David Wishart - No Cause for Concern

So that was that. Wed got Clarus and Marilla firmly hitched with only a few minor glitches, such as the senile octogenarian priest whod overseen the ceremony deciding half way through the wedding supper that the assembled guests would really, really appreciate a song about an Ostian bargee, and now it was back to Rome and the same heady round of fun and excitement. Id just spent a very pleasant couple of hours propping up the bar of Renatiuss wineshop shooting the breeze with the punters over a jug of Spoletan and was heading along Iugarius towards a shave-and-haircut in Market Square when the heavies came up on me from behind.

You know that feeling when you seem to be in two times and two places at once. Add to it a moment of extreme agony as you find yourself suddenly sandwiched between a pair of overmuscled gorillas with biceps straight off a marble statue and you more or less have the picture. It was like being hugged by an alleyway.

I glanced left and right. And up.

Oh, shit, I said. Youre Eutacticuss boys, right?

The gorilla squeezing me on the left gave me a grin; Id only ever known him as Laughing George, but no doubt his white-haired old mother had another name for him, probably You Bastard!.

Well remembered, Corvinus, he said. Got it in one. The boss wants to see you.

Again? Oh, joy in the morning; dont four years just flash past when youre having fun. And another chat with Sempronius Eutacticus, organised crimes equivalent of a crocodile with attitude, wouldnt even figure in a masochists definition of the phrase.

Care to tell me what about? My shoulders felt like they had parted company with my arms and moved up to the level of my ears. My rib-cage wasnt too happy about things, either.

No.

Ah, well, short and concise. Par for the course, where Laughing George was concerned, and I wasnt going to argue. I wasnt going to try running or screaming kidnap, either, because if Id learned anything from my previous encounter with Eutacticus it was to go with the flow, because if you didnt the flow was liable to wash you down a very deep hole and put the lid on.

So were going to the Pincian, I said.

Yeah.

No transport this time?

Its a nice afternoon. We thought wed walk. The grin broadened, showing teeth like the cheapest bricks in a third-rate tenement. Besides, the boss told us you dont like litters.

Right. Right.

Well, he was thorough, Eutacticus, Id give him that. Still, Idve liked tove been asked.

It wasnt a chatty journey: Laughing George wasnt to be drawn, and his pal had all the conversational pazazz of a brick. We headed in close-knit silence up Broad Street past the Saepta and Agrippa Field into the rarefied atmosphere of the Pincian Hill, where money mostly new money doesnt just talk, it struts its stuff with a megaphone. I remembered Eutacticuss place as soon as I saw it: tritons on the gateposts, score high for flash and zilch for taste, the worst the Pincian could throw at you and then some more on top. The statues flanking the driveway that led up to the house alone wouldve kept the quarry-owners in Luna in sturgeon and bears paws for a year, and the greenery providing the backdrop had been topiaried to within an inch of its life.

Laughing George nodded to the guy on the gate, and we were in. Then it was past another half dozen of scowling prime-rate bought help, up the cedar staircase and the deferential tap on the ivory-inlaid study door.

Come in.

We did. The lad himself was on the reading couch, doing his crocodile-in-the-swamp-waiting-for-lunch impression. That wasnt the surprise. The surprise was the woman sitting on a chair next to him: a little, mousey, middle-aged Roman matron like a straight-backed dumpling wearing a hairdo and jewellery and just radiating Respectability and Traditional Family Values. If old Marcus Cato, bless his puritanical socks, had had a mum, then this lady was a dead ringer for her.

Valerius Corvinus. Good of you to come. The crocodile jaws spread in a smile as genuine as a tin denarius. How nice to see you again.

Yeah, well -

Thank you, Satrius. Thats all. Laughing George exited. Corvinus, this is my wife Occusia. Shell be the one talking to you. He got up. I thought, though, that I should be here when you arrived. Just so were absolutely clear where we stand.

Namely? I massaged my shoulders.

I need a favour, and in the light of our last encounter I believe youre the right man to ask. Do what Occusia asks, and Ill be very grateful. Very grateful indeed. Turn her down, or fudge things, and watch my lips here, please youll wish that youd never been born. The smile broadened. Your choice, absolutely no pressure. You understand?

Ah -

Good. Im glad. Now if youll excuse me I have work to do.

Scams to run, magistrates to square, bodies to hide. Busy, busy, busy. Yeah, I said. Sure. Have a nice day.

He left, closing the door behind him.

Shit.

We stared at each other, the Respectable Dumpling and me, for a good half minute. Then she cleared her throat.

Hes a lovely man, really, she said. When you get to know him. Pour yourself a cup of wine, Valerius Corvinus, and sit down.

There was a tray with a silver wine jug and cups on the table in the corner. I went over and poured myself a badly-needed whopper.

You mean he didnt mean it? I said.

Oh, yes. Publius always says what he means. But theres no real malice in him, thats just his way.

Oh, whoopee. I took a major swig of the wine first-grade Falernian, as if Id expected anything less -, gave myself a top-up and took the cup over to the reading couch. Well, if my balls were properly in the mangle here which they undoubtedly were I might as well grin and accept the situation. For the time being, anyway.

Fine, I said. So whats this favour?

I want you to find my son. Titus.

Oh, really? Gods, lady, if Eutacticus wanted me to find his son for him then why not just -?

No. Titus isnt Publiuss, hes mine. From a previous marriage. Publius is his stepfather.

Same difference. Why couldnt he have told me himself?

Its complicated. He cant be involved. She fixed me with anxious, mousey eyes.

Okay. I set the cup down on the small table next to the couch. So maybe itll save us a bit of time if you just start at the beginning and talk me through it.

The mousey eyes blinked. Publius and I were married two years ago. Hed been divorced for twenty years, Id been widowed for ten. He had a daughter thats Sempronia and I had a son, Titus. Hes just turned twenty-two. Such a lovely boy, and we were so grateful to Publius for taking us in. However, to tell you the truth, theyve never really got on. And recently its got worse. Much worse.

Uh-huh. I was beginning to see the light here, and it wasnt too difficult to guess what was coming next. Your sons done a runner? I said.

She nodded. He left a note for Publius saying he was leaving, and if he found out that Publius was using his contacts to track him down hed never see him again. He meant it, too. Titus can be quite stubborn, and hes just as strong-willed in his own way as Publius is. Publius was very upset. He was planning to adopt him formally in spite of she hesitated well, Titus wasnt very keen to take his name, what with one thing and another. He never has been.

Right. So what wed got here was the old story of the domineering father stepfather, in this case straight-arming his son to do something he didnt want to do, and the son taking the simplest way out. I could understand that: Id been through it myself when I was a lot younger than this Titus. And Id bet that when it came to straight-arming, Eutacticus wouldnt exactly be subtlety personified. Still, the young guy sounded like he was no soft touch, either, and reading between the lines Id guess that theyve never really got on was a whopping understatement. Life in the Eutacticus household over the past couple of years mustve been fun, fun, fun.