Sejanus (Marcus Corvinus Book 3)

by David Wishart

  'Yeah. I understand,' I said; and left.

  Sarpedon arrived half an hour later, in a litter that put mine to shame, looking every inch the society doctor in a Greek cloak and mantle that must've cost an arm and a leg. Probably literally, and someone else's. The crowd parted to let him through, which was superstition, not respect; in the tenements, doctors and undertakers are given plenty of space, and for the same reasons. Most of the time there isn't much difference between them anyway. I just hoped Sarpedon would prove the ghoulish bastards wrong, despite the snazzy turnout.

  'Where's the patient, sir?' he said when he saw me. Old habits die hard; I was still the master's son, even if Sarpedon had come a long way since he patched me up the time of my last visit to the Janiculan.

  'One floor up. I'll take you.'

  'Fine.' He signalled to his slave, another Greek, but thirty years younger. 'Mnester, bring the bag.'

  The man pulled a leather bag out of the litter and followed us up the steps.

  Marcina and Perilla were where I'd left them, Marcina sitting on the bed beside Lippillus and Perilla in the room's only chair. They got up as we came in. Lippillus was still breathing, and I murmured a quick prayer of thanks to whatever god happened to be on duty. Sarpedon took off his cloak and bent over to examine him, his long fingers moving lightly and methodically over the blood-crusted scalp. Finally he straightened, frowning.

  'How long has he been like this?' he asked.

  I looked at Marcina, but she'd turned away. 'Two hours,' I said. 'Three. Maybe longer.'

  Sarpedon grunted, and his frown deepened. 'I need more light. Fetch as many lamps as you can find. A basin of hot water. And some clean cloths.'

  'We'll see to it, Marcus,' Perilla said quietly. 'Marcina, come with me. I don't know where things are.'

  They left. Sarpedon turned to the slave.

  'The bag, please, Mnester.'

  The slave pulled over a small table, set the bag on it and began unpacking a collection of instruments: bronze forceps, a razor, a small saw...

  'You think he'll live?' I asked.

  Sarpedon hesitated before answering. 'I'll do what I can, of course,' he said, 'but I doubt it. I doubt it very much. The blow has broken the side of the skull and there's a collection of bruised blood pressing on the brain. If I can trephine the skull without killing him in the process and relieve the pressure then he has a chance. A very poor one.'

  'How poor?'

  A pause. 'I'm not a gambler, sir. But if I were I would not like the odds.'

  Jupiter! Still, it was as well to know. 'Is there anything I can do?'

  'Yes. Two things. Keep out of my way, and offer a prayer to Asclepius.'

  'You think that'll do any good?'

  He smiled softly. 'No. Not much. And I'm very much afraid that the Lord Asclepius would agree with me. However, it will keep you busy.'

  Perilla came back with four oil lamps on a pedestal hanger.

  'These were all I could find,' she said. 'Marcina's borrowing more from Latinius.'

  'Twist the arms of a few of these ghouls outside and see what they can come up with,' I said sourly. 'Let them make themselves useful for once. What about the water?'

  'Latinius's wife had a brazier already lit. It's coming.'

  'Hermes be praised for a sensible woman.' Sarpedon stripped off his mantle and rolled up the sleeves of his long-sleeved tunic. 'Your pardon, sir. Madam. Mnester can do everything needful for me now, and I'm afraid the next part is not going to be pleasant. Could I ask you to leave, please? I'll call when it's over.'

  'Uh, yeah. Sure.' I edged towards the door. 'Come on, Perilla.' Then I paused, and spoke softly to the figure on the bed. 'Good luck, pal.'

  We sat round the table in the other room, staring into the darkness and listening for sounds. Asclepius had had his prayers. They weren't much in my line, but the old guy couldn't complain that I didn't mean them. Finally the bedroom door opened and Sarpedon came out drying his hands on a towel.

  No one asked the question. None of us dared. Sarpedon answered it anyway.

  'Perhaps,' he said. 'He's still alive, at any rate. And the operation, I think, was successful.'

  Marcina buried her face in her hands. She hadn't cried; all evening, she hadn't cried. Now she did. I felt like joining her, but she was doing fine on her own.

  'Can we see him?' she said at last.

