David Wishart - Finished Business

‘I’m sorry, sir?’

‘Perilla said that I’d woken up “at last”. How long have I been out?’

‘Ah. This is the fifth day. Late evening.’

I stared at him. ‘I’ve been unconscious for five days ?’

‘Not as such. However, you were running a high fever for most of the time. I wouldn’t imagine that you’d have any memory of the period between the attack and now. Or am I wrong?’

‘No, you’re absolutely …’ I stopped as the implications kicked in. Five days. Shit! ‘Hang on. So this is nine days before the kalends, right? The twenty-fourth; the first day of the Palatine Games?’ I tried to struggle to my feet, and my head and most of the rest of me exploded with agony. ‘ Fuck! ’

Sarpedon’s hands were pressing against my shoulders, forcing me back down on to the bed.

‘Sir! Please!’ he said. ‘You must lie absolutely still! You are in no condition to-’

‘Fuck that!’ I snapped. ‘I have to warn the emperor! He’s-’

‘Gaius was killed this afternoon, Marcus.’ Perilla’s voice came from behind Sarpedon’s back.

I stopped struggling.

‘What?’

‘A few hours ago, in the temporary theatre on the Palatine. I don’t know the details, of course, but it’s quite definite.’

Oh, shit. Oh, gods. I felt sick; in fact, I found myself heaving. Sarpedon was just in time with the bowl beside the bed. Not that the result was too impressive.

He held out a napkin and wiped my lips.

‘The emperor’s dead?’ I said.

‘Yes.’ Perilla’s voice was toneless.

‘So who’s in charge now?’

‘I don’t know. Or at least I’m not sure; no one is. The rumour is that the Praetorians — the ones involved in the plot — have taken Claudius off to the camp outside the city, but that’s all it is, a rumour. They may have killed him, or perhaps he’s being held as some kind of hostage. I don’t think anyone really knows what’s happening.’

Jupiter Best and Greatest! I felt empty, gutted. Gaius might’ve been a total head case, latterly anyway, but he had been the legitimate emperor. When the Wart had died, at least we’d all known where we were, whether we liked it or not — presumably, too, when old Augustus went, although at fourteen I’d been too young and too interested in chasing girls to pay much attention to politics. There’d been nothing like this since old Julius got himself chopped, and that was eighty-odd years back.

If I’d only got to the guy in time! Oh, sure, the business with Sosibius had been a set-up, I knew that now: the bastard probably didn’t exist, at least under that name. But still, there’d been those five days …

‘Hey, Perilla,’ I said.

‘Yes, Marcus?’ She was still out of vision. I turned my head, ignoring the pain. The lady was standing by the bedroom door.

‘Why didn’t you send a message to the emperor?’ I said quietly. ‘You could’ve done; you’d plenty of time. I was out of it, sure, but he might’ve listened. Especially under the circumstances.’

She didn’t answer for a good half-minute. Then she said: ‘Because I decided not to.’

‘You what ? Why?’

‘For four reasons. First, because those men didn’t kill you; they could have done, and it would have been by far the most sensible thing to do, but nevertheless they didn’t. I’m very grateful not to be left a widow. Second, because Gaius was a psychopathic monster, and liable to get worse. The world is far better off without him.’

‘Yeah, granted, but-’

‘Third, if you’re right, and I see no reason why you shouldn’t be, the new emperor — and I agree, there must be one — will be either Marcus Vinicius or Tiberius Claudius. I know, like, and respect both of them, and with either in charge, Rome will be a much safer place.’

‘OK. That’s three reasons. What about the fourth?’

‘The fourth, Marcus, is that it was my decision to make, and I made it. I decided for me, not for you, because I thought you were wrong.’

I closed my eyes briefly. You live with someone for twenty years, you think you know them, and they can still surprise you. Not all the surprises are pleasant ones, either.

She could be a tough lady, Rufia Perilla, when she liked.

‘Yeah, well,’ I said. ‘It’s done. Finished business. We’ll just have to see what happens next, that’s all.’

We would indeed.

Me, personally, I hate lying around in bed, but having the shit kicked out of you by a set of beefy Praetorians who’re determined to make a proper job of it doesn’t leave you with all that many options. On the other hand, three days of healthful, nourishing barley gruel for breakfast, lunch and dinner and a total ban on wine — which was what that sadistic bastard Sarpedon had prescribed — was no joke either. When the expected summons came from the palace, boredom and alcohol deprivation had me practically climbing the wall.

Mind you, three days of enforced thumb-twiddling at least meant that I’d filled in the missing bits of the puzzle. Not that it’d been all that difficult, given we and the rest of Rome now knew that Claudius was running the empire. Total absence of flying pigs or not, unless of course there had been and the augurs were just too bloody embarrassed to let on.

There was my hindsight-driven rereading of Surdinus’s letter, too, which put the lid on things. For what it was worth at this stage, because I wasn’t stupid enough to go pointing accusing fingers, was I?

So it was the palace, and in a litter sent specially for the purpose; a goodwill gesture on their part, probably, rather than to make sure I came, because after all where could I have run to, barring Parthia? I gave Perilla what I hoped was a see-you-later kiss, eased my still-aching and seriously strapped-up body on to the cushioned chair, and off we went.

The Praetorian at the gate detached to lead me into the Presence finally stopped outside a lavishly panelled door. He knocked, waited a moment, and then opened it, stepping aside.

‘In you go, sir,’ he said.

The same room I’d been in with Gaius, the one above the torture chamber. Probably some sort of imperial inner sanctum reserved for cosy, off-the-record get-togethers which, I suspected, was what this was. I went in, and the door closed behind me.

‘Hi, Messalina,’ I said. ‘Hi, Felix. How’s it going?’

The little guy reclining on the right-hand couch was beaming. ‘Oh, very well done, sir!’ he said. ‘Not a smidgeon of surprise. I told the mistress here you’d’ve worked it all out, but she didn’t believe me.’

Messalina, stretched out demurely on the other couch, gave me a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile, but said nothing.

‘Yeah, well, as far as the lady’s concerned I’m kicking myself, pal,’ I said. ‘Surdinus practically told us in his letter that she was involved. He was never at her wedding, so why would he say he was and that we’d talked, except to bring her name in? And if he and my father weren’t neighbours on Vatican Hill then he and hers definitely were, because that’s where Barbatus had his villa. You … well, there must’ve been a reason why the emperor’ — I glanced at Messalina, who was still smiling at me like a cream-fed cat — ‘the ex -emperor wasn’t taking the real conspirators seriously. He wasn’t a fool, Gaius, whatever else he might’ve been. Just a bit too trusting where his so-called friends and allies were concerned.’

If I’d meant to embarrass the bastard — which I did — then I was disappointed. He shrugged. ‘True, sir. But then he had to go, because he really was becoming impossible. Putting far too many backs up, both for his own good and the good of Rome.’