David Wishart: Germanicus

'Piso committed suicide.'

'Like hell he did. That brings us back to the letter. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it wasn't addressed to you after all.'

'That,' Trio grinned sarcastically. 'is the first bit of sense you've come out with so far.'

I grinned back. 'Oh, Carillus still brought it to you all right. Whether you were supposed to have it or not. But let's say you weren't. Let's say Piso had had second thoughts. Maybe he distrusted you, or the Wart himself, I don't know and it doesn't matter. Anyway he decides to spill the beans by giving the whole story to his lawyers, on the reasonable grounds that if Germanicus and his pals were crooks then in using armed force to retake his province he was only doing his duty as a responsible governor. He seals the letter and gives it to his faithful freedman Carillus, who takes it straight to your greasy little paws. You read it and the guy's goose is cooked.' I paused. 'How am I doing?'

Trio's face was impassive. For a long time he didn't say anything. Finally he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

'All right,' he said. 'Let's say for the sake of argument that you're correct. Except for the fact that Piso's suicide may have been…assisted.' Yeah, okay, I could take that. The suicide note at least had sounded genuine. 'Wouldn't it be far better to leave things as they are? After all, as you've described it, the situation has turned out not too badly. A traitor to Rome has met a well-deserved end, and the matter has been settled without undue fuss or bloodshed. The emperor has done as much as he could reasonably be expected to do to help a faithful subordinate who is also a personal friend, but has been unfortunately constrained by political realities to sacrifice him for the sake of the common good. Tiberius is an experienced general, Corvinus. He knows that to win a battle one must be prepared for casualties, even be ready to send men one knows personally to certain death if the situation demands it. Piso himself would be the first to admit this. And if my own role was as you've outlined it then I have done nothing to deserve censure. I acted from the most honourable of motives and with full, albeit clandestine, official backing.'

'Sure. So tell me why Regulus died.'

He hadn't been expecting that, especially after the fancy lawyer's speech. The eyes blinked. 'Regulus?'

'Piso's lawyer. The guy Carillus knifed at the Gemonian Stairs. That wasn't his own idea. So why did you put him up to it?'

'I know nothing whatsoever about Regulus's death. And I certainly didn't arrange his murder.'

I knew bluster when I met it, even quiet bluster. The guy was rattled. Not before time, either; my ribs were starting to hurt. I shifted my position on the couch.

'Regulus's death doesn't fit the pattern, you see,' I said. 'Piso's, sure. Like you say, he was a necessary casualty, although getting Carillus to cut his throat with a sword was one touch too many. But you slipped up badly with Regulus.'

'This nonsense has gone far enough.' Trio stood up abruptly. 'I want you to leave. Now.'

'Not until I've finished, pal. We've just got to the interesting part.' I glanced at Agron. He'd stood like a statue all the way through this. Now without a word he came forward and pushed the guy back into his chair. Trio sat glaring, and breathing hard. 'Regulus died a traitor's death, with a hook through his gullet. Tiberius had no reason to have him killed, and certainly not like that. So who did Regulus betray? And how? You, or whatever bastard you're really working for?'

Trio said nothing. If looks could've killed we'd've been dead meat.

'You want me to sweat him, Corvinus?' Agron growled.

The hell with my promise to Perilla. I was pretty angry myself now. I stood up, my hand pressed to the aching wound in my ribs. 'Yeah, why not? Go for it.'

Suddenly, without warning, Trio shouted: 'Flavillus!'

Agron's huge hand pressed over the guy's mouth; but he was too late. In the atrium beyond, feet thudded across the marble. The door was thrown open: only Flavillus, but there'd be a few other, bigger reinforcements along soon. Ah, well. Maybe I had been too optimistic, at that.

'Let him go, Agron,' I said.

Trio's face was livid. A red mark showed where Agron's fingernails had bitten into the pasty cheek. He stood glaring at us while his pretty home help shifted in embarrassment from foot to foot.

'I hope you've made a will, Corvinus,' he said softly, 'because you're dead. Dead and buried.'

Yeah. Still, I'd got what I came for, and you don't make fish sauce without flattening a few anchovies. I pulled myself up straight and tried not to wince as I made for the door.

'Maybe so, sunshine,' I said. 'But I've been threatened before and I'm still around. And I think maybe the emperor just might want to have his pennyworth to contribute before all this is over. In which case you'd better have your own will made out. I'll see you around.'

We left. Trio didn't say goodbye.

I wasn't sure about being dead and buried, but by the time I got back home I felt ropy as hell. Also, when I'd threatened Trio with Tiberius I'd been bluffing: I couldn't risk an interview with the Wart, or not yet anyway, not until I had the whole thing wrapped up in a nice parcel with a bow on top. Sure, at the end of the day the emperor had been responsible for his son's death, but somewhere along the line he'd been sold a pup and didn't know it, and unless I could come up with the proof it could be bye-bye Corvinus.

I dropped Agron at his shop and got back home to find Uncle Cotta parked in solitary splendour on the guest couch, his fist wrapped round a wine cup.

'Hey, Marcus!' He lifted the cup to me as I came in. 'Hear you got beaten up.'

'Yeah, well. It happens.' I lowered myself gently onto the couch facing him and poured wine into a second cup. Bathyllus had come through, but he was ostentatiously looking the other way. The little bugger was playing it safe this time, and I didn't blame him.

'You want to stay out of barroom brawls if you can't hack them, boy,' Cotta said.

So much for sympathy; but at least it showed he hadn't heard about Carillus. I took a swallow of the wine. Hell, my best Falernian! Jupiter knew how Cotta had wangled it, and I didn't grudge him, but the last time I'd checked the cellar we were down to three jars, and Cotta had a throat like the Great Drain. I made a mental note to hand Bathyllus his head when I got him alone later.

'Where's Perilla?' I said.

'Round at the Fabian place seeing her mother.' Cotta absently sank a straight half pint. I winced. 'That's a dutiful little wifelet you've got there.'

'Uh-huh.' I was glad the dutiful little wifelet wasn't around to hear it or there'd've been more than one loose head up for grabs. 'So what can I do for you, Uncle? Or did you just come round to snicker?'

'Would I do that?'

'Sure you would. Not that I hold it against you.' He'd ducked my question; which should've made me suspicious but didn't.

'You want to tell me what happened exactly, Marcus?'

'I stood on a guy's corns, that's all. He was bigger and faster than me.' I sipped at the Falernian. It was practically neat, my first real wine for days, and I felt a warming, relaxing glow spread up from my stomach. 'How did you hear about it?'

'Oh, us consuls hear everything eventually.' He paused and looked into his wine cup. 'Including reports about pushy young smartasses who get themselves thrown out of imperial provinces.'

I stiffened. 'You don't say?'

Uncle Cotta set his cup down, and he wasn't smiling any longer. So this was an official visit. I should've expected it, of course, but somehow for me the words 'Cotta' and 'consul' never did go happily together.

'The Castor brought a formal complaint from Aelius Lamia to the emperor,' he said. 'I don't know the details because I wasn't told, but that's enough for me. Marcus, what the hell do you think you're playing at, boy?'