Family Commitments (Marcus Corvinus Book 20)

by David Wishart

  ‘Valerius Corvinus, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’ I held out my hand, and we shook.

  ‘My dear chap!’ he said. ‘How very nice to see you again!’

  Definitely cheerful and brimming with positive bonhomie. Good sign.

  ‘You too, sir,’ I said.

  ‘You’re well? And Rufia Perilla?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re both fine.’

  ‘Good. Good. We don’t see you very often in this neck of the woods. Slumming it, are we?’

  ‘Uh, no.’ I hesitated; here we went. ‘Actually, sir, I was waiting for you to come out. If you’re not in a hurry I’d appreciate a word or two. In confidence.’

  ‘Oh, my, that does sound ominous!’ He smiled. ‘What about?’

  ‘I’d rather lead up to that gradually, sir. If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Is that so, now?’ He gave me a very sharp look indeed, and the smile disappeared. ‘Well, as it happens, no, I’m in no real hurry. But if the matter is sensitive, which I assume it is, perhaps we should go somewhere more private. In fact, somewhere very private. I could take you home with me, of course, but then again–’ He stopped and looked around. ‘Ah, yes. The King’s Palace might be the best plan.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Anywhere you like.’ The King’s Palace was the official residence of the Chief Priest, and almost literally round the corner. ‘If you think it’d be suitable.’

  The smile was back. ‘My dear fellow, that is one good thing about Tiberius Claudius, and not the only good thing by any means. He’s very hands-on where religion is concerned, and although naturally he is ex officio Chief Priest himself he hasn’t appointed a deputy. Consequently, while the Palace is staffed it’s not in actual use at present. I think it would be eminently suitable.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ I said.

  We set off in silence, but I could almost hear his brain ticking. For all his bluff all-pals-together manner Marcus Vinicius was a very smart cookie indeed, with one of the sharpest minds in Rome; in fact, when Gaius had been shoved off his perch there had been a very fair chance, if he’d wanted the job, which he hadn’t, of his being chosen to succeed. Chosen, mark you, not emperor by self-selection, which to my mind was another big point in the guy’s favour. Vinicus was not someone to be taken lightly, not by any means.

  There was a door-slave on duty outside the Palace, but Vinicius simply nodded to him and he opened up straight off, tugging his forelock in the process. Yeah, well; we were moving in very high circles now, weren’t we?

  I’d been inside the King’s Palace before, quite some time ago, when Furius Camillus had been in residence and deputising for the Wart, but it hadn’t changed all that much: it was still grand, old and seedy, with a faint underlying smell of must and mouse droppings. The major-domo who greeted us wasn’t familiar, which was fair enough: it had been ten years, at least, since the affair of the dead Vestal, and in any case the one I’d known would’ve been Camillus’s own slave to begin with.

  ‘Ah, Castor,’ Vinicius said to him. ‘This is my friend Valerius Corvinus. I wonder if we might use the study for a while, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Yes, of course, sir.’ The man smiled. ‘For as long as you like. You know the way?’

  ‘Of course I do. Corvinus?’

  I followed him along the corridor and into the study. That was familiar, too, even down to the book-rolls in the wall-cubby. All that was missing was the big table where Camillus had been staging his re-fight of Zama. In its place was the usual desk and, between it and the door, a reading couch. Vinicius closed the door behind us, went over behind the desk, and sat.

  ‘Well, now, Marcus Valerius Corvinus,’ he said. ‘Make yourself comfortable on the couch there and let’s have it. Straight to the point, please, because I dine early and this morning’s meeting was bloody.’

  I sat on the couch. ‘Very well, sir,’ I said. ‘Straight to the point it is. The trials three years back. Of Junius Silanus and your nephew Annius Vinicianus.’

  ‘What about them?’ Bland as hell.

  ‘I just wondered why. Why they were charged and condemned.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Would this have anything to do with your sleuthing activities, by any chance?’ he said. I didn’t answer, and he grunted; the eyebrow was lowered. ‘Never mind; I won’t press you, and there are no secrets involved. The reasons were simple enough. Silanus was charged with planning to assassinate the emperor. My nephew was charged with treason. Whether the first charge was sustainable I don’t know.’ He gave me a straight look. ‘Genuinely don’t know; the man was a complete fool, and he was capable of any degree of foolishness. The second I know for a fact was fully justified. Lucius was a traitor, and he did well to kill himself before the trial could take place.’

