Parthian Shot (Marcus Corvinus Book 9)

by David Wishart

  It was time for a visit to the Three Graces.

  26.

  I found the place just where Phraates had said it was, in a quiet side street about half way between the gate and the nearest entrance to the gardens. Upmarket was right: the brothel was an old, rambling property in its own grounds, with a pillared entrance at the top of a short flight of scrubbed-marble steps and a front door that gleamed with fresh paint and polished brass. I knocked and a slave in a smart lemon-yellow tunic opened up. After a day traipsing around Rome I wasn’t looking too well-groomed, but as he gave me the usual once-over you always get in these places his eyes found the purple stripe on my tunic – I don’t wear a mantle, if I can help it – and his pursed lips relaxed.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said, stepping back. ‘Welcome. If you’d care to follow me?’

  Whoever had chosen the decor for the lobby had had taste. The floor mosaic was plain but good quality, and the frescos covering the side walls were a lot better than the mass-produced tat of boobs and bottoms that proprietors usually go for to put customers in the mood: a countryside scene with goats and a shepherd boy on one side, and on the other the eponymous Graces, decently clothed, with a round temple to one side. The slave led me through to the atrium: the usual pool and couches, with more tasteful frescos and a lifesize bronze just inside the door. The Graces again, this time stripped to the buff but not looking too self-conscious about it.

  ‘Make yourself comfortable, sir. If I could take your cloak? Thank you. Some wine?’

  ‘That would be great.’ I stretched out on one of the couches: tasteful again, plain wood with thick, dark-blue leather upholstery. ‘Is the mistress in?’

  He folded the cloak carefully and laid it on the back of one of the other couches, then poured wine from a silver jug on a side table into one of a matching set of cups. ‘Yes, sir. Of course. Forgive me, but this is your first time at the Graces, isn’t it? Then naturally the mistress will want to know your preferences before we accommodate you.’ He handed me the full cup, then said delicately: ‘We do by the way have excellent bathing facilities, if you’d care to make use of them.’

  ‘No, that’s okay.’ I sipped. Lovely stuff, but interesting: not an Italian wine, or if it was it wasn’t familiar. Could be Greek – I wasn’t all that well up on Greek wines – but it reminded me of Jarhades’s Syrian.

  ‘Your name, sir? In complete confidence, of course.’

  ‘Corvinus. Valerius Corvinus.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He collected my cloak and laid it over his arm. ‘The mistress will be with you shortly.’

  Left to myself, I looked round. Nice place, and as I say top end of the market. There were other bronzes besides the big one, plus a couple of marble statues, all good copies of Greek originals. The fountain in the pool was in the shape of a dolphin, without the silly grin or po-faced constipated look you sometimes get on these things. And though there were plenty of boobs and bums on offer among the frescos the artist had taken care over the women’s faces and the background as well.

  I was no more than a quarter down the wine-cup when the mistress appeared. Like the room itself, she was definitely high-class: no silks or flashy jewellery, a simple, good-quality woollen mantle and plain emerald earrings. Late forties –although she must’ve been a looker at one time – Greek features, an eastern colouring and slightly almond-shaped eyes. I’d guess Syrian. That would explain the wine, too.

  ‘Valerius Corvinus,’ she said. ‘Welcome to the Graces. I’m Helen.’ There was a bronzework chair on the other side of the table. She sat in it, adjusting the folds of her impeccable Greek mantle. ‘We were recommended to you?’

  Straight in, no messing, polite enough but all business. ‘I’m a colleague of Lucius Vitellius,’ I said.

  ‘Ah.’ She nodded, obviously satisfied. ‘About your requirements. We have –’

  ‘I was interested in one girl in particular. Name of Anna. Would she be free at all?’

  Had it been my imagination, or had the black-lined eyes shifted? ‘Anna,’ she said. ‘Now that is... The ex-consul suggested her?’

