In at the Death (Marcus Corvinus Book 11)

by David Wishart

  ‘You look, Corvinus.’ He was making an obvious effort to pull himself together; wasted, sure, but I had to admire the guy for trying. ‘I don’t know what fantasies you’re indulging in, but I assure you they’re totally without foundation. Now if you’ve finished insulting me –’

  Too late, and fake as a wooden sestertius.

  ‘Sextus Papinius,’ I said. ‘That name ring any bells?’

  What colour there was left in Fregellanus’s face drained away completely. ‘You mean the consul’s son who killed himself a few days ago? I know the name, certainly, but the young man himself wasn’t –’

  ‘He was the son of Domitius Ahenobarbus. And the kid was murdered. Don’t spread the first bit of information around, by the way, Ahenobarbus wouldn’t like it. The second you probably knew already.’

  ‘Corvinus, I’ve already told you that –’

  The hell with this. I stood up, and his mouth shut so fast I could hear the teeth snap together. ‘Okay, have it your way,’ I said. ‘Let me level here. I don’t exactly know what you and your girlfriend and Lucia Albucilla are into yet, but I’m getting there slowly. And when I do find out, which I will, I’ll fucking nail you to the floor. Understand?’

  Without giving him time to answer, I turned and left, slamming the door behind me. Titus the friendly Praetorian was standing outside, still at rigid attention, eyes blank and fixed on the wall six inches from my face. The guy must’ve heard, sure, certainly enough to get the gist of the interview, but there was nothing I could do about that. Nor about the fact that six got you ten Sertorius Macro would have the full details just as soon as he could trot along to the commander’s office.

  Ah, well.

  ‘You’re ready to go, sir?’

  ‘Yeah, Titus. Lead on.’

  He took me back to the admin block, turned me over to a couple of squaddies, flashed me a crisp salute and disappeared inside.

  The litter boys and attendant trolls were waiting for me at the gate where I’d left them scratching themselves, picking their noses and generally letting the side down. Well, that was that done, and at least I was still loose and walking out on my own two feet. The way things were going, that was a bonus.

  So. Next stop the Caeliolan, and Albucilla. I thought about dumping my mantle in the litter, sending the lads back home and walking the rest of the way, but I needed a bit of thinking space here. Besides, it was clouding over again and I’d no particular wish to get soaked. I climbed aboard, stretched out on the cushions and gave the lardballs the thumbs up.

  Fine; so I’d rattled Fregellanus’s cage for him. Satisfying, but not very productive. So what did the interview tell me? That he - and so Acutia - were involved in this business to their eyeballs, sure; but that they weren’t responsible for Soranus’s murder. Which meant that it hadn’t been Fregellanus who’d given Aponius and Pettius their instructions. Which meant...

  I was putting this off. Oh, bugger; it had to be Macro, it had to be! Macro was the only other obvious Praetorian link, and as Praetorian commander it would be easy-peasie for him to falsify transfer orders. Or even give the guys other, private orders countermanding the official ones. The how wasn’t a problem; what worried me like hell was the why. If Macro was behind all this for reasons of his own then we’d opened a very large and nasty can of worms indeed.

  Not that that was the worst-case scenario, either. It hadn’t escaped my notice that Aponius and Pettius had been assigned to Capri. Gaius was on Capri. Macro on his own was bad enough. If Gaius was involved - for some reason that I couldn’t even begin to fathom - with or without Macro’s knowledge then we were really into nightmare territory.

  Ah, well; we’d cross that bridge when we came to it. And hope the sodding thing had a far end to cross to.

  I found Albucilla’s house, a rambling, old-fashioned property at the end of a cul-de-sac. There was a carriage and a couple of wagons waiting outside: the sort of carriage you use for long-distance travel, when you’re spending the night on the road rather than putting up with friends along the way or - gods save the mark! - lodging at inns. Slaves were ferrying boxes, trunks and various small bits of furniture out from inside.

  The lady was planning a trip. Obviously an extended one.

  I buttonholed a couple of slaves carrying an inlaid chest that could’ve held anything from clothes to a body. ‘Mistress around, pal?’ I said.

  That got me a frightened glance from both of them.

