Parthian Shot (Marcus Corvinus Book 9)

by David Wishart

  The side door was beyond. It had two massive bolts, which were firmly shot and locked into their guards. Yeah, well; no mileage there. Still, for the sake of completeness I pulled them and looked outside. The door opened onto the garden; not the pretty-pretty part, that was on the south side of the house where it’d get the most sun. This bit was purely functional: herbs and salad stuff and dug-over ground. There was a high, blank wall beyond.

  ‘This part of the property is none of our concern either.’ Osroes was looking over my shoulder with his month-old-fish-under-the-nose expression on. ‘I’m afraid our cook has a very poor opinion – fully justified, I’d say – of the quality of your Roman vegetables and salad leaves. If you’ve quite finished we’ll go upstairs.’

  Supercilious bastard. I closed the door and re-bolted it.

  At the top of the staircase he turned left. There were three doors along this stretch of corridor, one on the right, two on the left.

  He opened the door on the right and stepped back to let me past without a word.

  Parthian decor obviously extended to the bedrooms: the place was kitted out like a five-star cat-house. The only discordant note was the bed itself and the floor area immediately beside it. The bed had been stripped and the side-mats were missing. No prizes for guessing why: if Zariadres’s throat had been slit there would’ve been a lot of blood splashed around.

  The room opened out onto a balcony overlooking the city. I went over and checked it out. Scrub that idea, then: anyone trying to get in this way, from any direction including above, would’ve had to have had monkeys in his ancestry.

  ‘Nice view,’ I said.

  ‘It’s the only bedroom on this side which has one.’ Osroes was still standing by the door. ‘That’s why we don’t use the other two.’

  ‘Did you see the body yourself?’

  Oops: mistake. The guy’s nostrils flared, and he took his time answering. Finally, he said: ‘No, I did not. Not, I may say, from any squeamishness on my part. Magians are forbidden even to look at a corpse. I understand your High Priest of Jupiter is subject to the same restriction.’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s right.’ Fair enough. Add it to the collection. Well, there wasn’t much to be seen here, especially since the room had been cleaned within an inch of its life. ‘Let’s go back down, shall we?’

  ‘Certainly. You won’t, I hope, want to look inside our private rooms?’

  ‘No, that’s okay,’ I said. Then, as diffidently as I could: ‘Who has which, by the way?’

  ‘I’ll show you the corridor.’ We went back to the landing. ‘All of them are on the left along the outside of the house overlooking the city. Callion’s is the first, then mine and finally Peucestas’s.’

  I glanced along the passage. Sure enough, there were three doors, plus another two – presumably more unused bedrooms – on the right, with a blank wall beyond. ‘And no one heard any movement during the night? No creaking floorboards?’

  ‘You asked that before.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I did.’ I turned round just to check that from where I was standing, at the junction of the second corridor and the top of the stairs, I could see the door of Zariadres’s room. I could, just. Then I stepped aside and let Osroes lead the way back downstairs.

  Vitellius was talking when we came back into the atrium, but when he saw me he clammed up. The other two stared at me expressionlessly. I walked over to the couch I’d had before and lay down.

  ‘So,’ I said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’ That was Callion.

  ‘Why was he killed?’

  ‘Who can say?’ Osroes raised his shoulders. ‘If we were in Parthia the answer would be easy: traitors die, and Artabanus would not hesitate to kill someone he viewed as a traitor, as he would view any of us. Also, no doubt there he would have his private enemies. But here in Rome? Who is there in Rome, apart from us?’

  Three pairs of eyes – Vitellius’s included – locked on to him, and the room was suddenly very quiet. I’d lay good money that that was the first time the thought had been put into words, although the suspect short-list must’ve been obvious to all of them from the outset. It was interesting that Osroes had brought it up. He’d done it deliberately, that was for sure, and I wondered why.

  ‘I had no reason, personally, to kill Zariadres,’ Peucestas said softly. ‘I swear it.’

  ‘Nor did I.’ Callion sipped his wine.

