David Wishart - Germanicus

'Pissing around. What do I usually play at?'

'Well, cut it out as from now. I'm serious.' He was, I could see that. 'The Wart's fit to be tied; the gods know why, personally I don't and I don't want to either because whatever his reasons are he isn't giving them out to anyone and that isn't healthy.'

'You've seen him?' I took another swallow of wine: a big one, this time. I needed it.

'It was the other way round. Tiberius saw me, first thing this morning. He wants to keep the warning private but it is a warning, don't make any mistake about that. A final one. Any more pissing around, as you put it, and you'll find yourself hauled up the Palatine so fast your arse won't touch the ground. And you may not come down again, either. That's official, Marcus. You understand me?'

'Yeah. Yeah, I understand.' My stomach now felt cold and empty, and the wine lay on it like a lead weight. 'Thanks, Uncle. Thanks a bunch.'

If he noticed the tone he ignored it. 'Don't thank me, I'm only the messenger boy. Just drop whatever you're up to. Or next time I might be passing on an order for you to slit your wrists, and I don't want to do that.' Jupiter! 'Okay? Enough said?'

'Enough said.' More than enough: I couldn't go against a direct order from the emperor, and I knew it. Tiberius had just put the lid on the case and screwed it down hard.

'Good.' Cotta reached for the jug and I saw that his hand was shaking. Bathyllus had made himself scarce. 'Now let's change the subject. Tell me about Antioch. You come across a dive called the Garden of Aphrodite? In Three Springs Street, just off the Old Marketplace?'

We talked wine shops and brothels, but my heart wasn't in it. This was what I'd been afraid of, and it was something I couldn't ignore or laugh off. My only hope was that our visit to Trio's place wouldn't be reported; and there was a chance it wouldn't, because if I was right about Trio working for someone else — and I knew I was — then the slimy bastard wouldn't want to make too many waves either, despite his parting threat. It was hard, though, when I'd been so close.

'Perilla enjoy herself out there?' Cotta was saying.

I pulled my mind back to the conversation. 'Yeah. Yeah, I think so. She could've stayed another month, at least if it hadn't been for the social side. Diplomatic wives can be pretty wearing.'

'Tell me something I don't know!' Cotta chuckled and absently pulled at his ear; now the official proceedings were over he was his usual easy-going self. 'Hairstyles and harmless gossip, right? And Rufia Perilla isn't exactly one of the soirée crowd.'

'She made one pal.' I reached for the jug. 'Girl called Acutia. Not my taste, and to call that birdbrain sharp is about the most unlikely…shit!' The wine splashed over the table. 'Sorry.'

Cotta lowered his hand. He was looking at me curiously. 'You okay?' he said.

'Just a twinge in the ribs.' I poured more carefully — only half a cup because the Falernian was already beginning to get to me — and reached for a napkin. 'Catches me sometimes when I stretch. Hey, now you've made consul you'll be on the diplomatic circuit yourself soon, right? You got any preferences for a province?'

'One of the senatorials, Asia or Africa, I don't mind which.' Cotta held his own cup out and I filled it. 'With my background the Wart wouldn't look at me for an imperial, but screw that, I'll settle for the easy life any day.'

'Yeah.' I was trying to keep my voice level and half my brain on small talk while the other half worked like fury. Jupiter! Sharp ..! 'Yeah, I don't blame you. Syria'd be nice, though. I could take Syria.'

The front door banged.

'Marcus?' Perilla shouted.

'Through here, Perilla.'

She came in. 'Marcus, I'm glad you're back. I had the most interesting conversation with…' She paused. 'Oh, Uncle Cotta. I'm sorry, I didn't know you were coming round. I would've stayed in.'

'Didn't know myself until this morning.' Cotta was on his feet. 'Bathyllus looked after me. No problem.'

'So I notice.' Perilla's disapproving eyes were on the almost-empty wine jug. 'Corvinus, you're remembering what the doctor said about lots of water, I hope.'

'Yeah. Sure I am.' That was true enough. The fact that I'd ignored it was another thing entirely. 'Bathyllus will tell you.' Let the little bastard squirm. Jupiter knew where he'd got to, but he was keeping a low profile. 'You have a nice time? How's your mother?'

'It was one of her bad days, I'm afraid. They've been getting more frequent recently.' She turned to Cotta and said in her most unpressing voice: 'You're staying for dinner?'

'No, I'll push off now.' Cotta drained his cup and winked at me. 'A private engagement of my own. I just called in to see how the invalid was doing.'

'He'd do better if he took more care of himself.'

'Maybe he will from now on.' Cotta shot me a look. 'That right, Marcus?'

'Sure. I'll try, anyway.'

'You try, boy. You try very hard. Catch you later, okay?'

I walked Cotta to the door and saw him out. When I got back Perilla was lying on the couch. She was frowning.

'What was that all about?' she said.

'Nothing. You know Cotta.'

'I thought I did, but he sounded serious. And I don't think he and I were talking about quite the same thing.'

'He was canned, lady, that's all.' I kissed her. 'So would you be with the best part of a flask of Falernian inside you. I was surprised the bastard made it to the door.'

'Cotta wasn't drunk, and you're hiding something, but we'll let that go. How was your talk with Trio?'

Talk. Yeah, well, I suppose that was one word for it. 'Okay. No hassle.' I crossed my fingers and hoped she didn't notice: one lie at a time was enough to risk with Perilla. 'Quite friendly, really.'

'Only I had a very interesting conversation with Aunt Marcia about him. Have you ever heard of a man called Libo? Scribonius Libo?'

The name rang a faint bell. I got down onto the couch and reached for the Falernian…

'Marcus!'

'Yeah?'

'I am not going to tell you this unless you promise not to touch another drop of wine for the rest of the evening.'

'Oh, come on, Perilla!'

'I mean it.'

I sighed and set the flask down again. Well, maybe she was right and I had had enough after all. 'Okay,’ I said. ‘What's this about Libo? The name's familiar, but that's about it.'

'He was prosecuted by Trio five years ago. For treason.'

'Is that right?' My interest sharpened. I'd missed the case and I hadn't known that Trio was the prosecutor, but I remembered Libo himself now: a fast living rich kid with expensive tastes and nothing between the ears to stop the wind blowing through.

'Aunt Marcia didn't know the full details and I didn't want to press her. But what she did recall was quite fascinating.'

'Yeah? Go on.'

Perilla reached for my half-full wine cup and took a sip. 'The charge was manufactured, for a start. Obviously so. Then Libo was supposed to be dabbling in magic and witchcraft. Trio's crucial piece of evidence was a list of names, including the emperor's and other members of the imperial family, with coded notes against each one, all written in Libo's own hand. And Libo committed suicide before the senate reached its verdict. Is any of this sounding familiar?'

'Uh-huh.' I felt the hair stirring at the nape of my neck. 'Libo admitted writing the list?'

'No, he denied it. Tiberius had his personal slaves put to the torture, and they confirmed that the handwriting was his.'

I lay back frowning. Sure Libo would've denied it; like Perilla said, proof of authorship would've been crucial to the verdict. But the thing stank right enough, even without the tie-ins with Piso. Libo might've been stupid, but he'd've had to be a complete headbanger to consider murdering the imperials wholesale, let alone put his plans down on paper. And the logical conclusion was that Trio's crucial piece of evidence was a forgery. Which, given the events of the Piso trial and Trio's involvement in both, suggested an angle that was interesting to say the least…