‘Even so, if Mithradates had wanted a girl he could’ve got one with the others.’
‘Holy immortal Jove!’ Vitellius raised his eyes to the ceiling of the litter. ‘Don’t be an even bigger fool than you are! Of course he sodding could! He and his mates are in and out of the cat-house those girls came from like bloody weavers’ shuttles! But he didn’t. Why he didn’t, I don’t know, although my guess would be he wanted to embarrass Phraates and lower his stock with the embassy. For reasons of his own, probably involving Tiridates. And you, you gormless idiot, gave him what he wanted so easily he must’ve thought it was his fucking birthday!’
Things clicked horribly into place. Vitellius was right, absolutely right: the conniving bastard had manipulated me straight down the line. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, fair enough. Well, all I can do is apologise.’
Vitellius gave a bark of laughter. ‘Marvellous! Oh, that really helps a lot! Isidorus will be so bloody delighted that you’ve done that! Now shut up. I don’t want even to listen to you any more.’
While he fumed quietly in his corner I glanced out of the window. We were coming down the Palatine stretch of Scaurus Incline. ‘Why Callion, incidentally?’ I said.
‘What?’
‘He was the only one of the embassy to have a girlfriend. Why him?’
‘Jupiter, Corvinus! They’re not bloody celibate! And Callion’s a real lady’s man. The first thing he asked for when he got here was the address of a decent brothel. Now button that mouth of yours. I’ve had enough for one evening.’
We subsided into silence again, and I lay back against the cushions to think. The seating arrangements; those had been interesting. Mithradates with Tiridates, that fitted, especially after Vitellius’s hints. Osroes as far away from Zariadres as he could get; that fitted too, from what I’d seen of the chemistry between the two men. Was there any significance in the fact that he’d chosen to sit with the eunuch Peucestas? That I didn’t know, because I hadn’t met the guy. And Callion, the outsider of the group, out on a limb with Damon, Phraates’s son; also a bit of an outsider...
Then there was the question of why Phraates had made a point of bringing a taster with him to a friendly dinner. I hadn’t had the chance he had half-promised me to talk things over in private, when I might have asked him direct, but under the circumstances – and after Vitellius’s little analysis of the position – that was understandable.
Something else nagged. It was a minor twinge, and probably not worth a rotten anchovy, but still, it nagged.
That troupe of entertainers had been top-class professionals to their finger-ends; like I say, the best I’d seen for a long time. Prime acts like that didn’t make elementary mistakes.
So why had the woman muffed that first catch?
Ah, hell, the whole thing was probably academic now anyway, because after Vitellius was finished outlining his opinion of my ancestry Isidorus wouldn’t touch me with three pairs of gloves and a long pole.
Which suited me just fine. If that was a sample of diplomatic life then I’d had enough of it to last me until I was ninety.
7.
Perilla had been in bed and asleep when I got back, and she was still flat out when I woke up the next morning. That lady’s capacity for sleep never ceases to amaze me: Perilla’s no night owl, but she’s definitely not an early morning person either. Which, this morning anyway, suited me perfectly. After blowing my diplomatic street-cred at the dinner party I might well be out on my ear with Isidorus, but until I knew that for certain I had a conscientious duty to push on with the case. The next stage was to pay a call on Decimus Lippillus down at the Public Pond Watch-house re the knife gang that’d hit Phraates’s litter. Knifemen being currently a sensitive issue with Perilla – plus the fact that I wasn’t too anxious to tell her about my brush with Mithradates – meant that slipping out of the house while she was still an unconscious and uncritical lump under the covers was pretty sound policy.
I grabbed a crust of bread to eat on the way and set off down Head of Africa. It was still early – just after dawn – and the eastern sky was full of red clouds: we’d had a real belter of a rainstorm the night before, and although that’d passed the gutters were still running like streams and everything was soaked. Early morning was the best time to catch Lippillus, although I’d still probably cut it fine: unless something special had come up overnight, he usually spent the first hour or so after his dawn start dealing with the paperwork and general admin stuff. The knifemen aside, I was looking forward to the chat: Lippillus, as well as being far and away the smartest and shortest Watch Commander in Rome, is good company, and after Vitellius and his Parthian mates I needed a palate-cleanser.
