Sejanus (Marcus Corvinus Book 3)

by David Wishart

  'And why is that, now?'

  She sighed. 'Marcus, if you disappear people are going to ask questions. The first person they are going to ask them of is your wife, and whether she is in Athens or Rome it is not going to matter much. When she refuses to answer, as she will, they are going to turn nasty, very nasty indeed. Sejanus might not risk accusing me of treason as such, but I wouldn't be the first to face a trumped-up charge of adultery.' Shit. I hadn't thought of that. It was obvious when you came to think of it, sure, but then even I couldn't think of everything. Sejanus would do it, too, if only to smoke me out. 'Besides, what would I live on?'

  'You'd have...' I stopped. She was right again, and for the same reasons. The bar on my income and property wouldn't only be valid at Rome, it would hold throughout the empire. And of course it would extend to her. 'Yeah, okay, maybe holing up in the Subura wasn't such a good idea in the first place. Let's forget it.'

  'We certainly will not forget it! Not after your father and Agron have gone to so much trouble for you!' She was really angry now. 'Besides, if we go back to Athens now it'll kill you, just as surely as Sejanus would, only much more slowly and painfully. I don't want that, and I won't be the reason for it happening. I'd sooner kill myself and solve the problem that way, and believe me if I have to I will. Is that perfectly clear?'

  I looked at her, shaken. There were tears in her eyes but her mouth was set in that hard line that I knew meant she was serious. Deadly serious.

  'Yeah,' I said. 'Yeah, that's clear.'

  'Good.' She stood up, and tried a smile. 'In any case, it might be fun. I've only been inside a Suburan flat once, and that was just the cupboard.'

  'Think of it as practice.' My throat was still dry. I swallowed. 'These places are pretty pokey.'

  'Then I'd better think about what to pack, hadn't I?'

  Someone coughed. I turned round. Bathyllus was standing by the door, shifting from foot to foot like he had to go somewhere fast before his bladder burst.

  'Forgive the interruption, sir,' he said, 'but I couldn't help overhearing.'

  I stared at him. Bathyllus never overheard, on principle. By his reckoning it was on a par with embezzling the housekeeping and blowing the cash on booze and wild women.

  'Is that so?' I said.

  'Yes, sir. And I would like to come as well, please.'

  'Gods!' First Perilla, now Bathyllus! Was I the only sane one around here? 'Great idea! Why don't we just all move on down to the Subura and be done with it? We can take turns breathing.'

  Bathyllus didn't bat an eyelid. 'I don't think that will be necessary, sir. And I'd have to go somewhere.'

  'I agree, Marcus,' Perilla said. 'Bathyllus can't stay here anyway. None of the household slaves can. It's far too dangerous.'

  I sat down on the couch and put my head in my hands. That was something else I hadn't thought of: as soon as I disappeared my slaves would be seized with the rest of the property. And the first thing Sejanus would do – quite legitimately – was have them tortured for any information they might have as to the master's current whereabouts.

  'Okay,' I said. 'So what do we do?'

  'If I might suggest, sir,' Bathyllus said, 'Meton and I could go with you to the new property. With perhaps another slave for emergencies. The others could be distributed around your friends and relatives as appropriate. They would know nothing, and it would be in their interests to keep quiet.'

  I almost laughed. I could just see Bathyllus sharing a cubby-hole with Meton. They'd be at each other's throats in five minutes. 'You think that'd work?'

  He sniffed. 'It isn't really satisfactory, but it's the best I can offer.'

  'Yeah. Yeah, I suppose so. We'll draw up a list.' There was a jug of wine on the table. I poured a cup and sank it. Life was getting complicated. 'Make your arrangements, Bathyllus. Oh, and Bathyllus?'

  'Yes, sir?'

  'Thanks.'

  'Don't mention it, sir.'

  He left.

  Okay. So now we were committed.

  26.

