David Wishart - Finished Business

Claudius was already holding his cup up for more wine to the slave behind him; he obviously liked his booze, too. He turned back round.

‘Hmm? Oh. Yes. Yes, if you s-say so, C–Caesar,’ he said equably.

‘I do s-say so. I kn-know so, and I s-speak from experience.’ Gaius ran the back of his index finger slowly up Messalina’s spine and tweaked the stray lock of hair at the nape of her neck. ‘Don’t I, darling? You’re a lucky sod, Claudius, you randy old bugger. Far luckier than you deserve.’

‘Th-thank you, Caesar. I’m e-extremely aware of that.’

Gaius gave the bottom another pat and smiled. ‘Oh, I am glad,’ he said. ‘I would just hate for talent like this to go unappreciated. And she does have the most marvellous tits. Well, boys and girls, enjoy. Livilla, try not to eat too much, my dear, or the next time you go sea-bathing at Baiae you may find yourself harpooned.’

He lurched back to his own table.

‘Yes, well,’ Vinicius said after a long pause. ‘There you are, then.’

He reached for the bowl of pickled radishes.

We settled down to eat.

It was a good four hours later that we finally climbed into the litter, thoroughly bloated and gently pickled. At least, I was, although as far as food’s concerned Perilla can shift it when she likes.

‘Urp.’

‘Yes, well, dear,’ she said icily as the litter louts took the unaccustomed strain, ‘you’ve only yourself to blame. Three helpings of flamingo was just a tad excessive, wouldn’t you say?’

‘That wasn’t the flamingo, that was the radishes. You can tell.’

‘Marcus, please!’

I grinned and settled back against the cushions. Actually, our evening out hadn’t been all that bad in the end, if you made allowances for the earlier part. The food had been pretty good, well up to Meton’s standard, which is saying something. And a generous supply of imperial Caecuban makes up for a hell of a lot of shortcomings elsewhere.

‘Your pal Tiberius Claudius was a bit of a revelation,’ I said.

‘Really? How so?’

‘I reckon I’ve misjudged him. You’re right, he is smart.’

‘I kept telling you that, but you wouldn’t listen.’

‘No, not just book-smart. That’s nothing. He’s a survivor, like Asiaticus.’ I frowned; hadn’t Lentulus said that Asiaticus was a Claudian client and a personal friend of Claudius himself? ‘You saw how he reacted, or didn’t react, rather, when Gaius was feeling up Messalina? And six gets you ten it hadn’t stopped there. He’s had her, when and how serious the affair was I don’t know, but that’s practically a cert.’

‘Obviously he has. She’s very beautiful, completely unprincipled, and she’s been one of his intimate circle for years, long before Claudius came on the scene. It’d be surprising if he hadn’t.’

I shifted on the cushions. ‘Yeah, but that’s not all,’ I said. ‘I was watching what’s-his-name, Chaerea’s face when he marched out. The guy was fit to be tied. No one could’ve missed that; Gaius certainly couldn’t. Which of course is why the sick bastard does it. Needles people, winds them up, knowing that they can’t do a thing about it.’

‘Marcus, it’s late and I’m tired. Will you either shut up or get to the point, please?’

‘The point is that Claudius wasn’t like that. You saw for yourself. He shrugged the whole thing off. He didn’t even look or sound interested, from start to finish.’

‘Maybe he wasn’t. Livilla has affairs, Vinicius knows that. Like the one with that greasy smarmer Seneca. He ignores them for the puerile nonsense they are, and quite rightly so. The marriage was one of convenience; it isn’t as if they have any liking for each other, let alone affection, so why should he bother?’

‘Maybe because Vinicius is a survivor too. He’s certainly survived.’

Perilla stifled a yawn. ‘Marcus …’

‘Yeah, OK, lady. But all I’m saying is that unless Claudius genuinely doesn’t have any feelings for his wife, not even at the basic sexual level, then he’s a bloody good actor, and it’s probably what’s keeping him alive. And Gaius swallowed it whole. That’s his weakness, not taking people he despises seriously. He’s doing it with Claudius, he’s done and is probably still doing it with Valerius Asiaticus, and he is sure as hell doing it with Chaerea. That’s playing with fire, especially with everything else that’s going on. Me, I reckon that if the egotistical bastard isn’t very careful it’ll kill him.’

She was quiet for a long time. I wondered if she’d dozed off, but when we happened to pass a door with a lit torch outside it and I looked at her, her eyes were open and she was watching me closely.

‘So what can you do?’ she said softly.

I shrugged. ‘Not a lot. Just what I’ve been doing all along, really. Dig, see what comes up. Rattle a few cages, see if anything jumps. And hope to hell that somewhere along the line before the stupid bugger gets himself chopped I find something concrete that I can take to him without risking him telling his guard to cut my throat or ordering me to slit my wrists. Even if he would regret it ten minutes later.’

‘It’s dangerous, dear. You know that, don’t you?’

There wasn’t any answer to that. Not one I hadn’t given her already, anyway, and she could’ve supplied it herself.

I was glad I’d met Vinicianus, mind; he’d been a real possible for a conspirator, virtually a cert. But if I was going to rattle anyone’s cage it would have to be the guy’s who’d come across so far as the weakest link. Which meant Sextus Papinius’s brother and fellow tribune, Lucius. We’d have a crack at him tomorrow.

Like Perilla had said, it was late. I closed my eyes, concentrated on the swaying of the litter, and let myself drift into a doze.

I was over at the house on Patricius Incline by the fourth hour the next day. This time the gate slave was awake, and he remembered me.

‘You’ll be wanting to see the young master, no doubt, sir,’ he said. ‘Master Lucius.’

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I said. ‘He at home?’

‘That he is, sir, but there’s another gentleman with him at present, and if you don’t mind I’ll make sure that he’s not occupied first. If you’d care to wait a moment?’

‘Who’s the-?’ I began, but the guy was gone, disappearing through the garden gate.

He took his time coming back; in fact I’d been kicking my heels for a good five minutes before he reappeared.

‘I’m sorry for the wait, sir,’ he said. ‘You’re to go in. The gentlemen are in the atrium. You know the way?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, sure.’

I went through the garden, into the house and through the lobby to the atrium. The couch where young Sextus’s body had lain was still there, but the man sitting on it I recognized from the time at Longinus’s place. So, Valerius Asiaticus himself, right? This was going to prove even more interesting than I’d expected.

Papinius was sitting next to him, in his tribune’s uniform minus the hardware, and he was scowling. There was a folding stool — probably the same one Papinius had been using when I’d visited the house before — set about four feet in front of them, dead centre.

The whole thing felt staged, set for a trial. Or maybe ‘inquisition’ would be a better term.

‘Well, well.’ Asiaticus was smiling, or at least his mouth was. ‘Valerius Corvinus, as I live and breathe. How very nice to see you again. Please do come in and have a seat.’

I moved forwards and glanced down at the stool. ‘No thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll stay where I am.’

‘As you like.’