Sejanus (Marcus Corvinus Book 3)

by David Wishart

  Gaius was right; this was major stuff. It put the lid on the case and screwed it down tight. When it got to Tiberius that Sejanus had rubbed out his only son and heir – and I'd wager a hatful of gold pieces to a bent cloak-pin that he'd been behind it – the Wart would cut the bastard's throat personally and whistle while he did it.

  'Okay, pal,' I said. 'Let's have the whole story.'

  Lygdus stared at me.

  'But you said you knew!' he whispered.

  'So I lied. You murdered Drusus, or helped murder him; that much I do know. And believe me it'll be enough for the emperor, too.'

  'But I didn't!' He pulled his knees close in and hugged them. 'It was the mistress and Eudemus! I only –' He stopped.

  'You only poisoned the guy's porridge. Sure.'

  His eyes widened. 'You're playing with me, aren't you?' he said.

  'I am?'

  'You know about the porridge!'

  'You mean that was how it was done? Seriously?'

  'Yes, of course. The master liked his porridge made with spelt. I put the stibium in that. A little every morning.'

  'Uh huh.' Yeah, well, we were getting somewhere, anyway. The stuff was some kind of poison right enough. 'Who's this Eudemus?'

  'The master's doctor.'

  That made sense. A doctor would know about poisons, who better? Also when Drusus did fall ill he'd be the one to advise what to eat and what not. For an invalid he'd recommend a bland, simple diet; more spelt porridge, for example...

  'He's still in Rome?' I said.

  'I don't know. Probably. With the mistress.'

  'Who's now betrothed to Sejanus?'

  A long pause. 'Yes.'

  'And they fixed this up among them? Livilla, Sejanus and the doctor?'

  'Yes.' It was a whisper.

  Gods! It added up! The timing and everything! Sejanus had had to go carefully; sure, Drusus had to die, but he couldn't die quickly because that would've raised unwelcome suspicions and anyway Sejanus had needed the time to consolidate his own position. Livilla was an ambitious bitch, I'd known that for years, ever since I'd talked to Gaius Secundus, in fact: the guy with the shattered leg who'd served with Drusus in Pannonia. She'd thrown in with Sejanus because the Wart was grooming Agrippina's two eldest for eventual succession after Drusus, leaving her boy Gemellus out in the cold. And Sejanus, for all his faults, was a real tomcat...

  'Sejanus and Livilla were having an affair,' I said. 'Before Drusus died.'

  'Yes.' Lygdus had given up. He sat slumped on the stool like a bag of flour.

  'So they murdered him together. And then they began working on Tiberius to allow them to marry. Sejanus would have the imperial connection he needed to legitimise his succession, Livilla would found a dynasty instead of simply being the wife of a caretaker emperor.'

  'Maybe.' Lygdus shrugged. 'If you say so. The mistress wanted him for himself. That's all I know.'

  'Yeah.' I looked at him. The poor guy was a weed, a long strip of dripping, and not the murderer type. He reminded me a lot of Celsus. 'So. How did you get out?'

  'I ran. It was simple enough. I'm not a fool, I knew some day there'd be an accident. Suburinus, the man who owns this place, knew I was a runaway slave, but I'm cheap. I work for my keep and no more so he's happy. It's better than being dead, anyway.'

  'He know whose slave you are?'

  'No!'

  I nodded. No, he wouldn't, no way: you didn't mess with imperials. 'DC' could stand for anyone, and cheap labour didn't grow on trees.

  Lygdus had been watching me.

  'What are you going to do?' he said.

  It was a question I'd been putting off asking myself. I couldn't leave the poor sod where he was, that was for sure. The minute my back was turned he'd head for the tall timber and I could whistle for my proof. At the same time, I wasn't under any illusions as to what Tiberius would do to a runaway slave who'd poisoned his son's breakfast; and I wouldn't wish that kind of death on anyone.

  Hell. I had the details and I had the name of the doctor. That would have to be enough for the Wart. He could do his own dirty work.

  'Can you write?' I said.

  'No.'

  'Yeah, I thought not.' I sighed. 'Just an idea. Okay, pal, what happens now is that I walk out of here and you rescue what's left of those rissoles from the cockroaches.'

