David Wishart - Last Rites

‘Yeah,’ I said. My mouth felt bitter. ‘Right.’

Camillus paused. ‘This Myrrhine, incidentally. You told me very little about her, and I should have asked for more. She’s dead, you say?’

‘Yeah. She killed herself before we could get to her. And one of the Public Ponds Watch.’

‘Another corpse.’ The eyes closed momentarily. ‘She was a colleague of the dead flutegirl? What was her name – Thalia?’

‘No. She was a slave, attached to Cybele’s temple. That was how Nomentanus knew her.’

‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘The Board of Fifteen connection. You really have been extremely busy, Corvinus. And extremely thorough. So the woman was a temple slave?’

‘No. Only a devotee. She belonged to a guy called Considius Proculus. She ran out on him about a year back and knifed one of the other staff, plus subsequently a couple of the temple priests. She was hiding out in a tenement near…’

I tailed off because Camillus had stopped listening. He was staring at me.

‘ Gaius Considius Proculus?’ he said.

There was a catch in his voice. Something cold touched my neck. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, that’s right. You know him?’

Camillus’s face was expressionless. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, not personally. Perhaps it’s a coincidence, young man – these things happen – but Gaius Proculus was arrested and executed five days ago. By order of the emperor.’

‘Perilla, what the fuck is going on?’

‘Calm down, Marcus.’ The lady set the poem she’d been working on when I’d come in on the ledge of the ornamental pool. ‘And don’t swear, please. It isn’t necessary.’

‘According to Camillus, this Proculus guy is sitting peacefully at home with friends celebrating his birthday – his fucking birthday , for the gods’ sake! – when Macro’s goons force their way in and arrest him for treason. An hour later he’s being garrotted in the fucking Mamertine-’

‘ Marcus! ’

‘With no fucking trial and no fucking chance to defend himself. And I’ll fucking swear if I want to swear!’ I kicked the couch leg.

‘Marcus, you’re being childish. Stop it.’

I took a deep breath and held it, then exhaled. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Sorry. But put yourself in my shoes, right? I thought the case was tied up with a nice neat bow round and then this happens. Where do you think that leaves me?’

‘Very angry. Yes, I can see that. Still, it’s no excuse for bad language.’

Fair point. I threw myself down on the couch. ‘Okay. So let’s go back to the original question. Expurgated this time. What is going on?’

‘Perhaps nothing. It could be coincidence.’

‘No coincidence. That sort I don’t believe in. And the order was official, too: the Wart’s signature was on the document. One of Camillus’s broad-striper mates was there at the time and he made the officer in charge show him it.’

‘Then the man obviously had committed treason.’

I laughed. ‘Perilla, come on, okay? You know what “treason” means as a charge as well as I do; just the word, with no details. Especially if there’s no explanation, no trial and a quick execution. The guy was stitched up. The question is why, and who by?’

‘If the emperor signed the order himself, then -’

‘The Wart’s on Capri. Sure, he probably did sign it, but one gets you ten it wasn’t his order. Most of the stuff over the imperial signature these days comes from Gaius and Macro.’

‘Hmm.’ Perilla put her chin on her hands. ‘What did Proculus say when he was arrested?’

‘According to Camillus’s pal he didn’t have a clue about the reason. Genuinely.’ I reached for the wine jug on the table beside me and poured myself a reviving belt. ‘Nor did Camillus himself. That smells. Whatever is going on here it stinks to high heaven.’

‘Very well. If you think there’s a connection with the murders then what is it?’

‘The gods know.’ I took a swallow of the wine. ‘But we’re in a whole new ball game now. A political ball game. Proculus had nothing to do with Cornelia’s death; he couldn’t have had. The only link the guy had was that he-’ I stopped. ‘Oh, Jupiter! Jupiter best and greatest!’

‘Marcus?’ Perilla’s voice was sharp. ‘Marcus, what’s the matter?’

I waved her down. Sweet gods! Political was right! And it made sense; at least, some sort of sense…

‘Marcus, will you please tell me what the matter is.’

‘We know what Nomentanus got out of arranging Cornelia’s murder. We never asked about Myrrhine.’

Perilla made a huffing noise and reached for her notebook and stylus. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘if you’re going to be infuriatingly Delphic over this then-’

‘Nomentanus got himself off the hook over the loans business because whoever hired him picked up the tab. Myrrhine wanted something different. And it wasn’t money.’

‘So what was it? A pardon and her freedom?’

‘Uh-uh. Something less personal. Or rather personal in a different way.’

‘Marcus-’

‘She wanted Considius Proculus’s head. It all hangs together,’ I said as I refilled the wine cup. ‘And it means we’re talking top level here. Absolute top. We have to be, because there’s no way Nomentanus or Lepida – or even Aemilius Lepidus himself – could swing an execution order with the Wart’s signature on it. The same goes for Nomentanus’s cash bail-out. Sure, the Lepidi could manage a million or two at a squeeze, but there aren’t many families who could match them. Barring the Caesars themselves, naturally.’

The lady had put the wax tablet down again. ‘You’re saying that the emperor is behind this?’

‘Tiberius? No way, never, not the Wart. Gaius, now…’

‘For heaven’s sake! Why should Prince Gaius pay to have a Vestal killed?’

‘Why I don’t know. Or not exactly, rather, because we’re back to young Marcus Lepidus’s secret. The kid was one of the prince’s circle of pals, remember, and he could’ve seen or heard something he wasn’t supposed to. That I’d believe, no problem: that bastard must have enough skeletons in his closet to fill a boneyard.’

‘But a Vestal! Marcus, he’s our next emperor!’

‘I’ve met him, lady. You haven’t. He’s ten tiles short of a watertight roof and he’s got an ego the size of the Capitol and a code of ethics you could drive a cart through. Killing a Vestal wouldn’t lose him much sleep. Believe me.’

Perilla was quiet for a long time. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘How would it work?’

‘Practically? With Gaius pulling the strings?’ I sipped my wine. ‘No sweat, none at all. He’s on Capri himself, of course, but his buddy Macro’s in Rome. Very much so. Macro may be a prime bastard but he’s no thickhead, he’s the de facto imperial rep and he knows his way around. He’d have the lowdown on Nomentanus, for a start, and because the guy’s obviously crooked as a Suburan dice match the recruitment pitch would be easy-peasy.’

‘I thought you said that Lepida was the moving force.’

‘Uh-uh.’ I shook my head. ‘Not if the secret wasn’t hers. It has to be our pal the city judge. Lepida was involved, sure, but only as the second-stringer: Nomentanus would need inside information to pass on to Myrrhine, and his girlfriend’s the obvious source.’

‘You think she’d give him it? For the asking, as it were? She wouldn’t profit personally in any way, would she?’

‘Perilla, that bitch would do it just for the kick it gave her.’ I stretched out on the couch. ‘I doubt if she had any more motive than that. Our sweet little Lepida is not a very nice person. The word “rotten” springs to mind.’