‘Yes, sir. Knew him well. He was a centurion in the First Germanica, time I got this leg of mine. He’s no ex, though, or he wasn’t last I heard.’
‘But if he’s still with the First he’d be on the Rhine, right?’
‘No, sir. At least, what I mean to say is he’s not with the First any more. After the Frisian business he got transferred to the Praetorians.’ He grinned. ‘Lucky bugger. Those sods have it cushy, pardon my Greek, sir.’
My brain was whirling. ‘The guy’s a Praetorian?’
‘Far as I know, sir, unless you know different or it’s a different man altogether. I haven’t seen him in quite a while. I can’t help you with the second name, mind.’ He looked over his shoulder at the fat purple-striper. ‘Was that all, sir? Because Tattius Geminus can be a bit stroppy if he doesn’t get his full time.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s all.’ Jupiter bloody Best and Greatest! ‘Thanks, Publius.’
‘You’re very welcome, sir. I’ll see you again soon, I hope.’
‘Ah...yeah. Yeah, right.’
He gave me a funny look - I must’ve looked as out of things as I felt - and went back to his pupil.
I shook my head to clear it. Shit. Okay: collect the dog, go home, talk to Perilla. I walked across to the office and opened the door...
Placida was sitting just inside the threshold. Daphnis was on his feet, back pressed hard against the far wall. He couldn’t’ve got any closer if he’d been a coat of paint.
‘Having fun, pal?’ I said.
‘You bastard, Corvinus!’
Placida growled a warning, and Daphnis tried to squirm his way up the wall.
‘She’s been there practically since you left,’ he whispered. ‘She wouldn’t let me near the door and I didn’t even dare fucking scream.’
‘Must be your breath-freshener. She’s never done that with anyone else.’
‘And she’s eaten the abacus!’
I looked down. Sure enough, there it was, reduced to a tangle of wires and vulgar fractions. ‘Placida’s very, uh, tactile. If that’s the word. Or do I mean oral? Can you say that?’
‘Just get her out of here, okay?’
‘You sure?’
‘Corvinus!’
I grinned. ‘Yeah, okay, pal. Come on, Placida. Home.’
I set off back to the Caelian, brain buzzing. So. At least one of my fake stonemasons was a Praetorian, eh? Oh, sure: it made finding the guy easy-peasie, because the Praetorian camp was slap-bang next to the city boundaries, just beyond the Viminal Gate; but at the same time it left me with two major questions and a bigger-than-major worry. First question was what the hell was a serving Praetorian - possibly two - doing mixed up in this business? Second, if they were moonlighting or doing a favour for a pal then what had made them confident enough to give me their real names?
The worry was that slice it how you would Praetorians were Praetorians, and some of these pals were very important men. A couple even had names ending with ‘Caesar’.
I didn’t like the smell this case was beginning to give off; I didn’t like it at all.
26
Perilla wasn’t back when I got in, but then I hadn’t really expected her to be: we weren’t half way through the afternoon yet, and unless Sergia Plauta had had a prior early engagement they’d probably have a fair amount of character assassination to get through. I’d thought about dumping Placida and going straight up to the Praetorian camp, but I’d decided against it. First of all, it was quite a hike, and I’d had my whack of exercise for one day; second, I wanted to see Perilla first.You didn’t just walk into the camp of the emperor’s personal guard and accuse two of the city’s best and finest - assuming Pettius was a guardsman too - of murdering a Roman noble and using the corpse as a messenger-boy. Not if you wanted to walk out again. Sertorius Macro, the Praetorian commander and - in Tiberius’s and Prince Gaius’s absence - the de facto most powerful man in Rome, would get pretty intense about having two of his men accused of murder. And Macro was someone I definitely didn’t want to cross.
Oh, and yeah, sure, it had also occurred to me - I’m not stupid - that he might be involved directly himself, either off his own bat or in his official capacity. How or why that might be I hadn’t the slightest idea, but I really, really hoped that he wasn’t because it was a nightmare scenario. I’d had enough grief and heartache bucking his predecessor Sejanus, and I’d seen enough of the guy five years back on the journey from Capri to know that he was a seriously mean bastard in his own right. Certainly not the kind to welcome me with open arms and split a jug while we swapped jolly reminiscences about pulling Sejanus’s plug for him.
