Finished Business

by David Wishart

  So far so good.

  Only at that point the whole thing gets wobbly, because that’s where Graecinus’s knowledge of the situation stops. Or ostensibly stops, anyway. Which brought us to three possible scenarios.

  First, Graecinus had been telling the truth, and the connection between Surdinus’s murder and the conspiracy was a complete mare’s nest from start to finish. Possible, sure, but for all kinds of circumstantial reasons as likely as a snowfall in July. File and forget.

  Second, that when the guy had sworn to me that he knew nothing about Surdinus’s death or the identity of his killer, despite all Felix’s torturers could do and the prolonged, unbearable pain, he’d been lying through what few teeth the bastards had left him. If you could credit him with that much sheer persistent courage then that scenario made perfect sense: although Valerius Asiaticus might’ve been under suspicion at that point, he was a long way from Gaius’s sliding table, and one word from Graecinus would’ve put him on it before you could say ‘rack’. Me, I doubt if I could’ve done the same, given the circumstances, but I had to admit it was a viable possibility.

  Third scenario, the really interesting one. Back, in a way, to the first: that when Graecinus had said he knew nothing about Surdinus’s murder he’d been telling the absolute truth. Not, though, this time because the dead man and the conspiracy weren’t connected, but because X was working to his own agenda; the decision to have the guy killed and the arrangements for his actual murder were made on his own authority, without the knowledge and agreement of the others. If that was the case, then we were faced with what could be an entirely new ball-game: unless X – Asiaticus – was playing things off his own bat, which was pretty unlikely, then he was working for or with someone else. In other words, what we had was a conspiracy within a conspiracy, one that was still up and running, and one that neither Gaius nor Felix knew about. And, presumably, I had until the Palatine Games in eight days’ time to crack the problem.

  Shit. Score one for Alexander.

  I took a long swallow of the Special.

  So, what did I do now? The most sensible course of action, naturally, would be to take the whole boiling straight to Gaius, or to Felix, at least. Where treason was concerned, they were the experts, and if the plot went ahead and succeeded then it was Gaius himself who’d get the chop. Only I couldn’t do that, could I? Not yet, anyway. First, because it was only a theory with nothing to back it up; second because Gaius himself had told me in so many words that as a conspirator Asiaticus was a non-starter, and given the emperor’s current mental state I wasn’t stupid enough to risk contradicting him. The third reason, though, was the clincher: I’d seen what happened to treason suspects first-hand, and there was absolutely no way I was about to finger Asiaticus – or anyone else – to Felix when I wasn’t a hundred per cent cast-iron sure of the bastard’s guilt myself. Absolutely no way.

  Eight days it was, then. Bugger. I took another swallow.

  Right. Plan of action. When in doubt, dig and see what turns up that you can use. I needed to find out more about Julius Asiaticus. Also, of course, about the two guys whose names had cropped up in Herennius Capito’s evidence, the Praetorian prefect Arrecinus Clemens and the top-notch civil servant Julius Callistus: Gaius could dismiss them if he liked, but me, I couldn’t take the risk, and besides, my gut feeling told me they came into this business somewhere along the line.

  So a visit to Cornelius Lentulus was definitely in order, because if my pal Caelius Crispus was the expert where the private, seamy side of Rome’s Great and Good went, then old Lentulus balanced him where their public and not-so-public roles as political animals were concerned. Balanced, that is, in its purely metaphorical sense: physically Lentulus would’ve made three of Crispus with a large helping of blubber still to spare, and he wouldn’t have balanced anything lighter than a hippo. As a brain, though, and a mine of information, eighty years old or not the guy was in peak condition. Also, he lived just up the hill from us, which, given the current filthy weather was an added bonus. Not even I enjoyed slogging my way through streets with mud and worse up to the ankles, in the teeth of a freezing rainstorm, and in general early January wasn’t the time to be out and about in Rome.

  Lentulus it was, then, and there was no time like the present. I downed the rest of the wine in my cup and went to change into my outdoor things.

  Onwards and upwards.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Like I said, Lentulus lived only a few hundred yards upslope from us, not far from Mother’s and Priscus’s place, in a rambling old property that predated most of the ones on the hill. It was fortunate that it was close, since I’d been right about the weather, and the road was a muddy river overflowing its central guttering. I wondered how Perilla was getting on; not a wet-weather fan, either, that lady, and although she’d be snug and dry in the litter, I knew there’d be hell to pay when she got back. Especially if she hadn’t found anything to suit.