  ‘In the study, sir,’ one muttered; and they hefted the chest onto the wagon, ignoring me completely.

  Well, if that was the only attention I was going to get from the staff I might as well make my own arrangements. I went through the front door, pushing past another slave with a bronze lamp-stand, crossed the lobby and carried on into the atrium. There wasn’t much left of the furnishings: they’d lifted practically everything bar the floor mosaics and the pictures off the walls. The study should be straight through, then to the left or the right, depending.

  It was left. I followed the smell of burning.

  Albucilla had a brazier lit in the middle of the room, and she was feeding it with sheets of paper. When I came in she spun round, her eyes wide with fear.

  ‘You going away for a few days, lady?’ I said.

  She’d got a hold of herself now, although I noticed she’d glanced behind me to see if I had anyone else with me. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘For rather longer than that, Valerius Corvinus. An extended holiday, if it’s any of your business.’

  I sat down on a chair she’d obviously decided not to take. ‘This has something to do with Mucius Soranus’s murder, right?’ I said.

  She didn’t answer, just...looked at me. It was the equivalent of putting salt on a slug. Then she burned another sheet. It looked like part of a letter.

  ‘Getting rid of unwanted correspondence?’ I said.

  ‘Yes.’

  Time, again, to level. Where Albucilla was concerned, it didn’t look like I was going to get another chance. ‘Who are you running from?’ I asked. ‘Domitius Ahenobarbus or Sertorius Macro?’

  No answer. She kept her eyes on the flames and fed in another page.

  ‘It’s one of the two,’ I said. ‘It has to be, because no one else in Rome has that amount of clout.’ Still nothing. ‘Look, lady, I know you and Soranus were working together as a team blackmailing rich young smartasses. I know you seduced Papinius and got him to tell you about the fire commision scam he was involved in with his father Ahenobarbus. I know –’

  ‘Fire commission scam?’ She’d stopped, and she was staring at me with her mouth open. Then she laughed. ‘Oh, gods! You stupid, stupid –!’ She turned back to the brazier. ‘Just go away, Corvinus! Go away!’

  Bugger. ‘What do you have cooking with Acutia and Fregellanus?’ I said. ‘That’s why Soranus was killed, wasn’t it? Not just for the blackmail. There’s something else. And you think - you know! - that you’ll be next.’ I stood up, moved towards her and grabbed her shoulder. ‘Why did Papinius have to die?’

  She pulled herself free without a word. Then she went over to the desk and began opening and closing drawers. Another sheet of - presumably - incriminating evidence went into the brazier. The room was full of floating bits of ash.

  ‘Albucilla! Come on!’ I said. ‘This is your last chance! You never wanted any part of this from the beginning, did you? Tell me what’s going on and I swear I’ll do what I can for you.’

  That stopped her again. She stood staring at me like I’d grown an extra head.

  ‘I didn’t want any part in it?’ she said. ‘I didn’t? Corvinus, you are so...bloody...thick! You don’t know a thing about it. Besides, there’s nothing you can do for me. Nothing anyone can do. Now just go and leave me alone. Find out the truth for yourself.’

  Ah, well, if that was the way she wanted it that was how it’d have to be. I couldn’t force her to talk, and whoever she was running from, Ahenobarbus or Macro - I didn’t dare even think about Prince G
aius - she was far more frightened of them than of me.

  ‘Okay, lady,’ I said, turning for the door. ‘Have a pleasant trip.’

  She didn’t answer. I doubt if she’d even heard.

  Thick, right? Yeah, that just about covered it.

  Home, and on foot, this time: the weather had picked up again, and I didn’t fancy another half hour of lolling around on cushions. I unlimbered the heavy mantle, bundled it inside and told the litter guys with their attendant trolls to go on ahead.

  Okay; if I was being thick then what was I missing? Let’s start with what we’d got for sure. First of all, a definite grouping: Soranus, Albucilla, Acutia and Fregellanus. They’d been involved in some sort of scam which wasn’t - this, just now, from Albucilla - connected with the fire commission...

  Only that didn’t make sense. The fire commission link was the one that brought in Ahenobarbus and Papinius himself, not to mention sideline characters like Carsidius and Balbus. If I scrapped that then my whole case, or virtually all of it, went down the tubes.

