Sejanus (Marcus Corvinus Book 3)

by David Wishart

  'Don't give me that, boy!' Cotta snapped. 'The rumour's all over the city, and I've just had it confirmed by Pomponius Secundus.' I knew Secundus: a close friend of Sejanus's, but not a bad guy in his way, just careful.

  'What rumour's this, Uncle?' Hell, I hoped Perilla had had the sense to tell our house guest to keep out of sight. Brito too.

  Cotta obviously wasn't listening. I'd never seen him so angry, or so frightened: trouble in a family had a habit of rubbing off on all its members. 'How could you be so stupid, Marcus?’ he said. ‘How could you be so bloody stupid? I thought you kept your nose out of politics. And you've only been back in Rome for a few days.'

  There was something screwy here. He'd said politics, not kidnapping. Maybe this had nothing to do with Marilla after all.

  'Uncle,' I said, 'I haven't the least idea what you're talking about here. You want to sit down and tell me calmly, or what?'

  'Fuck calmly! What was it, a letter? Or did you just shoot your silly mouth off in the wrong direction once too often?'

  'Neither, as far as I know.' I'd had enough of this. 'Now what exactly has Secundus been telling you?'

  Cotta stared at me. 'You mean you don't know? You honestly don't know?'

  'Look, just...'

  'Aelius Sejanus is getting ready to arrest you for treason!'

  24.

  I sat down. My brain had gone numb.

  'Just what am I supposed to've done?' I said.

  'How the hell do I know? That's what I was asking you!' Cotta picked up the wine jug on the table, splashed some wine into a cup and drank it down. 'You must've done something to get Sejanus's back up.'

  Sure I had. Quite a lot. But nothing against the Wart. And nothing, barring last night's little episode, that he could legitimately charge me with.

  'It's a set-up,' I said. 'It has to be.'

  'Set-up or not, as of now you're up shit creek without a paddle.' Cotta poured himself another cup of wine and sat down with it. 'And it serves you bloody right, what's more.'

  'How do you mean?'

  'You think I don't know what Arruntius and Lamia talked to you about the day of your father's funeral? You shove your nose into Aelius Sejanus's business and you can expect it to be cut off.'

  I got up, poured myself a bumper of Setinian and took it back to the couch just as Perilla came back in. She'd been seeing, I knew, to Marilla. I also knew from her face that Cotta had already told her about the treason rap. Without a word she sat down beside me and gripped my hand.

  'Hey, Cotta,' I said. 'Thanks for the show of solidarity, pal.'

  'It's not a question of solidarity.' Cotta was scowling. 'You're my nephew and I'll defend you to the hilt. In court and out of it.'

  'Is that right, now?' Yeah. Sure. I'd believe that last bit when I saw it. If Cotta agreed to be my lawyer it'd only be because society expected it of him, and he wouldn't bust a gut over the case in public or private.

  'Of course I will.' He put on an injured expression. 'Now your father's gone it's my simple duty. However, we've got to be realistic here. If you've any sense you won't let it come to a trial at all.'

  A cold finger touched the back of my neck. 'You mean I should kill myself now?' I said calmly. Perilla's hand stiffened in mine.

  'Jupiter, no, boy!' Cotta waved the words away. 'We aren't at that stage yet.' I noticed the yet, and it chilled me. 'Secundus more or less told me straight that Sejanus expects you to get on the first boat east and stay the hell away from Rome for the foreseeable future.'

  Yeah. That made sense, and it explained the leak and why he hadn't sent his Praetorians round already to drag me to the Mamertine. All Sejanus wanted was to get me off his back. Sure, I could stay in Rome and dare him to prove a charge that both of us knew would be phoney as a landlord's tears, but I'd be a fool to try. And as for going direct to the Wart with what I'd got and expecting him to believe me, with a treason rap pending I might as well start looking out for flying pigs. No, it looked like I'd have to cut my losses and run back to Athens.

  'Fine, Uncle.' I closed my eyes wearily. 'You've delivered your message and made your recommendation. I'll think about it. Now leave me the hell alone, okay?'

  'Marcus, boy...'

  'I said I'd think about it!' I snapped.

