They were waiting, I knew, for the principal guest to arrive. The dining-room doors swung open and a fourth man came in. He moved stiffly as if his limbs were not flesh and blood but stone. Silanus rose to his feet and led the man formally to the guest couch. He reclined, and in the light of the lamps I saw his face for the first time. It was cold, chiselled marble – the face of the dead emperor who stares down with fish-white eyes from the top of his mausoleum in the Field of Mars.
Augustus.
Silanus clapped his hands, once, and went back to his place. The doors opened again and Davus came in, the wound in his throat gaping and bloodless. He carried a tray down the length of the room and set it on the table. On the tray was a pastry map of the world and a cavalry longsword. Without a word he handed the sword hilt first to Augustus.
As the marble hand took the sword the atmosphere changed. Silanus and the woman leaned across the table, their eyes fixed on the pastry map. The dead man didn't move, but his wax mask seemed to take on an air of expectancy. The Augustus-statue rose to its feet, the sword held in a two-handed grip, its point hovering above the map's centre. Everything was suddenly very still.
Then the sword swung once...twice. Blood spurted onto the map, soaking the pastry, and two heads bounced and rolled across the table, one with a woman's braids, the other still wearing its mask. Silanus hadn't moved. Now he smiled up at the Augustus figure and nodded.
The statue raised its eyes and looked straight at me. It, too, was smiling. Slowly, horribly, with the grating sound of stone on stone, the head began to turn on the marble column that was its neck. Further and further it turned, beyond what I knew was humanly possible, until the face was in complete profile and I saw that it was not one face but two...
Two faces, one looking forwards, the other back, like the statues of the Door God Janus.
The head continued to turn, like the upper stone of a mill. The room faded and there was only the head and the terrible grating noise. I screamed...
And woke, sweating. Grey half-light shone through my study window, bringing with it the rumble of iron cartwheels on the stone surface of the street beyond.
29.
I thought about the dream while Bathyllus hot-footed it round to old Quinctilia's. Most of it was pretty obvious. The naked woman was Julia, the guy with the death mask Paullus. Even Augustus was no surprise. I'd've expected the fourth man to be Varus, but after all he was only the emperor's stand-in. The only thing I didn't get was the business with the head. That was weird.
Maybe, I thought, I should see an augur.
Bathyllus came back with the news that the Lady Quinctilia would see me right away. That sounded promising. I whistled up the lads and set off for the Caelian. For once I took a litter. I was still pretty whacked after my disturbed night, and anyway I wanted to think about how I was going to play this. You don't just stroll into a Roman matron's house, accuse her dead brother of five different kinds of treason and expect to be asked to stay to dinner.
Not that Quinctilia would have any illusions, of course. Politicians need scapegoats, and Varus had carried the can for the whole German fiasco. Still, incompetence was one thing, outright treachery another. I'd have to be careful where I put my feet with Quinctilia.
We pulled up outside the door in great style. I rearranged my freshly-laundered mantle – Quinctilia was one of the old breed and wouldn't appreciate a caller with gravy stains down his front – and signed to one of the litter-bearers to knock. I gave my name to the door slave and was ushered straight into the atrium.
The old girl had obviously decided on a formal reception. She was sitting by the ornamental pool dressed in an impeccably draped mantle and elaborate wig. Behind her a guy in late middle age stood with his hand on her shoulder. Probably her son, I thought. Certainly, given the heavy jowls which were common to both of them, a close relative. Neither was smiling, and in front of them set square on was an empty chair.
Shit. So much for the softly-softly approach. I felt suddenly like a man accused of murder walking into a courtroom where the judge is itching to try out a new kind of axe.
'Valerius Corvinus.'
No salutation. No ‘Pleased to meet you’. Just the name, delivered in tones that'd freeze the arse off an Alpine chamois. I reckoned the Lady Quinctilia could give even Perilla lessons.
'That's right, Lady Quinctilia. I've come...'
'I know why you've come. Sit down. This is my nephew Lucius Asprenas.'
Fat Face nodded. You couldn't've prised his lips apart with a crowbar.