  ‘And I didn’t kill him either. I didn’t like the man, I admit it, but I did not kill him.’ Osroes smiled; on that face it was like a razor drawn across where his mouth should be. ‘There, Corvinus, that’s done. You have three sworn denials. Of course, one of us may be given over to the Dark Lord, in which case a lie would come easily to him. Still, there is your question of why to answer.’ He paused, and then added carefully: ‘Plus the question of the door and the drugged porter.’

  ‘The obvious explanation for that is that someone killed Zariadres and then slipped out,’ I said.

  ‘No,’ Callion said, quietly but firmly. ‘I told you, Corvinus, and I’ll swear to it. There was no one in the house last night who shouldn’t have been here and who was unaccounted for when Peucestas found Zariadres this morning.’

  ‘To your knowledge.’

  ‘To my certain knowledge.’ He smiled. ‘I’m afraid that you will have to think again.’

  ‘So why the drugged door-slave and the open door?’

  No one answered. Suddenly, I felt angry; so angry that for two pins I’d’ve chucked the whole boiling, gone straight round to Isidorus’s and told him in words of one syllable just what he could do with himself...

  Just for a moment. It was a close thing, though.

  I gritted my teeth, unclenched my fists and tried to keep my voice a notch this side of civil. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So tell me. Who drugged the porter and unbolted the door, and why?’ No response. Well, I hadn’t really expected one, although that’s not to say I didn’t believe that at least one of the slippery bastards could’ve provided it; in fact, the belief was practically a certainty. I stood up.

  ‘Thank you for your time, gentlemen,’ I said. ‘And your help.’ And fuck you all, all three of you.

  We left.

  9.

  The litter was still waiting for us outside. I let Vitellius get in first, then joined him. I was still fuming. Even so, I took the time to look left and right, up and down the road outside the house. Opposite, a blank wall stretched unbroken in both directions. There wasn’t any cover – no doorways or overhanging trees – on the house side, either. Interesting.

  ‘Bastards!’ I said as the litter guys headed off.

  ‘They’re Parthians,’ Vitellius said equably. ‘Even Callion, for all he’s a Greek. Of course they’re bastards.’

  ‘I’ve met straighter snakes.’

  ‘You were warned.’ He settled back among the cushions. ‘Well?’

  ‘That business with the door. You didn’t know it was open?’

  ‘No.’ Vitellius was frowning.

  ‘And you’re sure your men were on duty?’

  He stirred uncomfortably. ‘Not from personal knowledge. Corvinus, what are you getting at?’

  It was just an idea, and I hated peaching, but we had to cover all the angles here. ‘I was just thinking,’ I said. ‘These guys are only human, like the rest of us. We had a rip-snorter of a rainstorm last night. There isn’t any shelter anywhere near the door. I just checked.’

  Vitellius’s little piggy eyes skewered me like knives. ‘Ah,’ he said. Just that: like I say, the guy was a lot smarter than he looked, although that wouldn’t be hard. ‘Good point, boy. I’ll pass it on and get an answer for you. But I can tell you now, if the bugger out front wasn’t in place then Isidorus will personally string him up somewhere high by his wollocks until he drops off.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, that’ll be really useful, pal. Shutting the stable door isn’t in it.’

  ‘It would certainly
broaden the options, though.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ I was looking out between the curtains. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of. Three more questions.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘One: Zariadres’s death. How does it affect the negotiations?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘He was the delegation leader. Now he’s gone, what authority do the others have to negotiate?’

  ‘The murder doesn’t change anything at all. Zariadres was the leader, but he was first among equals. The delegation’s principals gave all four of them carte blanche.’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I thought. Still, Osroes steps into Zariadres’s shoes as prime dickerer, doesn’t he? And Osroes is a different kettle of fish from Zariadres. The two didn’t get on, to put it mildly. Or at least that’s the impression I got. And he isn’t too sweet on Phraates, either.’

