Ovid (Marcus Corvinus Book 1)

by David Wishart

  Her next words pulled the ground out from under my feet.

  'Oh, no, sir,' she said; and her eyes, even through the tears, were bright and guileless. 'I didn't mean Master Paullus. I meant my new master, Lady Marcia's husband. The Lord Fabius.'

  Time seemed to stop. Perilla's hand lay frozen against the old woman's forehead, and she stared at me in shock. The hairs lifted at the back of my neck.

  When they got the master...

  Oh, shit. Not another corpse. We'd got enough and to spare without any more bodies scattered around this case.

  'But Fabius wasn't arrested.' I tried to keep my voice calm and reasonable. 'And he wasn't accused of any crime, let alone executed. Fabius was an old man, and he died a natural death.'

  Harpale's eyes went blank.

  'Yes, sir,' she said. 'You're right. Of course you are. I made a mistake. I meant the Lord Paullus.'

  Yeah, I thought, like hell you did. But Perilla got in first.

  'Harpale.' I could hear the iron in her voice. 'How did my Uncle Fabius die? Let me have the truth, please.'

  The old woman looked at her for a long time. Then, in a voice so low I could hardly make the words out, she said:

  'He killed himself, madam.'

  'He did what?'

  'Killed himself. Slit his wrists.'

  'Why?'

  'I don't know. You'll have to ask the Lady Marcia.'

  'You mean my aunt knows?'

  'Yes, madam. Of course she knows.'

  'And she never told me?'

  The old woman's lips tightened and she said nothing.

  'You said "they", Harpale.' My head still hadn't stopped spinning. 'Who were they? The emperor's men?' I meant Tiberius's: Fabius had died barely a month after Augustus, just after the Wart had come to power. 'Why should the emperor want a harmless old guy like Fabius dead?'

  Harmless old guy. Yeah. I thought of Davus. He'd been a harmless old guy too.

  Harpale's lips were still set firm. She refused to look at me. Her eyes were on Perilla.

  'I'm sorry, madam. I shouldn't've said anything. I'm only a silly slave. Don't listen to anything I say.'

  'Harpale, please!' Perilla had got over her shock. Now she was kneeling beside the old woman's chair. 'You want us to find who killed your brother, don't you?'

  The lips trembled.

  'So this is important. We can't go any further. If my uncle's death is important in any way then we have to know. And we won't know unless you tell us about it.'

  The old slave was quiet for a long time. Then she said:

  'You weren't at the master's funeral, were you, madam?'

  Perilla frowned. 'No, I was too young. What does that have to do with–?'

  'Please, madam. Let me speak, please. I was there with the mistress. The Lady Marcia. She was in a terrible state. Wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep. Wouldn't even speak most of the time.'

  'But that's quite natural. After all, they'd been married for–'

  'Please, madam!' The old woman's bird-claw fingers clutched at Perilla's arm. She was trembling. 'Listen, please! We go to the funeral, the mistress and me. When the torch is thrown on the mistress suddenly runs forwards like she's going to fling herself in after it shouting that she's killed him. Killed your uncle.'

  Shit. This didn't make sense.

  'You said the guy commited suicide,' I said. 'Why the hell should Marcia think she'd killed him?'

  Harpale hesitated. 'He did kill himself, sir. I'm not quite sure what the Lady Marcia meant.'

  'Be quiet, Marcus.' Perilla was glaring at me.

  'Thank you, madam.' Harpale paused. 'Anyway, half a dozen of the mourners pulled her back and I took her to the coach. She talked to me on the way home. At least, she didn't really talk. It was more of a ramble, like. As if I wasn't there. You understand, madam?'

  Perilla nodded. 'Yes, I understand. What did she say?'

  'Mostly it was about a trip that the master had made with the old emperor. The Divine Augustus I should say. A trip that no one was to know about, to some island or other...'

  'Trimerus?' I couldn't stop myself. My scalp prickled. The old woman frowned.

  'No, not Trimerus, sir. That's where the Lady Julia is. This place was different. Plan- something.'

  Shit! Oh, Jupiter! Oh, Jupiter Best and Greatest! There was only one Plan- island that I knew of. And that was where Augustus had exiled his grandson, Julia's brother, for gross immorality...