  ‘A traitor in what way?’ I said.

  ‘You remember Arruntius Scribonianus?’

  ‘Uh...the name rings a faint bell, yeah. He got himself into a bit of trouble three years back, didn’t he? Just after Claudius became emperor.’

  Vinicius’s lips twisted in a half-smile.

  ‘“A bit of trouble”?’ he said. ‘Oh, my dear fellow, for a supposedly intelligent man you really don’t follow events all that closely, do you?’

  ‘Ah...’

  ‘No, don’t apologise. In the company I keep, am forced to keep, that’s a rare and quite endearing quality. Refreshing, too.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Well, to educate you. Scribonianus was military governor of Dalmatia, appointed by that tick Gaius, and for his sins that rare beast all but extinct a dedicated Republican. Meaning he thought that instead of faffing around with emperors we should go back to the good old days when the senate was in charge of messing things up.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ I was beginning to get the picture here. ‘So with Gaius dead – assassinated – Vinicianus writes to Scribonianus suggesting that he might like to stage a revolt?’

  ‘That’s more or less the strength of it, yes. Of course the escapade was a complete no-hoper from the start, and when that anachronistic idiot Scribonianus told his troops his intention was to restore the Republic that put the lid on it: they mutinied and his goose was cooked. The whole thing was over and done with inside of a month. And when it came out, as it was bound to do, that the original suggestion had come from Lucius his goose was cooked as well. Brought it on himself, the silly bugger.’

  ‘So why did he do it in the first place?’ I said. ‘Encourage Scribonianus to rebel?’

  ‘Pique against the emperor. And a desire to do him down.’ He frowned. ‘No; forget that, Corvinus, it’s not by any means the whole story, and it isn’t fair on Lucius at all. Oh, I wasn’t blind to his faults, don’t think so for a moment: nephew or not, in many ways, which we won’t go into but which having had dealings with him before you can guess at, Lucius was a complete stinker. He did, though, have one virtue, the old Roman loyalty to friends. “Friends” in the technical sense, I mean: those he’d worked alongside, been associated with, in the past. Silanus was one of them. Lucius took it very badly when he was charged and put to death. Very badly indeed.’

  ‘Badly enough to make him commit treason? Or at least incite someone else to it?’

  ‘Presumably. What other explanation for his actions is there? And he certainly performed them, there’s no doubt of that.’

  Yeah; right. My brain was buzzing; this was something I had to talk over with Perilla. I shelved it for the present.

  ‘Uh...one thing more, sir,’ I said. We were treading on really sensitive ground here, but it was the only chance I’d get. ‘The other trials round about that time and later. Your wife’s and Julia Livia’s. You think they were justified?’

  ‘Ah.’ His face...shut; there was no other way of putting it. Then he said: ‘Valerius Corvinus. Now listen to me, please, because I am being very serious. Very serious indeed. There are certain topics on which I don’t wish to speculate. Livilla’s crime, and poor Julia Livia’s, if crimes they were, f
all very firmly into that category. I suggest most strongly that you follow my lead. You understand me?’

  ‘Uh...yeah,’ I said. ‘I do, sir. Perfectly.’

  ‘Good.’ He smiled, but it was not an amused smile; quite the opposite. ‘Don’t forget it. That way we might both survive into old age.’ He stood up. ‘Now I really do think I should be going. It was a pleasure to see you again, my dear fellow, and of course do give my warmest regards to Rufia Perilla.’

  I stood up as well. ‘I’ll do that, sir. And thank you.’

  ‘Oh, no need to hurry off in your case. Castor is extremely accommodating; in fact, there might be a cup of wine on offer if you ask him nicely. Good wine, too: they keep a very respectable cellar here, for all the place has been left empty these past few years. Anyway.’ He held out his hand, and I shook it. ‘As I say, a pleasure. Do look after yourself, won’t you? And don’t overdo the sleuthing; it’s not good for your health.’

  He left.

  Uh-huh. So I’d been warned. In the nicest possible way, sure, but the warning was unmistakable.

