Sejanus (Marcus Corvinus Book 3)

by David Wishart

  'Yeah.' I stretched out on my cot. 'It wasn't mutual, though. Maybe we have run across each other in the past, but not recently.'

  'Perhaps he mistook you for someone else.'

  'Come on, Felix!' I glanced sideways at him. 'Do you believe that? The guy shot off the beam so fast he took the sponge with him. And not in his hand, either. My explanation is that he'd just seen a disguised purple-striper named Marcus Valerius Corvinus relieving himself in a slaves' privy on the emperor's personal island and couldn't wait to pass the news on. What's yours?' I waited; no answer. 'Exactly.'

  'I'll make enquiries,' Felix said.

  'Screw your enquiries! I don't care who he is. The question is, who would he tell? Because if he goes to the officer commanding the guard then I might as well start running now.'

  Felix sighed. 'You wouldn't get five yards, sir,' he said. 'And that would certainly give you away.'

  'Congratulations. You've just won the prize for stating the obvious.' I sat up and hit the bed-frame so hard with my clenched fist that I heard the wood crack. 'Of all the things to go wrong! An accident! A pure fluke!'

  'You don't know for certain yet that things have gone wrong,' Felix said calmly. 'If they have, they have, but acting on that assumption makes no sense at all, and it's the most dangerous course you could take. Sir.'

  'And I thought your pal Lamprus was the philosopher of the bunch.' I stood up. 'Hell, I can't sleep, and I don't want to argue. I'm going outside for some fresh air.'

  'It's forbidden.' His voice sharpened. 'There's a dusk-to-dawn curfew. You know that.'

  'I'll risk it.' I turned to him. 'Or do you want to try stopping me?'

  He sighed again and ducked his head. 'No, sir,' he said. 'Of course not. But if I may say so you're being very, very foolish.'

  'Yeah, well. It's better than lying here waiting for the Praetorians. And if I'm going to die I'd rather it was in the open.'

  'Now you're being melodramatic as well as foolish.'

  I grinned. 'Yeah. I suppose you're right. About that and everything else. But I still need that fresh air. I'll see you later, okay?'

  Felix snuffed the lamp. 'I hope so,' he said. 'I really do hope so.'

  I walked along the line of cubicles towards the lavatory: there'd been a door next to it, I'd noticed, leading outside.

  I found it. The door was unlocked, and it gave out onto a strip of ground between the buildings and a low wall beyond; nothing special, no garden, not in this part of the villa, just plain tussocky grass and stones. It was a beautiful night, windless and almost clear as day with a full moon and stars. I could see the mainland in the distance, black on grey. Down below and to the left a fire burned: a beacon, probably, guiding ships bound for Puteoli away from the rocks and through the straits. A bird flew past, or maybe it was a bat, a fast black dot. Back in the Subura Perilla would be in bed by now and the carts would be starting up.

  One difference between Rome and Capri at night was the quiet. You could just stand still and listen and be sure of hearing absolutely nothing moving for miles...

  The footsteps were coming softly from behind. I turned, and the guy took the last few yards at a run. Instinctively my hand went for the knife I kept strapped to my forearm, but of course it wasn't there: get caught with a weapon, any weapon, on Tiberius's private island and you wouldn't have the chance to open your mouth, let alone use it, before someone shut it for good. Anyway, I was too late and his hands were already closing round my throat.

  Jupiter, he was strong! From our short acquaintance in the privy I'd known he was heavily-built. Now I could feel it was all hard muscle. I brought my own hands up to break his grip and tried to twist away, but I wasn't used to this rough stuff any more and his knee drove itself into my belly, leaving me gasping. Trying to gasp. I'd lost what air I'd had in my lungs within the first few seconds, and his thumbs pressed into my windpipe were making sure I didn't get a fresh supply. I felt myself lifted, pushed back against the rough masonry of the wall, and the stars began to flicker and go out...

  Someone pulled me up and a hand slapped me hard across the mouth. I opened my eyes. A leather breastplate with bronze facings. Praetorian.

  'Come on, you bastard, you're not dead!' The guardsman slapped me again, backhanded this time, and even harder. 'What the hell was going on here?'

  'We were discussing Aristotle's Analytics,' I mumbled. 'What did it look like, chum?'

  He dropped me like I was red hot. I stood. Just.

  'You're no slave.' He was staring. Shit, I'd forgotten the accent. 'So who are you?'