  'If you like, madam. He's still not awake, of course. That's the next hurdle.' Sarpedon hesitated, and cleared his throat. 'You do understand, don't you, that he may not live even yet? I've done my best, but from now on the matter is out of my hands. My dear, your husband may simply...not wake up. I've seen it before, many times, with head injuries. The patient goes deeper and deeper into sleep, and no amount of stimulation will rouse them.'

  Cheerful bastard; but then he was quite right to warn her. I didn't correct the assumption that they were man and wife, either.

  'We'll just have to hope your Asclepius was listening, then,' I said.

  'Indeed, sir.'

  We hesitated at the door. 'Go on, Marcina.' Perilla said.

  Marcina Paullina blew her nose on a napkin and stood up.

  'We'll all go,' she said.

  The bedroom seemed very bright after the darkness of the other room: Perilla and Marcina had managed a good dozen lamps eventually, plus the oil to fill them, and over half were still lit. Mnester was packing away Sarpedon's surgical tools. On the floor, the basin of what had been warm water was filmed with a scum of blood and hair. I gave it one quick look and decided my stomach wouldn't take another. On the bed, Lippillus looked like death. His eyes were still closed and his face was grey beneath the turban of bandages, but at least he was breathing normally now.

  'Hey, pal,' I said quietly.

  Marcina picked up his hand and laid it against her cheek.

  'Try calling him, madam,' Sarpedon said. 'A familiar voice sometimes brings them back.'

  'Decimus?' Marcina whispered. Then louder: 'Decimus!'

  The breathing didn't alter. Marcina tried again; and again. Finally Sarpedon shrugged.

  'Never mind,' he said. 'It's early days yet. Keep trying. And don't be afraid to touch him. Gently, and not his head, of course.' He reached out for the mantle which Mnester put into his hand. 'I'll call back tomorrow to see if there's any change.'

  I saw him out and followed him to his litter. The vultures had gone elsewhere now. I hoped it was a good sign.

  'You think he'll pull through?' I said.

  Sarpedon paused; even in the light of the torches that the litter slaves held I could see how tired he looked. I wasn't feeling too bright myself, but the numbness had worn off.

  'Perhaps,' he said at last. 'If he wakes quickly. Otherwise no. We can only hope.'

  'Yeah.' I swallowed. 'Yeah. Thanks anyway. Whatever happens.'

  'Oh, I'll send you my bill, sir.' He gave me a fleeting smile and signalled to Mnester who'd followed us downstairs with the bag. 'It won't be a small one, either. And you owe something to my lord Asclepius too. If I were you I'd keep him sweet, because your friend is going to need all the help he can get.'

  I waved them off and turned back to the tenement entrance. No, I wouldn't forget Asclepius. I wouldn't forget the bastard with the iron bar, either. Whether he had Sejanus's protection or not, if I found him – and I'd find him, sure I would – he was dead meat. That was one debt I intended to pay in full, personally.

  18.

  There was still no news from Marcina next morning. I gave breakfast a miss and went over to Watch headquarters first thing in the hope of catching Lippillus's deputy Valens. I was lucky: he was just going through the previous night's reports at his boss's desk.

  'Corvinus.' We shook hands. 'Pleased to meet you. Have a seat.'

  'Thanks.' I pulled up a bench and looked around. Lippillus's office was pretty stark. Its only decoration –if you could call it that – was a plan of the First and Second Regions stuck up on the wall.

&nb
sp; 'How's Lippillus?' Valens said.

  'No change. The doctor says if he comes round he has a chance, but he's still unconscious.'

  'Mm.' Valens grunted. 'We'll get the man who did it. Don't you worry.'

  'What exactly happened?' I said. 'Do you know?'

  The deputy stood up. He'd've towered head and shoulders over Lippillus, and he looked like he had German blood somewhere. 'No more than you do yourself by now, I suppose. Did Marcina tell you about the carters?' I nodded. 'They found him here' – he pointed to the city plan – 'tucked behind the Liber shrine just this side of the Latin Gate, an hour before sunset. It was lucky they recognised him and gave themselves the trouble to bring him back. Carters aren't usually so co-operative.'

  'So they didn't see the attack?'

  'No.' Valens smiled sourly. 'Or if they did they're not saying. Their story is they went for a quiet piss, which is likely because the shrine's hidden from the main road and there're bushes behind it. The boss was lucky they came along.'