I eased myself into the chair. The old woman bent forwards to stare at me as if she was about to whisper a secret; but when she did speak it wasn't to me. And she didn't whisper either.
'You're there, Agron?'
'Yes, Lady.'
'Then you had better join us as well.'
I whipped round. There was Big Fritz, large as life and twice as ugly, standing behind my chair. He must've followed me in and I hadn't heard a thing. The guy could've given a panther lessons and worn hobnail boots while he did it.
'Sit still, Corvinus,' he said. 'No one's going to hurt you if you behave yourself.'
'That's quite enough, Agron.' Quinctilia turned back to me. Her eyes were curiously pale and empty. 'Forgive him, young man. You're quite safe here, I assure you.'
Oh, yeah. Sure. Safe as a lamb chop in a wolf's den. I cursed myself for having left the Sunshine Boys outside; but there again who'd've thought I'd need them against a respectable old biddy like Quinctilia? It just showed you that you can't go by appearances.
'So I'm right,' I said. 'Varus was our fourth conspirator.'
Fat Face Asprenas shot me a look that would've curdled milk. I didn't see Agron's reaction but from the hiss of indrawn breath you can bet he wasn't choking back a belly-laugh.
'I'm afraid I don't quite follow you,' Quinctilia said coldly. She was staring at a point about six inches past my left ear.
I sat more easily on my chair. Lounged, almost. When you have your back to the wall and there's no place else to go, look confident.
'Come on, lady,' I said. 'You know what I mean. Your brother was Augustus's agent in the Paullus plot. Only he got greedy and sold the emperor out.'
'Watch your mouth, Corvinus!' Agron whispered.
The old woman's expression was a mixture of distaste and puzzlement. 'I really must insist that you explain, young man.'
Jupiter! She'd got this respectable elderly dowager act polished to perfection!
'Okay.' I sat up straighter. 'If that's how you want to play it then fine. Augustus got your brother to offer a safe haven to the elder Julia and Postumus when they'd been sprung from exile. It was a put-up job because the emperor wanted to pull the teeth of the Julian faction. Only Varus had his own ideas. He played it for real and went over to the opposition.' No reaction. I decided to up the aggro. 'So what did Paullus and Julia promise him? For screwing up the northern frontier and putting the bite on the emperor? Money? A share of the political action? Or maybe just another lucrative governorship out east somewhere?'
Quinctilia turned to her nephew. 'Lucius? Will you answer the young man or shall I?'
Her expression hadn't changed. Fat Face, on the other hand, was staring at me as if I'd thrown up into the ornamental pool.
'Go on, Corvinus,' he said. 'Let's hear you prove it.' Something about his voice told me he didn't think I could; but both of them listened without expression or comment as I took them through the main points.
I'd expected flat denials, outrage, maybe even a veiled threat or two. What I got was silence.
Then Quinctilia stood up. Although she stooped she was taller than I'd thought, and from the set of her mouth I reckoned even in her old age she was one hell of a strong-minded lady. I began for the first time to feel less sure of myself. I'd've felt happier in a way if they'd denied everything and had the door slave pitch me out on my ear.
'Excuse us for a moment, Valerius Corvinus.' She reached o
ut and gripped Asprenas's arm. 'My nephew and I have things to discuss. Agron, entertain our guest, please.'
I half-rose to my feet, but the big Illyrian's hand pushed me back down.
'You heard the mistress,' he said. 'Just take it easy, right?'
Quinctilia, with Fat Face supporting her by the arm, disappeared into the living-quarters proper at the back of the house. Agron took the chair she'd been sitting in, pulled it over until I was within reach and sat down facing me.
'You're a real shit, you know that?' he said. 'I should've killed you when I had the chance. Or left you to these knife-men to finish.'
Good start. Obviously the guy had eccentric notions of entertainment. 'So why didn't you?'
'I told you that at the time. I didn't like the odds. And the mistress wouldn't've been pleased.'
'You were Varus's protégé, weren't you?' So long as we were having this cosy few minutes to ourselves I reckoned I might as well fill myself in with a bit of the background. 'Where did you meet up? Germany?'
