‘Uh...yeah. Yeah, no problem.’ I frowned. ‘Another time, Anteius.’
‘A pleasure to meet you,’ Perilla said.
‘Me too,’ the youngster said. Agrippina gave us a brittle smile and led him off.
‘Well!’ Perilla watched them go. ‘That was incredibly rude, even if she is the emperor’s sister.’
‘Goes with the job,’ I said absently. Now what the hell had happened there?
Now that the reading had been over by a decent interval people were beginning to leave: I couldn’t see any of the imperials, barring Vinicius who was talking to a camel-faced senator’s wife while her husband hovered, obviously eager to get away, and wherever Agrippina had taken Anteius it must’ve been through to one of the private rooms, because there was no sign of the jowly would-be poet, either. Ah, well, I’d be happy to call it an evening myself. Like I’d told Perilla, there’d been no bones broken, but my shoulder hurt like hell, the cuts on my face were still stinging and my muscles were stiffening up fast. I hoped the bath-suite furnace was still on at home: I could do with a long steam before bedtime.
Besides, there might be news about Dion.
‘Jack it in, lady?’ I said.
Perilla smiled. ‘If you like. You’ve seen all you want to see?’
‘Yeah. If you can call it that.’ Not much in the way of information, but a couple of points to ponder.
Definitely that. The evening hadn’t been a complete waste of time, not by a long chalk. And so far it certainly hadn’t been uneventful.
***
We went home in Vinicius’s carriage.
‘Now, Marcus.’ Perilla rounded on me as soon as we’d hit the lamb’s-wool-stuffed cushions. ‘Tell me exactly what happened. And don’t lie, because I’ll know.’
So I told her. She was quiet for a long time. Then she said:
‘Could it have been an accident? A real one?’
‘It’s possible. Just.’
‘But you don’t think it was?’
‘No. The top of the steps is level ground. I checked. The only way that cart could’ve moved was if it was pushed.’
‘Did you see anyone?’
I shook my head. ‘Trouble is, lady, if it wasn’t an accident it complicates matters.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Look. If you want to murder someone you don’t have your perp park a mason’s cart at the top of the Staurian Stairs just in the hope that the victim’ll come up them, right? Not unless you think there’s a fair chance he might do it. And the only way you might think that is if you know beforehand exactly where he’s going, and where he’s coming from, and what time he’s liable to be there.’
She was staring at me wide-eyed. ‘Oh, Marcus! No!’
‘You got a better explanation?’
‘You mean it was someone at the reading?’
‘Come on, lady! You can do better than that! Who gave me the invite in the first place?’
‘Vinicius? You’re not serious!’
‘I wish to hell I wasn’t, because you’re right: as a villain the guy just doesn’t make any kind of sense. That’s what I meant by complications. But if we ignore them and go for the obvious solution then he’s it in spades, no question. He knew I was coming and he knew when. I’ll bet you you even mentioned to him at some time or other that your husband preferred walking to litters, so the odds that I’d take the Stairs from the Caelian was practically a dead cert.’
She looked shifty. ‘I may have done. In the past. We do see each other socially on occasion, and the topic may have come up in conversation. But Marcus! Vinicius is totally impossible!’
‘Uh-uh.’ I shook my head again. ‘Improbable, sure, because he’s not the type and he’s got no form. But not impossible, not any more, far from it. We agreed: the only people who could benefit from the fake Gemellus plot are the three imperial pairs, sisters plus husbands. Vinicius and Livilla were rank outsiders because he’s an apolitical bookworm with zero ambition and she hasn’t got the brains to organise a honey wine klatsch. Livilla might’ve known I’d be coming to the reading, fine, because Seneca’s her protégé, it was her show and Vinicius is her husband, but there’s no logical reason to think any of the other three surviving ones did, not that much ahead of time. Lepidus wasn’t even there, for a start. And if they didn’t know then they wouldn’t’ve had time to organise the business with the cart. Livilla on her own hasn’t got the nous for that, so it must’ve been Vinicius. QED.’
‘What about Agrippina? I thought she was the most likely candidate?’
