'The crest would give his name away even if his face was covered. Right.' I sipped my wine. 'Ten gets you twenty our fourth conspirator was a pretty important guy.'
'He could have changed rings, surely. Left his own at home and worn a different one.'
'Sure he could have. But he didn't. Why go to these lengths? And who worries what a slave sees? Or rather doesn't see?'
'You think that's why my stepfather was exiled? Because he saw the man and recognised him?'
'It's possible. And if he knew there was some funny business going on and didn't report it–'
I stopped. Perilla was frowning.
'No,' she said. 'No, I'm sorry, but that doesn't make sense. I'll allow you the rest, but not my stepfather's exile. Augustus had no need to be unduly harsh. After all, the plot had already failed. Paullus was executed, Julia was exiled, Silanus went abroad.' She waved her hand. 'End of story.'
I set the winecup down. 'Yeah. End of story. So what happened to the guy with the ring? Our fourth conspirator? Why wasn't he arrested with the others?'
Perilla opened her mouth and shut it. I'd never seen her at a loss for words. It was quite something, and I owed it all to the Caecuban. Maybe I could get old Marcia to let me have a flask of the stuff.
'I'll tell you what happened to him.' I was enjoying this. 'Nothing. Zero. Zilch. He disappears out of the picture. No execution, no exile, no nothing. Not so much as a footnote.'
'Perhaps they just never caught him.'
'Perhaps they didn't want to catch him.'
Perilla stared. 'Why shouldn't they want to catch him?'
Clever women can be incredibly thick sometimes. But then Perilla hadn't grown up like I had in the murky world of power politics. I explained.
'Look. Silanus was the group stool-pigeon, right? He peached to Augustus. Now if Silanus knew who our fourth man was – which he must have done – the guy didn't have a hope in hell of avoiding prosecution. So if he wasn't prosecuted – which he wasn't – it means that the authorities knew who he was already.'
'But if they knew who he was, then–'
I laid it on the line.
'Sure they knew. Because our fourth man was involved in the conspiracy with their unofficial blessing.'
'You mean he was the emperor's agent?'
'Right. It was Augustus's classic ploy. Don't wait for a conspiracy to come to a head, infiltrate it and destroy it from the inside before it gets going. Our fourth conspirator could've been Augustus's man from the start.'
'Then he can't've been the reason for my stepfather's exile.'
That stopped me. 'Why the hell not?'
This time it was Perilla's turn to be patient. 'Because my stepfather said he'd seen something and failed to report it. If he only meant that he knew who your fourth conspirator was, and Augustus knew the man's name already, then surely it wouldn't matter very much?'
'Unless the fact that Ovid hadn't told him rubbed Augustus up the wrong way.'
'But you said Augustus wasn't vindictive. Punishing my stepfather with exile for something that happened by accident and hardly mattered in the end...well, I'd say that showed a fair degree of vindictiveness, wouldn't you?'
'Don't forget Ovid wasn't family like his daughter Julia's kids. And Augustus didn't like the poor bastard, either.'
'It's still completely out of proportion.'
'Yeah.' I swallowed the last of my wine and emptied the flagon into the cup. 'Okay. Maybe we're still missing something.'
'Of course there is another possibility,' Perilla said.
I frowned. The wine was finally getting to me. 'What's that?'
'That the fourth man was someone really important. Too important to risk charging.'
'You got anyone in mind, lady? The guy would have to be pretty big to rank above the emperor's granddaughter.'
'How about Tiberius? Would he qualify?'
I stared at her in numb shock. 'Oh, no. Not the emperor. It couldn't be the emperor.'
'Why not?'
Why not? How the hell could she be so calm about an idea like that?
'Because...' I began; and that was as far as I got.
Shit. Why not? I tried frantically to think of reasons. None of them worked. What was worse, everything that had happened in the last few days made perfect sense. If the Wart had been our fourth conspirator in the days when he'd been a not-so-humble commoner and he knew I was busy ferreting around in that particular closet then you could count my chances of seeing another birthday on the fingers of one foot.
'Oh, hell!' I whispered. 'Oh, hell and damnation!'
