David Wishart - Bodies Politic

The problem was, of course, that he’d know who I was, so knocking on his door and asking to talk to him just wasn’t an option: at best he’d have his slaves give me the bum’s rush, at worst he’d leg it for safer climes and stay there until the heat died down, leaving me to twiddle my thumbs. Probably warn his imperial pals that I was sniffing around again into the bargain. So I made my preparations. Finding where he lived was easy enough – a top-market rented property on the Esquiline – and I sent my smart-as-paint gardener Alexis over to hang around outside the house, follow him when he went out, and suss out my best chance for a private tete-a-tete. Then, when he reported back, I packed off another skivvy to Agron in Ostia asking if I could borrow him and a couple of his stevedore chums.

All this took four days. On the fifth – coincidentally, the day of Helicon’s party – we were set to roll. The deal was simple. Every morning, fourth to sixth hours, Seneca used a bath house in the Carinae near the Porch of Livia. Me and Agron and his two chums would follow him in, paying our entrance coppers like ordinary punters; after which I’d hussle Seneca into a quiet corner somewhere for our chat while the other three made sure we weren’t disturbed.

It went without a hitch. I collared the bastard in the changing-room and stiff-armed him while whispering in his ear that if he so much as squealed I’d dislocate his fucking shoulder. Then, with Agron and company in close attendance, I ignored the curious glances we were getting from our fellow would-be bathers and marched him down the corridor to one of the empty massage rooms.

Not that I need’ve worried about him squealing, in either sense of the word: when I let him go and he turned round his pudgy, jowly face was slack with terror.

‘Okay, pal,’ I said conversationally, pushing him back so that he sat on the massage couch. ‘I’ll start by telling you what I know, after which you can fill in the gaps, if any. That suit?’

‘I don’t know what you -’

‘Been there. Heard it. Let’s just skip that part, shall we, sunshine? You, Lepidus, Agrippina and Livilla are plotting with Lentulus Gaetulicus to have the emperor assassinated when he joins the Rhine legions for the British campaign next year.’

He gave a sort of mewling whimper. ‘I’m not -’

‘Involved? Sure you are. Right up to your greasy neck, which I am sure when I tell him Gaius will take the greatest pleasure in wringing.’ He swallowed and clammed up. ‘The only question is whether you’re in over the eyeballs as well. For instance. Lepidus and Agrippina roped in bubblehead Livilla by threatening to tell the emperor that you were screwing her, right? Now I’d like to believe that the lady herself made the running and you only started the affair because getting an imperial into bed with you gave you an in, as it were, with the ruling family. Simple ambition, opportunism and social climbing, in other words. On the other hand, I have a very dirty and suspicious mind, and there’s just the off-chance that the whole thing was deliberate from the beginning and that Agrippina suggested it to you. In which case, pal, you are really in schtook. You like to comment, maybe?’

He said nothing, but he went a shade greyer and his jowls wobbled. Bull’s-eye!

‘Fine. Now let’s move on to Gaius Anteius.’ That got me another scared look. ‘As a courier between you and Gaetulicus he’s perfect. He comes from Mantua, so if he takes the occasional trip north no one’s going to be surprised, and if he overshoots by a few hundred miles, well, who in Rome would know about that? He’s a fellow-poet, a friend of yours and an admirer of Gaetulicus, who also dabbles, so no one’s going to question the relationship either end of the line, especially if one of you wants him to carry a message to the other. Least of all Anteius himself, who I doubt would recognise a treason plot if it jumped up and bit him. Particularly if the kid’s all starry-eyed at being taken on by Agrippina and desperate to please.’ I paused. ‘How am I doing, by the way?’

He gave a strangled grunt.

‘ I’m delighted. So. The plan is that next summer Gaius will tootle off north to spearhead his triumphant campaign into Britain, probably taking – at his request – his good friend Lepidus with him. In the meantime his other good friend Claudius Helicon’ – another terrified stare – ‘plus his good mates in the imperial civil service have been working their little socks off to persuade him that sacking Gaetulicus, at least for the time being, is not a smart move. When he reaches Mainz the emperor will die in as unsuspicious circumstances as Lepidus and Gaetulicus can manage, the whole campaign and the changes to the command structure will be quietly shelved for the duration and Lepidus will return to Rome to be saluted by the senate and people as emperor, with Agrippina as his consort. Oh, and perhaps Annaeus Seneca as one of his chief advisors.’ I smiled. ‘There it is. What do you think? Have I missed anything? Any mistakes?’

The eyes that looked back at me were a terrified rabbit’s. He swallowed.

‘Lepidus was staying in Rome. Agrippina thought it’d be safer, he couldn’t be implicated. Gaetulicus would arrange the whole thing.’

I didn’t react, just nodded, but my heart had broken into song. Joy in the morning, I’d turned the bugger!

‘I need you to talk to Caesar, Corvinus. Tell him I made a mistake, I never meant to involve myself in treason.’ He was pawing at my tunic. ‘Tell him it’s all Agrippina’s fault. She forced me.’

‘You can tell him yourself, pal.’ I backed away. ‘Explain the whole thing personally. In fact, if you want to avoid the strangler’s noose or an invitation to slit your wrists that’s the course I’d recommend.’ Not that I thought it’d do much good: the ladies, being Gaius’s sisters, would probably get away with exile, but I reckoned the emperor would have Lepidus’s and Gaetulicus’s heads on a pole, and Seneca’s too. Not that the stupid bastard had been using it for much recently barring keeping his ears apart, so I didn’t have a lot of sympathy.

He made a little bleating noise. ‘Corvinus, I can’t! They’d…if she found out it was me who told the emperor Agrippina would -’

‘ Your problem, sunshine. I only make the recommendations. You think it over, I’ll be in touch.’ I paused, my hand on the curtain. ‘Oh, and in your own interests I really, really wouldn’t recommend passing on the content of this conversation to anyone, not even Livilla. The last guy I talked to who had second thoughts in that direction died suddenly of a fishbone in the throat.’ He gave another little bleat. ‘If it helps, just think of the loss you’d be to poetry.’

I went out. Agron and the other two were standing along the corridor with their backs against the wall, just out of earshot.

‘Get what you wanted?’ he said.

‘Yeah. Skip the bath and split a jug of wine?’ I looked at the two stevedores. Jupiter, they bred them big in Ostia! ‘Better make that four jugs.’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ Agron grinned.

I got back home in plenty of time to get ready for gatecrashing Helicon’s party. Again, I’d done my homework carefully in advance: he had a big house on the Pincian, where a lot of the new money was, and the bash would start in the early evening, an hour before sunset.

We were doing things properly: best mantles, scent at a gold piece the tiny bottle, Perilla dolled up to the nines with the family jewellery out of hock and the litter slaves washed, polished and gleaming. I was even taking the bugger a birthday present, one of these little models of the Alexandrian lighthouse with an oil lamp in the top that the souvenir sellers in the agora insist you can’t possibly go home without. Pure tat, sure, but I thought it was appropriate. And if we did get talking then it’d give me an excuse to introduce the subject of Alexandria.