  'Planasia?'

  'That was it, sir. To see the Exile, the mistress said.'

  'Augustus went to see Postumus?'

  'I don't know, sir. To see the Exile on Planasia, that's all she said. And she'd given away the secret. That's what was upsetting her.'

  I sat back in my chair, waiting for the world to right itself again and let me think. Postumus had been Julia's younger brother, exiled the year before Julia's own disgrace. He'd been executed – supposedly on Augustus's orders – immediately after the old emperor's death. But if Augustus had gone to see Postumus only a few months before, and secretly, then...

  'Who did she tell?' I whispered. The old woman stared at me. 'For Jupiter's sake, Harpale, you must know that! Who did Marcia tell?'

  The thin lips parted. Quietly, matter-of-factly, she said:

  'Of course I know, sir. She told her friend the empress.'

  Marcia had told Tiberius's mother!

  * * *

  Varus to Himself

  Let me tell you now (yes! At long last!) about Arminius; dread leader of the Cheruscan tribe, flaming spearhead of German resistance, Rome's arch-enemy and, of course, my current employer.

  I first met him three years ago in Rome, at one of my nephew Lucius's dinner parties. It was an all-male, all-military affair: myself, Lucius, Marcus Vinicius, the ex-governor of Germany, Fabius Maximus. And, of course, Arminius.

  I had known that Lucius had invited him, and I expected...what? A barbarian, certainly; someone with a veneer of civilisation, a performing bear in a mantle, dense of wit, halting of speech; a clod of German earth with the manners of a slave and the arrogance of a savage. I should have known better. Arminius's father had sent him to Augustus in childhood, and he had been reared as a Roman gentleman.

  Lucius introduced us. The young man – he can have been no more than twenty – rose politely from his couch. He was slim, his blond hair cut short in the Roman manner, and he wore his mantle with more grace than I did my own.

  We shook hands, and I said in German (I was with Tiberius when he reduced the Sugambri) 'I'm delighted to meet you, Prince Hermann.'

  'Your accent's better than mine, sir.' The young man smiled. His Latin was flawless. 'Perhaps we can arrange lessons?'

  There was general laughter.

  'Don't show off, Publius,' Fabius grunted. 'The lad's as Roman as you are. More so.'

  I could believe it. If it had not been for the colour of his hair he would have passed anywhere for a young Roman nobleman.

  We reclined, and slaves brought the first course. I noticed that Arminius ate sparingly, and had the wine waiter add extra water to his cup. Then someone (I think it was Lucius) brought up the subject of Illyria.

  It was a natural topic at the time, especially in that company: the whole country was up in revolt, Rome's back was to the wall and the soundness of our entire frontier policy was being seriously questioned. Not to mention the soundness of the ageing emperor's judgement.

  'The problem is,' Fabius fixed us with a levelled quail's egg, 'it's a matter of security. Augustus can't just let Illyria drop. She's vital to the empire's safety.'

  'No one's disputing that, old boy.' Vinicius, I remember, had the unpleasant nasal twang of a third-rate harpist. 'The trouble is he's gone too far and too fast. He's botched the job and now we're suffering the consequences.'

  Vinicius was absolutely correct, of course. As was Fabius. We needed Illyria. We needed the land route to Macedonia and Greece and control of the eastern passes through the Alps. Without Illyr
ia Italy was vulnerable and the empire split in half. And the initial stages of the conquest had been skimped.

  Fabius shifted uncomfortably. He was the emperor's man and one of his most trusted advisers. Criticism of Augustus did not sit well with him.

  'You may be right,' he conceded. 'Certainly we don't have the men for an armed occupation. But we must have a secure northern border somehow. It's a question of balance, the optimum use of the forces available. The Illyrian revolt has simply shown how difficult establishing that balance is.'

  'It would be easier if we pushed north to the Elbe,' Lucius said. 'That would shorten our lines of communication and give us an almost total natural frontier.'

  Fabius nodded. 'Oh, I agree, absolutely. And so does Augustus. However, there's one glaringly obvious problem.'

  Vinicius grinned. 'The Germans,' he said. 'These bastards – saving your presence, Arminius – would rather not be part of the Roman empire, thank you very much. And who's to blame them?'

