David Wishart - Bodies Politic

Hell. If the bastard thought I would just jump on a ship and sail to Egypt he was whistling through his ears.

On the other hand, like I say, he hadn’t given me the information lightly. And whatever the ins and outs of it, Etruscus wasn’t faking; he wanted the case solved even more than I did. He wouldn’t be interested in sending me on wild goose chases, and if he was pointing me at Alexandria then he’d a good reason to do it. The best. That meant I’d be a fool not at least to think about going there if I wanted hard answers; and that meant I was more than half committed before I started. Especially since as far as ideas and leads at the Roman end were concerned I was totally screwed.

Bugger; it was a conspiracy. First Perilla, now Etruscus. But when you find yourself fighting the gods then all you can do is roll with the punches.

By the time I reached home I’d made my decision.

‘I’ve changed my mind, lady,’ I said. ‘We’re going to Alexandria after all.’

She stared at me and put her book-roll down on the atrium pool’s rim. ‘We are what? ’

‘Pack your smalls and draw up your shopping list. I’ll send Alexis over to Ostia to make enquiries at the shipping offices first thing tomorrow.’

‘Marcus, have you taken complete leave of your senses? We can’t just drop everything and go to Alexandria! What about the wedding arrangements? What about the -?’ Perilla stopped. ‘This has something to do with your investigation, doesn’t it?’

‘Ah…could have. Could have.’

‘You’ve seen Etruscus and he’s said that for some reason you’ve got to be in Alexandria.’

‘Not in so many words.’

‘Marcus Valerius Corvinus!’

Shit. Nothing for it. I settled down on my usual couch and told her the whole story. ‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ I finished.

‘Oh, I am! And forget what I said. It’s just that I would’ve liked to be going for other reasons than to have you furkling about in the dirty linen basket of politics.’

‘I don’t furkle,’ I said. Mind you, the image started up a certain train of thought that I might chase when I had more time. ‘Besides, while we’re there you could do what you like. See the sights. Shop till you drop.’

‘I’ll have to let Marilla and Clarus know.’ She swung her legs over the edge of the couch. ‘We can send Lysias on the mare. If he leaves now he can be in Castrimoenium before midnight.’

‘Hang on, Perilla,’ I said. ‘You and me, fine, but I’m not sure about the kids. Cass’s Mika said there might be trouble there shortly.’

She paused. ‘You never told me that. What kind of trouble?’

Bugger. Well done, Corvinus. Marvellous. Mouth open and foot straight in as usual. ‘Ah…between Greeks and Jews.’

‘Marcus…’

I backtracked, desperately. ‘Oh, I’m sure it’ll be okay. Agron said himself, we’re Romans, we won’t be involved. And you know Mika. Exaggerate, exaggerate, doom and gloom, everything’s a crisis. Besides, the two communities’ve been at loggerheads with no real harm done for years.’

‘In that case Marilla and Clarus are definitely coming.’ She was sitting on the couch. ‘It’s their wedding. Marilla can help me look for dress material, she can even get her wedding dress made there. And Clarus has never been further than Bovillae. It’ll let him see a bit of the world. At least we should give them the opportunity to refuse.’ She got up, crossed the space between the two couches, and kissed me. ‘I think it’s a marvellous idea, dear. Whatever your reasons are. And old Stratocles will be delighted to see us. Now, I’ll just go and talk to Lysias.’

She went out.

I took a swig from the winecup that Bathyllus had handed me as per usual when I’d arrived back. Well, barring the slight wobble at the end that’d gone okay. Not that I’d had any doubts that it would, mind, because it’d been the lady’s idea in the first place. And, like she’d said on the earlier occasion, there were plenty of sailings from Brindisi this time of year. The crossing would only take twelve days, max, which meant that including the trip down to Brindisi in the sleeping carriage we could be there in about half a month. All the major arrangements for the wedding were already made; we were just at the fine-tuning stage. A round trip was possible inside the time, despite what I’d said before.

Meanwhile, I wanted to think about the business with the imperials. Oh, sure, Etruscus had put the lid on that good and proper, but after mature consideration I wasn’t convinced that there wasn’t something there, maybe an angle that the guy himself wasn’t aware of; although they hate to admit it, civil servants don’t know everything. What it was, and how it connected, I had no idea; but the implications of the Gemellus plot, plus the stage-managed accident with the cart, suggested that it fitted in somewhere along the line. Besides, I’d got that itch at the back of my neck that always comes when things’re slightly out of kilter, even if the how isn’t immediately obvious, and that I’d learned to trust over the years. Etruscus wasn’t infallible, he could make mistakes like the rest of us, and he couldn’t know everything. Certainly the angle was too promising just to let it drop. And I might as well do something while we were waiting for our Alexandrian boat.

Which meant dirty linen.

Caelius Crispus.

I packed Alexis off to Ostia first thing in the morning and then walked over to the city judges’ offices on the Capitol where Crispus worked. To use the verb loosely.

Mind you, maybe that wasn’t altogether fair any more. When I’d last seen him about eighteen months previously the erstwhile professional rumour-merchant and all-round slug had been well on the way to becoming a born-again conscientious civil servant. Not that it had seemed to blunt his appetite for insalubrious gossip, fortunately, or his sense of smell for sniffing it out, which was what I was interested in. If anyone could help me in the dirty-linen-furkling business then it was Crispus, the ace dirty-linen-furkler. All he needed was a little persuasion.

I got the slave to show me up to his snazzy office: Crispus might not be a praetor himself, but he’d wormed his way so deep into the infrastructure that he’d somehow managed to bag a room which was top of the range. When I went in he was sitting behind a desk that could’ve been filched from the palace. Knowing Crispus it probably had been.

‘Oh, bugger,’ he said.

‘Morning, Crispus.’ I gave him my best smile. ‘And what a lovely morning it is. Not too hot, nice fresh breeze -’

‘I’m busy, Corvinus. As usual. What is it this time?’

Well, there was no point in beating about the bush. ‘You know the imperials? Agrippina, Livilla, Vinicius? I was wondering if -’

He was on his feet. ‘ Out! ’

‘Oh, come on, pal!’ I went over to the desk, pulled up a chair and sat on it. ‘I’ve got the emperor’s blessing.’

‘ And I’m the bloody King of Parthia. Out! ’

‘It’s true. I talked to him myself and he’s given me carte blanche. You wouldn’t like to upset the emperor, now, would you?’

That one went home, as I knew it would. He frowned. ‘Corvinus, if you’re pissing me about -’

‘Cross my heart, hope to die. Private interview at the palace, just me and him, face to face.’

‘He actually gave you permission to investigate his sisters?’

‘Any questions I liked. Told me to follow my nose, enjoy myself.’

‘You swear it?’

‘Carte blanche.’ I held up my hand. ‘All his own words. I so swear.’

‘Good gods!’ He sat down again. I’d never seen Crispus really, really fazed. I saw it now. ‘Why the hell would he do that?’