  The next day I played games. First I sent Bathyllus haring off down to Puteoli, to arrange passage on the first ship east: it was still fairly early in the season and most of the Piraeus traffic goes from Brindisi, but there would be something sailing from the west coast, and I wanted to show willing. More than willing: for this whole thing to work I had to persuade Sejanus that I was running scared. That shouldn't be all that difficult; being the cocky bastard he was he wouldn't expect me to do anything else, especially after the weak-livered impression I hoped I'd given him at Dad's funeral. After Bathyllus had gone I went down to the Market Square with the longest face I could manage and told anyone who asked that we were cutting the holiday short and heading back to Greece. Not that many people did ask, or even talk to me, come to that; the news had obviously spread that Corvinus was on the skids, and after the third so-called friend had cut me dead I felt like a leper with halitosis. Cotta was standing outside the entrance to the senate house, talking to Trio. The consul smirked in my direction and threw me a wink, but Cotta didn't even look round. He'd seen me; sure he had. Up yours, pal, I thought. At least Trio made no secret about where his loyalties lay.

  There was no sign of Lamia or Arruntius. I was glad of that. These two I couldn't've faced.

  When I got back the messenger was in from the Alban Hills. Marcia Fulvina was more than willing to have Marilla for as long as she wanted to stay. Well, that was one load off my mind, anyway. I'd send a few more of my lads with them, as well as the coachman, for safety on the road and for their own good. Two or three months away from the fleshpots of Rome would bring the roses back into their cheeks, anyway. And they could help out with the chickens.

  We packed. That took Perilla and me about five minutes, but Meton agonised for three hours over his cooking equipment. I remembered what I'd said about lending the guy to Lippillus. Well, he'd be finding out what it was like to cook over a single charcoal brazier after all. Trouble was we'd have to eat the result. If I'd been on my own I'd've happily lived out of cookshops like tenement people usually do, but with Perilla tagging along things were different. Not to mention Bathyllus, who'd've burst his truss at the idea of us eating takeaway food.

  The last thing I did was send a skivvy round to Lippillus's to check how he was getting along. I'd've gone myself, but I'd given my word to Marcina, and anyway I didn't trust myself not to tell him about the Subura bolthole. Sure, I considered it, but it wouldn't've been fair on him: he couldn't've done anything and the fewer people who knew where we were the better. Even Mother didn't know, and if push came to shove she could swear to it on the forehead of Jupiter Capitolinus himself. That was Dad's idea, too. I was beginning to have a healthy respect for Dad.

  We left after midnight of the second day, through the garden gate at the back of the house. Everything had been carefully planned. The four of us – including the skivvy Alexis – would go on foot and meet up with Agron at the Sacred Way junction. Bathyllus would follow on, in his own time, when he got back from Puteoli. I just hoped I'd shown myself sufficiently spineless, and Sejanus wouldn't have us staked out, but that was a risk we had to take.

  Marilla and Brito were leaving for Fulvina's at the same time, and the coach was parked in the alleyway round the side. Marilla came over to say goodbye. She looked very small in the darkness, and more like a dryad than ever.

  'Thank you, Valerius Corvinus,' she said. 'For everything.'

  I hugged her. 'No problem. Look after yourself, now, okay? And give our regards to Fulvina.'

  Then it was Perilla's turn. They were both sniffling by the time they broke up.

  'Corvinus?' The kid turned back to me.

  'Yeah?'

  'I've remembered something else. About...what we talked about. The July business.'

  'Uh huh. Tell me.'

  'Father had another visitor. He only came once, and he may not be important, but I thought I'd better mention him. A jowly-faced man with the top of his
index finger missing.'

  'What?'

  'Mistress, come on!' Brito appeared out of the darkness beyond the gate and gripped her by the arm. 'We can't wait all night!'

  Marilla let herself be pulled towards the waiting carriage. I stood staring after her, my brain numb.

  Jupiter! Oh, sweet Jupiter Best and Greatest! A jowly-faced man with the top of his index finger missing! Marilla had kept the best for last, and she'd given me another name. I knew who that bastard was. Sure I did; we'd met before, ten years back, and we had unfinished business.

  Publius Vitellius.

  The Cyprian Street place wasn't nearly as bad as I'd expected. It was much bigger, for a start, and it took up a good half of the tenement's first floor.

  'That was your father's idea.' Agron was showing us round. 'We knocked through the party walls into three other flats. He thought maybe you'd like some extra space to scratch yourself.'

  'You sure they were party walls and not load-bearers, pal?' I said.