  ‘Yeah, more or less. If she’s available –’

  ‘Oh, Anna is free. And if you already know what you want then it makes my job a great deal easier.’ She smiled and glanced over at the slave who’d brought me in and had followed her through. ‘Praxas, tell Anna we have a guest.’ The slave bowed and left. She turned back to me. ‘Although please don’t feel that you have to keep to your initial choice. After all, much as I respect Lucius Vitellius’s judgment choosing a partner is a very subjective thing and we pride ourselves in being able to match a gentleman to a nicety. If you’d care to take a look at some of the other girls before you finally decide, then –’

  ‘No. No, that’s okay,’ I said. ‘Anna’s fine.’

  ‘As you wish. Then the price is five gold pieces. Payable in advance. There are, naturally, no other charges.’

  Ouch; at those rates I’d hope there wouldn’t be! Yeah, well, like I say the lady was nothing if not business-like. I reached into my pouch and took out the five big ones. She laid them on the table.

  ‘The wine’s to your liking?’

  ‘It’s fine. Syrian?’

  ‘But yes! From the region near Apamea. You’ve met with it before?’

  ‘Something similar. You’re, uh, from Syria yourself?’

  ‘Palmyra. Although I spent some time in Antioch.’

  ‘The Graces been open long?’

  ‘Three or four years. We’re very well established. And, as your colleague Vitellius no doubt explained, very exclusive.’

  ‘He recommend many new customers?’

  ‘A few. The ex-consul is very much taken with the Graces. Understandably so.’ The slave had come back in and was waiting politely. ‘Ah. Anna is ready for you now, Valerius Corvinus. Praxas will take you. There will be wine in the room, Apamean, but if you have any other preferences then please say so. We have an extensive cellar. Also food and, if you do change your mind and wish to use the bath suite the furnace is hot.’

  ‘No, I’ll be okay.’

  ‘I’m sure you will be.’ She stood up and I stood too. ‘Enjoy your stay with us.’

  I noticed that she’d left the coins on the table. No doubt she’d pocket them as soon as I was gone, but the point was made. Classy place right enough.

  ‘This way, sir,’ Praxas said.

  I followed him through into a wider hall with a staircase at the back. We went up to the first floor past alcoves with candelabra and bronzes, then along a short corridor to a panelled door. Praxas knocked gently then stood aside.

  ‘Just go in, Valerius Corvinus,’ he said. ‘If there is anything further you require then please don’t hesitate to ask.’

  The bedroom beyond could’ve belonged in an eastern client-king’s palace. I recognised the girl on the bed straight off. The last time I’d seen that little stunner she’d been sharing Callion’s couch at the embassy dinner.

  She recognised me too. Her eyes widened, then her expression settled into careful blankness. I closed the door behind me, walked over to the couch on the right-hand side of the room – it was plain cedar-wood, not gilded, with red-plush upholstery – and sat down. She was watching me all the way.

  ‘Hi,’ I said.

  Stunner was no exaggeration. Like Helen, she was obviously an easterner, with long blue-black hair worn loose, dark eyes with just a trace of makeup and a face and figure that would’ve had any self-respecting artist after a model for Aphrodite reaching for his sketch-pad. Her legs beneath the short silk dressing-gown were bare. She drew them up until her chin rested on her knees.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  It couldn’t be a coincidence; no way could it be a coincidence, especially since she was still watching me like a cat caught with the cream and deciding which way to jump. I remembered Vitellius, in the litter going back from the dinner, saying that the first thing Callion had asked for when he arrived in Rome was
the address of a decent brothel. And Vitellius had recommended the Graces, no doubt Anna in particular; which was why Phraates had very carefully linked their two names when he sent me here...

  Everything fitted. Vitellius had fixed Callion up. Vitellius was – at least where the Parthians were concerned – Isidorus’s right-hand man and a shit-hot diplomat. Or whatever these buggers called themselves. And Callion, he was the odd man out of the embassy: a Greek from Seleucia, which might well be – according toVitellius himself – less than a spit’s distance from opting out of Parthian control altogether...

  It was the oldest game in the world. And it was beautiful.

  ‘You work for Isidorus, don’t you?’ I said quietly.

  If I’d sounded less certain, even to myself, I think she might’ve denied it. As it was, she just shrugged and said:

  ‘He told you?’

