David Wishart - Ovid

'Which daughter?'

' Her daughter. Julia's, of course. Don't they teach you youngsters anything about society these days?'

The name Decimus Silanus didn't ring any bells, but I'd heard of Brother Marcus. Sure I had. He was a real high-flyer, consul three years before, a friend of my father's and an arse-licker of the first order. I hadn't realised that his wife was Julia's daughter but it didn't surprise me. We patrician families stick together.

'Who else? Who else was involved?'

'You mean who else was screwing her? Half of Rome. I told you.'

'Like who, for example?'

Lentulus opened his mouth — and then closed it again.

'Damned if I know, actually,’ he said. ‘Oh, there were plenty of rumours, and there's no smoke without fire, as they say. But Silanus is the only name I can give you for definite.'

'So what happened to Silanus? Was he chopped or did Augustus just tell him to slit his wrists?'

The old man chuckled and gulped at his wine. 'Nothing like that, boy! Social ostracism, that's all Silanus got. Wasn't even formally exiled, just deprived of the emperor's friendship. Mind you the bugger left Rome pretty sharpish all the same for healthier climes. Just been let back in fact.'

I thought I'd misheard. 'Silanus is in Rome?'

'As of a few days ago, yes.' Lentulus gestured with the winecup, spilling a little on the tiled floor. 'His brother swung it with the Wart. Not that he's back in public life, of course, and probably never will be. Tiberius isn't that generous. Got a little place the other side of the river, on the Janiculum. Not that little, now I come to think. Joys of the rustic life, all that sort of thing. Still he was luckier than the bloody husband, wasn't he?'

I swear the hairs crawled on my scalp, but I kept my voice calm.

'Whose husband?'

'Clean the wax out of your ears, boy! That's the second time! Julia's husband, of course. Aemilius bloody Paullus.' Lentulus's voice was slightly slurred. There couldn't've been much water in the wine we were drinking and he'd had two full cups of the stuff straight off on top of God knows how much more. He wasn't quite pissed as a newt but he was well on the way. 'He got chopped, didn't he? Served the bastard right.'

Everything was suddenly very still and clear. I can remember staring past Lentulus at the mural on the wall, a mythological scene of Perseus with the Gorgon's head. The slave standing next to it with the wine jug shifted and the squeak of his sandals on the marble tiles went through me like a knife.

'Paullus was executed? What for?'

And Lentulus stopped. He stopped dead. Getting up, he set the winecup carefully on a nearby table. Then he turned to face me.

'That was the wine talking, boy,' he said. 'Forget it, eh? I've told you enough. More than enough.'

I set my own cup down. I had to. I was so excited I might've dropped it. 'Look, you can't just leave things there, you old bastard. Come on, I'll find out eventually anyway. What was Paullus chopped for?'

Lentulus was still staring at me. He looked grey and very, very sober.

'Okay, Corvinus,' he said. 'You asked for it and it's your funeral, remember. Just after Julia was sent to Trimerus Augustus had her husband executed for treason.' He turned away. 'Now go home and leave me in peace, boy. I don't want to see you again. Ever.'

I thought about what Lentulus had told me on the way back from the Caelian. Or rather, about what he’d said he couldn’t tell me: the names of the other gents besides Silanus who’d been intimate with Julia. Coming from a gossip-monger like Lentulus the admission of total ignorance was surprising, to say the least. Sure, it was possible. Anything was possible. Maybe the guy genuinely didn’t know. But there was another explanation which, if it was the right one, opened up a whole new field of interesting possibilities.

Lentulus couldn’t give me any more names because there were no more names to give. Forget the ‘half of Rome’ crap; as far as Julia’s partners went, Silanus was it. Full stop, end of paragraph, close the book. And that could mean…

Interesting, right?

I got back to Perilla's just on dinnertime. I'd gone home to change first (never go calling on a lady with a grubby mantle), and I'd also paid another visit to Cadmus's; not for the ring (I'd got that already) but to pick up a snazzy little pair of earrings I'd seen that I thought would look great against her hair. Alexandrian poets are okay in their place but I didn't want her to think I was some sort of culture freak. It would only lead to misunderstandings later.

She'd chosen the subfusc look: a matronly mantle, the minimum of jewellery, and a hairstyle that could've come straight off the Altar of Peace. As a statement it was predictable but disappointing. I swallowed down my lust and prepared for a staid little domestic evening.

She liked the earrings though. Even if she didn't let me put them on her myself.

Callias served the honeyed wine (I hate that stuff but I was on my best behaviour), supervised the serving of the hors-d'oeuvres and then faded into the woodwork. I made a mental note to slip him a fat tip before I left. Tact in slaves is a thing to be encouraged, especially if you've designs on their mistress.

'Well, Corvinus,' Perilla said as we settled down to the quails' eggs and stuffed dormice. 'How did your visit go?'

I gave her the salient points, glossing over, of course, the doom-and-gloom aspects of the situation. There was no need for both of us to worry about my ending up with my throat slit. 'So we've got a couple of good leads,' I finished. 'Silanus being back in Rome's a definite plus.'

'You intend going to see him?'

'Yeah. I thought I might. It seems the logical next step.'

'Why should he tell you anything?'

'He's got no reason not to. The whole thing's over and done with. And it's too good a chance to miss. After all why mess around with middle-men? If anyone knows what your stepfather saw our Silanus is the lad.'

'Do you know where he lives?'

'Not exactly.' I rubbed a quail's egg between my palms to remove the shell. 'But I can find out. Lentulus said he has one of those fancy farms the other side of the Tiber. It shouldn't be too difficult to track him down. And I'm interested to find out how he managed to seduce Julia and get away with it while her husband got chopped. A trick like that might come in useful some time.'

'Paullus was executed for treason, not because he was Julia's husband.'

'You're telling me there's no connection? Come on, Perilla!'

She selected a fish-pickle-and-honey canape. 'If so then it's certainly not an obvious one. We're talking about different crimes. In one Paullus is the victim, in the other he's the culprit. Now if Julia had been married to Silanus and Paullus had been the seducer I could see your point. That is if you consider seduction of the emperor's grandchild per se as treasonable. Which personally I don't.'

My head was beginning to hurt. I'd missed an opening there, I was sure of it. But I'm not used to discussing abstract problems over dinner. Wheel in the pygmy contortionists and stuff the Aristotle.

'Besides,' Perilla finished the canape and picked up a baby squid filled with sausagemeat, 'Silanus was punished. You said yourself he'd gone into voluntary exile. And he'll never hold public office again. Surely for a man of his standing that's punishment enough.'

I frowned. 'Okay, okay. Have it your way. Maybe I've just got an over-suspicious mind, maybe everything is above board. But it won't hurt to talk to the guy at least.'

Perilla laid the squid down and turned these lovely golden eyes of hers on me. 'You will be careful, won't you? It all sounds terribly politically sensitive. Don't go treading on any more toes. You've been beaten up once already over this. I'm sorry. Leaned on.'