  He stared at me. 'You mean that?'

  'Sure. They can't taste any worse than they probably would've anyway. Oh, by the way. What is stibium, exactly?'

  'A kind of glittering metallic sand, Corvinus. It's mined in Asia Minor, among other places. Including Pannonia, incidentally.'

  I whipped round. Felix was standing in the doorway. He wasn't smiling.

  'The Greeks call it wide-eye,' he went on, 'because it's used to make eye-shadow paste; your wife probably has some in her cosmetic box. It's also, so I understand, employed medicinally as an astringent. For external application only, of course.'

  No point asking the guy what he was doing here. I'd half-expected he'd follow me anyway. Gaius was the type to keep a check on his investments.

  'You're telling me Drusus was poisoned with make-up?' I said.

  'More or less. Amazing, isn't it?' Felix came in and hoisted himself onto the kitchen table. He hadn't looked at Lygdus, who was staring at him open-mouthed. 'Actually, Eudemus was being extremely clever, and it explains why no one suspected poison at the time. A single large dose would've produced obvious symptoms, naturally, but the effect of many small doses was cumulative and gave the desired impression of chronic illness. Drusus died very slowly, Valerius Corvinus, over a period of months, if not years, and his murderers watched him die. That's not pleasant. Personally I wouldn't waste my sympathy on them.'

  Uh huh. 'Where's your friend Aristotle?' I said.

  'Intimidating the owner. But he's within call, so I really wouldn't recommend any heroics.'

  Yeah, well, it was worth a try. Unless he was lying again, but I wouldn't've liked to risk it. I turned back to Lygdus. The guy had gone as grey as his rissoles.

  'I'm sorry, pal,' I said. 'It seems I've been overruled.'

  'Indeed you have, sir.' Felix glanced at the slave. 'If you've finished your questioning we'll take over now. Don't worry, we'll keep him safe. Until he's wanted.'

  I could've gone for him, sure, but it wouldn't've done any good, even without Lamprus waiting outside. Gaius would make a bad enemy, and I had more of these already than I could handle. Not that those excuses made me feel any better, mind.

  I walked out without a word.

  32.

  I spent an anxious month twiddling my thumbs. Here I was with all the proof I needed to grease Sejanus's wheels and I couldn't do a thing with it: now his spoof assassination had fallen through Sejanus had no reason to send Gaius to Capri, and if Gaius didn't go then I was screwed totally as far as seeing the Wart was concerned. Also there was Appius Silanus himself. The featherbrain might not blow the whistle on me of his own accord, but it didn't take much nous to see that five minutes after he'd told his ex-pal Servaeus where he could stick his special dagger Sejanus's frighteners would be round to ask why he'd changed what passed for his mind; and under that sort of pressure I reckoned our purple-striped Adonis would cave in faster than an egg under a marble cart. No, by this time Sejanus would know if he didn't already that Corvinus was alive and very definitely kicking. I just hoped he hadn't linked me with Gaius, because if so the pair of us were cooked.

  It was a relief when half way through July Felix brought word that Tiberius had insisted on having Gaius where he could keep an eye on him. The move was still on, and the passports had been approved. We left Rome before the month was out.

  I hate travelling, especially slow travelling in convoy, and gods! we were slow. Forget official messengers or two-horse chariots stripped for speed haring down the Appian Road with vital despatches; we had snails laughing themselves sick all the way to Capua. We'd left Lamprus behind solving the remaining mysteries
of existence, but as Gaius's tonsorial consultant I shared the last coach with Felix, Gaius's head chef and the Master of the Wardrobe; both unselfconscious lardballs with a penchant for raw onions and cold boiled chickpeas. When the atmosphere got too thick – which was most of the time – I got out and walked. It was faster, anyway.

  We took three days to reach Surrentum. I was blistered and footsore, but at least I could breathe. And by that time not even my own mother would've looked twice at me; which was just as well, because the next part was the tricky bit.