  I could hear him getting to his feet. I opened my eyes again. He was standing looking down at me, and he wasn't too happy.

  'Okay, Marcus,' he said. 'It's your life. But don't think too long. Secundus mentioned two days.'

  'Is that so? Two whole days, eh? I'll see you around, Uncle.'

  'Not if you're sensible, you won't!'

  'Cotta,' My temper broke. 'Just do yourself a favour and piss of, okay?'

  He left. Perilla put her arms round me and hugged me, very tightly. Neither of us said anything.

  So it looked like we'd be saying goodbye to Marilla even sooner than we'd expected. I was sorry for Perilla, because she was fond of the kid. Well, I suppose we both were. Still, it had to be done. I sent a rider to Marcia's place in the Alban Hills asking her if she'd give the girl a home for the time being, and explaining the circumstances. That last part was only fair because if this ever came out she'd be charged as an accessory, but I knew it'd also make the asking a formality. Marcia was one of the old school, tough as a leather boot, and she'd've taken on the whole Praetorian Guard before she let the kid go back to Marius.

  The slave had just gone when a message from Mother arrived. Not a dinner invitation this time; she wanted to see me urgently.

  Uh-huh. I wasn't really surprised. Bad news travels fast, and the family were standing in line to tell Corvinus what a bloody fool he'd been and help him decide to give up and leave gracefully. Not that I needed telling, if you discounted the 'gracefully'. Forget 'decide', too, because there wasn't a decision involved. If Sejanus wanted me gone it'd be suicide to stay in Rome and fight it out. Literally; either that or the public executioner's noose. And if by some miracle the senate decreed the lesser penalty or the Wart intervened then it'd still mean exile. At least Athens was home.

  There was no point putting it off. I went round to the Caelian straight away.

  Priscus wasn't in evidence, but Mother was waiting for me in the atrium. She was looking suitably serious.

  'Hi,' I said.

  She took my head between her palms and kissed my forehead. 'Marcus,' she said softly, 'what on earth have you been doing?'

  The same question as Cotta's. Ah, well, I supposed it was inevitable under the circumstances.

  'Would you believe nothing?' I said.

  'Quite frankly no.'

  'Nothing deserving prosecution on a treason rap, anyway.' I sat down on the couch by the pool. 'Where's Priscus?'

  'Tomb-bashing in Veii. I don't expect him back until tomorrow. Or for several days, if he forgets to come home, as usually happens.' She lay down on the other couch facing me. 'So. What are your plans?'

  'Back to Athens, I suppose. You know Sejanus is letting me go?'

  'Horrible man.' Mother frowned. 'A pusher. And so terribly hairy in the hoof.' She paused. 'Marcus, I promised myself that I wouldn't ask you about your dealings with him, but I have to know. This thing is an attempt to remove you from Rome, isn't it? Because you're causing Sejanus some sort of bother?'

  'Yeah, you could say that.'

  She nodded, her lips pressed together. 'Yes, I thought so. How typically underhand of him. I'm not really surprised: Aelius Sejanus was one of the few subjects your father and I agreed on. Oh, Marcus had to be polite to him, of course, but he saw through the man from the start. He was quite proud of you, you know, over that Germanicus business, even if it didn't lead anywhere much.'

  'Is that right?' I was cautious I never did trust Mother when her conversation rambled. It might sound disconnected but when you untangled the various strands later you found they'd all led to the same important place. Direct, too, only from half a dozen different angles. Mother was a sharp cookie, and I never forgot it either.
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  'Yes. Very proud,' she said absently. 'In fact I suppose that's why he made the arrangement.'

  'What arrangement?' I'd had enough of this pussyfooting around. I'd got other things to do. Like packing. 'Mother, I'm sorry, but will you get to the point, please? You asked me round here for a reason. So spit it out, okay?'

  'But I didn't want to see you, Marcus!' she said. 'Or at least only to offer my commiserations.'

  Shit! One of us was crazy, and I was pretty sure it wasn't me. 'Yeah? So what am I doing here, then?'

  'Why don't you go along to the study and find out, dear.'

  The study door was closed. I opened it carefully. There was a guy sitting at Priscus's desk, a big guy who would've made two of Priscus, easy. He turned round...

  'Agron!'