Just after dawn’s a good time to be walking in Rome. It’s cool, the streets aren’t crowded, and the only traffic tends to be pedestrian, which means in the narrower alleyways – and the city has plenty of these – there’s less of a chance you’ll get stuck behind a fancy litter squeezing its way between the shops that spill out into the thoroughfare. I came down off the Caelian whistling, crossed Appian Road and headed along the slopes of the Aventine towards the Watch-house itself.
The squaddie on the desk grinned at me over his working breakfast. ‘Hard luck, Corvinus. You’ve just missed him. Break-in at a tenement near Aqueduct Junction.’
Bugger. ‘He liable to be there long?’ I said.
‘No idea. If you’re going over ask for the Cloelian Building. It’s the first floor front.’
‘Thanks, pal.’ Well, it could’ve been worse: Aqueduct Junction wasn’t all that far, the point where the Appian Water crossed Appian Road. I left the guy to his egg roll and went off on my travels again.
I found the tenement finally. It was a new one in an upmarket block, the ground-floor shops looked pretty prosperous, and the balconies had flower pots and trailing greenery instead of the usual strings of washing, which meant the tenants were rich enough to have their smalls done for them elsewhere. First floor front was a good address, too, and it explained why Lippillus would be involved personally. Sure, actual purple-stripers didn’t go a bundle on tenement accommodation, even the top of the range variety like this example, but it was a growing market for up-and-coming plain-mantle businessmen who needed to be close to Market Square and the city centre. There was even a porter on the door, rigged out in a smart blue tunic: again a sign that we weren’t in boiled-cabbage country here. I checked I’d come to the right place and went on up.
The door was open. Lippillus was talking to a thin, sharp-faced woman in a pricey mantle and bangles. Although she wasn’t all that tall, she towered over him by at least a head and a half. He glanced round and his face split in a grin.
‘Hey, Corvinus! What brings you here?’
I held up a hand: this could wait, and the guy had work to do. He said something to the woman and came out.
‘Problems?’ I said.
‘The usual.’ He nodded towards the open door. ‘Family were out for the evening. The bugger crowbarred the lock and helped himself to everything that wasn’t nailed down.’
‘What about the porter?’
‘He’s clean, as far as I can tell. These guys have to be. Our lad used his crowbar to force the back door of the building where they make deliveries and got in that way. All the same, it took planning, and this wasn’t the only flat that got taken. Could still well be an inside job.’
‘You want me to come back later?’
‘No. It’ll keep, and the other flat was empty. Tenant was a single man away on business. Now. What can I do for you?’
‘There somewhere private we can go?’
‘Not here. There’s a cookshop a few doors down that looked quiet enough, if that’ll do you.’
‘Sure.’
‘Just give me a few minutes to mop things up and I’ll join you there. Okay?’
‘Fine.’ I glanced over his shoulder at the thin woman with the bangles. She was glaring at us. Yeah, right: I knew the type. The thief
had probably cleaned out her very considerable jewel-box, and she’d be holding the Watch personally responsible for getting the contents back. I didn’t envy Lippillus. ‘See you, pal.’
I went downstairs, past the porter and outside. I hadn’t noticed the cookshop, so it was probably further on in the next block. On the way I thought about just what I could reasonably tell Lippillus. This was going to be tricky. On the one hand, any info re the Parthian delegation – even the fact that it existed – was classified, so that was out. On the other hand, I had to have a reason for asking him about the attack on Phraates. I’d no intention of lying to the guy, none at all, not even for Isidorus – he was too good a friend for that, and besides he was far too smart to be taken in for a moment – but all the same I couldn’t give him anything near the whole boiling. I’d just have to play things by ear.
