David Wishart - Bodies Politic

Lentulus lived just up the Caelian Hill from us, in an old rambling property that must’ve been one of the first ones built. Which was where I found him the next day, sitting in the shade of the peristyle garden with a jug of wine and the best part of a bushel of fruit beside him.

‘Corvinus, my boy! This is a surprise! Sit yourself down!’ He snapped his fingers – or tried to; half-pissed was right – at a hovering slave. ‘A cup for the lad, you! Quick, now! Chop-chop!’

There was a wickerwork chair by the nearest pillar. I pulled it over and sat. Lentulus’s chair was solid oak and practically the width of a bench. It looked like it’d been reinforced.

‘How are you, Lentulus?’

‘Very bonny. Very bonny indeed. Soaking up the sunshine and the booze in unequal measures. How’s your Rufia Perilla?’

‘She’s fine.’ I was always impressed with Lentulus’s memory for names. He might’ve met Perilla once or twice at most, but half-cut as he was the guy hadn’t even skipped a beat.

‘Don’t go out much, the pair of you.’ He pushed over the tray of fruit, but I shook my head. ‘Least, I don’t see you around. You missed a party last night at Quintus Largus’s place, young Corvinus, by the gods you did! Palmyran belly-dancers, naked mud-wrestling and the sweetest little boy-band from Ascalon. Of course, I can only watch now. Comes to us all.’ He chuckled. ‘Or rather it doesn’t, more’s the pity. Ah. Here’s your cup. Try this one, see what you think. Pour, Desmus, you idle bugger! Mine too.’

The slave who’d brought the cup filled it from the jug. I sipped…

Beautiful.

Lentulus was watching me. ‘Good, yes?’ he said.

‘Yeah.’ I took a proper swallow. Not Italian. Easily top-range-Alban standard. If I were pushed I’d say east of Sicily, but it wasn’t Greek, or at least not one of the Greek wines I recognised. On the other hand, as an offside chance, it could be small-vineyard Gallic; they were producing some nice individual stuff these days in Gaul, if you were careful about your shipper. The fact was, though, I hadn’t a clue, and that doesn’t often happen.‘What is it?’

‘Mareotic. Egyptian. Alexandrian, rather. They use a different process from us, but by hell it works. I had two dozen gallons delivered yesterday of different vintages and I’m working my way through them. Take a flask home with you if you like. I’ll tell one of my lads to carry it down the hill for you.’

‘Thanks, that’d be -’ I stopped. ‘Ah…maybe not. Thanks all the same.’

‘ No?’ Lentulus’s piggy eyes widened. Then he shrugged. ‘Suit yourself, boy. Never known you turn down good wine, though. Not sickening, are you? There’s a lot of it about just now.’

‘No, I’m fine.’ With Perilla on her Alexandrian jag maybe a reminder like a freebie flask of the local wine was a bad idea. Pity. It was lovely stuff.

‘Good. I’m glad to hear it.’ He took a swig from his own cup and shifted his huge bulk. The reinforced chair creaked. ‘Now, young Marcus Valerius Corvinus, you can just cut to the chase, please.’

Yeah, well. No flies on Lentulus; there never had been. ‘Tell you the truth,’ I said, ‘I was wondering about Sertorius Macro’s suicide.’

‘Were you, indeed? Wondering what?’

‘Why he did it.’

‘Because the emperor told him to.’

I grinned; I’d always had a soft spot for Lentulus. ‘You know what I mean, you old bugger,’ I said. ‘What had he done?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Call it curiosity.’

‘ I’ll call it no such thing.’ Lentulus emptied his cup and without looking at the man held it out for the slave to refill. ‘I don’t play ingenus, Corvinus, and I’m not senile. You’re digging the dirt, same as before. Only this time – trust me – there’s nothing to dig for.’

He had suddenly gone serious. I remembered the first time, and I warned myself to be careful. He was an okay guy, Lentulus, but like I say he was no fool.

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Fair enough.’ I took out Macro’s letter and handed it over.