  'I, for one.' Arminius set down his cup. 'The tribes between the Rhine and the Elbe are an undisciplined rabble.'

  'And long may they continue to be so.' That was Vinicius again. 'So long as they're knocking each other’s heads together they leave ours alone.'

  'Quite.' I reached for an olive. 'Divide and rule is the obvious policy where the German tribes are concerned.'

  'I disagree.' Arminius frowned. 'What have we achieved so far? Certainly not Roman rule. A stalemate, at best. Granted, unless we keep them firmly under control the Germans will always cause trouble; but as Fabius says we haven't the forces for an armed occupation.'

  'And your solution to this paradox?' Fabius's smile was tolerant.

  'Perhaps it's time to rethink our policies completely, sir. The answer may not be to fragment the tribes but to unite them.'

  'You mean like Maroboduus?'

  Vinicius's quiet comment brought a shout of laughter. Maroboduus was a German chieftain who, having established a power-base in Bohemia, had extended his influence over neighbouring Saxony and Silesia. The situation was still unresolved.

  Arminius was waiting calmly for the laughter to die down. When it did, he said: 'Yes, in a way. I do mean like Maroboduus.'

  I noticed that Fabius was looking at him keenly.

  'Go on,' he said.

  'It's quite simple. In theory at least. At present most of the chiefs can't see past their petty local affairs. They hate Rome because they don't understand her, and they'd rather die than be part of the empire. But if they could be united under one of their own people, a single strong leader, one sympathetic to Rome, then–’

  'Just a moment,' Vinicius put in. 'That's a sizeable if, old boy. I know the Germans. A Roman sympathiser, such as yourself, for example' –the words were silkily neutral – 'wouldn't have a hope in hell of gathering the support he needed. And if we tried to impose him from outside he wouldn't last a month.'

  Arminius turned to him.

  'You're right, sir, of course,' he said. 'I did say I was speaking theoretically. But if it were somehow possible then it would solve Rome's problems at a stroke, wouldn't it?'

  'Yes, it would. If your theoretical leader could be trusted.'

  The young man's eyes flashed. He half-rose from the couch, and I thought that blood would be spilled, at any rate metaphorically. However at that moment the slaves came in with the main course and amity was restored.

  I looked across at Fabius who, as I say, was one of Augustus's closest advisers. He was looking unusually thoughtful, and more than once during the remainder of the evening I saw his eyes resting on the young German with what was certainly speculation. But he did not raise the subject again, at least in my hearing.

  I saw Arminius often after that, mostly at Lucius's, since the lad with his passion for things military had adopted my nephew almost as a mentor. He continued to impress me. He had sense, intelligence, good breeding and, above all, a clear devotion to Rome and Roman values. Together with his idealism this made him, as Fabius had said, more Roman than I was, especially where the last two qualities are concerned. When he was finally sent back to his people we lost touch for almost a year; until, in fact, I was given Germany and he came to me at Vetera with other tribal representatives to pay his respects. He was wearing German dress, and his hair was long in the German manner. Although he was perfectly polite, his greeting was perfunctory, and I was, I admit, more than a little offended.

  I should have known better. As I was to discover before the day was out, Arminius's patent unfriendliness had a purpose.

  I was relaxing in my private quarters after bathing when a tall German strode in. He was muffled to the eyebrows in his cloak, but of course I recognised him: Arminius, without a doubt. Once he had unwrapped himself we shook hands for the second time that day; on his side, warmly.

  'Varus, I'm sorry,' he said. 'My behaviour earlier was dreadful.'

  'On the contrary, my boy.' I was beginning to thaw out. Despite his appearance this was the Arminius I knew. 'Your German manners were impeccable.'

  He laughed and sat down on the desk stool. These might be the quarters of the governor of Germany and the commander of the Armies of the Rhine but they were spartan in the extreme, and would be until my full complement of furniture arrived from Rome.

  'What do you think of the fancy dress?' he said. 'And the hairstyle?'

  He was smiling; I was not.

  'Strangely enough,' I said, 'they suit you.' They did. In Rome he had looked like a Roman. Here he looked more German than the Germans. 'But I wasn't aware that it was the German fashion to wrap one's head in one's cloak. Especially indoors.'

