Rusticus wasn't around, but the slaves knew me and let me pull down the two rolls I needed to check. It fitted. Neither my memory nor my notes were at fault. The main charge was given clearly enough, provincial extortion in both cases. Cordus had been prosecuted by a guy called Ancharius Priscus, who I didn't know, and Silanus by another senator representing the Council of Asian Cities; the treason raps were added riders with no additional explanation or details.
Okay so far. There was one other possibility, that the records had been tampered with physically. Senatorial records, like normal books, are made up of standard-sized sheets glued together top to bottom and wound onto a spindle. If someone wanted to lose a piece of text at the start or finish of a sheet all they'd have to do would be to detach the page, cut it across at the appropriate point and glue it back along the new edge. Taking out a passage in the middle of a page would be more difficult, and so easier to spot; at the very least there'd be traces of rubbing, maybe signs of a different hand or a different colour ink in the necessary filler if the forger wasn't all that competent.
I took the rolls over to the desk by the window and examined them carefully in full daylight. The relevant sheets were numbered and in their proper place in the sequence. So far, so good: no whole pages missing, which had been another possibility. More important, the sheets were the same length and colour as the others either side and several pages back, and the glue between them was the same shade of dirty brown. There was no sign of scraping or rubbing that I could see, and if any part of the text was forged the guy who'd done it must've been a real professional.
So. As far as I could tell, the records themselves hadn't been altered since they'd been written, and what you saw was what you got. Which meant that the treason charges against Cordus and Silanus hadn't been spelled out in open court or an injunction had been put on including them in the formal minutes; either one of which scenarios meant censorship at the imperial level.
So why should the Wart censor the details of a treason charge in the private, official records of the senate? And did the similarity of treatment mean that the two cases were somehow linked?
I didn't have the answers. Not yet, and maybe I never would. Suddenly, my stomach rumbled. It'd been a long time since Grumio's sausages, and I was starving. Lunch break. I put the records back where they belonged and set off home to the Palatine.
Perilla was reading in the garden. I sneaked up behind her and planted a smacker on the back of her neck, just under the curls.
'Hey, lady,' I said.
She smiled but didn't look round. 'Did you have a good morning, Marcus?'
'Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.' Bathyllus had been following me with a tray. He set the wine jug and cup on the table and I took the chair opposite Perilla's. 'What's for lunch, little guy?'
'Cold braised lung with chickpeas, sir.'
'Great.' At the back of my throat I could still taste the old-paper-and-glue smell of the archives. I took the full cup he was holding out to me and sank it in one. Nectar.
'You ever hear from Junia Torquata these days, Perilla?' I said.
She set her book down and I took a glance at the label. It was in Greek: Theagenes's Homeric Allegories. One of her lighter reads.
'No,' she said. 'I do not hear from Junia Torquata these days, because Junia Torquata as you well know was my mother's friend, not mine, and Mother is dead. However, I assume you have an ulterior motive in asking the question, Marcus, so you may as well tell me what that is now and save yourself the strain of inventing a lie that I won't believe anyway.'
Jupiter! I glanced at Bathyllus, but the little guy had run for cover at the first subordinate clause. 'Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do have a reason for asking, actually. You see...'
'It's to do with Sejanus, isn't it?'
Even the frogs in the pool had shut up: one croak out of turn and it might be them next. 'Not directly, no. At least...'
'Oh, Marcus!' Perilla sighed. 'Can't you leave this alone? Please?'
That was better. I leaned over and kissed her cheek. 'No,' I said simply. 'I can't.'
Another sigh, but this one had a note of resignation. We were over the hump, and the frogs and I breathed again. I waited.
'So,' Perilla said at last. 'What do you want with Torquata?'
I didn't even try fibbing. It wasn't worth the risk.
'She's Gaius Silanus's sister. Silanus was exiled to Cythnos nine years ago for treason and I want to know why.'
'Do you think Torquata will tell you?'
'There's no reason why she shouldn't, and no harm in asking even if she doesn't. The alternative is to take the case from the other end, through the prosecutor, and I don't want to do that.'
'I see.' Perilla looked at me for a long time, frowning. Then she snapped: 'Bathyllus!'
The little guy was there almost before she'd got the last syllable out.
