Sejanus (Marcus Corvinus Book 3) Read online

  'Governor,' I said wearily, 'I've met the guy exactly twice, once ten years ago and once today. Neither meeting lasted above five minutes. That's hardly time for a valid assessment. And as far as his being bad for Rome is concerned the emperor obviously thinks otherwise. Or are you calling Tiberius a fool?'

  'Personal acquaintance isn't the issue. And as you know, Tiberius is not in full possession of the facts.'

  'Oh, really?'

  'Corvinus, don't play games!' Lamia snapped. Either he had a lot less patience than when he'd been running one of the Empire's top provinces or he was more keyed-up than he appeared. 'You're too old for that now, and I certainly am. Ten years ago you were involved in an investigation which it was my duty as the emperor's representative to impede. I wasn't in full possession of the facts then myself, I don't claim to be now and I have no wish to be; however, I suspect they proved that while Sejanus was acting with the emperor's mandate he was also engaged in secret activities of which Tiberius was unaware, and which he would certainly have viewed as dubious.'

  'Dubious', hell: the bastard had been committing treason, only not the kind he could easily be nailed for. Even so, I didn't see why I should make Lamia's job any easier. Let alone agree to what he obviously wanted from me.

  'Like you said, Governor, that was ten years ago.' I turned away briefly. Perilla was still talking to Mother and Cosconia, but she shot a glance in my direction. She looked anxious. You and me both, lady, I thought. I turned back to Lamia. 'Maybe you're right, maybe I am too old now to play games. Especially dangerous ones involving Aelius Sejanus.'

  Arruntius had been hanging back like a Greek chorus, letting the governor take centre stage. Now he moved closer and took hold of my wrist. He had strong, blunt fingers like a wrestler's.

  'We were hoping that you might agree to resume that investigation now,' he said softly, 'so that Tiberius can be apprised of the true situation and change his mind. Before it's too late.'

  There it was. Masks off. We stared at one another, and it may've been my imagination but Lamia didn't look any happier than I felt. Well, at least he'd put out the right signals in advance, and Livia had warned me this would happen one day. I'd always wondered, if and when the time came, which way I'd jump.

  The snag was that I still didn't know.

  'So you want someone to dig the dirt on Aelius Sejanus and hand it over in a nice neat parcel to the Wart?' I said. Neither of them answered. 'Why me?'

  'We've been over that,' Lamia grunted. 'You have a head start. And you have the temperament for it. Uniquely so.'

  Well, flattery would get him nowhere. If it was flattery.

  'I'm still surprised you need me, Lamia,' I said. 'You're the bastard's cousin, after all.'

  I regretted the words even before his bony face turned red with anger: I'd never believed even at the time that Lamia was in Sejanus's pay, and I didn't believe it now. But it was a fair point, and it needed making.

  'We didn't expect immediate agreement,' Arruntius said quickly. 'Let alone trust. Think it over first before you give us your answer. But remember that in asking for your help we don't ask lightly.'

  Yeah. That I'd believe. I knew that 'we', I'd heard it all my life from Dad: the patriotic plural comes second nature to broad-stripers, despite the fact that they're the most disunited bunch of self-servers you'd never hope to meet. So. Rome's senate wanted the upstart Sejanus pegged out for the crows. No surprises there, but I was surprised that Arruntius had agreed to do their asking for them. If he had clout – and he had it in spades – it was because he wasn't one of the gang. Of the three men that Augustus once said could run the empire Arruntius was the only one the cunning old bugger had no reservations about. That sort of recommendation doesn't come cheap.

  I turned away again; not towards Perilla this time but in the direction of Dad's pyre. It was mostly ash now, with a few glowing embers and a scattering of charred logs at the edges. Time, soon, for the wine and the picking over of the bones. When we burned him, I'd once said, we'd find a poker with the words ‘Property of the Senate and People of Rome’ written on it. I was sorry for that now; he hadn't deserved it, or not in the way I'd meant it at the time. No, there'd be no poker. But a good part of the old guy had been Rome's after all.