  I had to hand it to Sejanus. Even with the local mayor escorting us personally security at the harbour was tighter than a constipated gnat's sphincter. The place was crawling with soldiers; not just marines, either, although I noticed a shit-hot little galley moored at the dock, but a detachment of hard-eyed Praetorians who looked like they'd run in their own grandmothers if they couldn't prove identity five ways from nothing. There were enough fishing boats around, sure, but I'd've bet a gold piece to an anchovy that anyone trying to bribe one of the local crab-catchers wouldn't even make it to the gangplank, let alone past the breakwater. As we climbed down from the carriages and Gaius's head slave handed the sheaf of passports to the guard-commander I crossed my fingers and prayed to every god I could think of that nothing would go wrong.

  I'd need all the divine help I could get, too. The guard-commander was moving up the line, checking faces against descriptions. Not a cursory check, either, and he had a gorilla both sides of him and two paces behind armed to the teeth and looking like they'd welcome the opportunity of terminating any poor bastard whose face didn't fit. I started to sweat. Maybe this wasn't such a hot idea after all. Maybe I hadn't been as smart as I thought. Maybe Sejanus had made the Gaius connection or traced me some other way and he'd simply given orders for me to be picked up at the boat. If so then I wouldn't even live long enough to wonder where I'd screwed up.

  'Marcus Ufonius?' The guard-commander's eyes were two chips of ice that flicked down to the passport and back to me.

  'Yes, sir,' I said.

  'You're a Capuan?'

  'That's right.'

  'You don't look it.'

  I swallowed. Beside me I felt Felix stiffen.

  'My father was Roman, sir. A senator, I understand. My mother was a laundress.'

  'Uh-huh.' The eyes raked me again. 'So where's Harmodius's wineshop, then?'

  'Off the main square, sir. By the Shrine of the Graces.'

  He grunted. 'And the Statue of Pan?'

  Oh, Jupiter! Dear, sweet Jupiter, do something! Capuan wineshops I could handle. Statues were another matter. I weighed up my chances of punching the guy in the throat and making a successful run for it. They were as close to zero as you can get. The silence lengthened...

  At which point the chef – the only one of us left for vetting – belched and broke wind simultaneously, spilling a foetid smell of onions across the dock.

  'Sweet God almighty!' The guard-commander fanned the air, scowled at the glassy-eyed chef, then snapped at the sniggering Praetorians behind him: 'All right. That's it. Let them board.'

  I shuffled gratefully forwards. It's times like these when I feel that maybe there's something to religion after all. Sure, my flatulent pal's performance had probably been due to nerves, but it'd taken the soldiers' attention off me when I least wanted it, and after all the fate of Rome had been in the balance there. For a manifestation of the divine it'd been unorthodox, but gods have their own way of doing things, and if I'd just witnessed a minor miracle then who was I to scoff. I offered up a quick but sincere thank-you to Aeolus and boarded the ship.

  Capri is something else. It rises blue-grey and sheer out of the sea three miles from the Italian coast, and there're cliffs everywhere except for the main harbour in the north and a cove on the south side where boats put in in bad weather. Both places are watched, seriously. Try landing anywhere else and even if you escape the patrol boats by the time the sea and the rocks have finished with you there'd be nothing to arrest. We were getting close. I could see a lighthouse at the point of the cape, and the sun glinting on white marble.

  'That where we're headed?' I said to Felix.

  'Yes, sir.' He motioned with his head: we were both talking in whispers. 'You can just see the road up from the harbour. That's the emperor's main villa. He has others, of course.'

  'Is that right? How many?'

  'Twelve, I believe.'

  'Twelve?' Jupiter, I didn't think the Wart would stint himself, but twelve luxury villas on a piece of rock this size was pushing it. How did he fit them all in? 'Why the hell does he need twelve?'

  'For guests. And, now, family. However, I suspect we'll be staying at the main one for the time being. You'll like it, sir. It really is very beautiful, by all accounts.'

  'It'll make a change from the Subura flat, sure.' Well, I suppose he was trying to sound encouraging, but as far as I was concerned you could take the whole boiling and drop it down a very deep hole. I was wondering what Perilla was doing now. And whether I'd ever see her again.

  We docked, and more sharp-eyed Praetorians double-checked the passports. I noticed that even Gaius was looking pale and preoccupied. I didn't blame him: Sejanus was the Praetorian commander, and these guys would be hand-picked for loyalty. Maybe we were on a hiding to nothing after all, and Tiberius was a prisoner of his own bodyguard; in which case Gaius was up shit creek without a paddle and I'd shoved my head into a noose and handed Sejanus both ends of the rope.

