David Wishart - Bodies Politic

‘Seemingly there’s a big campaign coming up.’ We’d just about finished the starters, and I signalled the slaves to clear away and serve the main course. ‘Germany and beyond, over into Britain. The Rhine legions’re providing the beef.’

‘Yeah.’ Gallius sipped his wine. ‘Gaetulicus and Apronius have four each already, of course, but they’re recruiting another two from scratch, plus the auxiliary support. It’ll be the biggest Rhine force since Augustus’s day, and if the emperor’s thinking of taking three Eagles with him to Britain, minimum, they’ll need every one of the rest to watch his back.’

Things went very quiet. ‘Gaius is leading the expedition himself?’ I said. ‘In person?’

‘Sure, Corvinus. I told you that.’

‘No, you didn’t, pal.’ Shit! ‘You only told me about the push. You never said the emperor was taking personal command.’ I glanced at Perilla. The lady’s eyes were wide: she’d got it, too.

‘Yeah, well, he is.’

‘When would all this be happening?’

‘Next year, from what my Uncle Gaius said. Probably late summer early autumn, if preparations go according to plan.’ Gallius was frowning: he’d noticed the change in atmosphere. ‘Corvinus, what is this?’

‘Nothing. Just interested.’ I toyed with my spoon. ‘So, ah, Gaius – the emperor, I mean – would be heading north to join the Rhine legions some time in the summer of next year, right? That’s common knowledge?’

The frown disappeared and he grinned. ‘I don’t know about common knowledge. You obviously didn’t know, for a start. Still, it’s no secret in army circles. My uncle’s known about it for months, and so have I.’

Bloody hell! ‘And Gaetulicus’ll be in overall command, yes?’

‘Until the emperor arrives, and unless he appoints someone else. But he’s been governor of Upper Germany for the past eight years, and his brother was before him for years before that, so yes, naturally. And Apronius in the lower province isn’t likely to contest the point. He’s getting on a bit, Gaetulicus is his son-in-law, and they’ve been mates together since Gaetulicus took over.’

Oh, fuck! It felt like a trail of ants with frozen feet were marching up my spine. I didn’t dare look at Perilla.

‘That’s…fascinating, pal,’ I said. ‘How’s the wine, by the way?’

‘Excellent.’ He drained his cup and I motioned to the wine-slave to refill it. Mine, too: after that little revelation I needed the full jug.

Then the skivvies brought in the main course, and we talked about something else.

‘Okay, lady,’ I said, when the dinner was successfully over and we were alone and getting ready for bed. ‘We’ve got a terminus ad quem. And a modus operandi. And the criminis delictores. The plan is to stiff Gaius next summer when he leaves Rome and joins the Rhine legions, right?’

‘Marcus, he’ll have the Praetorian Guard with him,’ She wriggled out of her tunic. ‘Or at least a fair slice of them.’

‘I never said it would be easy.’ I stripped my own tunic off. ‘Still, Lepidus and Agrippina wouldn’t have a better chance. And assuming they haven’t already squared the Praetorian commander and his men and have to use force they’ve still got ten full legions on their team. That’s a hell of a lot of muscle. You said yourself, the problem with killing an emperor was manoeuvring him into a position where he was vulnerable enough for you to do it and survive afterwards. I’d say this situation fitted the bill pretty well, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Perilla said softly. ‘Yes, I’m afraid it would. The profiting-from-the-deed criterion is satisfied too, because even if the senate weren’t happy with the situation Lepidus, as we said, would be far and away the likeliest choice for successor. In fact, the only choice that was practical. Especially with ten legions behind him.’

‘Yeah.’ I threw the tunic down onto a clothes chest. ‘Of course, we’re assuming that Gaetulicus has a reason to play ball. If so, it’s one we still have to find. I didn’t want to press Gallius on the subject, because he was suspicious enough already and I couldn’t go into the whys and wherefores, but he probably wouldn’t’ve known anyway and we have other ways of finding out.’

‘Such as?’ The lady reached for her sleeping gown.

‘Not here. Back in Rome.’

She paused. ‘You think we should leave?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so, Marcus. We haven’t been here any time at all, I know, but from what your tribune was saying the situation is going to get much worse, very quickly. It would be silly to stay and get caught up in things, so if you’re happy to go then I am too. Besides, with the winds against us it’ll take much longer, and we’re on a very tight schedule where the wedding is concerned.’

‘Mmm. Okay, so I’ll take a walk to the harbour offices tomorrow, see what boats there are.’ I went over and kissed her. ‘You, ah, sure you want that sleeping gown on? Just yet, anyway. It’s a warm evening.’

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ She kissed me back. ‘Perhaps I might leave it off for a while longer.’

So she did.

It took us almost exactly a month to get back, but we were lucky both ends: the Latona, the first passenger-carrying cargo ship out, had had a sudden last-minute cancellation (actually the punter concerned had come off second best in a scrap with a crocodile he’d poked with a stick in an attempt to impress his lady-friend), and also she’d be going to Puteoli, not Brindisi. It meant only the one cabin, mind, and with four of us squeezed in we’d’ve had to sleep standing up, but Clarus and I left it to the girls and bunked down with most of the other passengers in the scuppers.

Rome was still standing. After Alex it felt hot, cramped and crowded, and you noticed the smell, too. In Alexandria, in the summer especially, the prevailing wind from the sea keeps the air moving and fresh, and although it can get pretty niffy around the open canals the smell’s nothing to good old Tiber effluent, especially south of the Sublician where it’s had time to build up and where a lot of the big drains come out.

Even so, it was great to be back. Travel’s all very well, but you wouldn’t want to make a habit of it.

We spent the first couple of days recovering and getting into the swing of things again. We’d dropped Clarus and Marilla off at Castrimoenium on the way – I’d hired a travelling coach and driver in Puteoli – and Perilla had taken her precious material straight round to the dressmaker’s off Julian Square to be made up. I sent Lysias on the mare down to Ostia with Mika’s letter, plus various packages including a big one of stuffed dates for the kids and a promise to get over there as soon as I could and fill them in with the more general news in person.

I’d had plenty of time on the boat to think up a plan of action. For the immediate future, anyway. There was no point in getting in touch with Gaius or Etruscus: the first because I’d no solid proof of a conspiracy involving Gaetulicus yet, the second because if I was right and our grey eminence X was one of his colleagues then showing up at Augustus House propria persona and asking for an interview would be just plain stupid. As, in retrospect, it had been last time, but there you go. Secrecy cuts both ways.

So the first item on my agenda was another talk with Caelius Crispus. If anyone could point me at a candidate for X, barring Etruscus himself, then it was that muck-raking genius. Whether he’d be so amenable second time round was a moot question.

No appointment here, of course. With Crispus, the element of surprise counted for everything, and if I’d warned him in advance I was coming he’d’ve gone to ground and not shoved his nose out from cover until spring. Accordingly, on the morning of our third day back I went over to the praetors’ offices on the Capitol, gave the clerk on the desk a cheery nod and made my way to the shifty little bugger’s room.