See Delphi And Die (18 page)

XXXVIII

Helena was talking to Aquillius. I saw her frown slightly. There would be a good reason why she had interrupted my tete-a-tete. She knew that Cleonyma and I were not discussing tombstone design.

The widow tottered over to Minucia, leaving me free to investigate.

'Marcus, Phineus has asked Aquillius for leave to travel to Delphi; he says he ought to go and look for Statianus!'

'He has given me his parole.' Aquillius already knew I disapproved.

'So you are letting him go?' I was horrified.

'Actually no. I just want you to know that, Falco. I refused him permission.'

'Well, that's a start - How will you ensure he stays in Corinth?'

'He won't disobey my orders,' Aquillius claimed stiffly. I gazed at him, letting him read my doubts. He gazed back, visibly wavering. 'Oh dear... Well, he told me he would send one of his men.'

'One of the drivers he uses?' That pulled me up. This was an aspect I had been neglecting. 'Tell me, quaestor - does Phineus have workers who routinely accompany clients on these tours?'

To my surprise, Aquillius did know the answer. 'No. He hires local people at every site, as and when he needs them.'

That was a relief. He probably hired different ones each time, depending on who was available, so it was unlikely these temporary workers were suspects. 'Should have guessed! Piecework.'

Aquillius was puzzled, so Helena explained. 'Paid by the job and then dismissed. Phineus doesn't keep a regular workforce because he is probably too mean. This will be cheaper.' At least it saved me having to spend days wearing myself out in aimless interviews with hostile muleteers and bloody-minded factotums.

I gazed around the banqueting room. We had been granted the full service of the governor's chamberlain, chefs, and table slaves. Most of them would be top-class household staff brought to Greece from the governor's house in Rome. Providing a huge, slick entourage would be part of establishing his personal status, as well as an essential tool of Roman diplomacy. Even on campaign, Julius Caesar used to impress shaggy Gallic princes with an enormous marquee which contained not just flunkeys and folding thrones, but a portable floor mosaic. Now that tragedy had brought the Tracks and Temples group at least temporarily within the embrace of their embassy, they were dining off gold plate for once. I would never have risked my best dinner service with this lot, but the governor was not here to object, and Aquillius must see it as his duty to supply the best tureens and salvers.

That did not stop Sertorius grumbling as he passed us that he would have thought Cleonyma would have bought in better wine.

As part of my funeral duties, I had chosen the wine. It was perfectly acceptable. The food had been good too, even though my annoying nephews had played their now-customary game of pointing to cauldrons of aromatic cooked meats, loudly screaming 'Pelops!', then giggling hysterically. At most dinners it would not have mattered, but people on this tour had had myth laminated on to their fraught brains. The tasteless reference to cannibalism among the deities was lost on very few of them.

I looked around for the boys. With Albia and Young Glaucus, they were now amusing themselves fairly politely. Cornelius had brought his soldiers board game and Albia was teaching Glaucus to play, while the boys sprawled on the serving table as spectators. So long as she stopped with the black and white counters and did not start initiating my trainer's son into other moves, I could leave them to it.

Helena, Aquillius, and I surveyed the wake. People had been badly in need of a release; with plenty of nourishment and drink inside them, they were now letting go. The noise level had risen. Soon this would be like a celebration, with little reference to the dead.

First to go was the seating plan. Amaranthus had stayed put, staring into space alone. He looked saturnine and brooding. I wondered if he was considering who would next be picked off by the killer. If so, it definitely bothered him. If he was the killer himself, he should have tried to look more nonchalant.

His partner Minucia had turned her back on him. I could not tell if the couple had had a tiff today, but she was totally ignoring Amaranthus as she ministered to Cleonyma. Cleonyma was standing beside her; she now wore a little wavering smile, not saying much but looking blissful and swaying very, very slightly. It would not last; any minute now she would crumple and weep uncontrollably.