I found the cookshop and went in. It was pretty basic, definitely greasy-spoon standard; you get a lot of these places in tenement areas catering for the early-morning tunic trade: workmen who need a good hot meal inside them before they start, because that’s usually it until sunset. The rush was over – most of the clientele would be at work by now – and I had the place to myself. I checked what was on offer, ordered grilled sausages for two with bread and a side-dish of fried onions and took the plates over to a table in the corner. I’d scarcely sat down when Lippillus came in. He wasn’t looking too happy.
‘The lady give you a hard time?’ I asked, pushing the plate of sausages over.
‘You could say that.’ He took the bench on the opposite side. ‘Her brother’s on the staff of the City Prefect. That’s where she and her husband were last night. One of the things they talked about over dinner was burglaries and how useless the Watch was. I got the whole conversation repeated, blow by blow. These people make me sick.’
‘How’s Marcina?’ Marcina was Lippillus’s common-law wife. ‘She had the baby yet?’
‘She lost it.’
‘Oh, shit.’ Both of them had really wanted that kid, unexpected as the pregnancy had been. ‘I’m sorry, pal.’
He shrugged. ‘These things happen. So. What brings you down to the Pond?’
I scooped up some of the onions on a crust. ‘I was hoping you might be able to help me find out more about a knife attack three days ago near the Esquiline Gate. The Maecenas Gardens side.’
‘That’s Third Region. Gaius Hostilius’s patch.’
‘Yeah. I know. All the same, I thought I’d come to you first.’
He grunted and cut a slice of sausage. ‘You have any details?’
‘Sure. It happened in the early hours of the morning. Gang of knifemen jumped a home-going litter party and three of the slaves were killed.’
I’d given it to him dead-pan and poker-faced, but I’d been expecting the reaction I got. He set down the sausage-knife and stared at me. ‘What?’
‘Yeah. Right. And don’t tell me that sort of thing doesn’t happen because this time it did.’
‘Who was the guy in the litter?’
‘A Prince Phraates. He’s...’
‘I know who Phraates is. Jupiter’s holy balls! Was he hurt?’
‘Uh-uh. The gang was beaten off. But like I say two of his bodyguard were killed outright and one died later.’
‘Sweet gods! How do you fit into this, Corvinus?’ I didn’t answer at once, and he scowled. ‘Okay, no sweat. It’s political, isn’t it?’
‘Probably. I don’t know for certain, but it seems that way. There’re political sides to it, sure, or there might be. I’d rather not tell you about them.’
‘Fair enough. That’s fine with me.’ He was still scowling. ‘You watch yourself, though. Politics is the dirty end of the stick. I’d’ve thought you’d have more sense than get mixed up with that business again.’
‘No choice of mine, pal. So. Can you help?’
‘Maybe. That depends on what you want, doesn’t it?’
‘A lead on the guys who did it. Names, if possible. People to talk to, find out who was behind the attack.’
He whistled softly. ‘Sure that’s enough? You don’t make things easy, do you?’ I said nothing. ‘Okay. Let’s think this through. Like I said, the Third Region is Hostilius’s patch. He’s no ball of fire, that’s putting it mildly, but I can have a quiet word with him, see what he says, get the inside angle. Mind you, I’ll bet you now a month’s pay to a poke in the eye he won’t be able to help much.’
‘Yeah? Why’s that?’
‘You said it was a gang. How many would that be?’
‘I don’t know actual numbers, but I’d reckon ten or a dozen.’
‘Right. There aren’t any gangs that size operate on the Esquiline or anywhere near it. Sure, whoever set the thing up may’ve done his hiring piecemeal, but that’d be tricky to arrange. My guess would be they weren’t a local bunch, that chummie brought them in on contract. That’d make them harder to trace, too.’
‘Brought them in from where?’
‘Most of the city’s big gangs belong to the dockland area south of Cattlemarket Square, or across the Sublician in Transtiber. There’re a couple on the Aventine, too, but that’s not such a strong possibility; Aventine villains tend to be solo artists. Same goes for the Subura.’ Lippillus impaled a piece of sausage with his knife, popped it in and chewed. ‘So the docklanders and the Transtiberans’re your best bet. They don’t normally operate in big groups, sure, unless they’re fighting each other, but they’ve certainly got the organisation. You get a lot of protection racket activity over that way, so finding a set of professional heavies wouldn’t be too difficult.’