  'Oh. One more thing, Corvinus.' Arruntius was reaching into the fold of his mantle. He brought out a sealed letter. 'I was instructed to give you this. I don't know the contents, but I suspect they may be relevant, and they may help you decide.'

  I took the letter and turned it over in my hands to read the spidery superscription: 'For Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus. Personal, to be delivered at the proper time.' No signature, but I recognised the handwriting. Sure I did. I could even smell the camphor.

  Livia never let go, did she? Not even when she was two years dead.

  2.

  We got back late. Bathyllus, as usual, had the door open for us even before we'd stepped out of the litters. If anything the little guy's psychic powers had improved with age.

  I'd kept up the house on the Palatine, partly through sentiment, mostly because to sell it would've been an admission that I was finished with Rome. That I couldn't be, ever. The city was in my bones, and if I'd trusted myself to live there quietly without scratching the dangerous itch of curiosity now and again I'd never have left. Expensive, sure, but we came for visits regularly, and Mother and Priscus had used it for a while after their own place had been gutted in the big Caelian fire.

  'Hey, Bathyllus.' I handed him my stripped-off mantle and took the pre-dinner cup of wine he held out. 'Everything okay now?' A genuine question: the caretaker staff we left in Rome didn't come up to the little guy's high standards. The first few days back there was always blood on the walls.

  'Yes, sir.' Bathyllus folded the mantle carefully. 'I've cancelled the arrangement with the jobbing gardener and located the missing mushroom dish.'

  'Great. Good work.' I took a long swallow of the Setinian. Beautiful. You can get it in Athens but somehow it doesn't taste the same. 'That mushroom dish was worrying me.'

  Perilla took off her veil while I carried the wine into the living-room and lay down on our usual couch. Bathyllus had brought her a chilled fruit juice. She lay down beside me and sipped at it.

  'He'd have been pleased, Marcus,' she said at last. 'Your father. Especially at the funeral speech.'

  'Yeah.' I helped myself from the jug on the table. 'Old Appianus did well. If he'd had a few more teeth he would've been almost intelligible.'

  'What did Aelius Lamia have to say to you?'

  'You recognised him?'

  'Oddly enough, I generally do tend to recognise governors who've thrown me out of their provinces. It's one of the skills I had to develop when I married you.'

  I grinned and kissed her. How Perilla can be so prickly and yet make a put-down sound like a compliment has always amazed me. She's pretty good at puncturing a black mood, too. 'Nothing much,' I said. 'He and his pal Arruntius want me to put the skids under Sejanus for them, that's all.'

  Perilla sat up wide-eyed, spilling her fruit juice over the couch arm.

  'Oh, Marcus! No!'

  'That was my reaction.' I took another swallow of wine; the Special was mellowing nicely now it had a chance to sit in the cellar. Luckily my stepfather Priscus wasn't a drinker. He kept his enthusiasms for important things like tombs and Oscan optatives.

  'They're mad!' She was still staring. 'Insane!'

  'Sure they are. They're senators. It goes with the stripe.'

  'No, but really!'

  'Oh, I agree. You want me to give you the arguments against it myself, just to save you time?' I counted them off on my fingers. 'Sejanus is as dangerous as a crocodile in a swimming pool. He's the Wart's ears, eyes and hands in Rome. I don't know the political ropes here any more. I'd get nothing out of it if I won, not even thanks, and a short-cut to the death mask if I lost. And it's none of my business anyway. Those do you or should I start on the other hand?'
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  'Marcus, be serious!'

  'I am being serious. Believe it.'

  'But why you?'

  'No one else is stupid enough.' I didn't tell her about Livia's letter, although it wouldn't've surprised her: Perilla knew as much about the old empress as I did, but I wanted to read that privately first. Or maybe just burn it unopened.

  'Corvinus, that is not being serious!'

  I shrugged. 'They seem to think I'm their best bet. And they're desperate.'

  'You turned them down, of course.'

  I'd been hoping against hope she wouldn't ask that. 'Uh, not in so many words, no.'

  'Oh, Marcus!' She reached for my wine cup and emptied it at a swallow. 'What the hell do you think you're playing at?'