  Ah, well, it wasn’t every day we got invited to an imperial dinner party. Luckily. Not that I was looking forward to it, mind.

  I gave my name to the door slave and he took me through. Not to the atrium: Lentulus was holed up in his study, on a couch big and hefty enough to take half a squad of Praetorians, and the room was heated like an oven.

  ‘Ah, Marcus,’ he said when the slave had closed the door behind me and left me cooking. ‘Come to visit the invalid on his bed of pain, have you? Good of you, my boy!’

  Yeah, well, whatever was wrong with him didn’t look too serious: the table beside the couch was laden with goodies, and his ancient major-domo was in the process of topping up his wine cup.

  ‘Hi, Lentulus,’ I said, pulling up a stool. ‘You’re ill?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing much. Just a cold. A complete stinker, mind; I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.’ He sneezed. ‘Bugger! Desmus, get Valerius Corvinus a drink. Not this muck, Marcus, it’s hot honey wine. Poisonous stuff, but my doctor says it’s the best thing for me. Hot and dry to counter cold and wet, or some such Greek nonsense. The Falernian, Desmus, if you will.’ Another sneeze; he reached for a napkin, blew his nose and tossed the napkin aside. ‘Excuse me. What’s it doing outside, weather wise? Still pissing down hard?’

  ‘Yeah, more or less.’

  ‘Good. No fun being snug as a bug in a rug in here if the poor bastards outside aren’t suffering. How’s Perilla?’

  ‘Blooming. And we’re grandparents now. As of the Winter Festival.’

  ‘Clarus done his duty and young Marilla’s popped, then, has she?’ It always amazed me that Lentulus had people’s names at his finger-ends: the last time I’d seen him had been two years before, when Marilla and Clarus were first engaged, and I’d only mentioned our son-in-law’s name to him once. Still, among his erstwhile senatorial cronies, Lentulus’s nickname was ‘the Elephant’, and it wasn’t just because of his size, either. ‘What is it? Boy or girl?’

  ‘Boy. Marcus Cornelius Clarus.’

  ‘That’s good. Girls’re too much trouble, in my admittedly limited experience. Give them my congratulations and best wishes.’ Desmus was at my elbow, handing me a cupful of Falernian. I sipped: beautiful. Lentulus knew his wines; he ought to, he’d swallowed enough of them in his time. ‘Help yourself to nibbles.’

  ‘No, I’m OK, thanks.’ I looked at the table: the ‘nibbles’ included quails’ eggs, marinated chicken legs, bean rissoles and a selection of dried fruits and nuts. ‘I’m sorry, Lentulus, I’m disturbing you. Early lunch, is it?’

  ‘Nothing of the kind, as you well know, you sarcastic young bugger. Just a mid-morning snack. Feed a cold, starve a fever. Didn’t your old grandmother teach you anything?’

  From what I remembered of Grandma Calpurnia, she’d’ve told the slaves to remove the whole boiling and replace it with a bowl of nourishing barley gruel. Still, maybe medical theory had moved on in the past thirty years. ‘Obviously not,’ I said.

  ‘Clearly.’ He grinned, coughed, and selected
a chicken leg. ‘Right, boy. Social civilities dispensed with, we can get down to business. You’re here to pick my brains again, yes? So what’s it about this time? Another conspiracy?’

  Straight to the point as usual. Another thing I liked about Lentulus. ‘Ah …’

  ‘Hmm. That bad, eh? Well, in that case don’t bother telling me because I don’t want to know. At my time of life, the less anxiety I have the better. Or so the doctor says, and this time I’d agree with the po-faced old bugger.’ He bit into the chicken leg and chewed. ‘Fire away, then.’

  ‘Just some background information on a few names. Starting with Valerius Asiaticus.’

