‘You did what?’ I said.
‘I gave Sextus Papinius twenty thousand sesterces. In exchange for his accepting some false information regarding the damage to several pieces of property I have on the Aventine.’
My brain had gone numb. ‘Uh…run that past me again, pal,’ I said. ‘You’re telling me, free, gratis and for nothing, under no compulsion or threat whatsoever, that you slipped the boy a backhander?’
‘Yes.’ His face was unreadable, although I thought I detected a slight hint of distaste. ‘I’m not proud of myself, not in the least. Quite the reverse. And I’ve already confessed to Laelius Balbus, in exchange, of course, for an assurance that the matter ends here and there will be no prosecution. Under the circumstances that would be in no one’s interests.’ The door behind me opened and he glanced over my shoulder. ‘Ah. Here’s the wine. Just pour it and go, Flavius, we’re discussing business.’
He did. I looked at Carsidius over the wine-cup. ‘How much did you say you’d given him?’ I said.
‘Twenty thousand sesterces.’
‘You’re sure it wasn’t fifty?’
‘Fifty? Why fifty?’
‘Fifty seems a nice round number. Although sixty would be even better.’
‘No. It was twenty thousand, and it represented a…shall we call it a ten percent commission on what I personally would make from the deal.’ His lips twisted. ‘No doubt he made similar arrangements with other customers but I know nothing of them.’
‘But now you’ve lost the lot, so you’re twenty thousand down.’
‘Yes. Do try the wine, by the way.’
I did. It was Falernian. Proper Falernian, which is saying something. I took a proper gulp, because any minute now I’d be out on my ear, and good Falernian you don’t waste. Ah, welclass="underline" it had to be done.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I said, ‘but you’re lying.’
He blinked, as if I’d hit him. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You didn’t bribe Papinius at all. The kid was straight, I’d bet my back teeth on it. So the question is, why are you saying that you did?’
‘I…I’ve never…never been…’ He was red-faced and spluttering. I’d done it deliberately, of course: broad-stripers like Carsidius aren’t used to being called liars to their faces. There’re so many lies spouted in the senate-house that call someone a liar one minute and five minutes later you’re leaving yourself wide open to the counter-charge; with the consequence that no one uses the word at all, however deserved it is. Work out the cumulative effect on truth, justice, honesty and fair-mindedness in your average senatorial debate over the centuries and you’ll realise just why Rome is the caring, sharing mistress of the world that she is, loved and revered throughout her empire. And why all senators, silver-haired or not, friends of Arruntius and Marsus or not, are total bastards at heart.
‘One reason I can think of,’ I went on, since I obviously wasn’t going to get an answer to the question anyway, ‘was that you had Papinius killed yourself and bribery’s the lesser of the two crimes. Admit to the second and ipso facto you can’t be guilty of the first. Why the hell you’d want him dead, mind, -’
Suddenly, Carsidius stood up. I had to admit it was pretty impressive. He was a tall guy, ramrod-straight, and like I say he looked the part. There was no spluttering now, either. He glared at me, walked over to the shrine in the corner and laid his hand on top of it.
‘Listen, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘Listen very carefully. I swear by all the gods of my family, by Jupiter, Mars and the pantheon, that I had no part, active or passive, in the killing of Sextus Papinius. Now. Will that satisfy you?’
‘Fine.’ I was impressed, despite myself, but I wasn’t going to show this bastard that. No way. ‘You want to swear now that you did bribe him?’
He took his hand from the shrine like it was red-hot. ‘You insult me!’
‘Damn right I do, pal!’ I was on my feet and angry myself now. ‘It seems that’s the only way I’m going to get any truth here! Now what the fuck’s going on?’
‘Leave my house!’
‘When I’m good and ready. Let’s talk keys.’
The guy was red enough for an apoplexy. ‘Valerius Corvinus, unless you leave now, I’ll — !’
‘That flat had three keys that I know about. One went to the tenant, and if the place was empty it was kept on the board in Caepio’s living-room. That was the one — according to Caepio — that Papinius took the day he died and which was found on his body. The second was on Caepio’s duplicate bunch, and he swears it never went out of his hands. The third was yours, and that one, pal, I know nothing about. But whoever killed Papinius had a key, and yours is my best bet. So if you didn’t have the kid murdered then you tell me about that key. Or was there a fourth?’
He was visibly shaking: with anger, mostly, but there was something else. ‘There was no fourth!’ he snapped. ‘If it was my key — and I take your word that another key was used — then I know nothing of the whys and wherefores involved. Why should I? Holy immortal gods, Corvinus, do you know how much property I own in Rome and elsewhere? Yes, I’ve got keys, any number of them, but I don’t keep them myself any more than I personally collect the rents!’
Bugger. Now that was something I hadn’t considered, and I should’ve done. He was right, of course: no property-owner of Carsidius’s class dirties his hands with the everyday, mundane processes that net him his yearly income. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So who does keep them?’
‘My bailiff, naturally!’
‘Yeah, I’d sort of assumed that. He got a name?’
‘The…’ Carsidius sat down and took a deep breath. ‘His name was Faustus.’
‘“Was”?’ My guts went cold. ‘You mean he’s dead?’
‘Certainly not! At least, as far as I’m aware. If you must know, I discharged him three days ago. For reasons which have no bearing on the matter and which don’t concern you.’
Uh-huh. And my name was Cleopatra. ‘So where is he now?’ I said.
‘Neapolis. Brindisi. Capua, perhaps. He may even have taken a ship from Ostia or Puteoli and gone abroad. In any event he told me at our last…meeting that he was leaving Rome. Where he chose to go when he left my employ was none of my concern, and I certainly didn’t bother to ask.’ Carsidius had picked up a stylus from the desk. ‘Now. This interview is at an end. I would ask you not to trouble me again.’
I stood up and set the wine-cup down carefully. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Thanks for your time.’
I was heading for the door when he said: ‘Corvinus!’
I turned. ‘Yeah?’
He was sitting with a face like one of the portrait busts. ‘I’ve always been a faithful servant of the emperor. I’ve done my duty, however unpleasant I’ve found it personally. I want you to remember that.’
‘Bully for you,’ I said.
I opened the door, and left.
One minor point, and it didn’t strike me until I was out in the street and beginning to cool down. When Carsidius had taken his oath, he’d used the word ‘killing’ apropos of Sextus Papinius; not ‘death’ but ‘killing’. Yeah, sure, I’d introduced the idea of murder myself, but only as a theory, and it wasn’t a theory that Carsidius — ipso facto — would be exactly ready to entertain. So why had he done it?
Shit, it was probably nothing, just my hypertrophied imagination kicking in again. All the same, it was interesting.
So what did I make of that?
I thought it over as I walked back down towards the Caelian. The guy had played absolutely true to form. I’d rubbed shoulders — reluctantly for the most part — with broad-stripers all my life, and Carsidius was right-down-the-middle typicaclass="underline" ego the size of the Capitol, touchy as hell where his honour was concerned — at least, as far as the part of it other people saw went — and fully prepared to lie through his teeth while at the same time damning your eyes for daring to question his veracity. The smart-as-paint Greeks, who can be cynically accurate buggers when they like, take their word for reputation — doxa — from the verb ‘to seem’, which is spot-on. With these bastards, appearances are everything, and to hell with the muckier reality. Papinius Allenius had been dead right when he’d bracketed Carsidius with Arruntius: they were a pair and no mistake, both in the bad and the good. Ignore the veneer of Roman honestas, which is a con in any case, think in terms of Greek doxa and you won’t go far wrong. For all Carsidius’s air of outraged rectitude I wouldn’t trust the guy an inch.