David Wishart - Parthian Shot

Phraates yawned again and covered his mouth with a polite hand. ‘I’m sorry. Do forgive me. I told you: I knew from my own sources — which, I may say, are quite as thorough and reliable as Isidorus’s — that my nephew was planning to have me assassinated before any campaign against Artabanus could be mounted. The result, naturally, would have been that he, as Rome’s other available candidate, would take my place. That I couldn’t have: Tiridates would be a disaster as Great King, and besides I have a rooted antipathy to dying before my time. So I had one of my less law-abiding freedmen — his name doesn’t matter — find me a suitably reliable street gang and arrange a false attack. Suitably reliable, because I had no desire either to do my nephew’s work for him. Consequently, as you say, I was able to upgrade my everyday security arrangements without insulting Tiridates by publicly recognising that he was trying to kill me. In the process, of course, I obliged my Roman hosts to take protective steps of their own, the most significant of which was to enrol you on the strength. That, I’m afraid, was unavoidable. For what it’s worth, you have my sincere apologies.’

‘So you let me target Tiridates for the attack, knowing full well that bastard or not he had nothing to do with it?’

Phraates gave a short, barking laugh. ‘Oh, Corvinus, do be reasonable! And do give yourself just a little credit! You were — are — completely correct. Tiridates wants me dead, he wants to become Great King of Parthia, and he is actively labouring to that end. The only difference the business with Isak makes is that I am still alive and moreover have since been in the happy position of knowing that an extremely intelligent and capable young man was working to keep me so. Personally I can’t see a problem here, and nor should you.’

‘So how does Zariadres’s murder fit in?’

He spread his hands. ‘I honestly have no idea.’

‘You know Zariadres’s father, or his uncle maybe, was responsible for the deaths of Peucestas’s family and his own castration?’

Phraates chuckled. ‘Oh, my, you have been busy! How did you find that out?’ I didn’t answer. ‘Well, yes, I did know, as a matter of fact, and it was his uncle. A very unpleasant man, by all reports. However, if you’re thinking that Peucestas killed Zariadres I’d say you were making a mistake. Peucestas — at least as I read him — isn’t a vengeful person. If he’d had the opportunity to kill the elder Zariadres then I’m quite sure he would have done it. However, a nephew is something else again. Peucestas may not have liked Zariadres — I don’t believe he did, very much — but I doubt he’d’ve killed him just because of who he was.’

‘None the less, the last time we talked and I suggested one of the embassy was responsible for Zariadres’s death you never mentioned the connection.’

‘True.’

Gods! Not so much as a blink, let alone an apology. I’d met brass necks in my time, but Phraates beat them all hands down. ‘So now I’m just wondering if there’re maybe a few other potentially helpful nuggets of insider info that you’re keeping quiet about.’

I’d been watching him carefully for a reaction, but just at that moment the door opened and the major-domo came in with a loaded tray. Perfect diversionary timing.

Phraates had turned towards the opening door. ‘That’s fine, Hermogenes,’ he said. ‘Put it down on the table and go, please. We’ll help ourselves.’ The major-domo bowed and left. ‘Being interrogated does give one an appetite, doesn’t it, Corvinus? And if you’ve come all the way from the Caelian on an empty stomach you’ll be starved. My, don’t these rolls smell good? I must try to get up earlier more often.’

The hell with this. ‘Would you like me to repeat the question?’ I said. ‘Or would you care to give me a direct answer first time for a change?’

Instead of replying Phraates got up from his chair. He took two plates from the tray and laid them carefully either side of the table between the dining couches. Then he selected two of the rolls and put one on each plate. Finally, he eased himself onto one of the dining couches.

‘What I’d like, young man,’ he said quietly, ‘is for you to join me for breakfast.’

Yeah, well, if he wouldn’t be pushed he wouldn’t, and there wasn’t any point in annoying him to no purpose. I rose from my own chair and joined him at the table. ‘Nothing elaborate’ in the Phraates household obviously didn’t mean what it did elsewhere, and either the guy had a vast kitchen staff poised just waiting for instructions or the tray’s contents had been sitting ready for the master’s summons. I suspected the former. Whatever the reason, it was quite a spread: cheese, cold meat, a honeycomb, small bowls of olives and what looked like curds. A Syrian glass jug of milk, and another of fruit juice. Some of the sliced and candied fruits I didn’t even recognise. The gods knew where he’d got the fresh ones, this time of year. I broke the roll and scooped up some of the honey that was leaking from the comb.

Phraates was pouring himself a cup of fruit juice. ‘Don’t be too hard on me,’ he said, his eyes on the cup. ‘I appreciate your feelings, but I have to work with these people in ways they comprehend. Which, I hasten to add, is not to say I find it difficult or unpleasant. Although I’ve lived in Rome for most of my very long life I am not Roman. You must understand this. Parthians — and I am a Parthian, completely, where it matters — thrive on secrecy. We like to find out things about other people, especially if the knowledge affects us and they don’t wish us to know, but we do not easily pass the information on to a third party. And we don’t appreciate it if others do so without our permission.’ He reached for the curds and added a spoonful of honey. ‘After all, we can’t control the third party’s use of it. The answer to your question is yes, I do have information which you don’t. Of course I have; I told you, my sources are very, very efficient. On the other hand, you are a very intelligent and persistent young man with prejudices of your own. There is a massive difference between telling you something which since it comes from me I suspect you might not believe and letting you find it out for yourself, in which case you will. Trust me: in the long run, although there may be certain problems involved, my way is by far the best.’ He smiled. ‘Now. Eat your breakfast, please. If it’s any consolation, I haven’t told you any lies, or no serious ones, anyway. Nor will I. That I can promise you.’

I left the honeyed roll where it lay. ‘So you didn’t send a couple of tame stooges to hassle Perilla outside the Pollio library yesterday?’

He’d been lifting a spoonful of curds to his mouth. He set it down sharply. ‘No. Of course not. Why should I?’

‘To get me off the case before I found out about your litter scam. I thought it was Mithradates, but when I talked to him I changed my mind.’

‘You already knew about the litter.’

‘Sure. But then you couldn’t’ve known that, could you?’

Phraates’s eyes held mine. ‘Corvinus,’ he said, ‘I assure you — and if it helps then I’ll take any oath you like — that I had absolutely nothing to do with whoever accosted your wife. Nothing. And why should I bother much if you found out about the false attack on the litter? As I said, your principal Isidorus probably knows all about it, and it had already served its purpose. As far as wanting you off the case is concerned, yes, frankly, I admit it because I don’t think there’s much to be gained in practical terms from your continuing. However, I am certainly not foolish enough to try stopping you by coercion, not least because I appreciate that that might have exactly the opposite effect. Better, as I told you, to let things run their natural course.’