‘Perilla, you told me yourself: her husband’s dying. Oh, sure, if Ahenobarbus had still been a viable option then I’d go for that pair of beauties any time, whatever the objections. But he is, so all she’s got in the bank, or will have soon, is her son Nero, and he isn’t even on solids yet. Unless you think she has something going with Vinicius and they’re in it together.’
‘Don’t be silly, dear! Marcus Vinicius isn’t the philandering type. And I know for a fact that he can’t stand Agrippina.’
‘There you are, then.’ I settled back into the cushions, frowning. ‘And like I say after the business of the cart Vinicius has to be involved. Bugger! I quite liked the guy! Why does it always have to be the wrong one?’
‘Perhaps it was just a simple accident after all.’
‘Yeah, and Cleopatra was my grandmother.’
‘All right, but why go to all these lengths? If Marcus Vinicius is the villain you make him out to be - and I don’t accept that for one minute - and wanted you stopped then why didn’t he just arrange for you to be stabbed in an alley or something? It would be easy enough. He’s no fool, and if you can work out the implications then he certainly could as well.’
‘For a start, because I wouldn’t be around to work anything out. Let’s face it, lady: by rights I should be a smear on the Stairs by now. It’s only luck that I’m not.’ She shuddered, but didn’t say anything. ‘Besides, it had to be an accident, and a credible one, because I’ve got the emperor on my team, and you don’t get better than that. He knows the situation, he’s put the word around - or at least he said he would - , Gaius isn’t an idiot and if I were found knifed in an alley he’d make it his business to find out whodunit and why. And if he did, or even suspected who was responsible, chummie would be hamburger before the sun set. Me, I reckon whoever the perp was, Vinicius or not, he did pretty well.’
We travelled on in silence.
‘There’s only one thing that’s nagging at me,’ I said finally. ‘Although it could be just coincidence. These things happen.’
‘What’s that, dear?’ Perilla turned away from the window.
‘Gaetulicus. The erotic poet that young Anteius mentioned?’
‘Yes? What about him?’
‘He used the name in Agrippina’s hearing. She was only a few yards off, and she came over as fast as if she’d been greased. Gaetulicus may be an erotic poet with a crush on your stepfather, lady, but he’s also currently military governor in Germany.’
***
We got back home ten minutes later. One of the kids had left word that they’d found Dion.
The steam-bath could wait.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dion’s real name, it transpired, was Tiberius Claudius Etruscus. He was a top civil service freedman with an office in Augustus House.
I went round there the next day, without bothering to make a prior appointment: if Etruscus had been chary about giving me his name in the first place he wouldn’t exactly break his neck to talk to me at work. Not that that concerned me. If there was any neck-breaking to be done I’d do it myself, and whistle while I did it.
‘Good morning, sir.’ The slave on the front desk gave me a big professional smile. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Yeah. I’d like to speak to Claudius Etruscus.’
He pulled over a set of wax tablets. ‘Your name, sir? You have an appointment?’
‘No. No appointment. And it�
�s, uh, Gaius Anteius.’
‘Your business?’
‘A private matter.’
The slave hesitated. ‘Well, I’ll see, sir,’ he said. ‘But Claudius Etruscus is rather busy this morning. If you could possibly come back later, or better still arrange a time for another day -’
‘No. It has to be now. And it’s urgent.’
‘I’ll ask. If you’d like to wait.’
‘Sure. No problem.’ There was a bench against the wall. I went over and sat on it while he disappeared down a corridor.
He was back in two minutes. ‘This way, sir.’
He led me down the corridor to a door, opened it and stood back. I went in.
Etruscus, aka Dion, was sitting behind a desk loaded with paperwork and wax tablets, dictating to a secretary. His eyes widened when he saw me, but he stretched out a hand.
‘Ah, Anteius, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’ We shook. ‘Do have a seat. It’ll be about the tenders for the repairs to the temple of Venus Erycina, no doubt.’
‘Uh...yeah,’ I said, pulling up the guest chair and sitting on it. What?