Sertoria Silene had left her family's table and was intently conversing with Indus. Their voices were low, as a sign of respect for the occasion. Still, they looked as if they had been chatting for some time; it was unforced and agreeable. Her children were not bothering them, for one thing. She was talking with an assurance she never dared show with her husband, while Indus responded happily. Tiberia and Tiberius were slinking around in a colonnade, stalking a kitten they had chosen to torment. A slave they had not noticed was standing in the shadows, keeping an eye on them. She was grasping a large metal ladle. Good.

With his friend Indus occupied, the slyer bachelor, Marinus, was deep in conversation with the widow Helvia. She was letting him enjoy himself as a raconteur while she rearranged her stoles and chuckled at his stories. Now that I knew I should distrust the air of muddled innocence, Helvia seemed a much more intriguing character. She wore a necklace of rather good gold chains. Was this unexpectedly fine item her secret bait? Was Marinus, who thought himself such a smooth operator, about to be tickled into a subtle trap by Helvia's chubby fingers?

Marinus talked on. This was what he did so well. I could just overhear him. Most garrulous fellows with a reputation for an 'endless fund' of tales have a much smaller stock than they reckon, but Helvia fluttered admiringly even when his anecdote about the 'magic' temple doors that were operated by underground fires came around again. Yes, I could see it now; Helvia knew what she was doing. Marinus clearly underestimated her and his career as a sponger could be under threat.

Everyone had managed to avoid Volcasius; he was demanding secrets of life from the chamberlain, a thin, bald slave who replied with perfect manners, though his dark eyes had glazed over.

Phineus came back to the room with Sertorius, as if they had both been to relieve themselves. Aquillius dug me in the ribs. 'Should I tackle him again about his Delphi request?'

'Don't lose him, at any rate,' I warned. 'He is my best suspect.'

Aquillius perked up. He had quaffed a goblet or two. 'Then shall I fasten him in a neck-iron and throw him in a holding cell?'

'That's up to you. It depends how brutal your regime is in this province...'

Helena was looking troubled. 'Aquillius, can I ask something, please? You said Phineus doesn't use permanent staff - but you also said he wants to send a representative to Delphi. Have I missed something? Who can he dispatch on this errand?'

Aquillius shrugged. 'Phineus must feel more beleaguered than he shows. He has summoned assistance from head office, I understand.'

'From Rome?' asked Helena.

I put down my wine goblet on a side table.'Who is it?'

'Some partner in his agency.'

We only knew of one Seven Sights staffer back in Rome - one who, come to think of it, looked rather like the fellow I saw with Phineus the other day. Out of context, I had failed to make the connection. Suddenly it was all too clear. 'A pushy swine called Polystratus?'

Aquillius shrugged. 'I've not met him.'

I raised an eyebrow to Helena, wondering what this meant. All I could imagine was that, as Aquillius said, Phineus felt more need of support than he generally revealed. Well, that was good. I liked him being nervous.

'So shall I arrest him, Falco?' Full of drink, the quaestor was single-minded.

'Up to you. You could decide that since several of his clients have been murdered, you need to arrest the organiser, while we investigate.'

'At the very least Phineus has been careless in protecting clients,' Helena contributed.

Aquillius liked that. He liked it so much that he bolted from the room, in search of soldiers from the governor's armed guard. Next thing, Phineus was trying to look unconcerned as he was bundled out by several bemused looking legionaries in red tunics. This was so rapid, most of the group failed to notice.

'That was fun!' Aquillius slapped his hands together. It was probably the first time in his tour of duty he had managed to take the initiative. I was unsure he had done the right thing, but Phineus had had previous experience of arrest. That showed in the resigned way he marched off, with no protest and no resistance. Whatever happened about this, he would take the episode philosophically.

'When in doubt, clap some bugger in chains,' I said. 'Even if he did nothing, other people may get jumpy when they hear him rattling.'

I was less than keen on the quaestor's reply. 'So what's your next move, Falco?' He managed to sound as if he thought I had run out of options. There was no need for him to be so pleased with himself. In Corinth I had indeed explored all possible avenues. But I had one last idea.

'Phineus is right about Delphi. We do need to reunite Statianus with the others - and I need to ask him some hard questions. So, if you'll give me the transport I asked for in the first place, Aquillius, I will go to find him.'

