David Wishart - Parthian Shot

‘Would he recognise the guy again if he saw him?’ I asked. ‘The slave, I mean.’

‘It’s possible. But he certainly wasn’t from around here. The man was very sure about that.’

Yeah, well; me, for reasons given above, I wouldn’t rate that assurance particularly highly. Still, it’d been Petillius himself asking the questions and you don’t buck the master, so perhaps I was maligning the bugger. I sighed. ‘Well, that seems to stitch it up. There’s nothing we can do about it now. It’s a shame, but there you go. File and forget.’

‘Indeed.’ She dipped a quail’s egg. ‘Now, you were saying. About things developing.’

‘Yeah.’ I told her about the Peucestas business. ‘At least we’ve got someone with a strong motive at last.’

‘You think Peucestas was the killer?’

‘It’s a possibility.’ I reached for the nearest plate of nibbles. ‘Certainly one that makes sense. If the guy’s uncle was responsible for the deaths of his wife and kids, not to mention his own castration, then he’d have reason in spades. Add that to opportunity and he’s a prime candidate.’

‘But?’

Yeah; there was always that ‘but’. ‘From what I’ve seen of him, Peucestas isn’t the murdering type. Killing, yes, he’s capable of that. But he wouldn’t cover well, or if he is covering then he’s pretty good at it. Added to which, if he was responsible then how does the Phraates side of things fit in? He hates Artabanus, he wants him gone, and if Phraates has Roman backing for a coup then what does he gain from screwing things up?’

‘Perhaps your Phraates element doesn’t fit in.’ Perilla selected one of Meton’s chickpea rissoles and dipped it in the fish sauce bowl. ‘Does it have to? The two might be quite separate.’

‘It’s possible. But it’s messy.’

‘Real life often is.’

‘Maybe.’ I took another swig of wine. ‘Even so, there’s an explanation that makes just as much sense and covers more ground.’

She paused, the rissole half way to her mouth. ‘And that is?’

‘You’re not going to like it. I can tell you that now.’

‘Marcus, if you’re going to advance one of your half-baked political theories — ’

‘It isn’t half-baked. And it’s only partly political.’

‘Oh, marvellous! That makes me feel a lot happier.’

‘I think Lucius Vitellius might be conspiring with Tiridates and his Iberian pal to sideline Prince Phraates for Great King.’

Perilla put the rissole down. ‘Marcus,’ she said. ‘ That is political.’

‘Only slightly. I haven’t explained yet.’

‘You don’t have to. It’s absolute nonsense. Lucius Vitellius is an ex-consul, a very respected member of the Senate in good standing with the Emperor and, as far as I know, no one’s fool. Why on earth would he do a stupid thing like that?’

‘For money. Quite a lot of money. Or, of course, he could just be stringing his partners along for what he can get in the short term, because although he’s a greedy pig like you say he’s no fool. Which of the two I don’t know yet, but the rest fits like a glove.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. Less of the sarcasm, lady. Just hold your fire and pin your ears back.’

I told her the rest of the day’s news, from my conversation with Nicanor (‘That boy needs a good shaking!’) to what I’d learned about the spice trade from Gaius Praxa; minus, naturally, any reference to the little incident with Mithradates. That might go further than anything else to back the theory up, sure, but the less Perilla knew of that side of things the better.

‘And that’s it?’ she said when I’d finished.

Bathyllus was serving the main course. I leaned sideways while he ladelled pork stew with barley and fennel dumplings onto my plate: Meton was obviously in one of his hearty moods. ‘More or less,’ I said.

‘Then let me get this clear. You think that this man Acanus — ’

‘Anacus.’

‘- is after some sort of monopoly of the spice trade — ’

‘Pepper. Probably just pepper. That was what Crispus implied anyw — ’

‘- between Parthia and Rome, and to get it he is conniving at the assassination of the Roman candidate for the Great Kingship, with the assistance of two eastern royals and a Roman consular. Correct?’

‘Ah…yeah. Yeah, that just about — ’

‘And you’re sure you didn’t have any of that qef stuff your friend Jarhades was sniffing?’

Gods! I didn’t deserve this! ‘Look, lady, I told you. It all fits. How or why I don’t know, certainly not in detail, but it does.’

She spooned a dumpling. ‘All right. I’m not unreasonable.’ Jupiter! Not so much as a blink! ‘Convince me.’

Hell. Where did I start? ‘Okay, let’s begin with Anacus. He’s the catalyst; without him, I doubt if any of this would be happening. His family have been in the spice trade for generations, and they’re big but he wants them bigger. He — ’

‘That’s guesswork, dear. You’ve never met the man. You don’t know.’

‘It’s a reasonable assumption. Praxa said he was a career businessman. And are you going to give me a fair run at this or what?’

‘Probably what. But carry on in any case.’

Oh, whoopee; there’s nothing like encouragement. I took a spoonful of pork. ‘Okay. So Anacus hears — probably from Tiridates, who he’s trying to hook for his daughter — that the thrones of both Parthia and Armenia are shortly going to be changing hands, and that Vitellius is odds-on favourite for the Syrian governorship. The guy’s no fool; he realises that, Mithradates being a pal of his hoped-for son-in-law, or whatever, as far as personal contacts go he’s sitting on potential control of the empire’s eastern spice route. He — ’

‘Marcus, dear, I’m sorry for interrupting.’

‘Then don’t. Indulge yourself.’

‘It’s simply that before you go on I have a few queries. First of all, exactly how does this Anacus manage to corner the spice market? What are the mechanics of the process? Second, even if it’s possible why should Tiridates and Mithradates help him do it? Even if Tiridates were to become king of Parthia, which he almost certainly won’t?’

Bugger; both reasonable questions, and I wasn’t absolutely sure I had the answers to either of them. Still, with Perilla you can’t afford to show weakness. Where going for the throat in arguments is concerned, the lady could give a wolverine lessons.

‘Yeah. Right.’ I took a fortifying belt of wine. ‘As far as the spice route business goes, I’m not sure, not as such. I’ll give you that.’ She opened her mouth. ‘Come on, Perilla! I’m no merchant, and no economist, but it must be possible, okay?’

‘That, dear, is what’s termed a circular argument.’

‘Look. The Parthians and the Armenians charge duty on any goods crossing their borders, in or out, just like we do, and any merchant trading with the empire has to have a licence. Right?’

‘I don’t know, Marcus. I’m no expert on trade either. But yes, I’d assume so.’

‘Fine. So put the two together. We’re talking preferential status here, with teeth. My guess is that Anacus — or his contracted suppliers — would skip the export duty so his overheads were lower, while his royal pals would simply make it difficult for any major rival to operate. The two factors combined would give him all the edge he needed. You know how bureaucracy works. If you’ve got enough clout there’re a dozen ways to put even the most successful company on the ropes, and kings’ve got it in spades.’

‘Hmm.’ Perilla frowned. ‘Very well. I’ll concede that it’s possible. The likelihood of it happening, though, is completely another matter. Why should Mithradates and Tiridates — assuming he were king of Parthia, which as I say is an impossibility in itself — bother to give Anacus preferential status at all? What do they get out of the arrangement?’