'It would make sense, wouldn't it?' Perilla said.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. But she was right, dead right. Of course it would make sense. Ten years before, the Wart had been the empire's foremost general. He had powers second only to Augustus's own, and although the old man hadn't actually named him as such he was the only realistic candidate for the succession. Paullus and Julia would've welcomed him into their cosy little conspiracy with open arms. It would've meant giving him the purple, sure, but the chance would've been too good to miss. Paullus would've had his work cut out getting the support he'd need for the top job anyway. As an imperial candidate he wouldn't be all that convincing; but as the man responsible for the new emperor's elevation he'd have his feet firmly on the bottom step of the throne. New bosses are very grateful people...
'Corvinus? I asked you a question. Don't you think it would make sense?'
'Hmm?' Absently I swallowed the wine in my cup and reached for the jug. It was empty. Well, maybe she was right. Maybe I did drink too much. 'Yeah, it'd make sense. But would it be worth Tiberius's while? After all, the emperor was into his seventies. And the Wart was set to succeed anyway.'
'Only so long as Augustus had no alternative.'
Right again. Tiberius was never exactly the blue-eyed boy with Augustus. He'd spent years being shifted around from the wings to centre stage and back, from star billing to supporting role. The only reason he'd got to be emperor at all was that there was no one else around at the time to do the job. Maybe he'd just got tired of being the permanent second choice. Maybe he just decided he couldn't wait any longer...
'Or maybe he was playing it both ends against the middle.' I didn't realise I'd spoken the words aloud until I noticed Perilla was staring at me.
'What was that?'
The Caecuban was working again. 'Maybe the Wart wanted to have it both ways. When Paullus propositions him he lies on his back and opens his legs. Then he runs and tells Augustus he's been raped. He can't lose, right? If the conspiracy comes off then Augustus is dead meat and he's the new emperor. If not and things aren't going too well then he can go back to the emperor and say, "Look, I've broken up your latest gang of troublemakers for you. See how loyal I am? I could've been emperor myself but I put your interests and Rome's first. Now how about a bigger share of the action?" In the event that's what happened. Maybe he didn't feel it was worth the risk, especially with Silanus doing his political tap-dance on the sidelines. So he pulled the plug on the conspiracy and bowed out gracefully.'
'And my stepfather?'
'Like I said, Ovid found out that Tiberius was involved. If he'd reported it to Augustus he would've simply been told that everything was under control and warned to keep his mouth shut. But he didn't. He didn't tell anyone. And where would that leave him with the emperor?'
Perilla leaned her chin on her hand.
'Augustus wouldn't be sure whose side Ovid was on,' she said. 'In effect he was giving his tacit support to the conspirators.'
'Right. Also, once everything was over and Tiberius had slid out from under Ovid would be an embarrassment. Or a potential embarrassment. Augustus had to make sure he wouldn't open his mouth too far, even by accident. It wouldn't do the emperor's street cred much good if the news got out that the second man in Rome had tried to knock him off the wall, would it? Ovid had to be disappeared, fast. The Black Sea was as good a place as any, s
hort of slitting his throat. And maybe even Augustus had a conscience.'
'It would explain something else too.'
'What's that?'
'Why Tiberius didn't allow him back when Augustus was dead.'
I nodded. 'Yeah. That's right. He could still open his mouth. And Tiberius was never a poetry-lover. He's a soldier first and foremost. In fact –'
I stopped. Stopped dead.
'What's wrong?'
'Shit.'
'Corvinus! Will you tell me what's wrong? Please.'
I didn't know whether to break down and sob with relief or howl with disappointment.
'Our fourth conspirator. Whoever he is, he isn't Tiberius.'
'What are you talking about? We've just spent ten minutes working out how –'
'I don't care. The fourth man can't've been the Wart. He was out of Rome at the time, on campaign in Illyricum.'
Silence.
'Are you sure?'
'Sure I'm sure.' I put my head in my hands. 'My father was the governor.'
'Ah.' Perilla was quiet for a long time. Then she said: 'In that case your comment was quite justified.'
I looked up at her. 'What comment was that?'
'Shit.'
A surprising lady, Perilla.
17.