'Yes, madam.' Cringe cringe.
'Send someone over to the House of the Vestals to ask if Junia Torquata is free for dinner this evening. Or if not to arrange a suitable date.'
Bathyllus hovered nervously. 'Ah...I assume, madam, that you've already mentioned this to the cook?'
Oh, bugger. I saw his point straight off. Meton was touchy as hell at the best of times, and short notice dinner parties always got up his nose. Even the little I knew about Junia Torquata's foibles warned me that he was going to like the idea of this one even less than usual.
Perilla gave Bathyllus a look that would've crisped his hair, if he'd had any.
'Tell Meton I'll discuss the menu with him later,' she said.
'Yes, madam. Certainly, madam.' Bathyllus left, so fast I could hear his truss creak.
'Uh...thanks,' I said.
'Don't mention it.' She picked up Theagenes again. 'I don't approve of this, Corvinus, remember that. But I take your point about the prosecutor. Just be careful, please. And don't get Torquata into any trouble, either.'
I had my mouth open to answer, and then I decided not to. In Perilla's present mood any crack about getting a Vestal into trouble would've been as welcome as an owl at a wedding.
Not that anyone had a hope in hell of fooling with Junia Torquata against her will, even if they'd been short-sighted and desperate enough to want to. Given the choice of going two rounds bare-fisted with the lady herself or her complimentary axeman escort I'd've taken the guy with the rods any day. How a woman can manage to look at the same time completely unworldly and tough as a Suburan bruiser beats me.
On water and vegetables, too. 'I don't eat meat,' she snapped at me that evening as she made her way to the guest couch like a trireme going in for the kill. 'It thickens the blood. And wine enervates. Even the smell is sufficient to cause the greatest bodily harm.' Oh, gods! 'I hope your chef has taken those maxims into account, Caecinus.'
'Uh, yeah.' I glanced at Perilla, who had lain down chastely on a couch of her own three feet from mine: no funny business this evening, not with a Vestal as dinner guest. She'd warned me to watch my language, too. One four-letter word out of place and we'd probably be hit with a curse that'd drive Aeschylus to crochet. 'And it's Corvinus.'
Torquata ignored me. She was prodding the couch's upholstery with a large suspicious forefinger. Maybe she thought it hid our illicit meat-safe.
'Marcus has seen to everything. Haven't you, Marcus?' Perilla gave the old warhorse her best smile.
'Yeah. Yeah, that's right.' I didn't deserve the credit, because Perilla had made all the arrangements, but she obviously wanted me to look good. Jupiter knew what this meal was going to cost us, and I'm not talking cash. I'd been right about Meton. When Perilla had told him she wanted a wholly vegetarian menu he'd thrown, in quick succession, a fit, two saucepans, a skillet and his third best cleaver. We'd be suffering the aftereffects for a month at least.
'Then I hope you double-checked the arrangements yourself, my dear.' Torquata sniffed. 'Men are well enough within their limits but they cannot be totally depended on to remember c
rucial details.'
Oh, joy. From the sound of things this was going to be a peach of an evening. I wondered what the penalty in the Twelve Tables was for booting a Vestal round your dining room.
'How do fern roots braised with almonds, lettuce purée, a nut omelette and a milk casserole to finish sound, Junia Torquata?' I said.
'Delicious.' Torquata had finally arranged herself on the couch and was adjusting the woollen girdle that supported her massive breasts. 'The fern roots will not have been braised in wine, I trust? And the milk will be sheep's?'
I counted to ten slowly. Perilla was biting her knuckles.
'The best,' I said. 'And only from contented ewes.' Jupiter's balls on a string! We should've asked Mother round. The pair of them could've swapped idiosyncracies.
'Oh, how nice.' The Vestal beamed. 'It's almost impossible these days to get really first-rate ewe's milk. You must give me the name of your supplier.'
Perilla gave a choking cough. I turned to Bathyllus who was hovering in the background doing his smarmy butler act. 'Okay, little guy. Wheel it in.'
He signalled to his minions waiting outside. They brought in the appetisers and laid them out.
'Those things look most interesting.' Torquata pointed to a plate of green-flecked rissoles. 'What are they?'
'Uh...Bathyllus?' I said.
