Ovid (Marcus Corvinus Book 1)

by David Wishart

  23.

  When Harpale had gone I sent the wine slave for another jug. After what she'd told us I needed it.

  'You didn't know that Fabius had killed himself?' I asked Perilla. 'You never even suspected?'

  'No.' She still looked grey. Shit, she'd had enough shocks that day to floor anyone with twice her guts. 'Aunt Marcia never even hinted at it. I thought that Uncle was found dead in his study, which would have been true enough I suppose. I don't think even mother knew the death wasn't natural.'

  'You think Marcia would confirm the story if you asked her straight out?'

  'I doubt it. And don't ask me to try, Marcus, because I won't. It would be terribly painful for her. If she's kept the secret for so long she must have a good reason.'

  'Oh, yeah,' I said. 'She's got a good reason all right. If what Harpale says is true the Wart has at least two deaths on his conscience that he wouldn't want made public. Sure, Postumus had to go. As Augustus's last male relative he'd be about as welcome politically as a flea in a barber's shop, and if he was the bastard they say he was then nobody would shed many tears to see him chopped. But Fabius is different. He wasn't guilty of anything. And if the news had got out that Augustus had talked to his grandson just a few months before he died then as far as the Wart was concerned it'd be embarrassing as hell.'

  'Why should it be embarrassing? After all, if Augustus gave the order himself for Postumus's death then...'

  'Oh, come on, Perilla! Act your age! It would've shown that he didn't give the order, that killing Postumus was Tiberius's own idea. Why do you think the old guy went to Planasia anyway? Just to make faces at his grandson through the bars?'

  'You tell me.'

  'Okay. We'll take it slowly. Augustus was old and sick yet he took the trouble to visit Postumus in person. So why should he do that?

  'Because what he had to say was too secret to trust to a messenger?'

  'Right. And possibly too personal. Say he wanted to apologise. To admit that he'd made a mistake, a bad mistake.'

  'But he'd exiled Postumus himself! Why should he change his mind?'

  'I don't know, but one gets you five I'm right. He went to patch up the quarrel and give his grandson his personal assurance that he'd put things right as soon as he could.'

  'You mentioned a mistake. What kind of mistake?'

  'Maybe Postumus wasn't the bastard he was made out to be. Maybe Augustus found out that someone had been bad-mouthing him all along and wanted to make amends.'

  Perilla looked at me, appalled. 'Tiberius?'

  'Sure. It makes sense. The Wart got rid of Postumus pretty smartly as soon as he got the chance. And your Uncle Fabius had to die too because he was the only one still alive who knew the truth. The secrecy angle's pretty obvious, too. As Augustus's heir Tiberius'd be chewing bricks if he thought Granddad intended bringing little Postumus home. It all fits. It fits perfectly. And it explains what Julia and Paullus were up to as well.'

  'Julia was exiled six years before all this happened. How could Postumus's death have had anything to do with the Paullus plot?'

  'Listen. Postumus is the missing strand. With Gaius and Lucius dead he was Julia's only surviving brother and Augustus's only direct male descendant, right?'

  'Yes, but I still don't see what...'

  'You gave me the idea yourself, that first night we were together. You said that a husband has certain rights. Sure, Julia may've been the emperor's granddaughter but she was still a woman. She couldn't hope for any sort of power through her relationship with Augustus, not direct power, anyway. But her husband could!'

  'Corvinus, we know Paullus conspired against Augustus. There's no secret about that.'

  'Yeah, but what chance would he have on his own? Augustus had been the kingpin for two generations. You think Paullus only had to put himself forward with Julia beside him for the whole state to fall into his lap like a ripe plum? A political lightweight whose only claim was that he'd married the emperor's granddaughter?'

  'Of course not. We talked about that before. That's why you said he needed Tiberius.'

  'Right. But that was when we thought the Wart was our fourth man. We know now he couldn't have been. What if Paullus had Augustus's only surviving male descendant on the team?'

  'You're saying the man with the ring was Postumus?'

  I shook my head. 'No, Postumus was already exiled. But his sister Julia was there to represent his interests.'

  'But Augustus banished him in the first place. He'd only be a contender if the emperor were already dead.'