  'Where's the man who attacked me?' I wiped the blood from my split lip.

  He jerked his thumb at the wall. 'He went that way. Five hundred feet, straight down. Pure accident. Now.' Slowly and deliberately, he drew his sword from its sheath. 'I asked you a question. Sir.'

  I sighed. Well, it was done and there was no point flogging a dead horse. 'Would you believe a hairdresser? Tonsorial consultant, rather.'

  He gave me a long, considering look and then spat carefully onto the grass.

  'No way,' he said. 'You'd better come with me so we can clear this thing up.'

  . . .

  The cubicle he put me in was even smaller than the one I shared with Felix. Had shared with Felix. It didn't even have a cot, just some mops and buckets and a foot-square window three quarters the way up the wall. I tried pushing at the door but there must've been a bar across the outside. Great. I'd got the only prison cell in the empire that doubled as a broom closet.

  I had plenty of time to think. Maybe the guard-commander responsible for dealing with purple-stripers who pretended to be hairdressers didn't come on duty until a reasonable hour. Maybe they were just waiting for it to be light enough to see the splash when they threw me off the cliff. It was pointless appealing to Gaius. He wouldn't help me, I knew that, not if he could wriggle out of it; in fact, if he knew I was here already then he was probably messing his privileged pants, because together we'd almost managed to duplicate Sejanus's plan with Appius Silanus. The lack of a dagger proved nothing. To a paranoid old bugger like the Wart that would be a side issue.

  Nevertheless, I reckoned my best and only chance was a direct appeal to Tiberius in my own name. It might get me a hearing, at least, and if I could put a spoke or two in Sejanus's wheel before I was chopped then that was all I could expect. Of course, the chances were that whoever commanded the troops was Sejanus's man and knew damn well who I was already. Or could make an informed guess. In which case Tiberius would never even get to know I existed...

  The sun was streaming in through the window when the door finally opened: the cubby must've faced almost due south, because it'd been light for hours. I stood up from where I'd been crouching on the floor, stretched the stiffness out of my bones and rubbed my swollen lip.

  It was the same squaddie who'd arrested me the night before, plus two of his mates. All three had drawn swords and no smiles. This looked bad.

  'Come out of there and follow me,' he said.

  'You care to tell me where to?' No answer. I'd seen more animated expressions on a set of tree stumps. 'Listen, pal, my name's Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus. I'm a Roman knight and I demand –'

  He reached over and, very carefully, put the point of his sword against my throat. I swallowed and shut up fast. Yeah, well, some you win, some you lose. You never know unless you try.

  'Now listen to me,' he said. 'I don't want to hear any fancy lawyer's speeches, and I won't tell you to do something twice. You understand?'

  'Yeah, sure.' My eyes were still on the sword. It hadn't moved an inch. 'Got you.'

  'So let's go, then.' He took the sword away but didn't sheathe it. The other two squaddies fell in behind me.

  We went along corridors, through peristyles and halls and up staircases, always climbing. So it was going to be the cliff for me after all. Well, at least it would be quick. I wished I could've got a message to Perilla, though. Maybe Felix would make one up
that didn't sound too unconvincing. I had an idea that the smart little cookie would be good at something like that. All the way through the villa people we passed took one look at us and decided we didn't exist. It was like being a ghost. Well, I could use the practice.

  We stopped outside an oak-panelled door at the top of a flight of stairs. My pal from the night before rapped smartly on it with his knuckles, then stepped aside as the door opened.

  The walls of the room were made of translucent glass shutters, something I'd never met with before, even in Asia. Most of them were open, and we must've been high up because I could see not only Cape Minerva but all the way across the bay towards Naples. There was only one person present, apart from the slave who'd answered the door: an old man lying on a couch.

  'Come in, Valerius Corvinus,' he said. 'I understand that my friend Sejanus is looking for you rather urgently. On a charge of treason.'

  34.

  Tiberius had been a big man in his day. He was still a big man, even in his seventies, with huge bones, a strong face and massive hands that looked like they could crush marble. He must've given up on the boil plasters, though. Maybe he'd decided just to let his skin erupt and be damned. If so, it was doing a thorough job.

  'On the other hand,' he went on, 'my grandson Gaius tells me you've proof that Sejanus is plotting treason himself, and has been for years. A paradox. Do you think we might resolve it together, perhaps?'

