David Wishart: Germanicus

Cotta gave her a speculative glance before answering. 'That's right,' he said. 'In Tarraco. Trio made a point of it at the trial.'

'Trio?'

'The guy who brought the case.'

'Wouldn't Piso consider it too dangerous to risk fraud a second time?'

'The Spanish charge was old history, Perilla. No one paid it any attention. Still, I'd be interested to know where you picked up the information.'

I shot Perilla a warning look. Demure Roman matron, hell. Jupiter knew where she'd got that nugget from, but smartass comments we could do without at this stage. I wanted Cotta kept sweet.

Perilla ignored me. 'I knew someone once who was on the Spanish staff,' she said. 'It is true, isn't it?'

'Sure it's true. The fact of the accusation, anyway. Whether the guy was actually guilty or not was never proved because the case never got the length of the court.' Cotta cracked a nut. 'Anyway, there's Piso sitting pretty at Antioch, fresh out from Rome and good for at least a couple of years’ hard graft. And what does the Wart do?'

'He sends out his adopted son and heir.' I slit an apple.

'Right. And the last thing any governor with his way to make wants is a ranking Caesar with a special commission breathing down his neck and checking the invoices. Especially a stiff-backed stickler for the proprieties like Germanicus.'

Uh-huh. That made sense. 'You think Tiberius sent him on purpose? To keep an eye on Piso?'

'No.' Cotta sipped his wine. 'No, Piso was a friend of the Wart's, as much as the boil-ridden bastard has friends. He wouldn't've made him governor in the first place if he hadn't been sure of him. Anyway, Tiberius is a realist. He knows a certain amount of graft's inevitable. The provincials expect it, and an absolutely straight governor would worry them like hell. So long as Piso didn't get too greedy Tiberius would leave him alone. It was just an unfortunate coincidence.' He grinned. 'Unfortunate for Piso.'

'And for Germanicus. If Piso did kill him.'

'Yeah.' Another grin. 'You could say that. You ever meet the guy?'

'Germanicus? No, never. I don't move in your exalted circles.'

'Exalted my arse. Count yourself lucky, boy. He was a self-righteous prig, honest and open as the day is long. A squeaky-clean marvel with hero written large all over him. No wonder everyone loved him and Piso hated his guts. And Agrippina's worse.'

'I have always,' Perilla said, 'had a high regard for the character of Julia Agrippina.'

'Is that right?' Cotta glanced at her over the rim of his wine cup. 'Personally the lady makes my balls shrink.'

Perilla's lips drew themselves into a hard, thin line. I recognised the signs. Leaning over I picked an apple from the fruit bowl and hefted it. She gave me a quick half smile and ducked her head.

'Yes, Valerius Cotta,' she said. 'I can quite see that Agrippina would make your balls shrink. You can put that down now, please, Marcus. It won't be necessary.'

Cotta was still grinning. 'I'm sorry if I offended you, my dear.' Like hell he was! He'd done it deliberately. 'Tastes differ, after all.'

I gave Perilla another warning look as I steered my uncle back on course.

'So the wives didn't exactly hit it off either?' I said.

'Fought like cat and dog.' Cotta drained his cup and held it out to Bathyllus. The little guy filled it; not, I noticed, all the way up; Bathyllus may not say much but he's smart. And he can judge a situation to the inch: we wanted Cotta to talk, not pass out on us. 'If you can call it fighting. Women's stuff, mostly. Snide remarks in public. Monkeying around with the seating plans at dinner parties. Power dressing. You know the sort of thing the little darlings get up to. Eh, Perilla?'

Shit, the old bastard was pushing his luck this evening, that was for sure! I was thankful I had Perilla on my side or she'd've handed him his head long since; but this was really tempting fate. Even Bathyllus winced as the temperature suddenly dropped to below freezing. Over on the far wall I spotted a spider making a frantic dash for cover. Dumb animals sense these things.

'Yes, of course, Uncle Cotta.' Perilla said sweetly. You could've used the tone to pickle mummies. 'But then we don't know any better, do we?'

I glared at her. Cotta didn't seem to notice.

'Plancina couldn't take treatment like that,' he went on. 'She was First Lady of Syria, and Jupiter help anyone who forgot it. Not only that, she was a crony of the empress's, and Agrippina and Livia hate each other like poison. So she could expect a lot of sympathy in imperial quarters.'

I nodded. Yeah. Right. Livia had said as much herself, and Agrippina wasn't exactly flavour of the month with the Wart, either, from all accounts. It all added up. 'So what we've got,' I said, 'are four big fish in a small pond who cramp each other's style and hate each other's guts. You think that's reason enough for murder?'

'What more do you want?'

I didn't answer. Sure, Cotta was right, within his limits. Even although I'd never met any of the people involved, from his description it made a lot of sense. Six months of that sort of life, in that sort of closed society, and the two couples would be at one another's throats. That plus the circumstantial evidence, and Germanicus's own suspicions, was pretty damning. No wonder Piso and Plancina had had a hanging jury. I might've convicted them myself and never thought twice about it.

'They had the motive, then,' Perilla was saying. 'But what about the means and the opportunity?'

Cotta helped himself to a peach and carefully removed the stone.

'Them too,' he said. 'That was where Martina came in.'

'Who?' I said.

'Martina. One of the locals.'

'A freedwoman?' I held up my cup for Bathyllus to fill. I wasn't drinking much (you've probably noticed); at this stage in the investigation I needed a clear head.

'No. She was freeborn, so far as I know.' Cotta flicked the loosened peach stone onto his plate. 'Local girl, like I said. Syrian, despite the Roman name. She laundered the imperial drawers. Something like that, anyway.'

'One of the house servants,' Perilla interpreted. I smiled.

'Right. Anyway, Martina and Plancina were thick as eels in a stewpot. And our lovely laundress had a reputation for dealing in what you might call noxious substances.'

'Poisons?'

'Indeed.' Cotta quartered the peach and bit messily into one of the sections. 'Plus certain equally nasty literary efforts. The sort you see scratched on lead tablets and buried at midnight.'

Germanicus had accused Piso and Plancina of killing him by poison and witchcraft. I was beginning to get the picture sharp and clear. Shit. It was too pat. It couldn't be this obvious, surely?

'So what happened to Martina?' I said, passing him a napkin. 'After Germanicus's death?'

He wiped his chin. 'Oh, they got her. Picked her up easy as pie and shipped her over to Italy as the prime prosecution witness. Only the silly bitch managed to swallow one of her own concoctions at Brindisi, so that was that.'

Something cold touched my spine. That was that. Sure it was.

'But why should…' Perilla began. I reached across under cover of the table and put a hand on her thigh. She shut up tight as a clam. Yeah, she'd seen the implications too, but I didn't want her going into them now. Obvious, hell! I should've had more faith in Livia. Or maybe less.

'What's that, Perilla?' Cotta was busy with his second slice of peach.

'Nothing.' She gave him a brilliant smile. 'Just a muddle-headed observation. Go on, Uncle Cotta.'

He grunted. 'Right. So exit the star witness. They found an empty ampoule tied up in the woman's pigtail. Pity. If she'd had her day in court we'd really have had the bastards cold. As it was Vitellius and Veranius had to drop the murder charge and get the pair for treason instead. Or Piso, anyway.' Vitellius and Veranius, I knew, were the friends of Germanicus who'd put the case itself carefully together in Syria and brought it to Rome. With Martina dead they must've been left spitting blood. 'Once the poisoning charge went down the tube, of course, they'd no call to hold Plancina.'