‘You’re a bit premature, I’m afraid. We’ve only got the raw figures at present, and we need to compare them with the materials specifications which Public Works still have. But I can certainly show you those.’ He turned to the secretary. ‘Stephanus, go and fetch them, please. Oh, and while you’re about it look out the bills for the Octavian Porch work and the new Augustan Marketplace bronzes. You know the ones I mean. I’ll need to refer to them later.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The secretary left, closing the door behind him.
Etruscus was on his feet like a rocketing pheasant. ‘Corvinus, what the hell are you doing here?’ he snapped. ‘How did you find me?’
I shrugged. ‘It wasn’t all that difficult, pal. And I think you owe me an explanation. Plus telling me a lot more about what’s going on than the shovelful of garbage you handed me the last time we met.’
‘If I could do that I would’ve done it in the first place!’ He sat down, pulled a handkerchief from his tunic-sleeve and mopped his forehead. ‘I had good reason not to then, and I still have. As it is, you’ve now seriously compromised the pair of us and may have caused far more damage than you can imagine.’ He did a double-take and looked at me more closely. ‘What’ve you done to your face?’
‘An accident with a runaway cart.’
‘Good gods!’ He put the handkerchief down. ‘What happened?’
‘That’s not important.’ I leaned forwards. ‘The explanation is. Now just exactly what is going on here?’
‘I said: I can’t tell you.’
‘Bugger that, sunshine. I want an answer. Now.’
‘Then you can want it. Look, Corvinus, I’m sorry, but this is exactly the situation I was trying to avoid. I know it’s difficult for you but believe me, I cannot get involved. Not directly. If I did it would ruin everything. They’d find out, and that would be the end of both of us.’
Yeah, well: judging by chummie at the wine shop and the business with the cart, we’d already gone past that point. As far as I was concerned, at least. Still, there was no reason to panic the guy any further than he was evidently panicking already. ‘Who’s “they”? The imperials? Vinicius? Agrippina?’
He looked blank. ‘What? No! What’ve the imperials got to do with it?’
The surprise was genuine; nobody was that good an actor. I sat back again. Bloody hell! ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Then who?’
‘I can’t tell you! That is final!’ He mopped his forehead again. ‘Oh, good sweet Jupiter, I’m trying to...’ He stopped, put the handkerchief down and took a deep breath. ‘Corvinus, listen to me. Please. I’ve done the best I could, but I dare not go any further. I dare not! You’re on your own, completely, and I have total confidence in your abilities. All I will say is that it is vital for Rome that you find out the truth behind Macro’s death. I swear it. Now just go away, leave me alone and don’t come back.’
‘Now hang on, pal! That’s not -’
‘You’ve already done both of us possibly irreparable damage by coming here. Fortunately I’ve never met the real Anteius, and luckily neither has Stephanus, nor Euthias on the desk, but I do know he’s one of the new finance officers. Using his name to get in to see me was sheer stupidity, and asking for trouble. Good gods, man, you’re not even wearing a senatorial mantle!’ Oops; the guy had a point. I hadn’t thought of that, and Anteius’s name had been the first to spring to mind. Well, it was too late to worry about spilt milk. ‘Now, Stephanus will be back in a moment. We’ll play a small charade which hopefully should get me at least out of this nonsense. Where it will leave you with your half-baked impersonation of a quaestor is your own concern, but that’s your own stupid fault.’
I’d had about enough of this. ‘Look, sunshine,’ I said. ‘No charade. Not unless you give me something tangible in exchange, because at present I’m floundering. So when your Stephanus walks through that door I’m going to get up, thank you nice as pie for delivering Sertorius Macro’s letter to me the other day and call you Dion when I leave.’
‘You wouldn’t!’ His face was grey. ‘This is a nightmare! Corvinus, you absolute bloody fool!’
‘Your choice, pal.’ I crossed my arms.
There was the sound of footsteps coming along the corridor. Etruscus licked his lips. The footsteps slowed.
‘All right,’ he said quickly. ‘Two names. Flaccus and Isidorus. That’s all I can give you.’
My brain went numb. Oh, Jupiter! ‘Who?’
‘Corvinus, for the gods’ sake! Please!’