'See Delphi and die!' quipped Aquillius. Some old travel joke, apparently. Then his amiable face clouded guiltily. He blushed. 'Well, not literally, I hope!'

PART FOUR 

DELPHI LEBADEIA

The city of Delphi is a steep slope from top to bottom, and the sacred precinct of Apollo is not different from the rest of it. Tliis is huge in size and stands at the very top of the city, cut through by a network of alleyways. I shall record those of the dedications that seem to me most memorable. I do not think it is worth worrying about athletes or obscure musicians...

The entrails of most victims do not reveal Trophonius' mind very clearly, but on the night a man is going down they slaughter a ram at a pit... It makes no difference if all the earlier sacrifices have given good omens unless the entrails of this ram carry the same meaning. But if they agree, every man goes down with true hope...

PAUSANIUS, Guide to Greece

XXXIX

Delphi. A mistake, perhaps. Once I decided on action, my brain cleared. Back at our lodgings that evening I made rapid plans for a trip across the Gulf. Helena insisted on coming with me, wanting to see that ancient sanctuary. I opted to leave behind most of our luggage, plus Albia, my nephews, Glaucus, and the still convalescent Nux. Travelling light, Helena and I would make a flying visit, retrieve Tullius Statianus, and return to Corinth.

It sounded good. Aquillius Macer was finding us a reliable ship, a fast one if possible. I reckoned on three days at most.

There were two reasons why I left behind the youngsters and the dog. Apart from my wish for speed, I gave Glaucus instructions that when Nux seemed her lively self again, he was to put her on a lead and walk her past the various members of the tour group. 'See if she growls at anyone. But if she reacts, don't tackle the suspect. Tell Aquillius, the quaestor.'

Glaucus looked nervous, but Albia and the boys were keen enough to do it. I wanted the test carried out, even though I doubted they would identify the killer of Cleonymus this way. For one thing, the odds were on Phineus, and he was now out of reach, under arrest.

One thing had struck me. Statianus was supposed to be in Delphi. If true, he at least could not have killed Cleonymus. Unless he had returned to Corinth secretly (making our Delphi trip an utter waste of time) then either Statianus was innocent - or if he killed his wife in Olympia, some second killer dealt with the freedman here. Our witness at Acrocorinth had described the mysterious 'expensively dressed man' as older than the bridegroom. So did that make Statianus innocent? Was the bride's brutal killer this new man, the middle-aged smart dresser - and if so, did he have any connection with Marcella Caesia three years earlier?

The situation got more complicated at every turn. And worse was to come. Helena and I were bidding our companions goodbye before our walk to the port at Lechaion, with our bundle of clothes, a money pouch, and my sword. As we stood outside our lodgings at the Elephant, we were accosted by Volcasius.

'I am very surprised to hear you are leaving Corinth, Falco!'

'Just a scenic trip.'

The bony fool stood right in the way of my hired donkey. That suited the donkey, whose reins I jerked to no avail. 'We have to make haste, Volcasius. Have you something to say?' asked Helena coldly.

'Hardly my place,' he sneered. 'Falco is the expert.'

'Say what you came for.' I encouraged my mount again, ready to shove Volcasius aside if I had to. The beast stretched out its nose to him, as if to a friend.

'There is an obvious clue you have overlooked.'

Knowing I was about to swear at him, Helena quickly answered for me. 'What is that, Volcasius?'

'Your dog was hurt during the events up on the acropolis. Either you don't know, or you have strangely discounted this: one of our party had a nasty dog bite previously.'

It was true, but I was none too pleased to find Volcasius making an issue of it. 'I know all about that. Marinus was bitten by a sacred dog at Epidaurus, the night Turcianus Opimus died. Marinus told me himself, so why don't you keep out of it?' I covered my frustration. 'Volcasius, stop being self-righteous. I always distrust the man who comes singing that one of his companions is the guilty party. I'll be looking at Marinus - but I'll be looking at you too.'

I kicked up the donkey and made it walk around him. Helena followed me on hers. We left Volcasius standing there, convinced of his own cleverness and our stupidity. Gaius, who was coming with us in order to return the donkeys to their stable after we took ship, leered at the man as he passed.

