David Wishart - Germanicus

I sighed; I knew when I was beat. And I didn't actually have to drink the stuff, just glare at it until it went away. 'Okay, little guy,’ I said. ‘Do it. So, Mother, how are you?'

' Terribly well.' She looked it, but then she always did. 'We have a new chef who does things with colewort that you simply would not believe.'

My stomach shifted. 'Is that right, now?'

'Titus is looking years younger.' She smoothed out a non-existent crease in the lambswool mantle. 'Acting it, too. We must have you both round to dinner again soon.'

'That would be lovely,' Perilla said brightly. 'As soon as Marcus is feeling better.'

I touched my ribs. 'Yeah. Give it a month or so, Mother, and we'll be back to normal.'

'Oh, it shouldn't take that long, dear! Unless there's something wrong with your diet. Send Meton round and we'll go through a few recipes together. Besides, I thought you said you had a friend coming round for dinner.'

'You mean Lippillus?' Jupiter! I didn't need this! 'Uh, Lippillus isn't a friend, Mother. At least not exactly a friend. He's…er…a doctor. He's coming round to check what I'm eating.'

'An animal doctor, presumably?'

'Sorry?'

'You said he was delivering a monkey, or possibly a snake. Delivering in the literal or the obstetrical sense? But I thought snakes laid eggs. Or is that crocodiles? Or perhaps they both do. Not the monkeys, of course, the other things. And why should he bring his mother with him?'

Hell. This was getting weird, as conversations with Mother in one of her freewheeling moods frequently did. The gods knew how Priscus survived them; they were probably the reason why he spent so much of his time grubbing around old Etruscan graveyards. 'Lippillus moonlights for his cousin,' I said firmly, trying not to look at Perilla. 'He runs an import agency. The monkey and the snake are customers' orders. And they're a very close family. So. What have you been up to?'

'Oh, nothing much,' Mother said. Bathyllus had arrived with the wormwood twists and set them on the table. Mother picked hers up and sipped delicately; I had the distinct feeling from her expression that she knew damn well what was going on and the freewheeling was pure devilment. 'I'm trying to persuade Titus to take me to Baiae this summer, but I'm not having much luck. He wants us to go tomb-hunting around Lake Clusinus again, and it's so boring you wouldn't believe.'

'Why not go to Baiae by yourself?' Perilla suggested.

Mother looked at her wide-eyed. 'Oh, but I couldn't do that, my dear! Not for all summer. We may compromise, July and August tomb-bashing, September in Campania. Titus has a weakness for crayfish that I can exploit, and of course after that terrible business with the runaway column Lucia Philippa won't be needing her villa this year. Probably never again, for that matter, poor girl. But then perhaps Baiae wouldn't be the best choice either. It's bound to be more crowded than usual with the young imperials being there. Bauli would be better. The problem is that I don't know anyone with a villa.'

'Which young imperials?' Perilla sipped her own drink. I tried not to look.

Mother stared at her blankly, then shook her head. 'Oh, of course. You wouldn't know. You and Marcus were in Syria when the engagements were announced. Germanicus's eldest Nero and Drusus's daughter Livia. A lovely couple. Such a shame about the others, even although it was a mismatch from the beginning.'

'The others?'

'Poor mad Claudius's son and Sejanus's Aelia.'

I'd been wool-gathering, staring at a bee climbing the boxwood hedge. Now my head jerked round.

'What? '

'Marcus, dear, don't do that. You startled me.'

I'd done nothing of the kind. Not even Etna erupting six feet from her ear would startle my mother. 'Sorry,’ I said. ‘Uh, could you run that last bit past me again?'

'I was simply saying that the Drusus-Aelia match was a mistake, darling. Why don't you listen properly the first time?'

'You mean Sejanus's daughter is engaged to Claudius's son Drusus? Claudius as in Claudius Caesar? The emperor's nephew?'

'Really, Marcus.' A sigh. 'I'm sorry but you are your own worst enemy. You simply will not listen. There was an engagement, at the same time as Livia's and young Nero's. But the marriage won't take place for the simple reason that the poor boy is dead.'

I was staring at her. 'We're still talking about an imperial, right? Engaged to Sejanus's daughter?' Gods! 'How did he die?'

'He choked on a pear, a few days after the ceremony. A pity for the boy, naturally, and for Aelia, of course, but politically…' She paused. 'Well, perhaps it was for the best.'

Perhaps it was for the best. Sure it was, but even so fate had been given a little nudge along the way and I could bet whose elbow had done it. Brain churning, I picked up my cup and took a swallow…

Shit! The wormwood! Too late, and Bathyllus had taken away the wine jug!

'Marcus, will you stop making faces, please,' Perilla said. 'It's not as bad as all that.'

'It's worse, lady!'

'Then why did you drink it?'

I looked over at Mother. She was grinning. Freewheeling featherbrain, nothing. That was some clever cookie. She beats me every time.

So. Claudius's son and Sejanus's daughter. An alliance with the imperial family. That was it, the last piece. That was what Sejanus was angling for. It was power after all; not that there was a lot I could do about it. Face it, sunshine, I thought. There's nothing you can do. Nothing at all.

Except maybe have another word with Livia.

Lippillus came round to dinner that evening. I hardly recognised him, not because he still looked like a fresh-faced kid — I'd expected that — but because he was wearing a crisp new mantle instead of his usual grimy tunic. But the real surprise was our other guest. She was a real honey, dark-eyed and golden skinned, probably African. And no more than twenty-five.

Lippillus was grinning at me. Probably because I was trying to lift my chin off the floor.

'Corvinus. Lady Perilla,' he said. 'This is Mother. Stepmother, rather. I'm sorry. Maybe I should've told you.'

Yeah, well, some guys have all the luck. I'd bet, though, that the bastard had strung me along on purpose.

Two days later, I was back in the palace. The appointment had been easy to arrange, suspiciously easy in fact; it was almost as though the old witch had been waiting for me to make it. Hermes the ape was wearing a new outfit, and he smelt of lilies. Maybe one of his bosses with sensitive nostrils had taken him in hand. Or maybe he was in love. In that case I just didn't want to know.

'Ah, Hermes.' The guy with the yellow tunic looked up when we arrived and gave us his full spread of teeth. 'Don't tell me. Valerius Curtinus to see Her Excellency. He's to go straight in.'

'That's Corvinus, you bastard. As if you didn't know.' I walked up to the double doors. 'Catch you later, Hermes. Enjoy your fruit.'

The ape shambled off with a parting grunt. I knocked and went in.

Camphor. I was getting used to the smell by now. The Egyptian chair was still there too, but no portable altar; I was expected to take her word for things this time, seemingly. Or not.

Livia looked even frailer than she had four months ago. I wondered how long she'd got left.

'Sit down, Valerius Corvinus,' she said. I sat; the Egyptian chair creaked. 'So. You've completed your investigations. Your conclusion?'

'Aelius Sejanus is plotting to be the next emperor, Excellency. Legitimately. If that isn't the wrong word.'

Her eyes narrowed, but I got the impression that I'd pleasantly surprised her. 'That wasn't your brief, young man,' she said. 'I commissioned you to find out who killed my grandson Germanicus.'