David Wishart - Sejanus

'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.

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.

Meanwhile I let my hair and my beard grow, walked with a stoop and practised my Campanian accent. None of that would fool anyone I knew for a second, from close up at least, but it'd get me by with strangers if and when I had the chance to meet any.

By the time the spring festival came and went I was climbing walls. Perilla was lasting better: she didn't get out any more than I did, but she was filling in the time writing Greek poetry, working her way through the metres. Heavy stuff, and beyond me; her stepfather would've been proud of her. The only bit of light- and that was just a glimmer — was young Paullus. Every time he came Agron brought a fresh supply of the kid's sketches. Most of the faces didn't mean anything to me and the ones that did didn't strike any chords, but at least they made me feel I was doing something.

Spring passed into summer. We were half way through June: two full months since we'd moved to the Subura, and slightly over one before Marilla's deadline. I was beginning to twitch seriously, but there was no point going anywhere until I had a lead. I'd thought about things, sure — the business with Titius Sabinus was still bugging me — but working on theories alone without being able to prove or disprove them is like trying to keep your eyes open when you sneeze.

Then one day Agron arrived, and everything changed.

. .

'Corvinus. Perilla.' The big guy gave me a nod. 'How's it going?'

Bathyllus was already pouring the wine. Living in a tenement didn't seem to have fazed him any, and we must have had the cleanest flat in the whole Subura. Even the cockroaches shone.

'Perilla's on to augmented polyschematist dimeters with added adoneuses,' I said sourly: the sun was streaming through the balcony window, and he had that fresh-air look about him that I was beginning to hate. 'I'm scratching my armpits. So what else is new?'

'He doesn't mean it.' Perilla gave one of her tolerant smiles. 'He's being very patient.'

'Yeah, I'll bet.' Agron held up a sheaf of papers. 'I've brought some more of Paullus's sketches for you to have a look at.'

He handed them over. The face on the top one leaped out and hit me.

'Shit,' I murmured.

'You know him?' Agron's interest sharpened.

'Sure I know him.' My brain was buzzing: maybe this time we were going to strike lucky. 'That's Caelius Crispus.' I turned the sketch over: Paullus would've written any information on the back. 'Three visits, all late, all lasting over an hour. So what would Crispus be doing visiting Vitellius?'

'Who's this Crispus?'

'A shady character with a boyfriend high up in the Treasury.' I caught myself, remembering our meeting just after Dad's funeral, when I'd first gone to check the senate records. 'No. He's in the Treasury himself these days. Something to do with the military pay-chest.'

'Is he, now?' The corners of Agron's mouth turned down. 'You know Vitellius is the new Treasury Controller?'

'He's what ?'

'Sure. As of four days ago.'

I was getting that prickly feeling at the back of my neck; the feeling I'd been missing for months.

'You happen to know how he got the appointment?' I said.

'Flamininus had to give it up. The guy's been ill recently.'

'What kind of ill?'

'That I don't know.' Agron was frowning. 'Hold on, Corvinus, you're building a case out of nothing here. Flamininus is sick, full stop, end of story. Vitellius has the seniority, and he has a sound financial background. He's a natural choice. Also, if Crispus is one of his juniors like you say then there's every reason for him to pay a call on his boss. Even three calls.'

'Outside office hours? When they work in the same building? And his ultimate boss?'

'Maybe it was an emergency.'

'You said it yourself. Three calls. One for an emergency I'd believe, but not three. In any case both guys are as crooked as an Ostian dice game. Come on, pal, you know I'm right!'

Agron rubbed his chin. 'Yeah, well. Maybe.'

'Maybe nothing. We're in business here.'

'Okay. So maybe we are. So what can you do about it?'

'I can talk to Crispus, of course.'

'Marcus, no!' Perilla said.

I shrugged. 'I've got to come out of hiding some time, lady. Otherwise I might as well not be here.'

'Perilla's right.' Agron was still frowning. 'You don't even know if there's anything in this. It's too risky.'

'I told you. I know Vitellius, and I know Crispus. Put the two together and they stink worse than a bucketful of Tiber mud.' I stared at the sketch again. 'Besides, I can catch Crispus in the evening, on the way to his club.'

'Marcus.' Agron held up his hands. 'Be reasonable! If you think it's important then I'll sweat the guy myself.'

'You wouldn't know what to ask.'

'So tell me, for Jupiter's sake!'

I shook my head. 'No.'

Agron sighed. 'Fine. Okay, fine. But we do it my way, once I've talked to a few friends of mine. And if you're only doing this to get a lungful of fresh air, Corvinus, I swear I'll kill you personally.'

'Yeah.' I grinned. 'Well, there is that too.'

It was good to be outside again, even at night. I'd arranged to meet Agron and his friends near the house on the Pincian where Crispus spent his evenings with other bachelors of a certain persuasion. The place lay beyond Lucullus Gardens, far out and isolated. Because of what went on there, intentionally so: the last time I'd been here with Perilla, Crispus had been wearing a napkin.

I'd brought Alexis with me to carry the torch. It would've looked suspicious otherwise, especially if I bumped into any of the Watch: no respectable citizen, even a plain-mantle, goes out at night without at least one slave to attract the mosquitoes and discourage more dangerous two-legged pests. I'd tucked a pair of party-slippers under my arm, too, for appearances sake.