  Hell!

  Don’t panic, Corvinus. If I was stymied there then let’s look at things from the other angle, the group itself. What would bring them together in the first place? What did they have in common?

  The answer was, Not a lot. To put it mildly. The two couples were as different as chalk and cheese. Soranus and Albucilla were a pair of fast-living out-and-out crooks; Acutia was - on the face of it, at least - a dumb but respectable Roman matron, and from all accounts her boyfriend Fregellanus’s idea of a good time was cataloguing his rock collection. Hardly a compatible ménage à quatre. Of course, there was the Sejanus link between the two women, we’d spotted that already. Still, that couldn’t be relevant, not at this late date five years down the road. Sejanus was dead, his family was dead, the Sejanan party were all dead as mutton or rotting in exile. There wasn’t even so much as a single statue to the guy out of the dozens that there’d been in Rome six years ago because after he was executed they’d all been pulled down and replaced with...

  The hairs rose on my neck. I stopped.

  Oh, shit.

  Oh, holy Jupiter Best and Greatest!

  Well, at least it was something I could check up on right away; not that I’d much doubt what the result would be because in its own twisted way it fitted.

  Bloody, bloody games!

  I’d been walking along Caelimontan Road, heading towards the Caelian. Now I took a right at the next major junction and headed for the centre of town. Just my luck to be completely the wrong side of Rome. Still, I was rested after the litter journey.

  The caretaker would know. He’d said he’d been in the job since Augustus rebuilt the place, and it wasn’t something you’d miss.

  Bugger!

  29

  It was mid-afternoon when I finally got home, but Perilla was in the dining room and the table was still set for lunch. She came off the couch like the upholstery had just spontaneously combusted.

  ‘Marcus! Where the hell have you been?’ she snapped.

  Bugger, I should’ve thought of that: when the last thing you’ve told your wife is that you’re just popping over to the Praetorian camp to have a word with Sertorius Macro re a mysterious death probably involving two of his soldiers, unscheduled detours on the way back aren’t such a bright idea. And the litter would’ve arrived back hours ago.

  ‘Pompey’s theatre,’ I said. ‘No hassles, lady. Seriously.’ I lay down on the other couch and reached for the cold pork and pickles. I wasn’t feeling proud of myself where making connections was concerned, not proud at all. Albucilla’s ‘thick’ had been spot-on. ‘Something came up.’

  ‘Namely?’

  ‘You remember that statue of Diana I found Soranus propped against?’

  ‘Of course I do! What about it?’

  ‘It wasn’t. Or rather in a way it wasn’t. I had a chat with the caretaker. The thing’s new, only been there for eighteen months. Prior that the plinth was empty; but prior to that - three years or so prior - it had another statue on it. Care to guess whose?’

  She threw herself back on the couch. ‘Marcus, I have spent the last two hours worried sick waiting for you to get home, and I am in no mood for guessing! Just tell me.’

  ‘Aelius Sejanus’s.’

  She stared at me. ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah. That can’t be coincidence. If we’re playing games here - which we are - then we’ve got the Sejanus connection again. Whether we like it or not.’

  ‘But we’ve already been through all this! Anything involving Sejanus can’t be relevant! Tiberius and Macro together stamped out –’ She stopped and put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh!’

  ‘“Oh”’ is right.’ I tore a bread-roll in half and bit savagely into one of the pieces. ‘I made that jump myself about ten seconds after I came up with the theory about the statue. Sejanus is the key to this whole business, and I’ve been too sodding blind to see it. Macro was responsible - directly responsible - for hunting down and killing his supporters after the guy himself was chopped. Albucilla was Sejanus’s mistress, and Acutia lost a husband. Acutia just happens to take up with Pontius Fregellanus, who’s on Macro’s staff and therefore has direct access to him on a regular basis.’ I scowled. ‘Hell! Of all the stupid, myopic –!’

  ‘Marcus, stop it.’ Perilla was frowning. ‘Let me get this clear. What you’re saying - or are about to say - is that Albucilla and Acutia are plotting to kill Sertorius Macro. The motivating factor being revenge.’

  ‘It makes sense. And don’t discount revenge as a motive, either.’

