‘That’s okay,’ I said before Atratinus could answer for us. ‘I’ll get it.’ I owed a bit of philanthropy: Natalis’s cheque was burning its way through my belt-pouch. I’d have to lodge it with my banker in Julian Square before I went home.
I paid the tab — pricey, but not as bad as I’d thought it would be — while Atratinus collected the wine and cups and led the way over to the quietest corner.
Curiosity won out. ‘Ostrich balls?’ I said.
‘Meatballs made of ostrich meat.’ Another sideways look. ‘What else would they be?’
‘Oh. Right. Right. Placida, settle!’ She collapsed on the floor beside my chair with a long-drawn-out sigh. ‘Good dog. Good dog!’ Hey! Success! Maybe we weren’t doing so badly here after all. Mind you, we’d been over half of Rome in the past couple of hours and she was probably as knackered as I was.
I turned back to Atratinus, poured wine for both of us and sipped. Not bad; not at all bad. Nowhere near Titus Natalis’s Massic earlier on, sure, but definitely no third-rate rotgut. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Tell me about Sextus.’
Atratinus took a swallow of his own wine, or more of a gulp than a swallow, like he was steeling himself.
‘What do you want to know?’ he said.
‘Whatever you’ve got. You were his best friend, weren’t you?’
‘That’s right. Since we were six years old.’
‘What was he like? As a person?’
‘Quiet. When the company was right he’d join in. Otherwise he’d just smile and keep to the background.’
‘And was the company usually right?’
‘Most of the time. But like I say, Sextus wasn’t the loud type, and he didn’t go out of his way to make himself popular. A lot of people found him too serious to be real fun.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe that’s why we got on so well, him and me. Cluvia was always on at him to loosen up more.’
‘Who’s Cluvia?’
‘His girlfriend. Well…not exactly a girlfriend, but you know what I mean.’ Yeah, I did: for a kid of Papinius’s age and background there was bound to be a not-exactly-girlfriend with a no-account name somewhere in the picture. ‘You hadn’t heard of her?’
‘No.’ Not that that was surprising, mind, because so far all I knew about the dead kid’s friends had come from his mother. And not-exactly-girlfriends are one thing mothers just aren’t allowed to know about. Mine certainly hadn’t. ‘She a cat-house girl?’
‘Gods, Corvinus!’ Atratinus laughed. ‘Don’t even suggest that if you meet her! No, Cluvia’s respectable. Strictly the independent entrepreneurial type. She’s got her own flat on Public Incline near the temple of the Moon, and when she’s not there she manages a perfume shop in the Saepta. That’s where she and Sextus met. They’ve been an item for about six months.’
‘She expensive to run?’
For the first time, Atratinus hesitated. ‘Pricey, but no more than most. She isn’t greedy, certainly. Although Sextus was on a pretty tight budget.’
‘Yeah. His mother told me that.’
‘You’ve talked to Rupilia? Oh, yes, I suppose you must’ve done.’
‘They got on all right, Sextus and his mother? From his side?’
‘Not bad.’ Atratinus took another swallow of his wine; he was looking a lot more relaxed now. ‘Better than me and mine, for a start. They lived their separate lives for the most part, and Rupilia wasn’t a pryer. So long as he didn’t come home drunk too often or get in trouble with the Watch — which he didn’t — she left him alone.’
‘Money problems?’
Again Atratinus hesitated, but when he did answer it was readily enough. ‘Sure. Some, anyway. Like I say, Sextus always was on a tight budget. He paid his share, though, and he was generous when he could afford it. Cluvia didn’t have any reason to complain.’
Yeah, well, that was as much as I could’ve expected. More. I’d’ve been seriously surprised if he’d said the kid didn’t have any problems with cash flow, whatever the situation at home. The phrases ‘strapped for cash’ and ‘young lad-about-town’ go together naturally.
Publius came over with the tray. Not bad portions; that’s another thing about these chichi places, they tend to be heavy on the garnish at the expense of what you thought you were paying for.
Placida stood up, sniffing.
‘Uh…excuse me a minute, pal,’ I said. ‘Bribery time.’I held the plate of sausages level with the floor. ‘Now you just settle, sunshine. Settle!’
She glanced at the sausages, then at me, and crouched down. I pushed the plate towards her…
Unk. Unk. Unk.
Hey again! Barbarian from hell Placida might be, but she could behave when she wanted to. She wasn’t stupid, either. Maybe we could live with each other after all. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘That’s your lot. Now let us talk, okay?’
Urp.
‘Good dog.’ I patted her, then resurfaced and turned back to Atratinus. ‘What about the rest of the friends?’
‘How do you mean?’ Atratinus was tucking into his ostrich balls like he’d been starved for a month.
‘There’s you and there’s Cluvia. Who else?’
‘You want particular names? Marcus Selicius. Quintus and Titus Memmius.’ He reached for a piece of bread. ‘Oh, and the other Titus, Titus Soranus. These’re the main ones, anyway.’
The first three didn’t ring any bells, but the last one did, very much so; also, Atratinus’s eyes had flickered before he’d given me Soranus’s name, and he’d slipped it in far too casually for my liking.
Shit.
‘Titus Mucius Soranus?’ I said slowly.
Atratinus took a sip from his wine-cup before he answered. ‘You know him?’ he said. Again, the tone was too casual. A nice kid, Atratinus, but he was no actor.
‘Uh-uh. Not personally. But I’ve heard of him.’ Sure I had; nothing good, either. I wondered if the lads’ fathers knew that Soranus was one of the gang. ‘Isn’t he a bit old to be running around with guys your age?’
‘He’s only twenty-seven.’ That was defensive. ‘And he’s good fun.’
Yeah, right. He would be, at that, and I could see the attraction someone like Mucius Soranus’d have for lads like Atratinus and his mates. It was only when they lost the puppy-fat from between their ears and started counting the coins in their purse, or lack of them, that they might begin to have second thoughts about the bugger’s reasons for giving them the time of day. And the difference between twenty-seven and nineteen, in terms of experience, is a lifetime. I let the pause develop before I asked, as casually as I could manage: ‘He, ah, get you interested in gambling at all?’
Not casually enough. Atratinus stopped eating and gave me a straight look, his expression definitely sulky. Then he shrugged and picked up his spoon again. ‘A little,’ he said. ‘Where’s the harm in that? Like I said, he’s good company.’
Yeah, right, sure he was: the way I’d heard it, Soranus made his living out of being good company. If you could call it living. And I couldn’t, under the circumstances, leave things there.
‘Did Sextus owe him money?’ I said. Silence. Atratinus had put down his spoon again, and I was getting the blank adolescent stare full power now all the way from the other side of the age gap. Shit. ‘Come on, pal, this is important! Or it could be.’ I waited; nothing. ‘Look, I’m not Rupilia and I’m no poker-arsed paterfamilias making silly value judgments, okay? All I want to find out — just like you do — is why your friend killed himself. I can’t do that if you hold out on me. So give.’
Atratinus reached for his wine-cup, took a long swallow and set the cup down empty.
‘Okay,’ he snapped. ‘Your answer’s yes. Satisfied?’
I leaned back. Hell. Still, it had to be something like this. Money or a serious love affair gone sour would’ve been my two best bets.
‘How much?’ I said.
‘I don’t know. Quite a lot. Or quite a lot for Sextus, anyway.’
‘He wasn’t a gambler. I know that much, at least. Or I thought I did.’
‘Soranus has his ways. Oh, he’s a friend, I’m not slagging him off, and it was Sextus’s business, no one twisted his arm. In any case, everyone gambles in our set. It’s expected.’