  ‘Asiaticus?’ The eyebrows went up. ‘Not a star performer, that one, young Marcus. Fella’s one of the Johnny-come-lately Gallic crowd. Allobrogian, from Vienne. Good local family, had their citizenship originally from one of your lot about a hundred years back. Valerius Flaccus, that would be, the Transalpine governor. Consul suffect in the old emperor’s last year, resigned before his six-month stint was up. Rich as Croesus, owns a house and gardens the other side of the river that used to belong to Lucullus. Wife Lollia Saturnina, our Gaius’s ex-wife’s sister. Silly woman, too fond of jewellery, thinks that it and good looks make up for brains, and she’s possessed of conversational skills that would disgrace a parrot. He’s technically a senator, but lazy as hell. Doesn’t turn up for meetings very often and steers clear of committee work. Not that I blame him there; it’s the bane of existence and boring as hell. That do you?’

  ‘No, I knew all that. Barring the bit about the jewellery.’

  ‘You’re hard to please today, you young sod. What, then?’

  ‘His reasons for resigning his consulship, for a start. The emperor told me it was because he couldn’t take the pressure.’

  That got me a straight look. ‘Been talking to Gaius, have you? This must be important, right enough.’ I said nothing. ‘Well, it’s none of my business. Or rather, I don’t want it to be.’ He downed some more of the wine, tore off another mouthful of chicken and took his time chewing it, not taking his eyes off me all the while. Finally, he swallowed and shrugged. ‘Very well, young Marcus Corvinus,’ he said. ‘Pressure isn’t exactly the word I’d use, although I can see why Gaius chose it.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘See if you can get there yourself. What was happening, politically, that last year of Tiberius’s life?’

  ‘Uh …’

  ‘Come on, Marcus, you’re being slow! Put your thinking cap on! I’ll give you a whopping great clue. Gemellus.’

  Shit. ‘Tiberius altered his will. Or the part affecting the succession, anyway.’ He was right; I should’ve thought of that myself. ‘Up to then, Tiberius’s grandson Gemellus had been his only principal heir, in effect his named successor. Only now he named Gaius and Gemellus as joint heirs.’

  ‘Right. And we’re anticipating matters slightly here, but it’s relevant. Tiberius died in March the following year. Gemellus being underage and several tiles short of a watertight roof to boot, Gaius became emperor. Come December or thereabouts, what happened?’

  ‘Gaius had Gemellus executed. For conspiring against him while he was ill.’ Fuck; we’d been through all this the last time I’d talked to Lentulus, regarding the Macro business: the whole Gemellus plot had been a sham, from start to finish. ‘What’s this got to do with Asiaticus’s resignation?’

  ‘Evidence of intelligent planning, boy, and a nose for the way the wind was blowing. He’s a smart cookie in that respect, Asiaticus, always has been. Oh, there was no skulduggery involved on his part, quite the reverse, and at the end of the day it probably saved his life.’

  I frowned. ‘I’m sorry, pal, you’ve lost me completely here.’

  ‘Marcus, Marcus!’ Lentulus tossed the remains of the chicken leg on to the table. ‘Use your brain! We’re talking factions. Julians against Claudians, the way it’s always been ever since that bitch Livia’s day. Asiaticus was and is a protégé and supporter of the old emperor’s sister-in-law Antonia, right? Gemellus’s great-aunt by marriage, and definitely on the Claudian side of the fence. In fact, he’s been a close friend of her son Tiberius Claudius for years. Gaius, of course, is a Julian through and through. So between Gaius and Gemellus, where would his sympathies lie as far as the question of Tiberius’s successor went, hmm? Or rather, where would Gaius assume they lay?’

  I was beginning to see light here. ‘With Gemellus, naturally.’

  ‘Correct. Like I say, Asiaticus isn’t stupid, far from it; he could see the way things were going better than most, and a whole lot earlier. It was getting too hot for him, so he cleared out of the kitchen while he still could. Jacked it in completely and went off to prune his roses on the other side of the Tiber. Which is what he’s still doing.’ He held up his cup for Desmus to fill. ‘At least, that’s his story.’

  ‘You don’t believe him?’