Not until we were aboard did Helena and I break our silence.

I kicked at a bulkhead. 'Cobnuts! I am completely slipshod. I missed that.'

'We both missed it.' Helena beat one fist against her palm, so hard I winced and gripped her wrists to stop her. I won't accuse women of talking themselves out of trouble - but Helena was quicker than me at rationalising this dog bite. 'Marcus, maybe Marinus was simply unlucky at Epidaurus. Nobody has suggested that the sacred dog bit him because he had lashed out at it. The way Marinus told the story, he was asleep in a cell when he was bitten.'

'Perhaps he wanted us to think that.'

'He didn't have to draw attention to it. The bite was on his thigh - under his tunic. He had no need at all to show us. Still...' Helena began to analyse the clue, if clue it was. 'Suppose Volcasius has a point. Say Marinus silenced Turcianus and Cleonymus - or even just Cleonymus. Let's consider his motive.'

'He preys on women.' I was terse. But I stopped blaming myself, and my next response was balanced. 'He does it for money, not sex. Killing the bride - or even arranging a tryst with her - would be out of character. Valeria wasn't his type of victim. She was married, for starters. She had little cash in her own right; even as a couple, she and Statianus were travelling on a budget. One of the women commented that they were bad at managing their money.'

'And someone said Milo of Dodona was fooling himself if he thought they were possible sponsors for his statue. So,' Helena mused, 'did Volcasius name Marinus to draw away attention from himself?'

I barked with laughter. 'Do you see Volcasius as a sexual predator?'

She thought about it, more carefully than me. 'He is certainly odd. I don't suppose he has had normal experiences with women.'

I was still dismissive. 'Prostitutes, most likely. If he bothers.'

'In that case, he might have gone up the acropolis to find gratification at the Temple of Artemis. We can ask the women there when we return to Corinth.'

'They won't tell us. By then, they will never remember. Whores have short memories; given their life, who can blame them?'

'He smells,' replied Helena. 'I know you will say, prostitutes meet plenty of stinkers, but taken with his odd manner, I am sure Volcasius would attract notice. Oh, but nobody would ever call him 'well-dressed, Marcus!'

Possibly he cleaned up and dressed better when visiting professional women. But I thought Helena was right. I could not really imagine Volcasius getting spruced up for anybody. Even if he used prostitutes for sex, he would despise them.

'This is a false lead, Marcus.'

I let Helena reassure me - but I spent the rest of the sea journey brooding. At least that took my mind off feeling queasy.

Well, it did to some extent. I wanted to disembark at Kirra, but the helpful captain took us past it to a nearer beachhead. By the time we landed at Itea, I was wishing we had gone the long way round by land, where I had heard the roads were good enough to take the largest wagons, so even if it took forever, you could relax in family-size comfort, almost the entire way.

Note 'almost'. Even people who came coach-drawn, all had to climb out and lug their goods on their backs the final mile or so. Despite the need to bring pilgrims and visitors to the oracle and the Pythian Games, the last stretch of the road was dire. It was a hard pull even for a man on foot. Helena tackled it bravely, but by the time we staggered to a halt in the village, she was weeping with desperation. I was little better, though I had reckoned I was generally in good shape.

Our bags fell from our hands. We turned back and looked over the plain below. Covered with a thick forest of wild olives, the land fell away gracefully to the sea which twinkled in the distance. The sanctuary clung to a steep hillside on twin peaks of Mount Parnassus, with other mountains crowding around it. Above us towered enormous unclimbable crags. Huge birds of prey circled languidly on the updraughts, so far away that their long wings looked mere threads of black against the brilliant sky. The air was thin and chilly, even though the sun was shining. The beauty of the setting, the bright light, and the rarefied atmosphere gave pilgrims their first notion that they were approaching the gods.

We had made it. As our breath hurt our windpipes, we clung to each other and were proud of our exertion. We could not speak, but we were grinning with triumph to have made the climb.

Had we known what lay ahead of us, our mood might have been different.