So I didn’t do anything or go anywhere, just lay around in the atrium with half a jug of Setinian, twiddling my thumbs and worrying, until the lady chose to reel home full of honey wine and salacious gossip. Which she did, about an hour later.
‘Hello, dear,’ she said. ‘Have a nice walk?’
‘Yeah, we went to Scylax’s gym. Tell you about it afterwards.’ I gave her the welcome-home kiss: honey wine on the breath, sure, but she was still mobile and coherent.
‘How’s Placida?’
‘Lying knackered in the garden. She had a hard morning intimidating Daphnis. So: was Sergia Plauta on form?’
‘Very much so.’ She collapsed onto the couch just as Bathyllus drifted in touting for drinks orders. ‘Placida isn’t the only one. That woman is exhausting. Some fruit juice, please, Bathyllus. Or better still a plain tisane, unsweetened. I’ve had enough honey to last me a month.’
‘Okay,’ I said as he soft-shoed out. ‘Let’s have the gory details. Unload.’
‘Acutia is having an affair with a man called Pontius Fregellanus.’
‘Yeah? And who’s he?’
‘A middle-aged noble. He’s on the staff of Sertorius Macro.’
My head came up so fast I nearly dislocated my neck. ‘Shit!’
Perilla gave me a sharp look. ‘Marcus, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ Oh, sweet immortal gods! Please, please let it not be Macro! ‘You’ve got the ball, lady. He’s a Praetorian officer?’
‘No. He’s a civilian, in charge of the camp’s clerical division.’ I was still getting the suspicious stare. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?’
‘Positive. What sort of guy is he?’
‘Stolid, worthy and serious, from what Plauta says, and she wasn’t being complimentary. His main interests, apart from his work, seem to be old Republican history and collecting rock samples. But he is - or he appears to be - totally captivated by Acutia. There’s even talk of a marriage.’
Jupiter in a wheelbarrow! Captivated, eh? Well, there was no accounting for taste. The woman was still good-looking enough in her mousey way, sure, but she was no Cleopatra, and from what I remembered of her she’d as much character as a polyp. Still, a boyfriend on Macro’s staff...That couldn’t be coincidence; no way could it be coincidence. The ice was already forming on my spine.
‘Anything else?’ I said.
‘That’s the gist of it. I’m omitting the finer details of how they met - Acutia seems to have been the motive force there - and the blow by blow account of the affair so far. Plauta gave me that in graphic detail, although after her summation of Fregellanus’s character and from my own knowledge of Acutia’s I suspect that most of it was her own invention.’ Perilla grinned. ‘She does have a very vivid imagination, Sergia Plauta. Either that, or a great deal of very questionable past experience.’
‘When did it start? The affair, I mean?’
‘Comparatively recently. Three months ago, according to Plauta.’
About the time when Papatius landed his job at the commission. Well, again that could be coincidence, but still... ‘And you say Acutia made the running? That not a bit out of character for the lady?’
‘A little. But she is older than I am, Marcus. Time’s running out for her. And she’s been widowed for five years.’
Yeah. Since h
er husband Vitellius topped himself at the emperor’s request over the Sejanus business. Sejanus. Shit, now that had to be a coincidence! Sejanus was dead and burned, he couldn’t be a factor. And, like Perilla had said before, there couldn’t be very many people in Rome from the top families who hadn’t had dealings of one kind or another with him. Even so...
‘This Fregellanus,’ I said. ‘He political, at all, now or ever?’
‘No, not in the least. Not in the way you mean it, anyway. He’s technically a senator but he rarely attends meetings and he’s never been on any important committee. “A nondescript”, Plauta called him, and I think she’s probably right.’ Bathyllus buttled in with the tisane. ‘Ah, thank you, Bathyllus. Just set it on the table, please.’
‘He’s never married?’ I said when the little bald-head had gone.
‘Again, no. Why, I don’t know, and nor, more to the point, did Plauta. There was nothing...well, there was no sexual reason why not. Perhaps he was just shy around women. Some perfectly normal men are.’