  ‘Uh-uh.’ I shook my head. ‘But it makes sense. He had Vitellius plant you on Callion when the embassy arrived. Your job was to find out all you could about Seleucia’s plans for revolt. Right?’

  She blew a wisp of hair from her face. ‘Yes. More or less.’

  ‘Were the other girls at the dinner in on it too? The ones with Tiridates and Damon?’

  ‘No. There was just me.’ She was still watching me closely, eyes slitted, wary.

  ‘How about the boss of the place? Helen?’

  The lips twitched. I thought she was going to laugh, but she didn’t. ‘Helen doesn’t work for Isidorus.’

  There was something there that I didn’t quite catch, but I let it go for now. I stretched out on the couch. ‘Care to tell me all about it?’ I said.

  This time she did laugh, a genuine amused laugh but with a hard edge; a woman’s laugh, not a girl’s. A thinking woman. Now that I’d had a bit more time to study her I could see she was older than I’d thought at first, mid-twenties, easy, and I had the distinct feeling that statue-maker’s dream or not she’d be no pushover. Without a trace of self-consciousness she sat up against the headboard of the bed and brushed the hair back completely from her face, letting the silk dressing gown part completely. No fancy gilded nipples or spangles there. Mind you, with what she had she didn’t need them.

  ‘Corvinus – that’s your name, isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. That’s me.’

  ‘All right. Let’s get this clear. You’ve paid out five gold pieces and you want to talk?’

  I grinned. ‘It’s my money, lady.’

  She stared at me –she was beginning to relax now – then shrugged again and stretched her long beautiful legs out in front of her. She didn’t make any attempt to close the dressing-gown. ‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter all that much to me either way. Nor to Isidorus; he’s got what he wants and my part’s finished. There’s wine on that table beside you. Pour some for yourself; not for me, I’m not allowed it, and that bastard Praxas sniffs your breath after a customer’s gone.’

  The jug and cups were heavy silver with a hunting scene on them. I reached over and poured. ‘So how did you get into this business?’ I said. ‘The cloak-and-dagger side, I mean?’

  Her eyes rested on me for a long time, considering. Then she said: ‘I’m from Ecbatana originally. Artabanus had my father crucified, him personally, and my mother and two sisters died too. I won’t bother you with the details. I was fifteen. I got away thanks to a not-completely-disinterested merchant and ended up in a cat-house in Alexandria. One of Isidorus’s friends – colleagues – happened by one day and suggested I come to Rome. That was three years ago. I’ve been here ever since.’

  ‘Helen doesn’t know? About your link with Isidorus?’

  Again that small, strange smile. ‘No. She doesn’t know. Isidorus – through Vitellius – sends me customers now and again. Not very often, and the result isn’t always productive, but he gets good value. And if I can harm Artabanus along the way then that’s an extra.’

  I took a sip of the wine. ‘So what about Callion?’

  ‘He was the big one. Most of the special customers are from the eastern client-kingdoms, or the Parthian satellite kingdoms at best. I’d never had a real Parthian, even the Greek variety. Isidorus knew Callion had been given secret instructions before he left Seleucia to do a private deal with –’ She hesitated. ‘With a high-up Roman. The Seleucian revolt would be timed to coincide with the invasion. Isidorus wanted details.’

  ‘And this high-up Roman would be Prince Gaius, right?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said cautiously.

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘I’m not paid to think. I just do what I’m told.’

  Sure, and I was born yesterday. Gaius made complete sense. A Seleucian revolt wouldn’t directly harm Roman interests, unless Callion’s pals were stupid enough to go down that road, which they wouldn’t be. Quite the reverse. On the other hand, it wouldn’t do Rome’s official candidate Phraates any favours, either: the last thing a new Great King wants when he’s taking over and desperate to establish his authority is an independent state across the river from his capital with widespread ethnic support throughout the kingdom and bargaining clout in spades. If you wanted to keep Parthia weak and divided, then giving Seleucia her head would be a peach of an idea. Risky, mind, and that was the point. Tiberius wouldn’t go for it – he was a step-by-step, take-things-one-at-a-time man – but Gaius, Gaius was different...

