David Wishart - Ovid

'Yeah,' I said. 'Sorry, Dad.'

'Not that there's much to tell.' Perilla scooped honey onto a piece of bread. She was looking okay this morning, a lot better, I knew, than I was. Glowing almost. Maybe she should get herself kidnapped and shut up behind a bookcase in a Suburan tenement more often. 'It was my own stupid fault. I know the way home from Aunt Marcia's perfectly well, but it still didn't occur to me that the litter team were making a detour until it was too late.'

'They took her towards the Caelian.' I pitted an olive. 'It's more open there. Then they jumped her and tied her up.'

'You mean your own slaves did this?' I could understand the incredulity in my father's voice. If you can't trust your own slaves then who can you trust? Besides, for a slave to turn against his master is a short-cut to the arena.

'They weren't family slaves, not really. We'd only had them for about a month. Callias bought them.'

'Who from?'

Yeah, good question. That was an angle I hadn't thought of. I shot my father an approving look.

'I don't know,' Perilla said. 'I could ask.'

'Do that.' My father was frowning. 'I'd be willing to bet the first approach came from the seller. And that the offer was a good one.'

'You think they were planted, Dad?'

'It would seem a safe assumption, yes. Although I doubt if the slaves themselves will ever be found to verify it.'

That made sense, too. The guys would either have been hustled away from Rome with fake manumission certificates and money in their pouches or, which was more likely, they were at the bottom of the river with their feet in concrete sandals. I hoped it was the latter.

'Anyway,' Perilla went on, 'they took me to the tenement and handed me over to Ceionius. Not that I knew his name then, of course.'

'Ceionius?' my father said.

'Yeah, that's right,' I said. 'Ring a bell?'

'Varus's Ceionius?'

'Bull’s-eye.'

'But that's impossible! Ceionius is dead. He died with Varus in the massacre.'

'The rumour was exaggerated. He's been hiding out in the Subura.'

'Why should he do that? Oh, I know Augustus wouldn't have let him back to Rome, but if his only crime was cowardice then-'

'It wasn't,' I said bluntly. 'The guy was a traitor. He was working with the Germans.'

'What?'

'The massacre was planned. And not just by Arminius. There were Romans involved too. Bigger Romans than that bastard.'

I'd rocked him, obviously. He genuinely hadn't known anything about this, and I was glad of it.

'Marcus, you can't be serious,' he said. 'You're claiming that the Varian disaster was engineered?'

'That's right. It's pretty complicated and I don't understand it all myself yet but basically Varus had done a deal with Arminius.'

' Varus had done a deal? I thought you said Ceionius was the traitor.'

'He was. Or one of them, anyway. But Varus was involved too, only he was set up. At least I think so. Like I said, it's complicated.'

'Where's Ceionius now?' My father was on his feet. I'd never seen him so shocked, or so angry. 'The emperor will want to know about this. Come with me and I'll-'

'Hang on, Dad. There's no point. He's dead. Really dead this time.'

'You killed him? Marcus, that was stupid. Monumentally stupid!'

I glanced at Perilla. I hadn't told her how Ceionius had died. 'We never touched the guy. He tried to escape and there was an accident.'

My father sat down again, slowly.

'Tell me about it,' he said.

I told him. The whole story, from Bathyllus's finding of the note to the shambles in the alleyway. By the time I'd finished his lips were set in a tight line.

'And so you decided to ask an ex-gladiator trainer and a couple of slaves for help rather than come to me,' he said. 'Thank you, Marcus. Thank you very much.'

'Agron isn't a slave. And Scylax has some of the best contacts in Rome.' Both true, but that wasn't the point, and I knew it.

'Marcus did what he thought was best.' Perilla laid a hand on my arm. 'Besides, there wasn't time.'

My father sighed.

'No, I suppose not,' he said. 'You did very well, son, in any case. You deserve praise, not blame.'

I felt myself flush. 'I'm sorry, Dad. You're right. Maybe I should've gone to you first.'

He smiled gently. 'Two apologies in one morning. You're improving.' I said nothing. 'So tell me more about Quinctilius Varus. You say he was intriguing with Arminius. I find that difficult to believe. Where did your information come from?'

I hesitated.

'Go on, Marcus. Tell him. Please.' Perilla's fingers tightened on my arm. 'He only wants to help.'

'Okay,' I said. 'I got it from Quinctilia.'

'Varus's sister?'

'Yeah. She had it from his deputy Vela, who passed it on to Nonius Asprenas.' My father had been rubbing his chin with his right hand. At the name his hand paused. 'You know the guy?'

'Oh, yes. I know Nonius Asprenas.' There was an odd catch to my father's voice that I didn't quite understand. 'And what precisely did Quinctilia say her brother had done?'

'I told you. She claimed he was taking bribes from the Germans.'

'In exchange for what?'

'Running the province down. Discouraging expansion north of the river. Turning a blind eye to what Arminius was up to. There was more to it than that, but that's the general idea.'

My father leaned forward and placed his fingertips together as if I were one of his legal clients and we were discussing a case.

'That Varus was open to bribery is certainly credible,' he said. 'Especially after the Syrian affair. You know about Syria, I suppose?'

'When he was nearly prosecuted for extortion?'

'Indeed. Nearly is the word. If it hadn't been for his connections — and of course the fact that Syria is an imperial province outwith their jurisdiction — the Senate would have roasted him. As it was he was lucky to be given another chance; a fact that he himself would appreciate. I wouldn't dismiss the charge in principle, but I seriously doubt if Varus would have thought it worth the risk under the circumstances. If Augustus had ever found out that he was taking bribes, or even had reasonable grounds for suspicion, he wouldn't have lived to spend them.'

'Maybe that's so,' I said, 'but the way I think it worked it would've been pretty tempting. Varus might even have squared what he was doing with the emperor in the end. In any event the guy was guilty as hell. I've seen the proof myself.'

My father sat up. 'What kind of proof?'

'His own letter to Arminius giving him the details of his march from the Weser to the Rhine, including the detour through the Teutoburg. Route, dates, disposition of forces, the lot. And one more thing. He mentions the ambush.'

'What?'

'Sure. That's the point. Varus knew Arminius was going to hit him. Not as hard as he did, but still that there would be an attack.'

'Where did Quinctilia get this letter?'

'I told you. From Vela. He sent it to Asprenas by courier just before the army set out.'

I felt him stiffen; and when he spoke again his voice was strangely quiet. 'You say Varus wrote this letter? You're sure of that?'

'Yeah, that's right, Dad. But I think Asprenas-'

'And Quinctilia herself is sure it's genuine?'

'Sure she's sure. She confirmed the handwriting herself.'

'She told you this as well? That she herself, personally, had recognised the writing as her brother's?'

I frowned. 'Look, what's all this about? Are you saying the old girl was lying?'

He shook his head. 'Oh, no. She wasn't lying. Or not intentionally so, anyway. You say you talked to her yourself? And you didn't notice?'

'Notice what?'

'Marcus,' my father said gently, 'the Lady Quinctilia is almost totally blind.'

I stared at him as the last piece of the mosaic in my head slid into place with an almost perceptible click. I remembered the pale eyes peering at me from close up when we had first met; remembered the way she'd stared past me, how she'd needed Asprenas's help to walk…