‘If you had the contacts.’
‘That wouldn’t be a problem. Not if chummie was persistent and had money. Serious money. All he’d have to do was put the word around in a few wineshops, make it clear he was willing to pay, and the lads’d find him soon enough. It’d be pricey, mind. The gangs don’t like operating off their own patch, for obvious reasons: you don’t know whose toes you’re treading on, and mixing it away from your home ground is always risky. In fact, that could be our best way in.’
‘Yeah? How do you mean?’
‘Maybe Hostilius can help after all. Crooks may be crooked, but they’ve got strong views on where belongs to who, and they get pretty pissed off if foreigners muscle in on their territory. I’d bet there’re quite a few Esquiline heavies who’d like to see your knifemen pals pegged out for the crows. And if they do know anything there’s a good chance they won’t be too reluctant to pass it on.’ He cut another piece of sausage. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll put out feelers and let you know if I come up with anything. Now. How’re things otherwise?’
We chatted for a bit and finished off the sausages; they weren’t bad, not bad at all; they might even have been pork like the cookshop owner claimed, although maybe that’s pushing things. Then I let Lippillus get back to his break-in and headed for home.
Well, that was conscience salved: I’d opened up the most likely avenue of investigation, and there wasn’t a lot I could do now but wait to see what came of it. Unless, of course, after talking to Vitellius – and maybe Phraates – Isidorus decided to scrub the whole thing, in which case like I’d said to Lippillus I wouldn’t exactly be crying. Nor would Perilla.
She was in the dining room when I got back, finishing off what even for her was so late a breakfast it was practically lunch. I leaned over and gave her the usual homecoming kiss.
‘Hello, dear,’ she said. ‘How was your dinner last night?’
I settled down on the opposite couch. ‘Okay.’ I wasn’t going to give her even the expurgated version before I had to. And if Vitellius had any clout whatsoever with Isidorus even that mightn’t be necessary now.
‘No problems?’ She sounded suspicious. Jupiter, the lady was psychic!
‘No. No problems. And the food was great.’ Which reminded me; the recipes. I hadn’t had time to see Meton before going out that morning, and the terms of our deal meant th
at a personal transfer was in order. I turned to the hovering Bathyllus. ‘Bathyllus, ask Meton to step in for a second, would you? Unless he’s otherwise occupied, of course.’ Best to be safe. Make it sound too like a summons and if the bastard was doing something important ie anything from breathing forward there’d be Consequences. ‘Oh, and bring me those sheets of paper I left on the study couch last night.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The little bald-head exited.
‘So what happened?’ Perilla said. ‘Marcus, you aren’t usually so reticent. You’re sure there was no trouble?’
Hell. Nose like a bloodhound. I took a sip from the wine-cup Bathyllus had handed me when I came in; just a sip, because with nothing else going on I might as well have another shot at tackling those bloody accounts this afternoon. ‘Sure I’m sure. It was just a dinner, nothing special. There was a good tumbling act, though. Really impressive. They had this guy who –’
‘So where were you this morning?’
‘Down at Public Pond, talking to Lippillus.’
‘About the knife gang?’
‘Yeah. I told you.’ Shit; I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. ‘Perilla, just what is biting you?’
She didn’t answer at first, just ducked her head and fiddled with a crumb of bread on the table. Then she said in a small voice: ‘I don’t know. I just have a feeling that something’s wrong. Or something’s about to be wrong. Badly wrong.’
I tried a grin. ‘Maybe it’s because this time round there’s no body. If –’
‘Don’t!’ Her eyes came up. ‘Marcus, don’t joke about it, please. No, I can’t explain why this business gives me the shivers, but it does. For some reason I keep thinking of Aelius Sejanus.’
I had to work to keep my expression neutral, but I felt the tingle up my spine all the same. Oh, gods; psychic was right! She didn’t even know about Mithradates! ‘Sejanus is dead.’
Parthian Shot (Marcus Corvinus Book 9) Page 6