  I passed up on the wine and went straight home.

  19

  I was just in time for dinner, which was a blessing: ten minutes later and the sun would’ve been well below the yardarm and my stock with our touchy chef seriously depleted. I handed Bathyllus my cloak, collected the welcome-home cup of wine and went straight through to the dining-room where Perilla was already ensconced on her couch.

  ‘You’ve cut it fine, dear,’ she said, holding up her cheek for the kiss in passing. ‘Successful day?’

  ‘More or less.’ I settled down on my couch, opposite hers. ‘I’ve got to the bottom of the Priscus mystery.’

  ‘Oh, my.’ She frowned. ‘You mean you went to the curio shop and talked to the woman?’

  ‘Yeah. At least, yes to the first, anyway. Things aren’t as black as we thought they were, albeit a tad weirder. It turns out she isn’t his mistress after all. She’s his grandchild.’

  Perilla sat up sharply. ‘What? Marcus, that is impossible!’

  ‘Uh-uh. True. And it’s all perfectly credible. If you can manage to put the current version of Priscus completely out of your mind, that is. Backtrack seventy years, think in terms of teenaged sharp dude-about-town with an eye for the local talent, the town being Athens, and you’ve got it.’

  ‘Hold on. We’re talking about Priscus? Our Priscus? The man who throws sauce on my best mantle and has a thing for recherché points of grammar in dead languages?’

  ‘As ever is, lady. Listen and marvel.’ I explained, while the skivvies laid out the plates of starters. By the time I’d finished, we were both at the giggling stage. Well, it did have its funny side, when you thought about it.

  ‘Vipsania will go absolutely spare,’ Perilla said. ‘When is he going to tell her? Is he going to tell her?’

  ‘He said he would.’ I reached for a stuffed olive. ‘Or at least that he’d tell her something. But it’s their problem to sort out between them. Me, I’m keeping well clear.’

  ‘So what’s she like?’ Perilla dipped a celery stalk into the fish sauce. ‘This Polyxene?’

  ‘She seems okay. I didn’t really have a chance to talk to her.’

  ‘That’s a pity. She is a relative of yours in a way, you know; a distant one, granted, very much collateral, and I’m not sure what the exact term is. But even so you will have certain commitments where she’s concerned.’

  I set the olive down. I hadn’t really thought of it that way; what with Bathyllus and Priscus both turning up long-lost relatives out of the blue it would seem that family commitments in general were figuring pretty strongly this time round. ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘We’ll keep a watching brief, see how things develop. That satisfy you?’

  ‘Yes, of course it does, dear, certainly until Priscus manages to fix things up with Vipsania and the dust settles. If he does manage.’ She chewed on the celery, and I picked up one of Meton’s cheese pastries. ‘So how did the rest of your day go?’

  ‘Yeah, well, that side of things was a bit more problematical.’ I told her the details of my chat with Vinicius, and what he’d said about Annius Vinicianus and his connection with the Dalmatian revolt. ‘Me, I don’t think Vinicianus did it at all. Wrote the letter to Scribonianus, I mean.’

  ‘That’s hardly logical, Marcus.’ Perilla was carefully peeling a quail’s egg. ‘After all, Vinicius believes it, and he was the man’s uncle, so he would know if anyone would. Besides, Vinicius is a very intelligent man.’

  ‘Sure he is. He’s also careful as hell; he has to be, in his position. You think it was coincidence he suggested the Palace for our talk rather than taking me back home with him? Or that he engineered things so we left separately when we’d finished? Personally I wouldn’t bet on the fact that he’d swallowed the official version of events for one minute, whether he told me so or not. And when I asked about the other trials – his wife’s and Graecina’s pal Livia’s – he clammed up completely and more or less advised me to drop everything down a very deep hole.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Perilla dipped the egg into the fish sauce. ‘So what are your reasons? For believing that Vinicianus didn’t write the letter?’

  ‘Come on, Perilla!’ I set the pastry down on my plate. ‘Why should he? Vinicius’s claim that he did it because he was so upset at Silanus’s death and wanted to get back at Claudius is pure hogwash. We’re not talking Harmodius and Aristogeiton here, anything to avenge a pal.’