  'That's right. It makes sense like before, only for Tiberius read Postumus. Paullus and Julia knock off Augustus and bring Postumus back to Rome. Then either Postumus becomes emperor with Paullus as his right-hand-man or they do a deal to carve up the state between them.'

  Perilla sighed. 'I'm sorry, Corvinus, but it won't work. As an argument it's got too many holes.'

  'Oh, yeah?' I sat back and folded my arms. 'Name some.'

  'Very well. For a start you can't have it both ways. On the one hand you're saying that Augustus decided Postumus had been slandered by Tiberius, and on the other that he had been involved in a bona fide conspiracy against Augustus. Now isn't that just a little inconsistent?'

  'Not necessarily. Postumus needn't've known anything about the conspiracy himself. If it had come off he wouldn't be the first ruler to be set up as a figurehead. Once Augustus was dead...'

  'Exactly. That's when the problems would start. First of all the death would have to look natural. That would be difficult enough. Second, why should Postumus be the one to take Augustus's place? He'd never held office of any kind. He'd been disinherited and exiled by Augustus himself, and Tiberius was already earmarked to succeed. The Senate would choose him over Postumus any time, unless Paullus and Julia could produce a will that was a good enough forgery to stand against the official one. Third, even if by some miracle the Senate did accept him as Augustus's heir Paullus and Julia would still need physical force to back his claim. Where was that to come from? Or do you think Tiberius would simply stand aside and let them get away with it?'

  'Uh, yeah.' Jupiter! Well, I'd asked her after all. 'Yeah, well done. Maybe there are a few holes. Still, Paullus must've been pretty sure of his ground.'

  'How do we know that?'

  'He had to be, because the conspiracy happened. Paullus may not have got away with it, but he sure as hell didn't just wake up one morning and say, "What a nice day, I think I'll have a conspiracy"!'

  'Now you're being flippant.'

  'No, I'm not. Something must have made the guy reasonably sure he'd have the backing he needed, political and military. Yeah, sure, I accept your arguments but there must be some way of getting round them because the Paullus plot happened. The question is, if he didn't have Postumus on the team then who did he have?'

  'Davus's stranger. The fourth conspirator.'

  I nodded. 'Right. He's the key, I'm certain of it. We always come back to him.'

  'So who could he have been, if not Postumus?'

  'Someone pretty high up. We know that, because that was why he got in in the first place.' I frowned and drank my wine. 'Okay. How about this for a setup? Postumus provides the figurehead, Paullus is the ringleader with Julia as his dynastic link. Silanus has the good blue-blood connections they'll need to bring the old senatorial families round when the thing comes off. And our fourth man makes it all possible. He provides the real political and military muscle that guarantees all the rest. Or at least, if his job was to bust up the plot for Augustus from the inside, he pretends to guarantee it.'

  'So who was he?'

  I put my head between my hands.

  'Perilla, I don't know! The Wart would've been ideal. Nobody else even comes close. But even if the Wart had been in Rome at the right time he couldn't be the one we're looking for, not now we know about Postumus. Paullus and Julia wouldn't've trusted him as far as you can spit. So we're still stuck. Whoever could deliver the high-g
rade backing the conspiracy needed ought to stand out a mile, but he doesn't. And he doesn't because there wasn't anyone that big around.'

  'Oh, come on, Corvinus,' Perilla said sharply. 'It's not that bad. At least we have the Postumus connection now. I wish I'd known before that –'

  She stopped.

  I sat up. 'You thought of something?'

  'No. No, it's not that. Nothing directly to do with Postumus, anyway. It's just I've remembered something my stepfather wrote in one of his poems that might fit in with what Harpale told us about my uncle's death.'

  'What sort of thing?'

  'I can't quote the lines offhand. I'd need the book.' She got up. 'Wait a moment. Uncle Fabius had all my stepfather's works. There'll be a copy in his study.'