  I blinked; the lady doesn’t swear all that often, and when she does you take notice. 'Hey,’ I said, ‘I didn't actually agree. I never even said I'd consider it.'

  Flannel, flannel. Well, I didn't expect it to work, and it didn't.

  'You do realise, don't you,' she said, 'that we left Rome to avoid attracting that man's attention? I would've thought one funeral in the family was enough for a while.'

  I shifted uncomfortably. 'It's not that bad. I only –'

  'It isn't even as if you have the excuse this time that Livia has forced you into it. And you certainly wouldn't have imperial protection. Quite the reverse.' She filled the cup again, looked at the wine with distaste and set it down. 'Marcus, why?'

  I put my free arm round her shoulders. She was stiff as a steel rod.

  'Because it's something I can do,' I said. 'Instead of making speeches in favour of things I don't believe in, or hammering the hell out of foreigners who'd rather not be blessed with the benefits of Roman civilisation.' I paused. 'Or maybe there's just something wrong with my brain.'

  She looked at me for a long time, then smiled gently to herself and kissed me. Her shoulders lost a little of their tenseness.

  'Your father understood,' she said. 'He may not have agreed, but he did understand. He never blamed you, not really. Don't forget that.'

  'Dad's got nothing to do with this.'

  'No. Of course not.' She kissed me again and pressed closer. 'I married you because you were different, you didn't fit in. But remember that if you died I'd make a bad and very sad widow. Much worse than Cosconia. Think about that before you do anything silly, won't you? And you don't have to prove anything to me, either.'

  After we'd eaten I locked myself in the study and took out Livia's letter. There was a lamp burning on the desk. I looked at the clear flame, considering. Then with a twist of my thumb I broke the seal.

  The letter was two years old, dated a month or so before the empress had died. She'd written it herself – I'd known that from the superscription – and the writing sprawled across the page like the tracks of a drunken spider:

  To Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus. Livia Julia Augusta gives greetings.Well, young man, I'm dead and burned at last, or you wouldn't be reading this. Let me say first that I have no regrets, either about being dead or for having removed so many of my collateral relatives before their proper hours. I acted for the good of Rome; and Rome, although presently she believes herself hard done by under Tiberius, will look back and thank me for him. She could have done worse; she will certainly do worse when my son has gone and she discovers the quality of what is left. So no apologies, and no justifications.

  Which brings me to the point of this letter. Aelius Sejanus. We talked a little about him the last time we met. Again the fact that you are reading this shows that the time for talk is past. The man is a malignant growth, a danger to Rome, and he must be removed. No; I dislike euphemisms. Sejanus must be killed.

  I don't suggest you do it yourself. I can't see you knifing him in the back or poisoning his porridge, although I could make some suggestions there, as you know. That would be far too risky, and besides overt murder is always a mistake. Consider Brutus and Cassius, who performed the very laudable act of killing the far-from-divine Julius and got nothing but death and infamy for their pains while taking most of Rome's best with them. The question mark, Corvinus, must always be there, if only for the purposes of insurance. In Sejanus's case exposure of his true character in Tiberius's eyes will be quite sufficient. Then, assuming my son hasn't lost the wits he was born with, he can be rendered harmless and those cowardly fools in the senate relied on to finish the job for you.

  So. How is he to be exposed? That, my dear, I leave entirely to you because I have the utmost faith in your expertise. For the same reason (and for the reason which you so astutely divined in our last interview) I am giving you no help whatsoever in the way of inside information. Find things out for yourself, young man. I would, however, suggest that an examination of the records of trials before the senate over the past eight years will make instructive reading, plus, of course, any others which postdate my own death. I have already approached the senate's archivist Junius Rusticus in this connection and should he still be alive when you read this he will be happy to give you access. If not you must make your own arrangements.