  I looked at the plan. The Latin Gate was at the very edge of the First Region, where Latin Road leaves the city boundaries. Pretty far out, in other words, right on the border of Lippillus's patch and well away from the more thickly-populated urban area that was the Watch's usual stamping ground. Yeah. Lucky was right. Off the main drag, he could've lain unnoticed for days.

  'Any idea what he could've been doing over there?' I said.

  'None. We'd no reports of any trouble around that area. He may've been following up something that happened elsewhere, connected to another case.'

  Yeah. Or maybe it had been unofficial; and if so I'd be prepared to lay bets on the subject matter.

  'You get the names of the two who found him?'

  'Naturally.' Valens consulted one of the wax tablets on his desk. 'A pair of brothers, Hasta and Pertinax. Local lads. Not that they'll be any more help. Like I say, carters tend to avoid official questions, and I've sweated them already. Personally and very thoroughly. They don't know anything more than they've already told us.'

  'You're sure about that?'

  'As sure as I can be.'

  Uh huh. Well, maybe, but it was still worth checking, and a few silver pieces might jog a memory or loosen a tongue where an official sweating gets you nowhere. I shelved that idea until later: carters work nights, because wheeled traffic is banned within the boundaries any other time. My best chance of catching Hasta and Pertinax would be at the cart station outside the gate just before sunset.

  'Lippillus didn't say anything to you about his plans?' I said. 'Nothing at all?'

  Valens shook his head. 'No. Mind you, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. We work overlapping shifts, and if a problem or a lead had just come up he'd've told me about it at the changeover or left a message, and he was hit before he could do either. He didn't say anything to any of the lads on his own shift, either, not the ones I've talked to, anyway, which is most of them by now. And the rest've just come on.' He paused. 'Corvinus, what is this? I know you're a close friend of his, but this is Watch business.'

  'Meaning the Watch can handle it on their own and nosey half-arsed purple-stripers can butt out?'

  I was grinning while I said it, and he grinned back and ducked his head.

  'Something along these lines,' he said. 'I wouldn't put it so politely myself.'

  'Fair enough. Let's just say I have a vested interest. And like you said Lippillus is a friend. You object all that much?'

  'No.' Valens's grin faded. 'No, Valerius Corvinus, I don't object at all. Lippillus is well-liked in the Watch, and if you can nail the bastard who hit him for us you can drink free for a month, no questions asked. And any squaddie on the station will say the same.'

  Well, you couldn't say fairer than that. Information goes both ways, though. Without mentioning the Celsus tie-in I gave him the description of Ganymede that I'd given to Lippillus and Clemens. The hell with caution now; I wanted the guy cold. I wanted it so much I could taste it.

  When I'd finished, Valens nodded. If he thought I was holding something back – and he probably did, because he was no fool – then he was polite enough not to say so.

  'Thanks,' he said. 'That helps a lot. I'll spread the word to the other regions, too. Someone must know the man, and if Lippillus was looking for him then what happened to him makes sense.'

  'Maybe you should concentrate on the area round the Latin Gate,' I said.

  'Good idea.' Don't teach your grandmother to suck eggs, his tone said; but he was too polite to say so out loud. 'I'll spread the word, Corvinus, don't you worry. Like I said, we'll get him. Even if it takes a year.'

  'Yeah, sure.' I stood up. 'Just give me first refusal when you do, okay?'

  'Stand in line, boy.' Valens didn't smile. 'Stand in line.'

  . . .

  I called in at Lippillus's flat on my way back home. There was still no change. His face was a better colour, but his eyes were still closed and the lids didn't even flicker.

  'Has Sarpedon been?' I asked Marcina.

  'Yes.' At least she was talking to me now. 'He came first thing.'

  'He say anything?'

  'No. Except to tell me to keep trying to rouse him. I said I'd understood his instructions perfectly well the first time round.'

  Ouch. I'd bet she hadn't stopped trying, either, since we'd left the night before. 'You had any sleep yourself, Marcina?'

  'I'm not tired.' A lie: she was dead on her feet, and there were heavy bags under her eyes. 'Thank you for sending your slaves, by the way, but they're not necessary. Latinius next door is quite willing to run any errands that are needed.'