  While I was waiting I poured myself another cupful of wine from the new jug. I hadn't been holding out on Perilla. Apart from Tiberius there was no one who had the sort of power we were looking for, especially since if push came to shove Paullus and his friends would've had to take on the Wart himself. In which case they were on a hiding to nothing. And even if the fourth guy had been a double he'd still have had to put his money where his mouth was as far as the others were concerned. No, I was stymied. My only chance was that something else would turn up. Like Scylax tracing the big lunk with the sawblade accent...

  'Here it is, Marcus.' Perilla was back with a partially-unrolled book. She handed me it and leaned over the back of my chair as I read, her sharp little chin resting in the hollow between my neck and shoulder.

  You'd been certain, Maximus, pride of the Fabii

  To plead for me with the God Augustus

  But died before you made your plea.

  I think

  Maximus

  That I caused your death

  (I, who was of so little worth).

  Now I am afraid to trust my safety to anyone.

  With your death help itself is dead.

  Augustus had begun to pardon my deceitful fault

  When he died too, leaving

  At a single stroke

  The earth, and all my hopes,

  Barren.

  'It doesn't make sense, does it?' Perilla said as I laid the book down. 'How could my stepfather have thought he was responsible? He'd been shut away in Tomi for six years when Uncle Fabius died.'

  I said nothing. I was thinking of Marcia. She'd taken the blame for Fabius's death too. Two people independently claiming that they'd caused a death that on the surface was no one's fault: the natural death of a tired old man. Even if Fabius had been forced into suicide they still couldn't both be right.

  Unless, of course, they were.

  'Marcus!' I suddenly realised that Perilla was digging me in the shoulder. 'I asked you a question!'

  'Hmm?' I blinked. Maybe I'd had too much wine again. 'Oh, yeah. Sorry. Run it past me again.'

  'How could my stepfather have caused Uncle Fabius's death when he was in Tomi?'

  'Jupiter knows. But it has to connect with what Marcia told Harpale. Maybe...' I stopped as the first tingle of the idea hit me.

  'Maybe what?'

  'Maybe Fabius wasn't killed just because he knew about Augustus's visit to Planasia. Maybe there was another reason. An extra one.'

  'Corvinus, why should..?'

  'No, wait. Let me work this out. Sure, Planasia would be a good enough reason for Tiberius to want to shut your uncle up permanently. But let's say Fabius had put the Wart's nose out of joint in another way. Say he'd almost caused something to happen that didn't, but could well have if Augustus hadn't died when he did.'

  'Are you being intentionally obscure, or is it my fault?'

  'Just look at the lines again and answer me one question. Who died first? Augustus or Fabius?'

  'I can tell you that now. My uncle outlived the emperor by a month. You know that.'

  'Sure. So read the poem again.' She did, and her startled eyes stared into mine. 'You see? Now tell me again.'

  'But this reads as though it was Uncle Fabius!'

  'Yeah, that's right. Ovid got the deaths back to front.'

  'But why should he do that?'

  I shrugged. 'Tomi's a long way from Rome. News travels slow, sometimes it gets garbled. What's a month either way? There're a dozen reasons. But that's not the point.

  'So what is?'

  'Your stepfather's reaction. He says Augustus was already beginning to waver but Fabius's plea-in-form for a pardon never got made, so the whole thing came to nothing. We know that that was because the emperor died first, but Ovid took it the other way round.'

  I’m sorry, but I still don't see what you're getting at.'

  'It's simple. Ovid thought your uncle had been the first to go and blamed himself for his death, right?'

  'Yes, but...'

  I stopped her. 'So what made him assume that Fabius's death was connected with a plea for his recall? And knowing what his own crime was, why shouldn't he be right?'

  24.

  I found a letter waiting for me from Gaius Pertinax when I got home.

  Pertinax was the guy I'd thought might know the inside story on the Julia scandal. Not Paullus's Julia. Her mother, Augustus's daughter, who'd been exiled when the City Watch had caught her putting it around one night in the Market Square while her husband Tiberius was off sulking in Rhodes. Harpale had claimed that she'd been innocent, too. What she had to do with our little mystery I wasn't sure – that particular scandal had broken ten years before Ovid went to Tomi – but it was a lead all the same. And we had less of them than a eunuch has hard-ons.

