David Wishart: Germanicus

Oh, bugger. I wasn't up to this at two in the morning, not without some liquid encouragement. I suddenly felt tired. She was right. Again. This was getting monotonous.

'Yeah, okay,' I said. 'And you can add a fifth for good measure. If the Wart found out Piso was thinking of welching on the deal then why should he go ahead and save the guy's sons? Tiberius may be straight but he isn't soft. He wouldn't give a convicted traitor anything but the rope to hang himself with.'

'Exactly.' Perilla kissed me on the cheek and snuggled back down under the blanket. 'Never mind, dear. We'll get there eventually.'

'Sure,' I said sourly. 'When pigs lay eggs.' I lay down and pulled her against me. 'Night-night.'

'Goodnight, Marcus.'

Five minutes later I sat up again, the hairs on my neck tingling. Okay, I couldn't answer any of the questions, but at least I knew where to start. Piso's defence lawyers. And the guy who'd been given the phantom note to deliver in the first place, the freedman Carus. Carillus. Whatever. We weren't done yet. Not by a long chalk.

I thought about digging Perilla in the back and telling her, but she looked asleep. She was probably shamming, but even so I wouldn't've risked it. I like to wake up slow myself, and a grouchy Perilla at the breakfast table is more trouble than I can handle.

I curled up beside her and closed my eyes. Tomorrow was another day.

Perilla missed breakfast anyway. I left her sleeping it off in a beautiful huddle and went down for my morning crust dipped in olive oil.

Cotta hadn't mentioned who Piso's lawyers had been, but I knew anyway. There were three of them: his brother Lucius, a makeweight called Livineius Regulus, and Aemilius Lepidus, one of Rome's brightest and best who'd been an outside favourite for emperor when Augustus popped his clogs half a dozen years back. Lucius Piso was a touchy bastard who liked to make a big thing of his independence because he thought it pleased the Wart, while thinking five times before seriously crossing him. A crypto-arselicker, in other words, who'd only taken the case because it'd look bad socially if he didn't and gave him brownie points if he did. Him I wouldn't've touched with a ten foot pole. Lepidus was a reasonable enough guy, but he was one of my father's cronies and I didn't want word to get round I was stirring the shit. Regulus was an unknown quantity but the weakest link, and so my best bet.

'Hey, Bathyllus!' The little guy was polishing the statues in the hallway. 'You happen to know where Livineius Regulus lives?'

Silly question. Bathyllus knows everything about everybody, if they're important enough.

'He has a house on the Pincian, sir. Near Pompey's Gardens.'

A good address for a makeweight: Bathyllus's tones were suitably reverent. Regulus was plainly a guy on his way up the social ladder.

'Will he be there now, do you know?'

'He's attached to the Treasury at present, sir. If you want to see him at this late hour' — he sniffed. Bastard! — 'he will no doubt be in his office on the Capitol.'

'Yeah. Right. Thanks, sunshine.'

'A pleasure, sir.' He went back to rubbing brass bottoms while I gulped down the first of the day's cups of Setinian (well watered: he sees to that) and fastened on my cloak.

The litter slaves were hanging around outside but I waved them away; it was a good day for walking.

The first guy I saw on the steps of the temple of Juno Moneta was Caelius Crispus. He'd been giving me a wide berth since our run-in over the Ovid affair, which was fine with me because the oily little prat made my stomach crawl. However, he knew more about the ins and outs of the Treasury building than a cockroach knows a cookshop, so I gave him the big hello.

'Hey, Crispus! How're things?'

'Corvinus.' He looked wary as hell, but then that was his natural expression. 'What brings you up here?'

I told him. Not the details, of course. Just that I wanted to see Regulus. 'He around at the moment?'

'Probably.' The wary look deepened. 'Why do you want him?'

'Someone passed me a dud penny and I've come to complain.'

'Yeah?' His eyes shifted. 'Regulus is in Taxes. Quality Control's a different department.'

'He came recommended.' Crispus was pushing past me, but I stepped on his corn and wedged him against a pillar. 'So where's Taxes?

'Why don't you ask at the desk? Now I've got business elsewhere, if you don't mind.'

'Sure.' I moved aside. Marginally. 'Go for it.'

He squirmed away in a mist of expensive hair oil. The guy was in a hurry to be gone; and knowing Crispus that could mean only one thing. I was interested. I was even more interested when instead of going down the steps — he'd been going that way when we met — he came back up them.

'You forget something?' I said.

'My writing tablets.' He paused. 'Taxes are on the first floor. Regulus's office is the last on your right.'

'Thanks. See you around, Crispus.' But he was already gone, haring towards the Treasury annexe itself like someone had stuck a torch up his rectum. I followed more slowly.

Maybe it was my suspicious mind, but I asked at the desk to confirm Crispus's directions. The public slave looked me over as if I'd handed him a dead cat.

'Livineius Regulus?' he said. 'He's in Taxes, sir. Ground floor, east corridor. Fifth door along.'

'Not upstairs?'

'Nah.' The slave picked his nose absently. 'Upstairs is Senatorial. Regulus is Imperial.'

'Thanks, friend.' I set off the way he'd indicated, my brain buzzing. Crispus had tried to throw me a bouncer. So what was the slimy little prick up to?

I found out soon enough. I had my hand on the doorknob to Regulus's room when the door opened and Crispus came out. He shot me a look like a frightened rabbit's and took off fast for the tall timber. There was no point in chasing him, although I'd've liked to stamp on his balls, if he'd got any, and listen to him scream. I went in instead.Regulus was on his own, but he wasn't at his desk. He'd obviously been planning to leave, too, because he had a bundle of tablets under his arm and a faraway look in his eye. I closed the door behind me and put my back against it.

'Yes?' he said.

He was an impressive guy, big and good-looking but running to fat; a sprint, not a marathon. And although the day wasn't all that warm he was sweating.

'You're Livineius Regulus?' I said.

'I am.' One of the tablets fell to the floor. He picked it up. 'What can I do for you?'

'You busy at the moment?'

He brightened. 'As a matter of fact I am.'

'Shame.' I folded my arms, and the bright look faded.

'If you'd like to wait,' he said, 'I'm sure I can make time later. Say in an hour. Perhaps two.'

'This won't take long. I just wanted to ask you a few questions.'

'What about?'

'You represented Calpurnius Piso? At the trial?'

'Yes. Yes, I did.' I could smell the sweat from here. 'Or partly so.'

'I was hoping you could tell me something about it.'

'About the trial?' There was a look in the guy's eye I couldn't quite place. He went back to his chair and set the tablets down on the desk in front of him. 'Yes, of course. Do have a seat, please. What did you want to know?'

There was something wrong here. It'd suddenly become too easy. The guy hadn't even asked my name or why I was interested. He probably knew the first already from Crispus, of course, but not to go through the motions was a serious mistake on his part. It showed he had something to hide. I filed that little fact for future reference, and stayed where I was between him and the door.

'My uncle Valerius Cotta, the consul,' I said — no harm in dropping a heavy hint that I had clout — 'mentioned something about a letter Piso wrote the night he killed himself.'