My father was waiting for me in the atrium when I came down the next morning. This was crazy. We hadn't spoken in months and now I couldn't get rid of the bastard. He was like one of these winter colds that you just can't shake. I thought about asking him whether while he'd been governor in Illyricum Tiberius had gone back to Rome at any time, but I decided against it. He'd've seen through the question straight away and refused to answer, or just lied. Besides, just the thought of having something that big on the Wart, with the Wart knowing about it, brought me out in a cold sweat.
'Hi, Dad,' I said. 'What brings you back this time? Your pile cream run out?'
I thought that might make him lose his temper but it didn't. He'd obviously decided to play it cool as far as I was concerned.
'I was talking to Cornelius Dolabella yesterday,' he said.
'Yeah?' I was instantly on my guard. Dolabella was a relative of Lentulus and Lentulus, if you remember, was the guy who'd told me about Julia. I wouldn't've thought the old devil would've blabbed but evidently he had; and to the most unlikely person I could imagine. Dolabella was one of my father's most bosom cronies. I'd met him once or twice socially, although once would've been more than enough. You've seen the pigeons at Castor's Temple strutting around pecking for crumbs and shitting on the Wart's nice new marble steps? Yeah. Add a mantle and a squint and that's the guy.
'He had some news that may interest you,' my father was saying. 'His brother Decimus needs a replacement finance officer for Cyprus.'
So Lentulus hadn't given me away after all. I breathed again. 'Oh, whoopee, Dad. And him not half way though the year yet. Lost the one he'd been given, did he? That was clumsy.'
My father didn't smile. Not that I'd expected him to.
'It wasn't Decimus's fault,' he said. 'Young Rufinus was drowned in a boating accident off Paphos.'
'Oh. Oh, shit. I'm sorry.' I'd known Rufinus quite well. He wasn't exactly a friend, but he'd had more going for him than some of the other characters who inhabited Dad's world. 'I really am.'
'So is Decimus.' I can never tell whether my father is being sarcastic, drily humorous or just plain cold-blooded. 'The point is that your name was mentioned as a replacement.'
I stared at him. 'You're not serious?'
He sat down and drew the folds of his mantle around him as if he was expecting a tame artist to wheel in a bust-sized block of marble on a trolley.
'Why not?' he said. 'It's about time you took an active interest in your future.'
Maybe it was telepathy. I wished I hadn't mentioned the subject when I was talking with Perilla. Now it looked as if every bastard in Rome was rooting for Corvinus to make good. The soooner we knocked this on the head the better.
'I haven't done my time with a legion yet.' Young men of good family usually spent a year in the army as junior staff-officers. So far I'd managed to avoid it. The thought of being cooped up somewhere out in the sticks for twelve months with a band of jolly mates whose idea of fun was a morning's pig-sticking didn't exactly thrill me to bits. A month or so of that and I'd probably get myself massacred by the locals just out of boredom.
'I daresay an exception could be made,' my father said. 'You could postpone your military service for a year. There've been plenty of precedents.'
This was serious. I sat down. 'You say my name was mentioned. Who by?'
His face took on a carefully bland expression. 'You know the system, Marcus. These decisions are taken by committees rather than by individuals.'
'Come off it!' Now the shock was over I was beginning to think of the implications, and they stank like a barrel of month-old oysters. 'Yeah, I know the system. Sure I do. You set this up, didn't you? You and your mate Dolabella.'
'Of course we didn't.'
The denial came out pat. Too pat.
'Okay. So tell me who did.'
My father's mouth shut like a trap. I didn't know which was worse: that he was lying or that he was telling the truth.
I got up and walked towards the garden colonnade. I was trying hard not to lose my temper. After all if my father had arranged the posting himself he'd done it out of what he'd see as kindness, and probably used up a valuable favour in the process. And if he hadn't there was just the chance he'd still let slip who had. And that was a name I wanted to know.
'A junior finance post in Cyprus would keep me safely out of circulation for the next couple of years, wouldn't it?' I said quietly.
'I don't know about safely, Marcus, but two years represents a normal tour of duty, yes.'
'And it couldn't come at a more convenient time, either.' My back was to him. 'After all, if someone is so bad-mannered as to go around asking awkward questions...'