Yeah; and it would explain why Acutia had to make the running, too. Bugger; I was spinning cobwebs here, and I knew it. From an everyday, innocent point of view it all made perfect sense. Like Perilla had said, Acutia wasn’t getting any younger, and knowing a woman’s husband had been deeply involved with Sejanus, especially in the immediate aftermath of his fall, would be a powerful disincentive for potential suitors. Fregellanus might be no ball of fire, but he was a senator and so a social equal, and Acutia was lucky to get him. Besides, by the sound of it the two were just made for each other: solid bachelor with an interest in historical writing meets bubblehead widow with a penchant for poetry. It was a marriage made in heaven. Bring on the bluebirds and the slave with the nuts.
Still. Soranus, Albucilla, Acutia, Fregellanus, the Praetorians. The chain couldn’t be a coincidence; not with Aponius tying in from the other side to complete the circle...
Ah, well. Leave it for the moment. Certainly Fregellanus was another reason for going up to the Praetorian camp. Not that I particularly wanted a reason.
‘Your pet scandal-monger give you anything more on Albucilla?’ I said.
‘No, not really. Just more or less what we had already: that she is, or she was, now, Mucius Soranus’s long-time lover. Neither of them was particularly faithful to the relationship, mark you, and it always was a rather loose one.’ Perilla sipped her tisane. ‘What was interesting, though, was that Plauta said there’d been a coolness on both sides just before Soranus’s death. More than a coolness, a separation. The two seemed to be avoiding each other altogether.’
‘Yeah, that’s what Crispus told me. How long before?’
‘Only a matter of days. And yes, Marcus, I do see the implications. Since Papatius’s murder, probably.’
‘Or just before it, when they found out - as I’d bet they did - that Ahenobarbus had paid the kid’s debt to Vestorius. If my theory’s right then by that time the two of them must’ve been shitting bricks.’ I reached for my wine-cup. ‘Did Plauta have anything to say about Albucilla’s relationship with Papatius?’
‘Oh, yes. Quite a lot, in fact. They were certainly lovers in the physical sense; I was treated to a good half hour’s worth of juicy circumstantial evidence to that effect. Probably not an invention in this case, because Plauta’s maid is Albucilla’s maid’s cousin.’
‘And that affair had been going on how long?’
‘Again, two or three months. Possibly not the sexual side of things, but certainly the attachment.’
I took a mouthful of wine. ‘And Albucilla engineered it, right?’
‘Oh, yes. I was wrong about her cradle-snatching tendencies, or lack of them. Seemingly she quite often used Soranus as a means to pick up young men, and as I say they had quite an open relationship. She was very discreet, though, and the affairs never lasted long.’
Yeah, well, I’d got that already from Crispus, too, or some of it. I should’ve made the obvious inference, though. ‘Long enough to get her into their confidence, maybe,’ I said. ‘Winkle out any little secret they had that she could pass on.’
‘Mm.’ Perilla sipped her tisane. ‘Yes. That’s what I thought.’
‘No wonder the bastard was so accommodating. The two of them had a nice steady racket going. Soranus gets in with the young lads-about-town set, then when he finds a likely mark Albucilla seduces the kid and gets him to tell her bedtime stories. Whereupon Soranus puts the bite on.’ I swallowed another gulp of Setinian. ‘Neat.’
‘Neat and very nasty. Yes.’
‘Only with Papatius they bit off more than they could chew. They found they were tangling with Ahenobarbus.’
Perilla frowned. ‘Yes, but Marcus, they must’ve known that at the very outset. I mean, the secret they were blackmailing Papatius over involved Ahenobarbus from the very beginning.’
I shrugged. ‘Well, maybe they got greedy. Thought the returns were worth the risk. Or Soranus did. That’d explain why they quarrelled, wouldn’t it? Albucilla wasn’t keen on things from the start and Soranus persuaded her. Then when everything went pear-shaped the lady wanted out, only it was too late; she was already in shtuck up to her ears.’
‘Yes.’ Perilla was still looking thoughtful. ‘Yes, that would fit.’
‘In which case now Soranus is dead - murdered - she’ll be really panicking.’ I finished off the wine in my cup. ‘Maybe I should have another talk with Albucilla.’
‘Mmm.’ She looked up. ‘Well, that’s about all I have. Now tell me about your day.’
Here we went. I took a deep breath. ‘Aponius and Pettius are Praetorians. At least, Aponius is.’
She almost spilled her tisane. ‘What?’