  Lentulus chuckled and coughed. ‘Now don’t you go putting words into my mouth or taking me up wrong just because it happens to suit you, you over-suspicious young bugger,’ he said. ‘I don’t have an opinion one way or the other, and nor should you. All I’m saying is that the man’s a survivor, but whether that comes about through deliberate craft or inbuilt nature, I don’t know. He was a close friend of Junius Silanus, too, and that wasn’t a safe thing to be when the emperor decided he was conspiring with Gemellus and ordered him into suicide. Asiaticus was left alone because he kept a low profile. Head well below the parapet. Best policy to adopt when you’re dealing with a paranoid bastard like Gaius, hey?’ He caught himself and tutted. ‘As you were, Marcus, forget that, I didn’t say it. It was the wine talking, right? Or maybe this cold. I’m not at my best.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Understood.’ A survivor. Head below the parapet. Yeah, that had Asiaticus to a T: he’d survived this time as well, whether because, as Lentulus had said, he’d planned things deliberately, or because he was quite genuine and what you saw was what you got. Certainly, he’d convinced Gaius, and like I say the emperor was no fool where judging character was concerned. I thought of those snakes that blend in with their background so perfectly that you don’t know they’re there until they rear up and bite you …

  OK, so plenty of food for thought there. And it all fitted. Pace Gaius, Asiaticus was definitely in the frame. Move on.

  ‘What about Julius Callistus?’ I said. ‘You crossed his path at all?’

  ‘The emperor’s financial secretary? No, can’t say I have.’

  ‘Know anything about him?’

  ‘Only that he’s bloody good at his job, like a lot of the freedmen Gaius has been filling the top imperial admin posts with these past few years. Mind you, he’d have to be, especially these days.’

  ‘Why so?’ I reached over and helped myself to a stuffed date.

  ‘Because what with one thing and another, Gaius is getting through money like there’s no tomorrow. Publicly and privately. It has to come from somewhere, and even those bloody fancy direct taxes he’s introduced lately aren’t bringing in enough pennies to pay the bills.’ Lentulus chuckled and peeled a quail’s egg. ‘Just shows you to be careful what you wish for, boy. When the emperor started using freedmen, some of my more poker-up-the-arse colleagues down the hill moaned like hell. Ex-slaves with their master’s slap still fresh on their cheeks giving the orders and running the empire? What would Sulla have said? Barbarians at the gates, the end of civilization, grouse, grouse, grouse. You know the sort of thing.’ He dipped the egg in fish sauce, popped it into his mouth and chewed. ‘Only now you don’t hear a cheep from them, do you, because the tossers know that if they moan too loud and Gaius hands the job over to them, Rome’ll be bankrupt inside of a month.’

  ‘As bad as that, is it?’

  ‘Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a tad. But if it wasn’t for Julius Callistus and his ilk over on the Palatine doing their financial balancing act and holding things together, the treasury would be looking pretty bare.’r />
  ‘Uh-huh.’ Interesting. ‘OK. Last name. Arrecinus Clemens.’

  ‘Clemens, eh?’ Another shrewd look as he reached for the quails’ eggs. ‘Quite a mixed bag you’ve got there, Marcus, my boy. Praetorians, now, is it?’

  ‘Yeah, as it happens.’ I kept my voice neutral. Not that I had any illusions about being able to pull the wool over Lentulus’s eyes. He was no Secundus; he’d been involved in the labyrinthine world of politics all his life, certainly long enough to know how many beans made five, and the pattern that was emerging here was pretty obvious. As were the implications, and so my reasons for asking. If he’d decided to play dumb then it was through conscious choice. ‘Anything you’ve got.’

  He grunted and concentrated on shelling the egg. ‘Joint Praetorian prefect, equestrian, good provincial Italian family but nothing special – from Arpinum, or thereabouts. Military type to the bone, not a political. Steady, reliable, conscientious. Solid clear through, particularly where his head’s concerned. Which of course was why Gaius appointed him.’

  Well, again I’d known most of that, and from Gaius himself. But there had to be more. ‘Happy in his job?’ I said.

  Lentulus hesitated. ‘Moderately,’ he said. ‘Chap’s got a bit of an awkward bee in his bonnet, though. About the Jews, of all things.’

  Yeah; Gaius had mentioned that, too. ‘The God-Fearer business,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘That’s right. You’d heard?’

  ‘Not in any detail, no. Why awkward?’

  ‘Because it’s producing a certain … conflict of interests.’ He still wasn’t looking at me; all his attention was on the egg. ‘You know about the Alexandrian delegation?’

  ‘No. What delegation would that be?’

  ‘From the Jewish community there. Led by a chap called Philo. They arrived in Rome a year ago to petition the emperor to give them equal citizen rights with the Greeks. They’re still around, as it happens.’