'Pumpkin and buckwheat fritters, madam. With wormwood.'
'Ah.' Torquata nodded. 'Wormwood. Excellent. So good for the bowels.'
I'd kill that bastard Meton. Some jokes just aren't funny. 'Just serve the wine, little guy,' I said.
Bathyllus raised an eyebrow at me. 'Wine, sir?'
I stared at him in horror and got a look that was blind and bland as Homer's. Oh, hell. Oh, hell, no! I'd assumed Torquata would miss out on the strong drink, of course, and be given some foul concoction of her own, but not that I'd be expected to join her.
'Whatever we're having, then.' I sighed. 'Just pour.' A peach of an evening was right. I only hoped the mad old biddy was worth the sacrifice.
'We thought you'd enjoy Meton's honey-fruit surprise, Torquata,' Perilla said, smiling at me. 'It really is very refreshing. Marcus absolutely loves it.'
You're next, lady, I thought as I held my cup up for Bathyllus to pour. It didn't look too bad. I sniffed, then sipped, and the liquid burst into song on my tongue. Shit! Caecuban! And not just any Caecuban but the Caecuban, the stuff from the imperial cellars that Livia had sent me. I hadn't known we had any of it left.
Bathyllus gave me the ghost of a wink. What was going on here? The little guy had served Torquata first, and he hadn't switched jugs because I'd been watching all the time. Ergo, our guest was wrapped round a good quarter pint of prime fermented grape juice, and she must know it. So why was the room still in one piece?
I looked at the Vestal. She was holding out the empty cup for a refill.
'Ah...you liked that, Junia Torquata?' I asked carefully.
'Very much.' She must've been working on that straitlaced stare for years. 'It has such a lovely tang of apples.'
'Uh...yeah. Yeah, it does, doesn't it?' The refill disappeared. Bacchus, the old girl could pack it away faster than I could. I just hoped we did have another flask in the cellar. Two flasks.
Perilla wasn't drinking. Not surprising, since she knew what was in the jug: the Caecuban was practically neat, and she genuinely prefers fruit juice.
'We're so glad you could come, Torquata,' she said. 'Marcus has been dying to meet you. He's most interested in the origins of priestly ritual.'
I almost swallowed my wine cup.
'Really?' Torquata smiled at me. 'So nice to find a young man with a taste for tradition. And so rare these days. Which particular aspect of ritual absorbs you most, Caecinus?'
'Ah...'
'Don't tell me. I know. The Salian priesthood's. You have the physique of a Salian yourself. Small head, good chest, tight withers. And the right blood, of course. Never forget the blood.' She held out her cup. Bathyllus leaped forwards to fill it. 'Blood always tells.'
Gods alive! She was worse than Priscus on a bad day! It was like having your brain mugged by a theological gorilla. I gritted my teeth and hung on while she drank her way down the jug (without any noticeable effect) and took me through the insanitary personal habits of the Jumping Priests of Mars. By which time we'd gummed the lettuce purée and were squelching our way through the milk casserole.
'And how is your poor brother?' Perilla took advantage of a lull in the conversation.
Torquata frowned. 'Which one, my dear? The goody-goody, the crook, or the fool who got himself involved with Julia?'
Perilla didn't bat a beautiful eyelid.
'The crook,' she said.
'Oh, Gaius is still twiddling his thumbs on that island of his. Silly man. Mind you, he was damned lucky to get off so lightly. He always was too sharp for his own good, even as a child.'
'Extortion is such a sordid crime, I always think.' Perilla scooped the last of the milk and pine nuts from her bowl. 'And so unfortunate for the family.'
Torquata snorted. 'Damn extortion! There's a lot of nonsense talked these days about not exploiting provincials. What did the good gods put provincials out there for if not to be exploited?' She held up her cup for Bathyllus to fill. The little guy was looking punch-drunk; Vestals can be wearing at close quarters. 'There's nothing wrong with a bit of honest extortion, Perilla. Gaius would have been all right if he'd stuck to feathering his own nest decently like a governor should and kept away from You Know Who.'
I sat up. 'Uh..."You Know Who"?' I said.
Torquata ignored me. 'Please don't get me wrong, my dear. I have the utmost respect for her, even if she is a little overbearing. All the best mothers are. I have no children myself, naturally, but I do understand the mother's role. You have to dominate the little vipers from birth. Mould them to shape, for their own good.'