‘Yeah. He served on the Rhine with Publius, the head trainer down at Scylax’s, nine years back. Publius said he’d been transferred to the Praetorian Guard.’
Her eyes were wide. ‘Oh, Marcus! That’s why you were so shocked when I told you about Fregellanus!’
‘“Shocked” doesn’t cover it,’ I said grimly. ‘There has to be a link.’
‘Sertorius Macro?’
No fool, Perilla. Still, there was no point in both of us worrying. ‘Not necessarily,’ I said. ‘After all, why should Macro involve himself in anything shady? It’d do him far more harm than good. He’s a big man these days, bigger than anyone in Rome, and when Tiberius pops his clogs and Gaius is emperor he’ll be even bigger. He’s got other fish to fry than settling the hash of some cheap blackmailer, and all he has to do is sit pretty, keep his nose clean and wait. Plus, where the hell he’d fit in with young Sextus Papatius’s death Jupiter only knows.’ I refilled my wine-cup. ‘Uh-uh. Don’t look for bogeymen under the bed before we have to. Fregellanus is link enough for the present.’
She was quiet for a good half minute, sipping her tisane. Then she said: ‘You’re going to the Praetorian camp tomorrow, aren’t you?’
I hadn’t missed the overtones. ‘Uh...yeah,’ I said casually. ‘Yeah, that would seem the logical next step.’
‘And you’ll be seeing Macro?’
‘If he’s around, sure. After all, it’s only polite. He is the boss, and –’
‘Marcus, be careful! I know you have to do it, but please be careful! No accusations, no heavy-handed questions. Macro’s far too powerful to offend, and if he is involved then letting him know you think he is would be very dangerous indeed.’ She paused. ‘Besides. I’ve got a feeling about all this, and it isn’t a pleasant one.’
I got up, went over and kissed her. ‘We’ve been through this before,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I’ll be careful. No sass, I promise.’
Definitely no sass. Especially since I’d got a nasty feeling about all this, too.
27
The Praetorian barracks are to the north-east of the city, between Viminal Field and Nomentan Road. They’re pretty new, only about fifteen years old: before Sejanus persuaded the Wart to bring them all together the nine Praetorian cohorts - with extras, just short of
five thousand men - were spread through Italy, with only a single cohort stationed in Rome itself. Yeah, sure, having what amounts almost to a full legion, and that made up of the best troops in the empire, free, ready and waiting to send off to a sudden trouble spot at a moment’s notice makes sense, but it’s a double-edged sword: whoever commands the Praetorians effectively controls the city, or could do if push came to serious shove. Which was why, of course, Sejanus had suggested the amalgamation in the first place; why the Wart, when he sent Macro to pull Sejanus’s plug, gave him a letter appointing him as the guy’s replacement; and why, currently, the said Macro was de facto the most powerful, most dangerous bugger in Rome.
I was doing this properly. Oh, yeah, although the barracks weren’t exactly next door it would’ve been an easy hour and a half’s stroll, quite pleasant in good weather, which that morning it was; and although I’d pass by the Caeliolan, where according to Perilla’s satyric librarian pal Albucilla hung out, this early in the day was too soon for a social call. I could have my second talk with the lady on the way back. If there was an ‘on the way back’. On the other hand, arriving at Macro’s front door on foot and in a travel-stained tunic wouldn’t do much for my personal street-cred.
So I put on my best mantle and took the litter again. Apart from anything else, the long run would do our lardballs good: Perilla did use them whenever she went out, sure, but that didn’t happen too often and litter-slaves need to be constantly exercised if you don’t want a team bulging with unsightly fat and panting at the slightest incline. I also took four of the Wrecking Crew along, this time in their best tunics. Mostly for the show when I reached the barracks: if things got sticky, as they might, even four extra-large trolls on the staff wouldn’t be much help against nine cohorts of Praetorians. I didn’t even think of taking Placida. Praetorians aren’t exactly notable for their sunny, easy-going natures, and just one anarchic paw out of line in the wrong company could have us both in shtuck.
We processed up to the gate in fine style, and the squaddies on guard even came to attention when I got out of the litter. I gave my name to the duty officer, twiddled my thumbs in the guard-house for ten minutes while he checked with higher authority and was then escorted up the Headquarters Road towards the headquarters building itself.
In at the Death (Marcus Corvinus Book 11) Page 22