  The trip up to the villa through two hundred vertical feet of formal gardens didn't offer any more encouragement. Once we were away from the quayside the only people we saw were slaves and soldiers, and there were more uniforms around than homespun tunics. Not friendly, either. From the way those bastards eyed you you knew they'd take you out just to break the endless monotony. Sure, the villa was beautiful, although not flashy – the Wart's dislike of flash was no pose – but I hated it like poison already. The whole thing was a gigantic trap, and you knew the further you went into it the more impossible it would be to get out again.

  'Servants' quarters are in the south wing,' said the major-domo who met us in the colonnaded portico when we reached the top. 'You'll be escorted. Rooms have been assigned. Keep to the designated areas unless you have specific duties elsewhere.' He didn't say what would happen if we were stupid enough to go walkabout, and no one asked. That was another thing that was understood. The sea was a long way down.

  'The master has arranged for us to share, sir,' Felix murmured. 'We thought it safest. I hope you don't mind.'

  'So long as you don't talk in your sleep, pal,' I said. Better than bunking down with the head chef, anyway. I may have owed the guy, but gratitude only goes so far.

  'Of course not!' Felix looked like I'd impugned him professionally; but then again maybe I had. 'In any case it should only be for a few days. We'll be moving to one of the other villas shortly.'

  I tagged along with the others to the servants' quarters. Being entourage rather than skivvies we shared cubicles rather than dormitories, opening onto a corridor that ran the length of the villa. They weren't so bad. You might not be able to swing even a short cat too confidently and finding space for a portable library might be tricky, but there was a truckle bed each and a shelf for your spare tunic. In Felix's case I'd make that six spare tunics, each one brighter than the last.

  From a house on the Palatine to a tenement flat to this. And not a wine jug in sight. Ah, well, there was a moral here somewhere. And it was what I got for mixing with politics.

  At least my time would be my own. Before we left we'd agreed, Gaius and me, on how we were going to play this. No contact, absolutely none. He'd break the ground gradually with Tiberius and send for me when he reckoned the Wart was ready. There was sense in that: I'd only get one shot at it, and if I tried playing a lone game and walking off the boat straight into the old bugger's best sitting room I'd be fish-food quicker than I could spit. So now it was up to go
at-face. I didn't like that more than half, but so long as our interests coincided I thought he would play fair. My worry was that eventually they wouldn't.

  Blowing the whistle on Sejanus, however, could wait. First things first. After three hours on a pitching ship my bladder was bursting.

  'Hey, Felix,' I said. 'You happen to know where the lavatory is in this maze?'

  The little guy was stowing his kit. Six tunics had been on the conservative side: I counted eight, with matching belts.

  'No, sir,' he said. 'But I would try further along the corridor.'

  'You plan on wearing all of these, by the way?' I said.

  He frowned. 'All of what, sir?'

  'The tunics.'

  'Just because I'm a slave it doesn't mean I have to be scruffy.' He eyed my own tunic and sniffed.

  'Uh, yeah,' I said. 'Yeah, I suppose not. Catch you later.'

  He didn't answer. I went outside and turned left, looking for relief. Like I say, we'd got a string of cubicles together along the south wall of the wing. The lavatory would be at the end, where the drains could take the effluent straight over the cliff edge.

  I found it, just beyond the baths: I could murder a bath, but it could wait. There was another guy on the beams, using the sponge: a broad-built guy with spiky straw-coloured hair and an unshaven chin. I nodded to him and undid my belt. His eyes widened, just for an instant. Then he nodded back, finished quickly and left without a word.

  I stood staring after him, bladder forgotten and mind numb. Not for the reason you might think, especially in this den of depravity (if you believed half the rumours at Rome): he'd been looking at my face. I hadn't recognised him, but he'd known me. Sure he had, even under the beard and travel-stains. So much for subterfuge. Less than an hour on Capri and I'd been rumbled.

  33.

  'He recognised you, sir?' Felix looked concerned when I told him, as well he might; personally I was worried as hell. 'You're sure about that? Absolutely sure?'