  'Marcina, you know how sorry I am,' I said. 'Let me help, okay? I'd change things if I could, but I can't.'

  'No. Of course you can't.' She turned away, and looked down at Lippillus. 'His job was bad enough at the best of times. I'm just angry that you had to make it worse. Now go, please. I'll let you know if and when he wakes up.'

  'Uh, yeah. Yeah, okay.' That was some bitter lady, but I couldn't blame her. I could only blame myself. Keep safe... I left without touching Lippillus, and feeling sick as hell. My two lads were next door. I told them to hang around in the street outside in case they were wanted, and set off for home.

  For the first time since the attack I found myself turning round to look for Felix and his mate the jolly Titan. I couldn't see any sign of them, naturally, but I knew they'd be around somewhere. That was another unsolved mystery, although one I didn't have the leisure just now to chase up. Who the hell were those two working for? And what was this Titius Sabinus stuff Felix had pointed me so carefully towards? Sure, Sejanus had framed the guy, but I knew that anyway: Sabinus had only been one of several Julians he'd stitched up in the killing years. There was the scam over the Sacrovir revolt, of course, but again I couldn't see that it mattered even if Sabinus had been directly involved at the Rome end. So what the hell was so special about Sabinus?

  I cudgelled my brains, but nothing came. Somehow no doubt it all made sense, but I couldn't for the life of me see how.

  Well, there was nothing else I could do for the moment, not until sundown when I could talk to Valens's carters. I went back to the Palatine, to sit and worry and feel like ten different kinds of rat, and wait for the message from Marcina that didn't come.

  . . .

  The sun was just above the horizon when I got to the Latin Gate. That part of the city is pretty sparsely populated. There're a few big houses on the slopes leading up to Asinianus Gardens, but the tenement blocks stop short of the beginning of Latin Road, and the Appian fork beyond Drusus Arch only has a scattering of cheap properties before the Tomb of the Scipios and the Appian Gate itself. After which there're lots of tombs but precious few houses. I was more sure than ever that Lippillus had been after Ganymede. He'd known where to lay his hands on the guy, sure he had: he was out there somewhere, on the edge of Lippillus's patch or beyond it. Only Ganymede had found Lippillus first.

  Carters are a breed
to themselves: night-owls who live a life separate from your ordinary city punter. Each gate has its quota, and the quota is self-limiting. All the carts along a given stretch are run by just a few families who've been there for generations, and they don't take kindly to strangers muscling in on the available trade. Like the aristocracy, if you want to join the club you either have to get yourself born into it or marry into it. There ain't no other way.

  When I reached the gate the line of carts was getting ready to move out. In. Whatever. The loads were anything and everything that had come up Latin Road the day before: marble blocks, drainpipes, vegetables, chickens, scrap metal, sawn timber. All Italy's bounty. I picked on a big red-haired guy at the front whose cart was loaded with enough furniture to equip half a tenement.

  'Hey, pal,' I shouted. 'Someone moving house?'

  He looked down at me. I thought for a moment he'd tell me to piss off – carters aren't the friendliest of Rome's citizen body – but the sight of my stripe must've changed his mind. You don't turn your nose up at possible business if you're on the carts, especially purple-striper business.

  'Nah,' he said. 'Special delivery for Zosimus's shop in the Velabrum. The brother's an auctioneer in Tusculum. You want anything carried, sir? I'm fixed but my cousin's free. Special rates.'

  I took out a silver piece and held it up. 'Not today, friend. But I am after information. You know Hasta and Pertinax?'

  'Latro's boys?' He frowned. 'This about the Watch commander that was hit two nights ago?'

  I nodded. 'No hassle. I just want to talk to them.'

  The frown lifted. 'Okay. They're not here yet, sir. Had a cousin married this morning, and they'll still be sleeping it off.'

  'Uh huh.' Carter weddings, unlike the usual variety, happen early in the day; that way the celebrations don't cut into work time. 'You think they'll be along later?'

  'Could be, but they were both pissed as newts when I saw them last. It depends if they've a load waiting.'

  'How can I find that out?'

  'Ask Surdus.' He jerked his thumb towards an old man with a wax tablet who was walking down the length of the line. 'He keeps the lists.'