  I stood gaping. The slave – he looked like a German – softly closed the door, led me to a chair and sat me down. Tiberius watched, scowling. Neither of us moved. Finally, he said:'Corvinus. I had you brought here to talk. Now I appreciate that you've gone to a great deal of trouble to reach me, and it would be a shame if I simply handed you back to my guards unheard.' His mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smile, showing a single yellowed incisor. 'Delighted although they'd be if I did. So talk, please. Now.'

  He waited. I swallowed and opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Finally the emperor shifted irritably on his couch.

  'Good Jupiter, man!' he snapped. 'I haven't got all day to waste! Sigmund, put some wine into him!'

  The slave poured from a jug on the table and held the cup out to me. I drained it in two gulps and felt the warmth hit my stomach like a velvet club.

  'I'm sorry, sir,' I said at last. 'I thought I was going to be executed.'

  'What makes you think that you won't be?' The old mouth twisted again, like a pike's. 'In fact, I'd say it was almost a certainty.' He made a sign to the German. 'Pour me one too while you're about it, Sigmund, and damn the doctors.' He waited until the order had been carried out. 'So, then. How did my lads get you, exactly? A fight on the cliff edge, wasn't it?'

  'I was attacked, sir. Attempted murder, by a slave. Or possibly a freedman.'

  'Whose slave?' The question came fast and hard as a catapult bolt. 'Why?'

  'I don't know.'

  'You don't know?' Tiberius's boil-ridden face flushed and he made a ttch! of disgust in his throat. 'Sigmund! Talk to Macro.' The guard commander. 'Find out the truth.' Then, when the slave hesitated: 'Go on, man, do as you're told! Valerius Corvinus isn't likely to murder me while you're away.' He turned back to me. 'Or are you, Corvinus?'

  'Uh...no, sir,' I said. I wouldn't like to try it, either. I'd never experienced Tiberius at short range before, and now I could see how the leathery old bastard had managed to hold the empire together for seventeen years as emperor and almost twice that as Augustus's best general. The Wart would take some killing, and he wouldn't die easy.

  The big German left, and Tiberius smiled his fanged not-quite-smile.

  'Very well, Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus,' he said. 'You have the wine jug beside you and we're alone. So talk.'

  Hell’s teeth! Where did I start? 'I've no proof Sejanus is committing treason, sir,' I said. 'None. Apart from the testimony of a couple of slaves your grandson is holding.'

  He raised a hand sharply. 'We'll leave Gaius out of this. We were discussing Sejanus. What about him?'

  Okay, if he wanted candour he'd get it. Besides, it looked like I had nothing to lose.

  'He's plotting to succeed you as emperor,' I said.

  'Oh, is that all?' Tiberius grinned at me. I'd expected him to be practically toothless, but he wasn't, far from it: his teeth were strong and yellow, like an old dog's snarl. 'You thought I didn't know? Corvinus, I may be many things but I'm not a dotard, I'm not a simpleton, and I'm not blind. If Sejanus wants this...apology for a life' – I don't think I'd ever heard such contempt in a voice before – 'then he's welcome to it. Only after I've done with it, naturally, and he isn't fool enough to think otherwise. And why shouldn't he be emperor? The man has most of the qualities needed, and at least he's no canting hypocrite like Augustus or a sour, twisted old society-hater like myself.'

  I was staring at him. Jupiter! the guy didn't mince words, did he?

  'He has his vices, naturally.' Tiberius was looking at me in a speculative way that I found unsettling as hell. 'However, his virtues more than balance them. Ordinary people may not see these virtues for what they are, they may even confuse them with the vices. But an emperor isn't deceived. He makes no mistakes because he has the virtues himself or can appreciate their occurrence in another man if he lacks them.' The upper lip lifted again. 'You'll note that modesty isn't included in the list. On the other hand, ruthlessness and perhaps the capacity for treachery are. Successful treachery, that is, rooted firmly in ambition. An emperor can't be weak. A weak ruler means a weak state.' He emptied his cup. 'My throat's dry. Pour me some more wine. And fill for yourself.'

  I did both. I was feeling pretty fazed. 'Sir,' I said, 'I don't know what to say now. If you've decided, knowing that Sejanus is a traitor, that he'll make you a worthy successor and Rome a good emperor, then most of what I had to tell you isn't relevant. You may as well send me home or execute me now.'