'That's right.' He smiled without humour. 'I got into the legions by the back door when Tiberius was recruiting around Sirmium.' So Scylax had been right about that as well. I only hoped I'd live long enough to tell him. 'After the troubles were over we were sent to the Rhineland. I was the general's orderly.'
This was something I hadn't expected. 'You were on the final march?'
'Sure. Don't be so surprised. Some of us survived. Not many.'
'I thought the Germans didn't take any prisoners.'
'They didn't. Not ones that lived long anyway. I survived because I hid and then fought my way back to the Rhine. It pays sometimes to be good at killing. And I'm good, Corvinus, believe me. Very good.'
I let that last bit go. 'You mean you were a deserter.'
'No,' he said quietly. 'By the time I decided it was no use fighting any more there wasn't a fucking army to desert from. And don't ever call me that again.'
'Uh, yeah.' Gods! Why didn't I keep my big mouth shut? 'So you saw what happened? At the end?'
He regarded me levelly before answering; and when the answer came it was slow and considered.
'Sure, I saw. And I'll tell you something for free. It's important and I want you to remember it. The general may've had his faults, he may have made mistakes, but whatever they were he paid for them. He fought to the end and he died well. You understand me?'
'Yeah.' My palms were sweating. This quiet-spoken guy scared the shit out of me, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. 'Yeah, I understand. You want to tell me what happened?'
He shrugged and turned away. 'Why not? But don't expect a word against the general. Like I say, Varus has paid his dues already. Maybe it'll save the mistress some pain later. If you've got a later.'
Jupiter, this guy was a real bundle of fun. Trouble was, it sounded like he meant it. My throat was dry and there wasn't a cup of wine in sight.
'Okay.' Agron leaned back 'So we're on our way back from the Weser to Vetera. The general gets reports that the Cherusci are arming. He decides to follow them up and we turn east towards the Teutoburg...'
'Just like that? Cut across dangerous country that late in the season to check out a local disturbance?'
Agron scowled. 'Look, Corvinus, I've already told you I won't bad-mouth the general. I'm telling this because you asked and it passes the time, okay? You got any smartass comments to make, you can fuck off.'
'Okay, okay!' I held up my hands. 'Forget I spoke.' Gods! And I'd thought Perilla was touchy!
'Then lose the commentary, boy.' I didn't answer. 'So the weather gets worse – wind, rain, you name it. Visibility's shit, the road's a sea of mud with fallen trees every hundred yards. We're well into the forest before they hit us. Not a full-scale attack, we could've handled that easy. Small groups, individuals even, slingers and spear-throwers. Picking off stragglers. Thinning us out. Chase them and they melt into the forest, follow and you don't come back. The first day's bad, but we're committed. At the end of it we pitch a proper camp and the general orders some of the baggage to be burned so it won't slow us down. The next day things get worse, and we know we're not going to make it.' He paused; his eyes shifted. 'The third day's the last.'
'What happened?'
He was looking through me rather than at me, and it made the skin crawl on my spine. He didn't answer at first, and when he did it wasn't an answer at all. 'You ever been there, boy? In the German forests?'
'No.'
'There's no light, the trees shut you in. Off the path they're set so close together it's like being in a cage with a black roof. You can't breathe, there's no wind, no sound. You can't even hear your own footsteps. It's as if everything's dead, and you're dead with it.' Now his eyes held mine. 'You believe in spirits?'
I shook my head, but I had the sense not to laugh. The guy was serious. Deathly serious.
'Nor did I, once. But that place was haunted by Mars knows what bitch of a demon that moved with us every step of the way. It ate our hearts out and then it killed us piece by fucking piece.'
I swallowed. His eyes were on mine, and they were hard as knives.