  She smiled. ‘Oh, well done, Marcus! A historical allusion, or at least close to one. You are improving.’

  I ignored her. ‘Look. We’ve been through all this. The guy was smart, he was streetwise politically speaking, he was all out for Number One, and as Messalina’s accomplice he was already sitting pretty with both her and the emperor. He wasn’t going to risk rocking the boat, and even if he had been fool enough to want to he certainly wouldn’t’ve chosen such a damn stupid way of going about it. He’d know perfectly well that Scribonianus wouldn’t have a hope in hell of staging a successful revolt; he was a political nobody, he was half the world away from Rome with only a couple of legions to play with, and he had no military support pledged anywhere else, or any other kind of support, for that matter. Even if he had got the length of marching on Italy he’d’ve been mopped up before he crossed the fucking Alps.’

  ‘Don’t swear.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Besides, Vinicianus would’ve known he had a bee in his bonnet about restoring the Republic. I mean, how far is that idea going to get you in this day and age? Promise your men a good cash bonus when they set your or whoever’s backside on the throne, fine, you’re in with a shout at least. But tell them you’re out to restore a system that went down the tubes before their grandfathers were born and you’re on a hiding to nothing. No wonder they gave him the finger and the whole thing collapsed.’

  ‘All right.’ She pushed her plate away. ‘So if Vinicianus didn’t write the letter then where did it come from?’

  ‘That’s obvious. Messalina forged it and sent it in Vinicianus’s name. Or she and Narcissus did, working together. To set him up.’

  ‘Why on earth should she want to do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. But it makes sense.’ I pushed my own plate away. ‘Look. You’d agree that Vinicianus had no valid reason to send it himself, yes? That in fact he’d’ve been a bloody fool to?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she said cautiously. ‘For the sake of argument, at least.’

  ‘Good. Okay. Now assuming that Messalina did have her reasons for wanting Vinicianus chopped the Scribonianus ploy is perfect. Like–’

  ‘Hold on, dear. Why not just engineer a charge of treason against him? That would be a much simpler method, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe. But this way is safer and surer.’

  ‘Really?’ The barest sniff. ‘How so?’

  ‘For a start, there’d be no doubt in Claudius’s mind that an act of treason had taken place
, because it had, in a form to scare the willies out of him: one of his military governors going rogue at a time when he had four legions committed to the British campaign. And if it subsequently transpires that someone in Rome started it all off by pushing the guy’s button then he’s unlikely to be all that forgiving and sympathetic. Fair enough?’

  ‘Hmm.’

  I grinned. ‘I’ll take that as a yes. Okay. Back to Vinicianus. As far as he’s concerned the whole thing comes like a bolt from the blue, and it’s a fait accompli: he knows about the revolt, sure, but suddenly he finds that he’s being accused of starting it, for the reason that Vinicius gave me, resentment over his pal Silanus’s death; that he’s supposed to have sent Scribonianus a letter saying the senate is behind him to a man and are all looking forward to a restored republic. The poor bastard’s screwed: he can’t deny sending the letter because no doubt there it is, or a copy of it, duly signed, in Suillius Rufus’s little hot-and-sticky, ready to be flashed around in court as Exhibit One, and he can’t claim the whole thing’s a stitch-up because who would believe him? Certainly not Claudius, with Messalina whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He can’t accuse her of being behind the stitch-up, either, for much the same reasons. So whatever happens he knows he’s for the chop, and there isn’t a thing he can do about it. His only options are to slit his wrists or wait for the government executioner to do the job for him.’

  ‘It still begs the question of why, Marcus. Even if Messalina did engineer the accusation what possible reason would she have for doing it in the first place?’ Perilla retrieved the shelled egg. ‘As you said, Vinicianus was firmly on her side and she was completely in the ascendant where influence over Claudius was concerned. Naturally she’d have cause if she suspected that he was a threat, but you’re right, he’d have had to be an absolute fool to even think of crossing her at that stage. It makes no sense at all, however you look at it.’

  I frowned. ‘No,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t, and that’s the bugger. Leave it for the present.’ I picked up the pastry again. ‘Catonius Justus, now, at least from what Secundus told me about him we’re on firmer ground there.’