  Vitellius was looking at me for the first time with something approaching respect. ‘You might have a bit of the diplomat in you after all, Corvinus,’ he said slowly. ‘No, you’re right; he doesn’t. Not that that changes things either.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because Phraates is Rome’s choice for Great King. Osroes’s personal feelings are neither here nor there.’

  ‘But –’ I stopped. Okay; leave it. There was the beginnings of an idea there, but it was no more than that. I wasn’t going to go out on no theoretical limbs, certainly not with Lucius Vitellius.

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Nothing. That was question two. Third question.’

  ‘You’ve got the floor.’

  ‘Peucestas. He’s the only one of the three I didn’t meet before Zariadres’s death. How did he get on with the guy?’

  ‘Ah.’ Vitellius leaned back. ‘Peucestas is...rather a complicated man. In some ways, anyway. As far as I can tell – and that’s not going far, because the bugger’s not all that forthcoming – he’d nothing against him. Certainly he’s no Osroes.’

  ‘He’s capable of killing, though.’

  Vitellius shot me a look. ‘Now why would you think that?’

  ‘Because he’s the quiet, solid type. Osroes is all mouth and no action. Not any action that would threaten him personally, anyway. Callion thinks too much, and if he killed someone he’d plan it better. Eunuch or not, Peucestas is a soldier. If he thought Zariadres ought to die, for whatever reason, then he’d kill him. No fancy plans, just a death. And we’ve only his word for it that Zariadres was dead when he found him.’

  ‘Peucestas swore he didn’t kill him.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘He’s a Zoroastrian. A good one, as far as I can tell, or if not then he’s a bloody superb actor. That may not mean much to you, but believe me it’s a clincher. Zoroastrians don’t take oaths lightly, especially if they offer them freely with no arm-twisting. Breaking an oath is the worst thing they can do. Take it from me, whoever killed Zariadres it wasn’t Peucestas.’

  ‘Then who did kill him?’

  Vitellius grinned. ‘Shit knows.’

  A fair assessment of the situation as it currently stood. ‘Yeah,’ I sighed. ‘Yeah, right.’

  Perilla was waiting for me.

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  I unlimbered the mantle and settled down on the atrium couch with Bathyllus’s cup of wine. ‘We’ve got our corpse,’ I said. ‘Not Phraates after all. Zariadres.’

  ‘Who is Zariadres?’

  Oh; right; I’d forgotten she didn’t know anything about this business yet, barring in its wider features. That we would have to remedy. The hell with Isidorus’s strictures on confidentiality: I’d need the lady’s not inconsiderable brain in on this one p.d.q. She’s a lot more devious than me, for a start, and deviousness, I’d reckon, was going to be an important quality in this case.

  I gave her a quick guide to the turf and generally filled her in on the background. Such of it as there was. I thought she’d be upset we were back to the gory nasties, but she was relieved rather than not.

  ‘It was like waiting for the second boot to drop,’ she said. ‘At least it’s a normal murder now. You know where you are with bodies. Or at least you do, dear.’

  I glanced at her sideways. Strange woman, Perilla, sometimes. Me, I blame the reading.

  ‘So.’ She straightened a fold on her mantle: Perilla doesn’t lounge around the house like I do, and in what she was wearing she could’ve received the Chief Priestess of Juno. ‘What are your thoughts so far?’

  ‘On who did it? One of the three of them, at least I hope so. Currently I’d bet on the Magian, but that’s just because he’s the only one to have even the sniff of a motive and I don’t like the bugger. It doesn’t mean zilch.’

  ‘But if the front door was open –’

  ‘Yeah. Right. That’s the puzzler. I can think of three possibilities, but there might be more.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The first’s the obvious one: that the killer was an outsider.’ She opened her mouth to say something, and I held up my hand. ‘Lady, I know! The door had to be unbolted from inside, there was supposed to be a watchman in the street all night, and Isidorus had all the entrances and exits to the place stitched up tighter than a Vestal’s winter drawers. I’ve thought of all that.’

  ‘Oh, good.’