  'It was necessary, sir.' He spoke gravely. 'I had rather that no one knew of this conversation. Roman or German.'

  'Is it such a crime, then, for old friends to talk in private?'

  'Possibly. Given the circumstances.'

  I didn't like the smell of this at all. I was cautious, and turned to the tray of wine-things to cover my caution.

  'Explain,' I said.

  'You remember the plan I talked about? When we first met?'

  'Your grand design to turn Germany into a western client-kingdom? Yes, of course I do.'

  'Perhaps we should talk about it again. More seriously this time.'

  I am by nature a diplomat rather than a soldier. As I poured the wine and handed it to him I kept my expression neutral.

  'Go on.'

  Arminius took a single sip and set the cup aside.

  'Very shortly,' he said, 'I will break with Rome. I will begin to gather support first among the young men of my own tribe, then among other tribes. I will tell them that only by banding together can we Germans resist you Romans and live as we have always lived outside your boundaries.'

  I was staring at him, too shocked even to interrupt.

  'When the peacemakers shout, I will shout louder. I will keep on shouting until the hotheads believe that I am more against Rome than they are, and give me their trust and their allegiance. And you, sir, will help me.'

  I got up; what I intended to do I am not sure, because at that moment I was incapable of thinking clearly at all. Call the guards, perhaps. In any case he pulled me back.

  'Hear me out,' he said. 'Please.'

  I sat down, as did he. When he spoke again it was in the same quiet, reasonable voice he had used to condemn himself.

  'Believe me, sir. I am no traitor to Rome. The fact that I've told you this proves it. Give me a free hand between here and the Elbe and I'll unite the tribes into a federation which I control. I control!'

  My brain was spinning.

  'Arminius. You are telling me – me, the Roman governor – that you are planning a rebellion?' I expected him to deny it, but he said nothing. 'You're mad!'

  He shook his head sharply.

  'No. Not mad. And rebellion is not the proper word.'

  'What is, then? Treason?'

  'Not that either,' he said stubbornly. 'There will be no trouble. No real t
rouble. I promise you that.'

  I was at a loss for words. I simply stared at him.

  'Think, Varus!' he bent towards me, his eyes shining. 'Rome wants Upper Germany and a secure northern border. The Germans want to be left alone to govern themselves. At the moment the objectives clash. The Germans provide a constant threat, we Romans haven't the forces to take and hold the territory we need. Stalemate. I'm offering Rome a solution. I'm offering a way out.'

  'By uniting the tribes and increasing the threat?'

  'No!' His hand came down so hard upon the desk-top that I thought the wood had split. 'I told you! To break the stalemate in Rome's favour! In the long term Rome can only benefit.'

  'And in the short term? You'd be a rebel. Any Roman who helped you would be a traitor.'

  To be honest, I was quibbling for appearances' sake. He already had half of me convinced; and the other half (ah, me! I may as well admit to it now, and make of it what you will) scented gold, which is the most exciting smell on earth...

  Oh dear, oh dear! What it is to be venal! Yet blessed is the man who will admit to his infirmities, and indulge them when in good conscience he can. After all, what Arminius was proposing was for the good of Rome, was it not? And who was I to balk him of his laudable ambition? Especially if in the process I could turn an honest penny for myself.

  'In the short term, Varus,' Arminius said in answer to my question, 'you must simply trust me.'

  I remembered Vinicius's words at the dinner party, and how the young man had reacted to them.

  'So,' I said, 'it comes down to trust.'

  'Yes, sir,' Arminius said carefully, his eyes on mine. 'It comes down to trust.'

  I stared at him for a long time, weighing him. Not simply his words on this occasion, but what I recalled of our conversations in the past. Then I weighed his manner, his conviction, and last but not least his indefinable aura. I may be greedy, but I am not a fool; and if the rewards of treachery are high then so are its corresponding dangers.

  Finally I nodded.

  'Very well, Prince Arminius,' I said. 'You have your traitor.'

  Neither of us had mentioned payment, of course. That came later, when the terms of my treachery were discussed in a civilised fashion, as if they were unimportant. Which, to him at least, I am sure they were. As I said, the lad has good breeding, and in this if nothing else Arminius the German is a better Roman than I am.