David Wishart - In at the Death

‘Perhaps I’d better say this in case no one else does. He may never have come to the proof, but Sextus Papinius was a hero to be ranked with any of the Greek tyrant-killers or our own famous names. Certainly he was more of one than any of his Domitii Ahenobarbi forebears of whom latterly he was so proud. He deserves far more than the footnote to history which he is going to get, if he is lucky, because it is very difficult for a good man to kill, even in the best of causes, especially if he is disinterested. And Papinius was a good man, in every sense of the phrase. He knew the risks if he failed and the benefits for Rome if he succeeded, and he chose accordingly, consciously and deliberately as a true Roman would. Young as he was, I honour him, and I grieve over his death, as will the emperor. Balbus has blood on his hands, as does Macro, and if there is any justice then they will both suffer for it.’

Yeah. Well, as a formal public eulogy I reckoned it was the only one the kid would ever get; but at least it was sincere and from all I knew he deserved it. I raised my hand — there wasn’t anything I could say, now, to the old guy, and he wouldn’t want my sympathy — and left.

Felix.

He was waiting in my study when I got back, with Perilla sitting opposite and Bathyllus hovering like an anxious mother hen. He stood up as I came in.

‘Valerius Corvinus, sir!’ he said. ‘You’re looking extremely well. A real pleasure to see you again.’

‘Yeah.’ I turned to Bathyllus. ‘Wine, little guy. Make it the Special. Oh, and a fruit juice. Bring them and then bugger off. This isn’t for your sensitive ears.’

‘Presumably my sensitive ears don’t count,’ Perilla said as Bathyllus exited and Felix sat back down again.

‘Your ears are fireproof, lady. Or if they aren’t and you want to stay you can go selectively deaf. Your choice.’ I lay down on the couch. ‘Right, you bastard: why? You had the whole thing stitched up from the start, you, Gaius and Macro. Why involve me?’

‘We didn’t involve you, sir, you involved yourself. Or rather, Minicius Natalis involved you.’ Felix was looking fetching in his natty yellow tunic and green belt; but then for a slave — if he still was a slave — he’d always been a sharp dresser. No doubt he felt he owed it to his boss Prince Gaius.

‘You know what I mean! The case was closed before it opened. Balbus had blown the conspiracy all over the shop, Macro’s tame Praetorians had thrown Papinius out of the window as an oh-so-subtle hint to the rest of the conspirators that they were rumbled and you had the whole business laced up tighter than a vestal’s corsets. End of story, roll up the book. So why the hell let me faff around solving a mystery that was no mystery at all?’

‘But you got so much pleasure out of it, sir!’

‘Felix, you bastard — !’

‘Sir, if you’d just calm down for a moment and think. What else could we have done? Once Natalis had called you in, trying to stop you would have been counter-productive; you know that yourself. Telling you the truth, that a pleasant-natured, inoffensive nineteen-year-old from a relatively minor family was intending to assassinate Rome’s next emperor; well, would you have believed us?’

‘I might have.’

‘Oh, Marcus!’ Perilla murmured.

I scowled. He had a point, at that: I wouldn’t’ve believed anything the twisted, devious little bugger told me on principle, not even if Jupiter himself had come down specially to confirm it in a haze of ambrosia and backed by the whole bloody pantheon. And as for his loopy, amoral boss and Sertorius Macro…

‘Yeah, well,’ I said.

‘Besides.’ Felix smiled. ‘Very shortly our conspirator friends are all going to be arraigned before the senate on a blanket charge of treason or similar. Certainly something suitably bland: no details given, no explanations, just the charge and a resulting conviction nem con. You’ll understand why yourself.’ Yeah, I did: with the guy behind the treason being the current emperor ‘sensitive’ isn’t the word. ‘Papinius is already dead; he won’t be implicated or even mentioned. But the others…well, they include some of the most respectable names in Rome. Where men such as Ahenobarbus, Arruntius and Marsus are concerned — ’

‘Hang on, pal!’ I was staring at him. ‘Arruntius and Marsus?’

‘Oh, yes, indeed. Very much so. They were two you missed, sir. Not your fault: they had no role to play until the prince and Sertorius Macro were dead, at which point they would facilitate the senate’s acceptance of Prince Gemellus as emperor. But they were the first people the…old gentleman on Capri approached.’

I sat back. Shit, Arruntius and Marsus! Still, it made sense; more, it confirmed — if I needed the confirmation — that Tiberius actually had been involved. Arruntius and Marsus were gold-chip respectable: the long-term leaders of what Dad would’ve called the responsible element in the senate, straight-down-the-government-liners who would’ve spat in the eye of anyone who even hinted they might contemplate or condone treason against the state. I’d met both of them in the past, and whatever my opinion of them — Arruntius especially — I could vouch for that. Where poker-arsed rectitude and good old-fashioned moral principles were concerned, you could bend iron bars around them. If the Wart had needed a strong counterbalance to Ahenobarbus — which he must’ve done — he couldn’t’ve picked a better pair. And with them on the team to establish the plot’s moral bona fides, persuading Carsidius and young Papinius to join would’ve been all that much simpler.

‘So you see,’ Felix went on, ‘allowing you to continue was a sort of PR exercise. Prince Gaius will be emperor in a very short time, and Macro will be his right-hand man. To begin a new principate with a series of treason trials that would recall the worst days of Aelius Sejanus…well, you can imagine, sir, what impression that would have created. As it is, there will be at least one disinterested person we can call on if necessary to confirm that everything was quite above board and to provide hard impartial evidence to that effect.’ He smiled. ‘Think of yourself, Valerius Corvinus, as Gaius and Macro’s insurance policy.’

Fuck.

Bathyllus came in with the drinks. I took a cup of the Special, sank it in a oner and held the cup out for a refill.

‘So they’ll all be chopped,’ I said.

‘Oh, no.’ Felix waved away the cup Bathyllus offered him: the guy probably felt he was on duty, but there again he’d never been much of a wine drinker. ‘For the same reasons I gave, Prince Gaius will be…magnanimous. We don’t want any deaths, or even enforced suicides. Exile will be quite sufficient.’

‘Papinius died. That doesn’t say much for the bastard’s magnanimity.’

Felix froze. ‘Valerius Corvinus,’ he said quietly. ‘I have to remind you again. Prince Gaius thinks very highly of you; very highly indeed. He is now also…obligated. Very much so. Shortly, as I said, he will be emperor, and keeping his good opinion will be valuable. Do not, sir, push your luck, now or ever in the future. I’m warning you seriously as a friend.’

I took another swig of wine. The guy was right, of course: things had been bad enough when Gaius was a not-so-humble Prince of the Blood; now he was practically emperor the stakes had been upped with a vengeance. With that weathercock-brained egotistical bastard in charge, like it or not we were at the start of a whole new ball game. And I wondered just how long the magnanimity would last.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Point taken. One final thing, though. Why the games? The business with Soranus’s body?’