  He grinned. 'Yeah. Don't worry, the building's safe. I had a friend of mine in the trade go over it thoroughly before I gave Messalinus the go-ahead. I haven't skimped on repairs, either.' That was a relief. Most tenements are built by speculators more interested in rents than bodies, and these guys cut their investment to the bone: property's a seller's market, and there're always more punters than rooms. I had enough problems with Sejanus without worrying about waking up under five tons of rubble and the guy upstairs's furniture. 'There're eight rooms altogether. Sextus says he got lost when he first moved in.'

  'Sextus?'

  'You remember. Little guy with a squint. He used to help me out in the metalsmith's shop. I brought him in as caretaker. Rent-free, too, so he's saved enough to buy a nice property near the Shrine of Libera.'

  Uh huh. That was another worry out of the way. Sextus was an old friend of Agron's, and he'd keep his mouth shut. Especially if he'd got no reason to grumble. Blacksmiths' assistants could work for a lifetime and still not be able to afford a place of their own.

  'But Marcus! This is lovely!' Perilla was out on the tiny balcony. The view wasn't great, but at least it was a view because it looked out over a scrap of waste ground instead of into another flat across the alley the way most tenement balconies do. Someone was cooking meat on a stick in the street below, and the smells that drifted up were pretty appetising. 'It's like being on holiday.'

  'Tell me that in two months' time, lady,' I said.

  'Don't be jaundiced.' She came back inside and kissed me. 'Your father and Agron have done very well for us.'

  'Yeah, I know.' They had; they'd performed miracles, in fact. It mightn't be what we were used to, but it was luxury compared with what I'd expected. And way beyond your average tenement dweller's wildest dreams. 'Thanks, pal.'

  'You’re welcome,' Agron said. 'Come and see the rest.'

  The rooms were small, but like he'd said there were a lot of them. He'd even managed to fit up a small kitchen. Meton had taken up residence already, and he was looking almost perky. For Meton, that is, which isn't saying much.

  'Everything fine?' I said.

  'Fine?' He frowned. 'What with?'

  'With the kitchen, sunshine. Does it meet your exacting culinary standards or should we instal a couple more ovens for you?'

  Sarcasm goes straight past Meton. He sniffed. '"Fine" isn't exactly the word I'd use,' he said. '"Barely adequate", now...'

  Jupiter in a basket! Chefs! I cut him short. 'That's good. Just forget the sucking pig, okay? We won't be hosting any dinner parties.' Just then I noticed three large wine flasks propped up in the corner. I looked at the labels and whistled. 'Hey, now!'

  The wine was Setinian. Life suddenly seemed a whole lot brighter.

  Agron had come up behind me. 'Your father said you'd appreciate these. They're from his own cellar, eighteen years old now. I brought them round myself from home last night. I'd trust Sextus with my sister or my last copper penny, but three flasks of vintage Setinian might've been pushing things a bit.'

  Too right! And I'd move them, too, first chance I got. Meton's kitchen was no place for this liquid gold, and we couldn't afford to risk any more unilateral binges. Meanwhile, though, they were just what I needed.

  'Agron, scare up a mixing bowl and three cups, will you?' I looked at Meton and Alexis the skivvy, who'd been hard at work stashing away the stuff we'd brought with us. 'Ah, hell. House warming. Special occasion. Make it five.'

  We left Meton and the skivvy with their own private party in the kitchen and took the opened flask and our cups into the living-room, the one with the balcony. You could've swung a cat in there, but only just, and there were chairs instead of couches, but at least it was homey. We sat down and I spilled some of the wine to Dad's ghost. I hoped the old guy could taste it, wherever he was. As a thank-you it was little enough. For what he'd given me he deserved all three flasks.

  'So.' I raised my own cup. 'Screw Sejanus.'

  'You reckon this is going to work, then?' Agron said.

  'Sure it is. I just wish I could see that bastard's face when he knows I've slipped off the hook.'

  'You need anything else from my side?'

  'You've done enough for me already.' I sipped the wine. It was good stuff, better than mine. 'But there is one more thing. You know where Publius Vitellius lives these days?'

  Perilla glanced at me sharply: she hadn't heard Marilla give me that last bit of information.

  'Vitellius?' Agron set his cup down. 'Germanicus's old pal?'

  'Right. If you can call him that.'

  'Somewhere on the Esquiline, isn't it? Near the Virbian Incline?'