  'Don't you presume to advise me, young man!' He frowned and lay back on his couch. 'And don't be too hasty to condemn yourself, either. Haste isn't a virtue, in anyone's canon. Didn't your father teach you that?'

  'He tried. Yeah.'

  'Tried, did he? Well, that's something.' The frown deepened into a scowl. 'Messalinus wasn't much, but at least he was loyal to Rome. Loyal enough for me to owe his son a fair hearing. So present your case. In an orderly fashion, please.' Then, when I hesitated: 'Corvinus, listen to me. I'll only say this once. When I commanded armies – commanded them directly, I mean, not from a bloody couch – no one ever accused me of unfairness. Harshness, yes, but a general has to be harsh. He can't afford mercy, it's far too expensive in the long run. Nor can he afford to settle for a sanitised version of the truth, because that is even more dangerous. So traduce Sejanus to me as much as you please, so long as the traduction hangs together, and pity help you, young man, if it doesn't. I may interrupt, but it will be for reasons of argument, not of censure. And argument, by Hades, is what you will give me. Is that clear?'

  'Clear, sir.' I swallowed. I was gambling with my life here, and I knew it. One false step and I was dead. 'Very well. You know that Sejanus destroyed your adopted son Germanicus? I mean for his own reasons?'

  'Yes, I know that.'

  'And that he systematically ruined the Julians? Again through his own ambitions?'

  'Corvinus.' Tiberius sighed, as if I'd disappointed him. 'I don't share my late mother's personal dislike for Augustus's direct descendants, but I agree with her absolutely that the Julians had and have no divine mandate to rule. They're basically an unstable family and must be judged on their merits as individuals, taking the security of the empire as the one and only criterion. And once judged they must be dealt with accordingly, with no half measures or false sympathy. Now is that clear?'

  'You include Gaius in that statement, sir?'

  'Damn you, I've already said that we'll leave Gaius aside! My grandson is a special case, for reasons I don't wish to discuss with you.' He gulped down his wine and h
eld out the cup. Trying to keep my hand steady, I leaned over and poured. 'Obviously it is not clear. Perhaps the fault lies in me, but I suspect the reason is your own stupidity.' I said nothing. 'Very well, I'll put it more plainly. To take the more recent examples. Germanicus was a shallow, idealistic fool. As emperor, he would have been disastrous for Rome, and Rome is well rid of him. Agrippina has far greater possibilities, but Agrippina is a woman, and she hates too openly and with her heart, not her brain. A fatal flaw. Her hatred would corrupt any weakling she married, and she could only bear to marry a weakling. You understand that?'

  'Yes, sir. I understand.'

  'Good. Of Agrippina's sons Nero was a milksop without a mind of his own and Drusus a potential madman who inherited the worst qualities of both his parents. I gave them their chance. They failed the test and were discarded.'

  'And Drusus, sir? Your son?'

  He was silent for a long moment, a purple flush spreading over his ruined cheeks. Finally he said, too quietly:

  'Corvinus, freedom of speech is one thing, but you border on insolence. Drusus died. And he was not a Julian.'

  'An assessment. Please.' This was no time for politeness. I might be out of order, but my neck was on the line here and I knew it. Tiberius gave me a long considering scowl.

  'Very well,' he said at last. 'My son Drusus would have made an emperor. A good one. Knowing that, I treated him hard, as Augustus treated me, Used him, rather. He survived, as I survived. That is one thing kings and emperors must learn before they become kings and emperors, because once they have supreme power no one else can teach them it. They learn to use others but not to be used themselves, and that last is crucial because above them there is always the state. They may end up hating their teacher, as I hated Augustus, but that is unimportant. The lesson is too vital to be omitted, and far too vital for simple human considerations to affect.' He paused. 'Am I making myself clear now?'

  'Yes. I understand.'

  His mouth twisted. 'I doubt that, boy. I doubt it very much, but let it pass. Nonetheless it explains why I couldn't care less what Sejanus's motives were in destroying the Julians. They were a needless complication; worse, a danger, because they blinded by their name. Nero and young Drusus served only to train my son for empire. If they had proved themselves, by themselves, one or both of them might have followed him in time. Neither did. Having failed, they had to be removed. Sejanus's methods may not have been my own and he might not have acted' – the top lip lifted – 'purely out of altruism, but in removing them and their supporters he did Rome a favour. Given the choice between a Julian as Rome's next emperor and Sejanus, and lacking a better alternative, I would choose him.'