she hesitated. ‘Lucius enjoys it too. Rather too much, I’m afraid.’
Perilla sipped her wine. ‘He’s involved with the faction?’ she said. ‘On the business side, I mean?’
‘Oh, yes. Since before we were married. Gaius has the acumen, but he doesn’t have the money, and running a faction is so very expensive. Especially if one wants to build it up.’
‘And Gaius does?’
‘More than anything. He does so like to win; he has done since he was a child. It’s all so silly.’ She stretched over to the cake plate. ‘More cake, dear? And your husband isn’t eating. Such a quiet man, not at all as you described him. I wish Lucius was more quiet. You’re very fortunate.’
Perilla shot me a glance. I picked up my slice and bit into it: sickly-sweet, like the wine would be. ‘It’s, uh, very nice, Sextilia,’ I said.
‘Gaius must be rather relieved that the Whites have had so many setbacks recently.’ Perilla sipped her honey wine. My teeth tingled in sympathy.
‘Oh, he is.’ Sextilia frowned. ‘He wouldn’t like to say so too publicly, of course, because they are supposed to be allies in a way, but it certainly hasn’t done him any harm. Especially since his faction has been going through such a bad patch. One can hardly blame him, can one?’
‘Of course not.’ Perilla paused. ‘Lucius would be pleased as well, I expect.’
‘Lucius’s feelings are not ones to which I am a party, dear.’ Sextilia cut another slice of cake and held it out to Perilla’s waiting plate. ‘As you’re no doubt aware.’ Not so much the dormouse after all: there’d been an edge to that. I could sense Perilla backing off. ‘But yes, he was pleased. Extremely so.’
There was silence while we ate our cake. Then Perilla said: ‘I’ve always felt that the racing world was a’ – she hesitated – ‘well, not to put too fine a point on it a rather an undesirable one to become involved in. Not that I’m implying that either your brother or your husband would have anything to do with that side of things, of course, but it must be very difficult at times to avoid it. Especially where business is concerned. Marcus was just telling me before we came out that he’d had a most unpleasant brush recently with one man in particular –’ She turned to me. ‘What was his name, Marcus?’
I swallowed my cake. ‘Uh...Eutacticus?’
‘That’s right. A dreadful man, simply dreadful. You wouldn’t know him or know of him, my dear, but –’
‘The cartel owner.’ Sextilia was nodding. ‘Yes, I know Eutacticus. Lucius has him round to dinner quite often. Gaius, too, occasionally, as I understand, and they both visit him on the Pincian. You’re perfectly right, he is a dreadful man.’
I tried to keep my face expressionless. Vitellius’s friendship with Eutacticus I’d known about, of course, but Acceptus’s was only theory. I had proof now that the three of them were an item, and that had very interesting connotations.
‘You’re present yourself? When your husband invites him here?’ Perilla asked delicately.
‘Oh, Eutacticus is very strong on family values.’ Sextilia didn’t smile. ‘Quite the old-fashioned conservative. I’ve never met his wife – he does have one, although he never brings her – but he insists that when he dines here I attend the dinner. Or so Lucius informs me. Until the dessert is cleared, at least, at which point I’m free to go. Which I always do, gladly, and come in here. I spend a lot of my time in here. Its one great advantage is that as a room Lucius hates it.’
I don’t think I’ve ever heard so much quiet loathing in a voice. Not that Sextilia had put any sort of feeling into the words because she hadn’t, quite the opposite, in fact: the tone was polite, well-modulated and, along with the rest of her, downright prim. Maybe that’s what made it so chilling.
‘So you never hear them talking business?’ I said.
Perilla flashed me a glare, which was fair enough: I was in total breach of contract here and I knew it. All the same, it seemed a natural thing to say at the time.
Sextilia turned to me. If the question should’ve struck her as odd – especially since it was the first real contribution to the conversation I’d made since we sat down – she didn’t show it. I had the impression, strangely, that she was somehow relieved. ‘No, Valerius Corvinus,’ she said. ‘I don’t. Unfortunately. I might find that quite interesting, if not exactly enjoyable; it would certainly be preferable to having constantly to deflect Eutacticus’s questions concerning the doings of my children, both of whom take after their father. Given that the elder is currently being debauched on Capri and the younger trying his best to meet a similar fate in Rome you will understand the reasons for the preference.’
There was a painful silence while Perilla and I picked at our cake. I wondered if coming here had been such a hot idea after all. Sure, I’d got confirmation of Acceptus’s involvement with Eutacticus, but that was all it was: confirmation. Hardly sufficient return for having to eat a lump of poisonous honey-cake and sit through an episode of mid-life-crisis soul-searching.
Maybe Sextilia thought so too, because she set her plate down. ‘I’m sorry, that was very boring of me. Treat it as a digression, if you will.’ She paused. ‘They do talk business, of course, and since you seem interested in the subject I have nothing particularly against indulging your curiosity. If it is simply curiosity which, forgive me, I very much doubt.’ I didn’t say anything. Smart lady. ‘You see, I’m not quite stupid, nor am I blind, and Perilla has mentioned your field of expertise to me before. It isn’t so very long since Lucius Arruntius and the Chief Vestal asked you to look into the death of that young Cornelia at my husband’s predecessor’s house, is it? Three or four months at most?’
‘Four and a half. The Rites of the Good Goddess.’ I didn’t even glance at Perilla.
‘Besides, I know my husband.’ She reached over and picked up the cat, tucking it in against her mantle and cradling it. It gave a low yowl like a mewling baby and stretched its neck to be stroked. ‘And my brother. Gaius may not be quite as bad as Lucius, but he is very single-minded, and scruples have never been a great obstacle to him once he’s decided what he wants. If it is of any relevance, and as long as we’re speaking truths, we have never got on well, especially since as head of the family after Father’s death he sold me to Lucius. Now what do you want, Valerius Corvinus? I assume this has something to do with the affair at the Whites’ stables?’
‘Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s right.’ I was feeling a bit adrift here. The strange thing was, although the content of the conversation had taken a distinctly personal turn, Sextilia’s tone hadn’t changed from the Esquiline-genteel it had started out as. Unsettling, right?
She smoothed the cat’s ears. ‘You think that Gaius – and Lucius and that terrible man Eutacticus – might have been behind the poisoning of the horse.’
Now I did glance at Perilla. She had sat back in her chair. ‘It’s a possibility,’ I said. ‘No more than that.’
‘Indeed.’ Another hesitation; her eyes didn’t leave the cat. ‘They certainly discussed the new season and how to minimise the other two factions’ chances. That I do know from the occasional remark made by Lucius in his cups, or when he thought he was talking over my head. Both Whites’ and Greens’. I can give you no details, though.’
‘Whites’ and Greens’?’
‘So I understood. Sit still, Nefertare,’ she said to the cat, who was glaring at me and wriggling. Her eyes came up. ‘I appreciate your earlier delicacy, Perilla dear, but I don’t think that either my brother or my husband would hesitate for a moment to use underhand methods in furthering the faction’s ends. Clandestinely, of course. Lucius especially has to be so very careful of his political image. A certain amount of moral latitude is allowed, naturally, but there are boundaries. And although the Whites aren’t too important going against the Greens does have certain political ramifications.’
Yeah; I could see that for a political figure like Lucius Vitellius to be caught treading on the crown prince’s toes might be a bad idea. Still, it made sense: the Whites might be up-and-coming but the Greens were the bigger problem long-term. If our unholy triumvirate were engaged in a scam to bring on the Blues then they’d have to have a plan to cover both. ‘You really can’t help with the details?’