'Oh, for heaven's sake!' The irritation in his voice sounded unmistakably genuine. 'That nonsense has nothing to do with anything. You're being offered the most splendid start to a political career any young man could ask for and all you can think of is–'
'That's right!' I turned round. 'All I can think of is that I'm being packed off somewhere I can't do any harm in the hopes that the "nonsense" as you call it will die a natural death. Or maybe even I will, like that poor bastard Rufinus.'
'Marcus, don't be melodramatic.'
But I wasn't going to be stopped as easily as that.
'Look, it won't work,' I said. 'Is that clear? No way! I'm staying in Rome and that's all there is to it.'
'Then you're a fool.' That came out flat as a slap. My father stood up and draped the folds of his senatorial mantle correctly over his left arm as if he was walking into court. I should've seen the speech coming. I'd had similar ones all my life. 'I won't ask you to decide straight away. That wouldn't be fair since I've sprung it on you so suddenly. But I want you to think this over very carefully. It has nothing to do with this other stupidity of yours – you know my views on that and I won't repeat them, but it is a stupidity, nothing more and nothing less. The fact is that you're being offered a post that any other young man of your age would give his eye teeth for. If you turn it down for no good reason then people won't forget. And when you do deign to take your responsibilities seriously you'll find they just aren't willing to trouble themselves over you.' He brushed a hair from the mantle's broad purple edging-stripe. 'I'll be seeing Dolabella later this morning and I'll tell him I haven't had a chance to speak to you yet. Tomorrow's the start of the Spring Festival, so everything will be closed down for several days. That should give even you time to give the offer more than a fleeting thought. Perhaps you'll have the courtesy to inform me of your final decision when the holidays are over.'
I knew from the tightness of the muscles around his mouth and the clipped way he delivered the final sentences that he was
angry. Genuinely angry. My father was a politician's politician, and if there was one thing he could neither understand nor forgive it was for someone to refuse political advancement.
'Look, Dad,' I said as I followed him to the door, 'I'm sorry. I know you mean well. I know you've probably bust a gut trying to keep me in with the authorities.' This, I was sure, was true. He'd be concerned for the family name if nothing else. 'But I don't like being manipulated, and I don't like...'
He stopped and turned to face me. If he'd been angry before, now he was furious.
'You don't like!' he snapped. 'That's all I ever get from you, isn't it, Marcus? Perhaps if you stopped thinking of yourself for a change, of being so damned fastidious over what you will and won't allow, you'd be a better and pleasanter person and a more useful member of society. Now I have work to do, and I've spent more time on you this morning than your egotism merits. Let me know what you decide about Cyprus by the end of the festival. If you can spare a few moments of your valuable time to reach so minor a decision, naturally.'
And before I could reply he had stormed out, pulling the front door to out of the door slave's hands and slamming it behind him.
After he'd gone I did a great deal of serious thinking. Dad was right about Cyprus, of course; he always was, when it came to practical politics. If I turned this job down there'd be a black mark against my name which would take a long, long time to sponge out. Crete-and-Cyrene wasn't one of the most prestigious senatorial provinces going, let alone one with the social clout of an imperial giant like Egypt; but nonetheless to be offered the post of finance officer there was way beyond what I could reasonably expect at my age, and to spurn the offer would be to kick the senate's teeth down its communal throat. You just didn't do that and expect to live afterwards politically speaking. If I had any hopes of a future career in politics (and what other career was there for someone like me?), I'd have to accept. At least if it was a bribe, as it had to be, I couldn't complain that I was being undervalued.
Then there was what my father had said about me. About my egotism. That was true, too. I was honest enough with myself to admit it. And it had hurt, much more than I'd thought any comment of my father's would. Not that I could do much to change myself. We're all selfish egotistical bastards at heart, we upper-class Roman gentlemen. We always have been and we always will be. It's our weakness and our strength, it's what made Rome great and made her dirty. Even when we play the democrat it's only a questionable means to a selfish end. Selfishness is bred into us from infancy: the need to have the world as we want, to mould it to our requirements.
Ovid (Marcus Corvinus Book 1) Page 11
