David Wishart: Bodies Politic

‘And Ennia?’

‘The bitch was getting to be a bore, and she was in the plot up to her neck. Gaius was well rid of her, too.’ Lentulus drained his cup. ‘You’re not drinking, boy.’

Obediently, I took a swig and held the cup out for Desmus to refill. Well, food for thought right enough, although it was all pretty predictable. Still -

‘To change the subject, I hear your adopted daughter’s getting married.’ Lentulus tapped the rim of his cup and Desmus refilled it. Jupiter! The old guy could sink them! And he’d probably been doing it since breakfast. If Lentulus bothered with breakfast. ‘Valeria Marilla, isn’t it? Lives with old Paullus Maximus’s widow up in the Alban Hills?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, that’s right. Only she died last December.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it. She was a fine-looking woman in her day, Marcia. Completely wasted on a dry stick like Paullus. Getting an invitation, am I?’

I grinned. ‘If you like. But they want a quiet wedding, in Aunt Marcia’s villa.’

‘Bugger that, then. I haven’t been out of Rome in years, and I’m not built to climb hills. Or be carried up them. Who’s the groom?’

‘His name’s Clarus. Publius Cornelius Clarus.’

‘One of our lot?’ Lentulus’s eyebrows rose. ‘Well, well. Don’t know of any relations by that name.’

‘Maybe because he isn’t one. One of the Cornelii, I mean. His family’s from Boeotia, originally. They had the citizenship from Africanus.’

Lentulus blinked. ‘Good gods! You’re telling me that he’s a bloody Greek?’

‘Not for ten generations, no. His father’s the local doctor.’

‘A doctor?’ Lentulus laughed. ‘Corvinus, boy, your father’ll be spinning in his urn!’

‘Yeah, well.’ Actually, though, I doubted it: when it came to the crunch, Dad was okay. Still – remember that Lentulus, for all his upper-class background, was pretty tolerant as far as the Roman social milieu went – it was a foretaste of what Clarus would have to face in the way of prejudice, if he ever decided to move to Rome. Not that he ever would, I was pretty sure of that. He and Marilla were happy in Castrimoenium.

‘I’m sorry.’ Lentulus must’ve read the expression on my face, because he was suddenly serious again. ‘That was in bad taste. I didn’t mean it.’

I shrugged. ‘No problem.’ I held out my cup for more of the Mareotic. ‘So tell me about these Palmyran belly-dancers.’

He did, and we got quietly smashed. I managed to ask one more question, though, before I left a couple of hours later.

‘Dion?’ Lentulus frowned. ‘Can’t remember Macro having a secretary by that name, let alone tell you where to find him. But then I didn’t really know the man socially. I kept my distance. His major-domo was a man called Antiphon. He might be able to help. Old Caecilius Cornutus took him on when Macro went. You’ll find him on Broad Street, near the junction with Pallacinae.’

Fine. Well, I reckoned it had been a fair morning’s work, albeit pretty disquieting.

I didn’t believe that stuff about Macro and Silanus, for a start.

‘Macro wouldn’t’ve done it, lady. No way. And I’ve got my doubts about Silanus as well.’

Perilla dunked her chickpea rissole viciously in the fish-pickle-and-mustard dip. Half of it broke off, and she scooped it out with her spoon. ‘Marcus, I am not getting involved,’ she said tightly. ‘You know what I think. When – not if, when – the emperor gets to hear that you’re shoving your nose into matters of high politics you’ll be out of Rome before you can say “exile”. And that’s if you’re lucky and don’t have to slit your wrists.’ She glared at me. ‘And it’s not as though you’re at a loose end at present. We’ve got a wedding in four months’ time to organise, and it’s not going to be much fun for Clarus and Marilla if you’re dead or stuck on some island or other. Nor for me either, for that matter. Leave it alone!’

I shifted uncomfortably on the couch. She was right; sure she was. I didn’t owe Macro anything, quite the reverse, and messing around with the system, especially when the system was Gaius, was tantamount to putting your head in a crocodile’s mouth in the hopes that it had gone vegetarian. Even so, I had my self-respect to consider. And that last exchange with Dion had hurt.

‘Yeah, well,’ I said. ‘I’ll be careful. I promise.’

Perilla reached for the bean casserole and said nothing.

‘Look, how would conspiring against Gaius help Macro?’ I de-shelled a snail. ‘He was sitting pretty as it was, and he couldn’t go any further. He’s a no-account Italian provincial from the sticks, his family are nobodies, the great and good in Rome hate him worse than poison and think he’s another Sejanus in the making. Gaius is the only future he’s got. And he’s not a fool, he knows it.’

No reaction. The lady wasn’t even looking at me.

‘Silanus, now, at least he has form, sure. He’s got family connections with the imperials that go back to Augustus and the Wart married his daughter to Gaius when he was on Capri. Plus he’s a political animal. If Macro was one of the guy’s chief advisors when he took over then Silanus was the other. Silanus I can believe as a conspirator, just, although he’d be a bloody fool to try anything unless he was hundred percent sure of his ground. But not Macro.’

Perilla laid her spoon down. ‘Have you considered that he might not have had any choice?’ she said.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Gaius was ill. Possibly – probably, from all indications – terminally so. Macro was about to lose him anyway. There needn’t have been any conspiracy at all. If the only heir was Gemellus, who you say Lentulus told you wasn’t up to the job, then it makes perfect sense for the emperor’s advisors to make contingency plans. After all, someone would have to run the empire if Gaius died.’

I grinned to myself. Well, at least the lady was talking. And dangle the bait of an intellectual puzzle in front of Perilla’s nose for long enough and she’ll go for it every time. She’s like me that way; the difference is she doesn’t admit it, not even to herself. Still, I had to play this careful. I helped myself to some of the beans and took a spoonful.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So why not just present it like that to Gaius when he recovered? I mean, he’s a long way from stupid. And he’s an imperial born and bred, he knows how important making sure of the succession is, that’s built in with the brickwork. What else could he expect? Why chop the poor bastards just for doing their job while he was out of things?’

Perilla sighed. ‘I don’t know, Marcus,’ she said. ‘And unlike you I don’t think it’s any of my business to guess. Now eat your dinner before it gets cold.’

We ate in silence for a while.

‘So,’ Perilla said finally, her eyes on her plate. ‘What are you going to do now? I mean, you are going to do something, I assume, whatever I say.’

I grinned to myself again. Got you! It was just a matter of waiting.

‘Find Dion,’ I said. ‘He may not know much, but he was Macro’s secretary after all. And he was pretty insistent that the guy had been set up. He must have a reason for thinking that, other than simple loyalty. Besides,’ I took another spoonful of beans, ‘he’s the best I’ve got at present.’

‘He didn’t give you a contact address?’

I shook my head. ‘I didn’t ask. And I’d just turned him down flat. But Lentulus said Macro’s major-domo might be able to put me on to him. Guy called Antiphon, sold on to a household on Broad Street.’

She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, softly, ‘Marcus, you will be careful, won’t you? That’s a promise?’