'Quite right.' Perilla took a sip of the quarter cup of wine she'd had Bathyllus pour her for appearances’ sake.
'Nor did I have anything against the idea as such,' the Vestal went on. 'I mean, if you're going to do something like that it's bound to be expensive and the money has to come from somewhere. And it might well have worked. But it's Gaius's stupidity that I cannot understand. Did he really imagine for one moment that the emperor wouldn't notice?' She emptied her cup at a gulp. 'Oh, hell. Let's change the subject. Your poor hubby's looking bored, and just thinking about that silly man makes me angry. What sort of fruit have you got? I could just manage a pineapple or two.'
'Bored' wasn't the word for how I looked, of course; I was gobsmacked. So gobsmacked that I didn't notice that my mouth was hanging open until Perilla whispered to me to close it. Maybe Torquata was short-sighted. Or maybe Meton's honey-fruit surprise had got to her after all. I'd been counting, and I made it two and a half jugs. One for me and the rest for Junia Torquata. Still, I didn't regret them, imperial Caecuban or not. They'd done their work on the old reprobate, and my brain was buzzing like a beehive in spring.
It was two in the morning before we finally got rid of her. In the course of the evening she'd finished off the third jug practically single-handed and made a fair-sized hole in a jug of the Special, but she walked out of the front door without either a stumble or a slur. Impressive stuff. As a drinker I'd've backed her against a legion's First Spear any day of the month. She certainly had me beat hands down, no contest.
'Thank you, Perilla,' she said as she eased herself into her litter. 'And you, of course, Caecinus. A marvellous evening. Simply splendid. We must have a rematch some time soon.' Then, to the waiting axeman: 'Home, Decimus. "Forth now fare we, forth in splendour", my dear.'
The litter boys took the strain. Perilla and I looked at each other and tried to keep from laughing until they'd disappeared down Poplicolan Street. We managed, just; but it was a close-run thing.
'And thank you, lady,' I said to Perilla. 'You were brilliant.'
'Oh, it was nothing.'
>
'Next time we have her we'll invite Uncle Cotta and sell tickets.'
Perilla creased up. I kissed her. 'Bed?'
She kissed me back. 'Bed, Caecinus.'
Vestals are okay in their place, but you wouldn't want to marry one.
7.
'Marcus, you're not concentrating.'
'Hmm?'
'You do realise that this sleuthing business is simply ruining our love life?'
'Yeah?'
'Yes. I thought we'd done with all of that. And personally I find it very hard to make love with a brain ticking away just above my head.'
I slipped an arm round her shoulders. 'Brains don't tick.'
'Yours does. It's distracting.'
Yeah, well. Maybe I had been putting in a bit of illicit thinking. There's a time and a place for everything, and as far as turning possible political scams over in your head is concerned two in the morning in a beautiful woman's bed isn't either. I pulled her tighter and her chin wedged itself into the hollow of my neck.
'How did you know to pull that stunt with the wine?' I said.
'Mother used to do it. And Aunt Marcia. It's Torquata's one failing.'
'Failing? I'd hate to match that old dear cup for cup in a drinking bout. As a Vestal she's wasted. A shame it had to be the last of the Caecuban, though.'
I felt Perilla grin. 'Nothing else would have done. I wanted her in a good mood. She adores wine, but she wouldn't have drunk so much if it hadn't been the best.'
'Oh, I'm not complaining. Not really. The stuff went to a good home, and Livia would've approved. Thanks again, lady.'
She snuggled against me. 'You're welcome.'
'Is that so?' I kissed her ear, then moved on to the cheek. No response. Things should've been warming up by now, but apart from the snuggle they weren't. For a lady who'd just lodged a formal complaint Perilla was being pretty distant. That should've started alarm bells ringing. It didn't.
'You're right about one more thing,' she murmured.
'Yeah?' I carried on westward. 'Namely?'
'Junia Torquata is wasted as a Vestal. Vestals can leave the priesthood and marry after thirty years, when there's still time to have children. One child, at any rate. I'm surprised she didn't do it.'
Sejanus (Marcus Corvinus Book 3) Page 5