  'Could be. Wherever it is I'd like his house watched for visitors. I need faces, names if I can get them. Possible?'

  'You think Vitellius is involved with this, Marcus?' Perilla said.

  'I know so.' I told her what Marilla had told me. 'Maybe it's coincidence, but the description fits. And the guy's a prime possibility.'

  Yeah, and I'd give my eye teeth to see him nailed, too. He'd been sitting on my conscience for ten years.

  Agron had been thinking. Now he said: 'It's possible. Names, no, but faces I can manage, maybe. You ever meet Cass's nephew Paullus?'

  'No.' Not surprising. Cass was Agron's wife Cassiopeia. She came from a big family, and she had more nephews and nieces than a dog's got fleas.

  'Paullus is the artistic one, just turned ten. Give the kid a stick of charcoal and something to draw on and he's happy. Good at it, too. He did a sketch of Cass's father that had the ugly old bastard to the life. Took him about two minutes, and then three days before he could sit down again.'

  Uh huh. Paullus sounded perfect. 'This would be a long-term job, and it might be a waste of time. He'd need cover, too. Even a street kid hanging around day in day out is going to get himself noticed, especially in a high-class residential district like the Esquiline.'

  Agron rubbed his jaw.

  'We could give him a pastry-stand,' he said at last.

  'A what?'

  'A pastry-stand. Paullus's mother makes the best spiced sweet-cakes in Ostia, and the family's got three stalls there already. One more in Rome's not going to stretch them, if you can cover the pay-off to the syndicate that he'll need to get him a patch that far off his home ground.'

  'Sure.' It was ideal. No one notices a corner pastry-seller. I might even be doing the family business a favour; the Esquiline's a rich area, and if the quality was good they'd coin money hand over fist. 'Can you fix it?'

  'Leave it with me.' Agron drank the rest of his wine and stood up. 'Speaking of which, it's been a long evening. I'd better be getting back.'

  'To Ostia? At this time of night? Come on, pal!'

  'It's almost dawn. I can get a lift on a wagon from Cattlemarket Square. Besides,' he winked, 'Cass gets lonely when I'm away.'

  'How is your family?' Perilla said. 'We should have asked.'

  'Growing. There's another on the way. That'll make fou
r.'

  'Congratulations.' I glanced at Perilla, but she seemed okay. 'Which do you want this time? Boy or girl?'

  'A boy would be handy in the business, but another girl would even things up. I'm not fussy.' He yawned and stretched. 'I'll leave you to settle in. Don't worry, I'll keep in touch.'

  'Yeah. Yeah, thanks.' I saw him to the door. 'Look after yourself, pal.'

  'You too. Work on your vowels. And remember: don't go out.'

  Don't go out. Gods alive!

  It was going to be a long two months.

  27.

  It was. The longest I'd ever spent. Agron dropped by from time to time, but not often, and not for long: even that we couldn't risk.

  The news he brought wasn't too good, either. I'd burnt my bridges with a vengeance, seemingly. Marcus Valerius Corvinus had been condemned by the senate in absentia, on a charge of treason backdating ten years: seditious activity in Italy and Syria compounded with bad-mouthing the emperor and spreading sedition in the provinces. Jupiter knew where Sejanus had got that last one from. I'd once at a party in Daphni described the governor as a stuck-up lardball with less brains than a hen, but that was it, and the Greeks had just smiled over their cold sardines with date sauce like they always did when some half-assed Roman stated the obvious. The prosecutors at the trial, I noticed, were Trio and Vitellius. There was no defence worth speaking of. So much for Cotta.

  So the Palatine house was gone; not sold yet, but sequestrated, along with the rest of my property. Well, I hadn't expected anything else, but it meant that now I was really on my own, and it was a fight to the finish between me and Sejanus. Personally I wouldn't lay any bets on the outcome. I wasn't used to being cooped up, either, and my feet itched for the feel of a pavement under them. I even envied Meton, who had to get out if we wanted to keep eating. Sure, I'd had my doubts about letting him off the leash, but if I'd put my foot down and refused to let him do the shopping I'd've woken up one morning with a filleting knife between my ribs. As it was, I just warned him to forget his little gastronomic trips to the Velabrum and make do with second best from the local market. Spanish fish-sauce and prawns from Minturnae we could live without, even if it did throw his menus out of kilter.