He read it carefully, then handed it back. ‘Load of rubbish,’ he said. ‘Macro was guilty of conspiracy and treason.’

‘But he wasn’t charged with treason.’ Even I knew that. With the wedding arrangements taking up all my time I hadn’t been following events all that closely, but I couldn’t’ve missed the Commander of Praetorians and the emperor’s closest friend being arrested on a conspiracy charge.

‘Of course he wasn’t. Nor were the other two, Silanus and that poor specimen Gemellus. How could they be? The treason charge doesn’t exist any more.’

I sat back. Oh, Jupiter, neither it did: when Gaius had come to power he’d abolished it, and burned all the incriminating documents gathered under the Wart’s regime publicly in the Market Square. Uness they were copies, of course: as a PR exercise for the new management it was effective enough, but clean government has its limits. ‘So what reason did Gaius give?’ I said.

‘A word of warning; don’t call him Gaius, boy, not to his face, not now he’s emperor. He doesn’t like it. Stick to Caesar.’

‘Fine. But you haven’t answered the question.’

‘Neither I have. Not intentionally, I’ll do it now. Macro was accused of pandering his wife to gain influence. Silanus – well, the emperor just claimed that he was becoming too pushy. Gemellus had, and I’m quoting the bloody bulletin verbatim, “anticipated the emperor’s death and waited for the chance to profit from his illness”. There you are. That do you?’

Gaius’s illness. That’d been almost a year ago, when he’d come down with a month-long fever that had nearly killed him. Gemellus had represented him at the Games, major religious ceremonies and so on; on any occasion, in other words, where politics or political decisions weren’t involved…

Bugger that for a valid reason to chop the kid. Bugger it twice, and five times on the Kalends.

‘No, it won’t do me,’ I said. ‘As an excuse it’s thin as hell.’

Lentulus chuckled, his jowls heaving. ‘Right. Agreed. But I told you: a straight charge of treason wasn’t an option. Gaius had to do the best he could with a bad job, leaving the juicy bits out. And, like I say, the whole shower were guilty as sin, barring Gemellus who wouldn’t recognise a conspiracy if it bit him in the bum.’

‘He wouldn’t? And why would that be, now?’

‘Because the boy was an idiot. Literally an idiot, even more lame in the head than Claudius, which believe you me is saying something. Half the time he didn’t know what day it was.’

‘So why did he have to die?’

‘Don’t be simple yourself, Corvinus! Tiberius had named him in his will as co-heir. Even though Macro had the senate set the will aside that still meant something. Oh, not for Gemellus personally; he wouldn’t’ve made a decent shopkeeper, let alone an emperor, and the senate wouldn’t’ve touched him with a ten-foot pole. But if Gaius were dead he’d make someone a damn good puppet. Besides’ – he held out his cup for another refill – ‘you can’t have two king bees in a hive. Gaius was quite right to be rid of him. Not before time. I didn’t blame him myself, and I don’t know of anyone who did.’

‘For the gods’ sakes, Lentulus!’

‘Practical politics, lad. Welcome to the world.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So what was the real story?’

Lentulus shrugged. ‘No secrets there. At least for all but public consumption, and you remember that qualification when you leave here, boy, or you’ll be in real trouble. You and me both, and I’m too old to take the hassle. All this is just between ourselves, right?’ I nodded. ‘When Gaius fell ill and looked like dying Macro and Silanus got together with the plan of using Gemellus as a figurehead emperor. Maybe going so far, if they could arrange it, of giving the emperor a push into the urn. Only Gaius recovered, found out, and that was that.’ He drew his finger across his throat. ‘ Tsikkk! Served the pushy bastards right. Gaius has his faults, but he’s a smart young bugger with his head screwed on, and he doesn’t stand for any nonsense. That’s what we need in an emperor. Silanus was a pompous fool with more breeding than sense. Macro was the other way about, and the last thing we – I mean the senate – wanted was another Sejanus. Which is what we would damn well have got if the conspiracy had succeeded.’