  ‘First of all, we don’t know for sure about the watchman; the guy should’ve been there, granted, but Vitellius is checking for me, and if he wasn’t then given other circumstances an outsider is a distinct possibility.’

  ‘The door would still have to be open.’

  ‘Perilla, will you wait? I said “given other circumstances”! Gods!’

  She smiled and ducked her head. ‘All right, dear. But you’re not doing too well at present.’

  I scowled into my wine-cup. ‘As far as an outside killer’s lying doggo’s concerned there’s no hassle. If he did manage to get in somehow it could’ve been at any time. Osroes showed me round and the place has enough unused rooms and cubby-holes for a dozen murderers. He could just have stayed hidden and waited his chance.’

  ‘So how did he get out again? It wasn’t a simple case of unlocking the door and drawing the bolts; he’d have to arrange for the drugging of the door-slave. Also –’

  ‘Sure he would. He had help.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not claiming he was a total outsider. That wouldn’t work, no way. He had to have an accomplice on the inside, someone who could get him in and make sure he was safely bedded down, then slip the door-slave his wobbler with no questions asked. Which brings us back to Osroes. Osroes is a natural: the porter was his slave, he could have arranged that easy. Another thing: if Vitellius wasn’t kidding about him having a religious thing about dead bodies then getting someone else to do the killing would make sense.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Perilla twisted her hair. ‘What about the guard?’

  ‘Jupiter in bloody spangles, lady! I told you, Vitellius is checking on that! The theory’s dependent on there being no sodding guard! He was keeping his head dry somewhere round the corner!’

  ‘But Osroes – or whoever – wouldn’t know that at the time, would he? Certainly not in advance.’

  Oh, shit; she’d got me there. I took another swallow of wine. ‘Okay. Point taken. So there are flaws.’

  ‘Flaws is right. What’s your second explanation?’

  ‘That the killer was an insider all the time, and opening the door was a blind. Not much of one, sure, especially with the guard there, but as good as he could manage. At least it would muddy the waters.’

  ‘Very well. That seems reasonable. Three?’

  ‘The door was never opened at all. Or not until the next morning, anyway.’

  ‘But, Marcus, that doesn’t make sense! The door-slave –’

  ‘Listen. We’re round to Osroes again. We only have his word for what happened, and the timings involved. He was the one who found the door unlocked and the porter asleep. And he had the poor bastard killed before we cou
ld get his side of the story. Like I say, an open door muddies the waters. Without it, it had to be an inside job; this way at least there’s a doubt. We don’t even know for sure that the guy was asleep, let alone drugged. Osroes could’ve made that up too.’

  Perilla was quiet for a long time. Then she said: ‘Osroes is Zoroastrian, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah, of course he’s Zoroastrian! What has that got to do with –?’

  ‘Didn’t your friend Isidorus – or Lucius Vitellius – tell you about Zoroastrians? Strict ones? They have a deep-seated, almost pathological aversion to lying. And Magians are very, very strict.’

  ‘Gods, Perilla! Don’t tell me that if –’

  ‘No, wait, dear. This is important. He may be lying, of course, but it’s extremely unlikely, especially if the lie was as direct as you say. Telling a direct lie, particularly for personal gain, is the worst thing a Magian can do. They believe it puts the soul in terrible danger, and Magians believe in the soul completely. I’m sorry, Marcus, and I’m no expert on Parthians, but I really do not think your third explanation will work.’

  Bugger. Well, I bowed to the lady’s superior knowledge; and Vitellius, I remembered, had said something similar about Peucestas, so that just about nailed the lid on. ‘Then we’ll just have to assume the fucking door was open then, won’t we?’ I snarled.

  ‘Yes, we will. And please don’t swear. Even if you are disappointed.’

  ‘Disappointed’ wasn’t the word I’d’ve used; what I felt was frustrated.

  ‘It’s not as simple as that,’ I said. ‘I just don’t know where I am here generally. The problem’s getting inside these bastards’ minds. They’re foreigners, even the ones who’ve been brought up in Rome; I don’t understand how they work. What makes them tick.’