  She was watching me again. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘this isn’t very flattering. You’ve paid for my time and you’re not even looking at me.’

  I grinned. ‘Yeah. Sorry, lady. Not your fault, not in the least. So. How did it go, with Callion? You got what you wanted? What Isidorus wanted?’

  ‘Oh, yes. After the dinner.’

  I almost dropped my winecup. ‘You were there the night of the murder? All night?’

  She smiled. It could’ve been coincidence, sure, but her breasts rose clear of what little of the dressing-gown was still hiding them. ‘Now that’s really unflattering,’ she said. ‘You think Callion had me come along that evening just to send me away?’

  Shit! ‘He told me categorically there was no one else in the house that night!’

  ‘Then he was lying. Understandable, in the circumstances. And I was gone before morning.’

  My brain was buzzing. Sweet holy Jupiter, the open door! ‘You were the one who drugged the door-slave, right?’

  ‘And Callion. It was my last chance. He’s a clever man and maybe I’d been pushing too hard. If I’d left things any later he’d probably have gone beyond suspecting. I told Isidorus and he authorised it.’

  ‘What about the – ?’ I stopped. I didn’t need to ask that question any more. ‘The guard outside didn’t matter, did he? He’d been ordered to turn a blind eye. Or if he had sloped off he’d been fucking told to.’ Hell; the devious bastards – both Isidorus and Vitellius – had conned me right down the line.

  ‘He was there. Within sight, anyway. Isidorus thought I might need a little backup.’

  I took an angry swallow of wine. The next time I met that slimy three-faced bugger if he wanted his pen and notepad back it’d need surgery. If Callion had lied then that was fine, he had reason to keep Anna out of things, but you don’t expect it from your own side. ‘The rest of the delegation. They knew you were sleeping over?’

  ‘Of course. It was no secret.’

  ‘Then why the hell didn’t they say and be done with it? The Greek bastard was going behind their backs as well, they didn’t owe him anything.’ I sighed. ‘No. Don’t tell me. Parthian solidarity, right?’

  ‘That and other things.’ There was that look again, the one she’d given me when Helen was mentioned. ‘Callion had a locked chest with him. While he was unconscious I forced the lock. The original letters he’d carried from the Seleucian senate had already been delivered, of course, but I found some other documents that were equally good. Plus the reply that he’d be taking back.’

  ‘And then you left.’
>
  ‘Then I left.’

  I looked at her sharply. There was something there, something in the tone...

  Oh, fuck. Oh, holy sodding gods...

  ‘You saw him, didn’t you?’ I said quietly. ‘On your way out. The guy who murdered Zariadres.’

  She smiled and flicked a strand of hair from her right breast. ‘Yes. I saw him.’

  ‘So who was it?’

  ‘Peucestas.’

  So easy. I stared at her. It wasn’t the name that surprised me – the killer had to be one of the delegation, and Peucestas had always been high on the suspect list – but the way she said it. Like it didn’t matter.

  ‘So –’ I began...

  Which was when the implication hit me.

  Anna had known who the murderer was all along. Anna worked for Isidorus. Ergo, Isidorus had known all along too.

  First the litter attack, now this. There was nothing left, and lying didn’t cover it; the word was nowhere near strong enough. What his reasons had been – and someone like Isidorus would’ve had reasons, that I was sure of – I couldn’t begin to guess, but the bastard had shafted me right from the start.

  ‘Why?’ I said.

  ‘Why what?’ She had her cautious, cat-at-the-cream expression on again.

  ‘Why didn’t your boss tell me? Why go through the charade of an investigation when he knew who’d slit the guy’s throat five minutes after it happened? You reported what you’d seen, didn’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I was waiting for the coast to clear, looking through the crack between our bedroom door and the jamb, and I saw Peucestas go past towards his room with blood on his tunic and a knife in his hand.’ That came out matter-of-fact. No pushover was right: tits, a face and a body that Queen Cleopatra would’ve died for or not, the lady was a seriously tough cookie. ‘Short of seeing the actual murder itself I couldn’t’ve been luckier. And I went straight round to Isidorus’s flat – he has one in Augustus House – as per my instructions.’