David Wishart - Parthian Shot

‘Because they’ve no choice. When Artabanus came to power he had all his potential rivals executed. Which left our two candidates, who were beyond his reach. Or have been up to now.’ He was watching me closely. ‘I’m sorry. I have tried to simplify things, but the situation really is quite complex. That will do us for the present, but if you have any questions of your own I’d be glad to answer them, or try to.’

Fair enough. ‘Just the one,’ I said.

‘Ask away, then.’

‘It’s simple. I’m no diplomat, I’m not even political, and it’s obvious what I know about Parthia you could write on the back of a bust sandal strap. Whatever you want doing in this business, the Roman bureaucracy’s full of sharp cookies a lot more qualified than I am. So why choose me?’

Isidorus rubbed his temples. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Yes. A fair point. My instructions came directly from the emperor.’ He turned to Vitellius. ‘You did show Corvinus the letter, didn’t you, Lucius?’

I shifted in my chair. ‘Yeah, he did, but still — ’

‘Tiberius gave me no explanation — as, naturally, was his right — but I would imagine his choice of you in particular was based largely on, ah, certain events which took place a few years back.’ He cleared his throat again. Vitellius’s attention, I noticed, was suddenly on his wine-cup. ‘Events which we won’t go into here. I understand, though, that in the course of them you met the emperor personally.’

‘Ah…yeah.’ Sure I did. My balls still shrank at the memory.

‘Then you obviously made a lasting impression on him.’

I swallowed. Shit; now there was an uncomfortable thought. Just the mere notion that I figured anywhere at all in that cold, calculating, abacus-minded bastard’s world view made my skin crawl. ‘Okay. Fine. Forget me as such. Why anyone outside government circles?’

‘Because sixty years in Rome or not Phraates is still a bloody Parthian.’

I blinked; not at the mild swear-word, although I hadn’t expected it from Isidorus, but because of the tone. For the first time in the guy’s bland delivery I detected what sounded very like a note of exasperation. ‘Very illuminating,’ I said.

Isidorus gave a tight smile. ‘I’m sorry. You’re quite right; in itself that answer was not particularly helpful. Still, it’s the one you want. As a guest of the Roman state, Phraates is under our protection and eligible for our help — our official help — as and when necessary. As following the attack on his litter it now is. You’d agree?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Obviously.’

‘Obviously. Yes. I would have thought so too. The problem is that Prince Phraates is having none of it. Neither the protection nor the help.’

‘Why the hell not?’

‘Because he’s a Parthian. Parthians may ask for Roman help — the delegation is a case in point — but they don’t do so lightly. Also, there’s a certain amount of professional pride involved. Phraates has always had a private bodyguard: technically illegal on Roman soil, of course, but under the circumstances we’re not going to be picky. He also has his own espionage system; again unofficial, naturally, but which, to be fair — and I’m speaking professionally — is not one to be sneered at. He considers both these factors to be quite sufficient for countering any threat and has told us in no uncertain terms that he will look after his own safety. Which, from Rome’s — from my — point of view is extremely worrying. You’re with me?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, sure.’

‘On the other hand, Prince Phraates for all his faults is very much the pragmatical diplomat. As am I. The two of us may have our own opinions and priorities, but in this instance like it or not we have to agree on a common policy and course of action. His sticking point was and is that he wants no official nursemaiding — the word is his — because that, as he sees things, would compromise his new status as prospective Great King. He is, however, willing to compromise over an independent investigator with no vested interest in either camp. The compromise — as suggested by the emperor — is you.’

I kept my tone and my expression neutral. ‘Is that so, now?’

‘That, I’m afraid, is so. Your task, of course, would be to find out who is trying to kill Prince Phraates before he succeeds.’

Yeah, well; I’d assumed that might be it. Still, it was as well to have it out in plain Latin. None the less…

‘You don’t ask for much, do you?’ I said.

That got me a level stare. ‘Trust me, I know exactly how much I’m asking. Although I’d remind you the idea did not originate with me.’

‘And things would depend on me agreeing, naturally?’

The grey eyes were still fixed on mine. ‘In theory, yes. In practice…well, I’m afraid that in the light of circumstances you would be a very brave man to refuse.’

Well, at least the guy was being up front about it. And he was spot on. Saying no to the Wart was about as smart a move as taking a stroll through a snake-pit.

‘Point taken,’ I said.

‘Believe me, Corvinus, I’m no happier about the situation than you are. I dislike having to use amateurs at the best of times, and on this occasion it worries me very much.’ He must’ve seen something in my expression, because he held up a hand. ‘No. Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean to be disparaging, I’m simply stating a fact. As you’ll discover for yourself, dealing with Parthians — Parthian aristocrats, especially — isn’t easy. They’re touchy, vain, two-faced as Janus, and it takes a lifetime’s study to understand the way their minds work. If you ever get that far.’

‘No different to Roman senators, then, right?’ I glanced at Vitellius. He coloured to the eyeballs but didn’t bite.

‘Oh, a great deal more complicated than that. I never said your task would be easy. What I am saying is that it’s important for Rome. And, I believe, for Parthia.’

‘Not to mention for this Phraates.’

His lips twitched in a smile. ‘Quite.’

‘One last question?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘It’s the obvious one, sure, but it has to be asked and answered. This King Artabanus; he have any spies — agents — operating in Rome?’

Isidorus leaned back. Obvious question or not, he took his time answering. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘He does not. Not that I am aware of, certainly. And before you ask, I would, Valerius Corvinus, be very aware of something like that, believe me.’

Well, you didn’t get much more definite, and from Isidorus I’d take it as final. No one had told me what the guy’s exact job was, but I’d bet a sturgeon to a pickled walnut he knew what he was talking about there. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘So. When do I get to talk to Phraates?.’

‘Ah.’ Isidorus turned briefly to Vitellius. ‘This is where Lucius comes in.’ Yeah; I’d been wondering — barring the messenger-boy angle — why our broad-rumped consular had been invited to this little confab. ‘Lucius is heading the imperial sub-committee negotiating with the Parthian envoys. That side of things doesn’t affect you, of course, but fortunately it does provide you with an excellent natural opportunity to meet the prince and certain…others.’ There was something in his tone, and in the hesitation before that last word, that made me frown, but the eyes discouraged questions. ‘Lucius?’

Vitellius shifted his massive weight in his chair and leaned forward. The wooden joints of the chair creaked. ‘We’ve put the Parthians in one of the imperial guest-houses, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘West slope, facing the Capitol. They’re giving a dinner there tonight for Phraates and a couple of the other local eastern bigwigs. I’m invited, and I’ve cleared it with Phraates for you to come too. As my aide.’ He scowled. ‘Which last fact you’ll remember, please, and act on accordingly, because as far as the delegation’s concerned that’s all you are at present. That clear?’