  'Hi, Corvinus.' He grinned. 'Good to see you.'

  The big Illyrian had aged and got himself a paunch since I'd seen him last: marriage and good living evidently agreed with him. His grip was as hard as ever, though.

  'Yeah.' I was staring at him. 'But what the hell are you doing here?'

  'Your mother sent for me when she heard about the treason rap.' He paused. 'As per the arrangement.'

  That was the second time I'd heard that word. 'What arrangement?'

  'The one we – your mother and I – had with your father.' His face clouded. 'I'm sorry I didn't get to the funeral, by the way. My condolences.'

  'Yeah. Thanks.' My head was spinning, and I sat down on the reading couch. 'Now will you just tell me what all this is about?'

  'Here.' He handed me a sealed packet. 'This'll explain for me.'

  I took the packet. It was addressed to me in my father's neat, precise handwriting. 'What's this?'

  'Open it.'

  I broke the seal with my thumb. There were two enclosures: a thick document and a thinner one. The thick document was the title deeds to a property in the Subura. The thinner one was a letter from my father.

  I looked at Agron.

  'Go ahead,' he said. 'Read.'

  I lay back on the couch and read.

  Marcus Valerius Messalla Messalinus to his son Marcus. Greetings.I sincerely hope, my boy, that you will never read this. If you do it means that you are in trouble; very deep and possibly fatal trouble. Knowing you, and knowing the direction in which political events are taking us, I suspect that the hope is a false one; however, that is not important. Let it go.

  I have felt for some years that Aelius Sejanus is a danger to the state; perhaps its greatest danger. We have only ourselves to blame, of course (we being the senate) in that we have systematically alienated the emperor; not by anything we have done, particularly, but by being the servile crew that we are. This is no one's fault, although I include myself in the charge and am making no excuses: you cannot reverse four generations of subservience overnight, although Tiberius has tried. It is one of the reasons why I admire him.

  Sejanus is dangerous because he is what we are not: a strong-willed, capable, organised and directed force. Which is, of course, why the emperor likes him. Were he directed to the state's good I would have nothing but praise for the man, but his interests are purely selfish. To get what he wants he is prepared to pull Rome apart and throw the good out with the bad. In consequence, he must be stopped.

  Marcus, I am mediocre in every sphere: a mediocre speaker, a mediocre politician, a mediocre general. A mediocre husband and father. I attract no superlatives, either good or bad. That is how I am made, and it lies at the root of our disagreements over the years. However – and I stress this – I am first and foremost a Roman, and I will not willingly see Rome go down into the dark, even although I am too cowardly to do anything to prevent it myself. Hence this letter, and its enclosure.

  I know, from past events, that you have some sort of private commission regarding Sejanus from the Empress Livia, and that this commission is open-ended. The time must come (has come now, indeed, since you are reading this) when you are forced to choose between leaving Rome with your task uncompleted or staying to risk Sejanus's malice. For me the choice would, unfortunately, be easy. For you it will be more difficult, and what you decide may affect the fate of Rome. Should you decide as I think you will, the enclosed title deed will perhaps help in some small way. Agron will explain how.

  The gods bless you, my boy. You have, as always, my love and my respect. Kiss Perilla and my grandchildren for me.

  Farewell.

  My eyes were smarting when I finished.

  'Arrangement' was right. Gods! The devious old bugger!

  25.

  'So what is this property exactly?' I said. I was still trying to take this on board. Owning a secret bolthole in Rome – so secret I didn't even know about it myself, for Jupiter's sake! – meant that I didn't have to leave after all. Sure, it was a gamble. If I was caught it'd mean the noose for certain, or a politely-worded order from Tiberius to slit my wrists; but on the plus side it'd wrong-foot Sejanus completely. Accused of treason, your normal purple-striper's reaction is to fight or to run. Straight disappearance isn't an option. Maybe I could shake the bastard's complacency enough to force a few mistakes.

  'A tenement off Cyprian Street, behind the Temple of Tellus,' Agron said. 'The rents are paid into an account in Ostia, with me as the factor.'

  'Neat.' Agron would be known in Ostia, but not Dad, and not me; like all the old families we did business through our own bankers in Rome. And when the big guy had moved from the Subura he'd've left his city connections behind. 'How long has this been going on?'

