David Wishart - In at the Death

‘Oh, dear.’ Felix smiled again. ‘I’m afraid, sir, that was just a little naughty, but I couldn’t resist it. Not that they were totally unjustified, because we needed you to solve the problem reasonably quickly. A few judicious hints were quite within the rules, so long as they were cryptic enough not to spoil your enjoyment. I hoped and believed, indeed, that the process of working them out might even add to it. And I did so want you to enjoy yourself, Valerius Corvinus. After all, where was the harm?’ Bastard! ‘You understood the implications of the statue, of course: the link with Sejanus and Papinius’s intended victim being Prince Gaius Caesar?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I got that.’

‘How about the place itself? Pompey’s theatre?’

‘Uh..’

‘In the light of the solution, sir. Gaius’s planned assassination. Come on, you can do it; the answer really is very simple.’

Shit; this was like one of these examinations at school where the teacher asks you who Hecabe’s maternal grandfather was. I found myself beginning to sweat.

Then it came. Bugger!

‘The theatre’s right next door to the Greens’ stables,’ I said. ‘You could practically hit the door-guard with a rock from the top tiers. Felix, you utter bastard!’

‘Oh, well done, sir! Well done indeed! Now the coin.’

I was on firmer ground there. ‘That’s easy, pal, we got it straight off. Soranus was taking bribes.’

The smile faded. ‘Ah. Not the coin, then. A pity; I thought you’d really appreciate that one.’

I sat up straight. ‘What the hell do you mean, Not the coin? Soranus was a bloody blackmailer! That’s why he was killed in the first place!’

‘Gently, sir, gently. You’re partly right, of course, but there is more. A lot more. Do you happen to have it to hand?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, sure I do.’ I got up, went over to the desk and took it out from the drawer where I’d put it away with the two keys.

‘You didn’t notice anything unusual about it? Special?’

‘Uh-uh. It’s just an ordinary silver piece.’ I looked at Perilla, who shrugged.

Felix sighed. ‘Oh, dear. Now I really am disappointed. I’d hoped for better from you, sir. And from you, madam.’

Shit. This was getting more like a school test than ever. I half-expected the guy to produce a birch-twig from somewhere and start tapping it against his palm.

I turned the thing over in my hand. ‘It’s an old one. Augustan,’ I said. ‘But so what? There’re thousands of — ’

‘Look at the reverse.’

I did. It showed a figure standing next to a horse, and the legend ‘Germanicus Caesar Leader of the Youth’, so worn away that I could hardly make out the letters. Not surprising: the thing had to be almost forty years old. ‘So what again, pal? Unless it’s another cryptic allusion to the Greens’ stables, but we’ve had that already.’

‘Hmm. Ah, well, perhaps I was being a little too obscure there. Let me say, though, that it was the best I could get in the short time available because it was not an easy coin to find. I had to look through several bags at the mint.’ He waited. ‘No? Still nothing?’

‘Felix — ’

‘Think of our conspirators, sir. Who was it who idolised Germanicus when he was young? You learned that in the course of the investigation, I’m sure.’

— and then I had it. Jupiter and all the bloody gods! I’d never have got that one, never in a million years! The twisted, devious, clever..!

‘Carsidius,’ I said. ‘Felix, you bastard! ’

‘Quite, sir. We haven’t finished yet, though. Look on this as a piece of extra information, completely outwith the case but possibly of academic interest. To you especially. Did you happen to find out about the only previous occasion when Carsidius found himself…well, at odds with the authorities?’

‘Uh…’ Shit, Crispus had told me that! Now what was it? Something about…

Oh, gods! ‘He was acquitted of supplying army grain to the rebels in the North African war.’ Bugger, the Germanicus scam, when he and Agrippina were engaged in stitching up the frontier provinces! The only gap I’d been left with, when I was putting that scenario together, had been in the south-west, the Africa-Numidia stretch; but then that’d been the least important area, and I’d ignored it. Now it seemed that Germanicus — or maybe Agrippina, rather, because she had been the real brains of the partnership — had had that part covered as well. ‘You mean Carsidius was guilty? He was a traitor, part of the Germanicus plot?’

Felix was beaming. ‘Of course he was. Although naturally he would not have thought of himself in these terms. Carsidius always was a fervent Julian supporter, which was why he hated…Well, we won’t go into that.’ Yeah, right: why he hated Gaius, who might be a Julian himself but who’d been responsible for shelving the remaining members of his family. I couldn’t agree with Felix about that angle not being relevant — far from it — but the guy had his own loyalties, and up to a point I respected them. Still, it was yet another proof — if I needed one — that politicians like Carsidius could bend the truth when it suited. Even be blind to it themselves. ‘It’s ancient history now, and it doesn’t really matter, but I thought you might like to know. Well done again, sir, you’ve redeemed yourself admirably.’ He stood up. ‘I think that’s everything now. Unless you have any more questions.’

I looked at Perilla. She shook her head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘That just about covers it.’

‘Then I’ll be — ’

‘Wait. There is one more thing. Not a question as such. Or not exactly.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘What do I tell Natalis? And the boy’s mother?’

‘Tell them what you like. As far as we’re concerned, barring any mention of Tiberius’s involvement, naturally, you can even tell them the truth; although personally I wouldn’t so advise. They may not want to hear it.’

Yeah, that was fair enough, although it would be for different reasons: Rupilia, because her son had turned out a crypto-potential killer, Natalis — his feelings for the boy aside — because the bugger would have a heart attack if he knew how close his faction stables had come to hosting the assassination of Rome’s crown prince. Still, I’d think of something. I always did.

Felix beamed at us both. ‘So that’s that,’ he said. ‘Again — as always — my congratulations and respect, Valerius Corvinus. And I’m sure my master and Sertorius Macro would wish me to add theirs as well. No doubt our paths will cross again.’

Not if I could help it. But I didn’t say that to Felix: the times were changing, and a comment like that could be dangerous.

He left.

Perilla was very quiet after he’d gone, nursing her cup of fruit juice.

‘Well, Marcus?’ she said at last. ‘It’s over. Are you pleased?’

I sank a quarter-pint of the Special. Powerful stuff or not, it wasn’t having much effect. ‘What do you think, lady?’ I said.

Long pause. Then, quietly:

‘Would you rather they’d succeeded? Assassinated Prince Gaius and Macro?’

I didn’t answer. That was the question I was trying not to ask myself. Mercifully, it was academic: the conspiracy had been a dead duck before Natalis had even sent me his letter, and Carsidius and his pals were already living on borrowed time. I hadn’t made a pennyworth of difference; I certainly hadn’t been responsible for the whole thing going down the tubes. Still…

I’d slagged the Wart off practically all my life, not to mention career politicians like my father and Papinius Allenius. Oh, they weren’t paragons, no, and at times they could be real out-and-out five-star bastards; times like when Lucius Arruntius and his broad-striper mates had been responsible for the violation and strangling of Sejanus’s twelve-year-old daughter. I’d never forgive Arruntius for that, never, not even when hell froze over. But at least they were predictable and they cared; they had their code and they stuck to it, whatever the cost to them personally. The Wart especially. He’d been a good emperor by his lights, even if he’d got little credit for it and hated the job; and whatever he’d done, he’d done it because he thought it was for the good of Rome…