  I'd known Pertinax all my life. He was an ex-subordinate of my grandfather's when the old man had been city prefect forty-odd years back and the two had hit it off like fish sauce on broad beans. Not that Granddad had held the job for long. According to family tradition (Uncle Cotta, not my father) he'd thrown it up because it was, and I quote, "a major pain in the arse". Not that that was how he'd expressed it to Augustus. The official reason he gave was that it was "undemocratic". Which I suppose was as strong as he could make it without putting a knot in the imperial knickers.

  Unlike Granddad, Pertinax had his daily bread to earn. He'd stuck with the city service and when the Elder Julia had been arrested he'd had one of the top jobs with the Watch. As a regional commander no less. For Region Eight, the Market Square area...

  Yeah. Pure gold, right? If Uncle Gaius couldn't tell me what had happened that night then no one could.

  He was retired now, of course. Long retired, to a farm in the country about thirty miles down the Appian Way where he grew the best pears and apples you've ever tasted. I used to go there with my grandfather at harvest time when I was a kid, and Pertinax took quite a shine to me. He still sent me a bushel or two out of his crop in the autumn, and I'd call in whenever I was down that way to see how the old guy was doing.

  So when the Julia thing came up I'd sent a runner to Pertinax's place with a note asking him if I could come down and milk his brains, subject unspecified. This was the reply. It was short and snappy: Uncle Gaius could've given a Spartan lessons in prose style.

  Gaius Attius Pertinax to Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus. Greetings.Come when you like. Bring fish.

  I grinned as I read it. Some people's weakness is money, others power, others women. Pertinax's was fish, and he would sell his soul for a sturgeon. When he came to dinner with my grandfather (which he did on average about once a month) Old Corvinus would send Philip his cook down to scour the fish market in the Argiletum for the widest and best selection money could buy. It cost him, too – good fish costs an arm and a leg in Rome and always has done – but then my granddad was generous to his friends. I'd never understood why Pertinax hadn't settled further south when he retired; at Naples, say, where the seafood would draw Jupiter himself down banging his dinner pail. Maybe he'd thought too much perfection was dangerous. Or maybe he just liked growing good apples better.

  When I'd read the note I sent Bathyllus out for a barrel of Baian
oysters and the biggest sturgeon he could lug home without giving himself a hernia, packed off another minion to tell Perilla where I was going and why, and ordered up the carriage.

  The journey was uneventful. Not knowing how busy the Appian Way would be after the holiday (it wasn't, especially) I'd taken the big sleeping coach. Thirty-odd miles may not seem a lot, but I'd been caught out before on a slow road and unless you want to risk being rolled or eaten alive by fleas at a quaint wayside inn or have acquaintances en route (I didn't unfortunately. Or not ones I'd've willingly spent an evening with, anyway) it's a sensible way to travel. Apart from the coachman and my body slave Flavus I took the four Sunshine Boys. Three of them could ride without falling off. The fourth usually landed on his head, which didn't seem to worry him much and provided harmless amusement for the rest of us. I had a private bet with myself (which I won easily) that he'd go arse over tip at least once per mile.

  Pertinax was looking pretty fit for his seventy-odd years, brown as a berry and with less of a gut on him than I had. When he saw the sturgeon his eyes lit up like a twenty-lamp candelabrum.

  'Slow-steamed with coriander,' he murmured as two of his lads levered the fish out of the boot. 'Perhaps with a celery-mint sauce. What do you think, Marcus?'

  'It's your fish, Uncle. Have it how you like.'

  'I'm your debtor, boy. Let's see what Nestor has to say.' Nestor was his cook. 'What's in the barrel? Sea-urchins?'

  'Oysters.'

  'Baian oysters?'

  'Would I stick you with less?'

  'Holy Neptune! I haven't had Baian oyster stew since the Winter Festival. You're a true Roman, lad. And a gentleman, which isn't the same thing.' Pertinax was from Cremona. 'Come inside. I've a jug or two of good Rhodian that's just asking to be drunk.'

  I followed him in. The place looked different from the last time I'd been there.

  'You've made some changes,' I said.'

  'That's right. I've had another solar built on, to catch the afternoon sun. We'll go in there now. Rejigged the baths at the same time, so you can wash the dust off properly before we eat.'