  That is all. I wish you luck, which I am certain you don't need. Oh – one more thing, a personal matter. I called you, at the close of our interview, a 'divine idiot' and compared you to my grandson Claudius. I regret that bitterly: not the term, nor the comparison, but simply that you misunderstood it as an insult. That was most certainly not my meaning, and I apologise sincerely for any hurt caused. Should you ever have the opportunity, talk to my son's astrologer Thrasyllus. Normally, unlike Tiberius and my late husband the god, I have no time for such nonsense, but in Thrasyllus's case I make an exception. He is an honest man by his own lights, and – so far as I can tell – genuinely gifted. Ask him about Claudius; discreetly, please, there are certain understandable rules about these matters. What he tells you – if he tells you anything – will surprise you, and perhaps alter your opinion of my remark.

  Again, Corvinus, and for the last time, my thanks. You will be acting, as I have always acted, for the good of Rome. Fools look for public acknowledgement and public honours. You will have neither, ever; and you will not, I think, care too much. We altruistic beings who truly love Rome (don't laugh, young man! I can hear you, but I mean it!) are above such things.

  I am entrusting this letter to Lucius Arruntius. He has his faults, but he is, believe me, one of the few true Romans left. He knows nothing of its contents, and although – because! – he is an honourable man I would hesitate, were I you, to count on his practical assistance. A keen sense of honour is not a quality we require in this business, nor indeed is it a very safe one. Burn this now. You have my prayers.

  Yeah. That was Livia, all right. I picked up my cup of Setinian and scattered a few drops to the thrawn, tough-minded old so-and-so's ghost: where she was at the moment I'd bet she needed all the prayers she could get. Then I burned her letter as instructed, in the flame of the lamp, and ground it to ash. There was a lump in my throat as I did it, why I don't know: she'd used me before, she was using me again, and this time she hadn't even had the grace to ask. I owed her nothing; quite the reverse.

  I'd go after Sejanus like she wanted me to do; sure I would, I couldn't help myself. Whatever the cost, and however crazy it was. But then Livia, like Lamia, had known that all along.

  3.

  It was good to be walking in Rome again, even if the city had changed. Not physically, or at least not much: buildings had gone up and come down, especially in the Subura where fires and collapsing tenements were a way of life, but the streets themselves were the same. And the smells. I hadn't been kidding when I'd told Arruntius I missed the smell of the Tiber. Athens may have a river of her own, but it's small and reasonably clean, like everything else in the philosophers' city, and that goes a long way towards explaining the Athenian character. A few thousand tons of ripe Tiber mud upwind tend to keep you practical.

  But ten years was a long time, and I'd lost friends. Scylax was dead of a stroke five
years back. Daphnis ran the gym for me now, and it was just a profitable investment these days: I'd never really hit it off with Daphnis. Agron was still around, but he was in Ostia and married to the daughter of an Alexandrian boat-builder who'd given him three kids and a paunch. The last time I'd seen Agron he had baby puke all down his tunic. He'd been proud of it, too.

  Yeah, well. Life moves on, and even Rome can't stay still. I was heading for the Treasury on the Capitol, where the senate's records are kept, and although the Subura wasn't exactly on my direct route I cut through it for old times' sake. Not that I had much time for sightseeing: Bathyllus had run round – as far as the little guy is capable of running – to make a formal appointment for an hour before noon. After he'd gone I'd wondered whether sending him to Rusticus in advance had been a mistake, but cloak and dagger stuff's never been my bag. It only gets you noticed.

  The first person I saw inside the Treasury building was Caelius Crispus. He'd put on weight and lost hair and teeth, but he still oozed. Good quality mantle, though. Trio wasn't the only slimy bastard who'd gone up in the world since I left.

  'Corvinus?' Crispus was looking at me like I'd walked through the wall and rattled my chains at him. 'What the hell are you doing in Rome?'

  'Yeah, and I'm glad to see you too, sunshine.' Not true. Given the choice between running into a flea-bitten baboon with halitosis and Crispus I'd've taken the monkey every time. 'You still have your attachments, then.'

  'I'm Permanent Undersecretary of the Military Treasury now, if that's what you mean,' he said with dignity.

  'Jupiter! You're saying they let you near the army pay-chest? Do the lads on the Rhine know about this?'

  That got me a scowl. Maybe I'd touched a nerve: all sorts of scams go on in the Treasury, even in these rigidly moral days, and Crispus was as straight as an Aventine dice game.