  ‘I’m not discounting revenge at all; in fact motive is one of your strongest arguments, and I have nothing against it. But you don’t think there are, well,’ - she hesitated - ‘inconsistencies?’

  Damn. When Perilla adopted that tone you learned to go careful. I laid down the bread. ‘What inconsistencies would these be?’ I said.

  ‘First of all, why now? They’ve had over five years, life has moved on.’

  That one I was ready for. ‘Opportunity. They’re women - assuming the core of the conspiracy is Albucilla and Acutia, who’ve got the real axes to grind - and Macro’s a public figure. More, he’s the Praetorian commander. He’s squirrelled away in the Praetorian barracks and he’s got four thousand plus of the best troops in the empire to guard his back. Before they could make their move they needed an insider like Fregellanus. And before you say anything, lady, persuading him to join the team would’ve taken time and delicacy. He’s not the hasty type, and he’s no natural killer.’

  ‘All right. But that leads me on to my second point. It’s all very amateurish, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it is. It had to be. However badly they hate Macro, Albucilla and Acutia are the women they are. Acutia especially. She’s a mouse, but even a mouse can turn given the right circumstances. And as far as Fregellanus is concerned, poor sap though he is he was the best they were likely to get.’ I reached for the cold pork stew. ‘Added to which, who else could they rope in? Macro was pretty thorough. All Sejanus’s supporters - his real supporters, not just the fair weather guys who licked his backside while he was in charge - are either dead or eating beets in Lusitania. And if they’re not - like Albucilla’s ex Secundus - then they’re keeping their heads well down in case next time Macro decides to chop them off. Which he would. Lady, I am right!’

  ‘Hmm,’ Perilla said. She was twisting her curl furiously, and I had to suppress a smug smile. I was winning here, and we both knew it. ‘So if you are right then how do the others fit in?’

  ‘What others?’

  ‘Ahenobarbus. Carsidius and Balbus. Not to mention Papinius himself.’

  ‘Jupiter, Perilla, give me a break, will you? How the fuck should I know?’

  ‘It’s your theory, dear. It has to take everything into account. And don’t swear, it smacks of desperation.’

  Hell. The lady was right, at least about the theory having to cover all the angles. It didn
’t, nowhere near, even I had to admit that.

  She was right about the desperation, too.

  I filled a cup from the winejug. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Okay, admitted; I haven’t a clue. None of them fits at present, not nowhere, not directly. But the root of this business has to be a plot against Macro, it has to be. I can feel it in my water. And at least it explains Soranus’s death.’

  ‘Really? Then let’s leave the rest aside and begin with that.’

  ‘Fine.’ I took a swig of wine. ‘To a certain extent, Soranus was in the plot already from the start. He was Albucilla’s long-term lover and a natural villain. He’d probably’ve got involved anyway just for the hell of it.’

  ‘You’re assuming that he was involved.’

  ‘Gods, lady, he’s the one who ended up against the statue with his throat cut! Of course he was involved!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Marcus, but that’s not good enough to substitute for a lack of motive. Soranus had nothing personal against Macro, as far as we know, and he was a pragmatist. How did he benefit? I’m perfectly willing to accept that he was part of a plot to kill him, yes, of course I am. But I still need to know why.’

  ‘Because he was blackmailing Papinius.’ I took another mouthful of wine. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I know, that doesn’t make logical sense. But there’s a whole chunk of this business that we’re missing. Macro knew what was going on. Sure he did, he had to: Soranus was killed by Aponius and Pettius, Aponius and Pettius are Praetorians and barring Fregellanus who’d have no reason at all to kill the guy Macro’s the only person in a position to use them, as well as having a credible motive. Plus he can cover his tracks by producing a set of spurious orders proving they were nowhere near Rome when it happened.’

  Perilla looked up quickly. ‘Did he?’ she said.

  Oh. Right. I hadn’t given her the details of my visit to the Praetorian barracks yet. ‘Yeah. Turns out they’re both on the strength, only officially they’ve been on Capri for the last twelve days.’

  ‘Ah. Now that is odd.’

  ‘Damn right it’s odd! Another odd thing was how matey the guy was. It seemed almost as if –’ I stopped.