The door opened and the secretary came in with an armful of documents. I recovered enough to smile at him as he put them down on Etruscus’s desk.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ he said.
‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’m fine.’ Etruscus took a deep breath; I could see the reason for the guy’s question because he was visibly shaking. ‘Thank you, Stephanus.’ He fumbled through the documents, pulled out three and handed them to me. ‘There you are, Anteius. As I said, only the raw figures, but I hope they help.’
I unrolled them one by one, scanned the meaningless columns of numbers for a minute or two for effect and to give both of us time to settle, then gave them back. ‘That’s marvellous,’ I said. ‘Just what I needed.’ I stood up. ‘Thanks, Etruscus. We’ll be in touch.’
I could feel his eyes on my back all the way to the door.
***
I left the building and walked in the direction of the Staurian Stairs, brain churning. Well, that had been a facer. Two facers. Whatever the hell this was about, the imperials had to be involved, they just had to be. Only seemingly they weren’t; I’d given Etruscus my best shot, point-blank, and he’d scotched the idea in no uncertain terms. And if anyone knew what was going on here then Etruscus did. So scratch the imperials theory completely; in which case floundering was right. He was scared, too, deathly scared: whoever his ‘they’ were carried clout, and I didn’t like the sound of this ‘vital to Rome’ business at all.
It didn’t make sense. Any of it.
The second facer, of course, and it was a real whammy, was the two names, Flaccus and Isidorus. That combination couldn’t be coincidence, no way, they had to be Agron and Cass’s Egyptian governor Atillius Flaccus and his new pal the Alexandrian Greek rabble-rouser. I’d had Etruscus over a barrel, and he’d known it; he wouldn’t’ve given me chicken-feed, not at that point, not the way he was sweating. Which meant that however the hell Flaccus and Isidorus fitted in they were important. Vitally important. Maybe even crucial. The real bummer was that both of them were currently more than a thousand miles away, in Alexandria, and if I wanted to follow the lead through then...
Hell. If the bastard thought I would just jump on a ship and sail to Egypt he was whistling through his ears.
On the other hand, like I say, he hadn’t given me the information lightly. And whatever the ins a
nd outs of it, Etruscus wasn’t faking; he wanted the case solved even more than I did. He wouldn’t be interested in sending me on wild goose chases, and if he was pointing me at Alexandria then he’d a good reason to do it. The best. That meant I’d be a fool not at least to think about going there if I wanted hard answers; and that meant I was more than half committed before I started. Especially since as far as ideas and leads at the Roman end were concerned I was totally screwed.
Bugger; it was a conspiracy. First Perilla, now Etruscus. But when you find yourself fighting the gods then all you can do is roll with the punches.
By the time I reached home I’d made my decision.
***
‘I’ve changed my mind, lady,’ I said. ‘We’re going to Alexandria after all.’
She stared at me and put her book-roll down on the atrium pool’s rim. ‘We are what?’
‘Pack your smalls and draw up your shopping list. I’ll send Alexis over to Ostia to make enquiries at the shipping offices first thing tomorrow.’
‘Marcus, have you taken complete leave of your senses? We can’t just drop everything and go to Alexandria! What about the wedding arrangements? What about the -?’ Perilla stopped. ‘This has something to do with your investigation, doesn’t it?’
‘Ah...could have. Could have.’
‘You’ve seen Etruscus and he’s said that for some reason you’ve got to be in Alexandria.’
‘Not in so many words.’
‘Marcus Valerius Corvinus!’
Shit. Nothing for it. I settled down on my usual couch and told her the whole story. ‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ I finished.
‘Oh, I am! And forget what I said. It’s just that I would’ve liked to be going for other reasons than to have you furkling about in the dirty linen basket of politics.’
‘I don’t furkle,’ I said. Mind you, the image started up a certain train of thought that I might chase when I had more time. ‘Besides, while we’re there you could do what you like. See the sights. Shop till you drop.’
‘I’ll have to let Marilla and Clarus know.’ She swung her legs over the edge of the couch. ‘We can send Lysias on the mare. If he leaves now he can be in Castrimoenium before midnight.’
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