'So there wasn't a lot left of us by the third day. Not a proper army, for sure. We'd been split up, carved into bits no bigger than a company. Then Vela the second-in-command decides he'll go it alone with the cavalry, cut and run for the Rhine. He's been twitchy for days, poor bastard, and it's got worse. The forest takes some people that way. “Go ahead,” says the general. “Tell them I'm sorry.” Not that Vela gets very far, there's Germans everywhere by then. With the cavalry gone the rest of us don't have a hope. The Germans attack in force at last, they break our square and the lads go down like pigs in a slaughterhouse. That's the end, that's all there is. Finish.'
He was shaking. The big guy was shaking, and his eyes were fixed on something I couldn't see. Shit. No wonder the poor bastard believed in demons. After listening to him I half believed in them myself.
'What happened to Varus?' I said.
'He killed himself. Him and most of the staff officers. It was that or be taken alive. The Germans hacked the heads off and used them for footballs. Then they burned what was left. Or half-burned it.'
'You saw that?'
'Yeah. Like I said, I hid. I found a hole where a tree had come down, crawled into it and pulled some brushwood on top. There was nothing else I could've done. The army was dead and the Germans were rounding up the prisoners. Nailing the poor bastards to the trees for their gods to look at. When the screaming stopped and the Germans left I slipped off south towards the Rhine. It took me a month to get back.' He took a deep breath. 'You see now why I don't like unfair odds, Corvinus? And why I don't want spoilt young smartasses like you stirring things up again for your own pissing pleasure?'
'But if the whole thing was Varus's fault then–'
He reached over and gripped the neck of my tunic, his fist pushing me backwards into the chair and pressing so hard into my larynx that I couldn't breathe.
'You think that's news to me?' he said softly. 'You think it was news to Varus? Three Eagles lost. You know what losing an Eagle means to a general? To any soldier? Leave the general alone, boy. He paid all he had to give, and he doesn't owe any more. Least of all to bastards like you.'
'Agron!' Asprenas's voice slashed across the room. The fingers at my throat loosened without haste and I fell forwards gasping. Agron stood up and wiped his hand on his tunic. He didn't look at me.
Fat Face, with Quinctilia on his arm, looked pretty unhappy. Jupiter knew what they'd been talking about back there, but he'd clearly lost the argument and I suspect he would've been just as happy to see the big guy twist my head off. Quinctilia, on the other hand, didn't look any different. It would've taken an earthquake to throw her out of kilter. Maybe not even that.
'I'm sorry to have kept you,' she said, 'but my nephew and I had things to talk about and decisions to make. I'm happy to say we've decided to tell you the truth. The whole truth.' I wondered if that
whole was for Fat Face's benefit. Certainly the guy looked as though he'd just swallowed a neat half pint of vinegar. 'Lucius, help me to my chair please.'
She sat down slowly but with great dignity, like a queen preparing to give audience. Agron and Asprenas took up their positions on either side, like the rod-and-axe men round a magistrate.
'You are quite right, young man,' Quinctilia said. 'My brother was a traitor.'
30.
I stared at her; but I noticed that Agron didn't bat an eyelid, let alone Fat Face Asprenas. Obviously whatever Varus had done wasn't news as far as they were concerned.
Quinctilia was still completely relaxed. She had guts, that lady; guts and perfect poise.
'I should make it clear from the start,' she said, 'that Lucius here is against my telling you this and that I do so on my own responsibility. You are of course free to make use of the information as you like.' Agron shifted and swore under his breath, but she ignored him. 'However I would ask you please to think carefully before taking any action that would bring further disgrace on the family.'
There was no pleading in her voice. Nothing beyond the words themselves. I nodded, and felt like five different kinds of rat.
The old lady took a firm grip of the arm of her chair. I noticed that her fingers tightened and slackened spasmodically. Whatever the impression of calmness she wanted to convey she wasn't finding this easy. Like I said, Quinctilia had guts.
'I knew nothing of Publius's...arrangement with Aemilius Paullus,' she said. 'Let alone with the Divine Augustus. However, as you have described the situation it seems eminently probable and agrees well with what I do know. Publius was a traitor, certainly. But I had always thought his treachery arose from greed, not political ambition. It appears now that I was wrong. Or rather it appears that love of money may not have been his only motive.'
Ovid (Marcus Corvinus Book 1) Page 20