  'Almost ten years now. So your balance is pretty healthy.' Agron was grinning. 'Some of it's gone on renovations and repairs, of course. Your dad and I didn't cut any corners. Neither of us wanted the place falling down before you needed it.'

  Yeah. Still, the money was good news, too, almost as good as having the place itself, and tenements were real money-spinners. If – when – I did a runner the authorities would freeze my bank accounts, probably sequestrate them altogether, and confiscate my property. Even if I had somewhere to stay I'd still have to eat.

  'Dad set this up ten years ago?' I said. I still couldn't believe it. 'Dad did?'

  'Just after you left Rome. He bought the property under a false name. I only handled the finances and the everyday running arrangements.'

  'Part of the block's unlet?'

  'The first-floor flat. There's a caretaker, but he'll be no problem. The agreement was the flat would be kept ready at any time if and when the owner wanted it.'

  I looked at the title deed again. The owner's name was given as Marcus Ufulanius, address (smudged) Pergamum.

  'Who's Ufulanius?' I said. 'He exist at all?'

  'No. But he's real enough to his banker and the tenants, I've made sure of that. He's an Oscan from Capua, a small-time wine shipper who wants to keep a toehold in the old country.' Agron was still grinning. 'Just another money-grubbing absentee landlord, in other words.'

  Neat again; even the Oscan bit fitted. That'd be Dad's work: my old nurse had been Capuan, and I'd picked up the accent and a lot of the dialect words while I was still in leading-strings. I knew Pergamum well, too, and it was a smart choice. Having Ufulanius live in Athens would've been pushing things.

  'I like the wine-shipper, too,' I said. 'Talking wine I can manage.'

  'You don't say?' Agron's grin broadened.

  'So when Ufulanius suddenly decides to come back to Rome and move into his flat in the Subura then no one's going to think twice about it, right?'

  'That's the idea. You approve?'

  'Sure I do. It's beautiful.' I had to hand it to Dad, he'd not only carved out a badly-needed bit of space for me, he'd given me a new face as well. 'There's only one flaw.'

  'Yeah? What's that?'

  'I hate to sound snobbish about this, pal, but certain things are still going to get noticed. Like my clean-cut patrician features and the way I pronounce my diphthongs, for example.'

  Agron shrugged. 'No problem,' he said. 'Ufulani
us catches a disease on the ship over. Something very nasty that keeps him out of circulation for two months. Time enough for him to grow a beard and learn to murder his vowels.'

  I stared at him. 'Two months? I can't wall myself up in a tenement for two months!'

  'Marcus, listen to me.' Agron wasn't smiling now. 'Two months is the minimum. You need time to get yourself forgotten about. Tenements're little worlds of their own, and as the new guy on the block you're going to stand out like an elephant in a bathtub. You skip bail one day as Marcus Valerius Corvinus and turn up the next as Marcus Ufulanius from the sticks with a sharp Market Square haircut and polished patrician vowels and you'll have the Praetorians beating your door down before you can say "fraud". Take two months to let things settle, grow your hair and beard, dye them maybe, and you might have a chance.'

  Yeah, he was right. I couldn't rush this, I didn't dare. Shit, though! Two months shut up in a tenement flat and they'd be peeling me off the walls! And then there was the date Marilla had given me. July the twenty-eighth. Suddenly that didn't seem so far off after all.

  Well, there was nothing I could do. At least Perilla would be out of this. She could go back to Athens with Bathyllus and wait for results. If any.

  'Okay,' I said. 'So my name's Marcus Ufulanius. Let's go for it.'

  'Corvinus, I am not going to leave you alone in Rome!'

  I sighed. Well, I should've known better than to expect Perilla to agree straight off when I told her the plan, but then I've always been an optimist.

  'Look, lady,' I said, 'we don't have any choice. This is going to be dangerous, it's going to be uncomfortable, and the first part's going to be plain and simple boring. Don't make things any more difficult than they are already, okay?'

  'I don't get bored easily, I can stand being uncomfortable in a good cause, and as far as the danger is concerned if you are willing to risk it then so am I. Besides, Athens is impossible.'