Last Rites (Marcus Corvinus Book 6) Page 25

  ‘Valerius Corvinus,’ Camillus said quietly. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’

  I’d been afraid this might happen, especially after the conversation with Perilla, but there wasn’t a lot I could do except go in swinging. ‘Uh-uh.’ I shook my head slowly. ‘Like I said with Nomentanus, it all fits. Sure, proving it depends on the findings of the commission, but I’m convinced in my own mind. Completely convinced. Lepida was the driving force – she was the one recruited Nomentanus – but the father had to be involved.’

  ‘But, Corvinus, Aemilius Lepidus is one of the most highly respected men in Rome.’ The deputy chief priest was still speaking quietly, like he was explaining to an idiot why two and two made four. ‘He is also, I must tell you, one of my oldest and closest friends and the most honourable man I know. Consistently honourable. There is no way – and I mean no way, Valerius Corvinus – that Lepidus would associate himself with a crime of this nature. Or indeed of any nature. I’m sorry, but whatever proof you think you have you are wrong. Totally and utterly.’

  Gods! I took a deep breath. ‘Look, sir. If Nomentanus did get that money – and I admit that’s something we still have to prove – then it must’ve come from somewhere. The connection with the man’s daughter is proven fact. Lepidus had a motive; in fact he’s the only person in this whole set-up, barring the daughter herself, who did.’

  ‘What motive could Aemilius Lepidus possibly have for engineering the death of a Vestal?’

  ‘Saving the family honour. I’m not saying he was in on it from the first, only that by the time he knew what was going on it was too late to back out. He–’

  ‘That would make no difference!’ Camillus’s hand slammed down on the desk; hard, and so suddenly and unexpectedly that I jumped. Our eyes locked for a good half-minute. Then he passed the hand over his face. ‘My apologies, Corvinus. That was unforgivably rude of me, and unmerited on your part. However, I stand by the words. Believe me, the moment Aemilius Lepidus became aware that he had involved himself in a crime, especially one of this magnitude, he would feel himself compelled to report it to the authorities. Whether his daughter was concerned or not. That, I can assure you, is a simple, absolute fact based on a lifetime’s knowledge. I’m sorry, but I can only repeat: however sure you are, you are nevertheless totally and utterly wrong.’

  Deadlock. Well, there wasn’t much more to be said. I’d got the guy’s promise that he’d set up a commission to investigate Nomentanus’s accounts. All I could hope for was that the proof would be there; that, at least, Camillus would have to accept, and I’d done my bit to my own satisfaction, if not to his. Not that I bore the guy any ill-will; he’d given me the truth as he saw it, and the responsibility for any prosecution lay ultimately with him and the chief city judge. I stood up. ‘Yeah. Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s leave it at that, then. At least the killer herself is dead, so I’ve achieved that much.’

  Camillus bowed his head for a moment, then looked up again. ‘Please don’t think I’m ungrateful,’ he said. ‘You really do have my congratulations. Nomentanus I am willing to accept, subject to further proof, of course. Lepida also. Knowing the woman’s character and past as I do, her guilt would come as no surprise. But not her father. Absolutely not.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. My mouth felt bitter. ‘Right.’

  Camillus paused. ‘This Myrrhine, incidentally. You told me very little about her, and I should have asked for more. She’s dead, you say?’

  ‘Yeah. She killed herself before we could get to her. And one of the Public Ponds Watch.’

  ‘Another corpse.’ The eyes closed momentarily. ‘She was a colleague of the dead flutegirl? What was her name – Thalia?’

  ‘No. She was a slave, attached to Cybele’s temple. That was how Nomentanus knew her.’

  ‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘The Board of Fifteen connection. You really have been extremely busy, Corvinus. And extremely thorough. So the woman was a temple slave?’

  ‘No. Only a devotee. She belonged to a guy called Considius Proculus. She ran out on him about a year back and knifed one of the other staff, plus subsequently a couple of the temple priests. She was hiding out in a tenement near…’

  I tailed off because Camillus had stopped listening. He was staring at me.

  ‘Gaius Considius Proculus?’ he said.

  There was a catch in his voice. Something cold touched my neck. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, that’s right. You know him?’

  Camillus’s face was expressionless. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, not personally. Perhaps it’s a coincidence, young man – these things happen – but Gaius Proculus was arrested and executed five days ago. By order of the emperor.’

  34.

  ‘Perilla, what the fuck is going on?’

  ‘Calm down, Marcus.’ The lady set the poem she’d been working on when I’d come in on the ledge of the ornamental pool. ‘And don’t swear, please. It isn’t necessary.’

  ‘According to Camillus, this Proculus guy is sitting peacefully at home with friends celebrating his birthday – his fucking birthday, for the gods’ sake! – when Macro’s goons force their way in and arrest him for treason. An hour later he’s being garrotted in the fucking Mamertine–’

  ‘Marcus!’

  ‘With no fucking trial and no fucking chance to defend himself. And I’ll fucking swear if I want to swear!’ I kicked the couch leg.

  ‘Marcus, you’re being childish. Stop it.’

  I took a deep breath and held it, then exhaled. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Sorry. But put yourself in my shoes, right? I thought the case was tied up with a nice neat bow round and then this happens. Where do you think that leaves me?’

  ‘Very angry. Yes, I can see that. Still, it’s no excuse for bad language.’

  Fair point. I threw myself down on the couch. ‘Okay. So let’s go back to the original question. Expurgated this time. What is going on?’

  ‘Perhaps nothing. It could be coincidence.’

  ‘No coincidence. That sort I don’t believe in. And the order was official, too: the Wart’s signature was on the document. One of Camillus’s broad-striper mates was there at the time and he made the officer in charge show him it.’

  ‘Then the man obviously had committed treason.’

  I laughed. ‘Perilla, come on, okay? You know what “treason” means as a charge as well as I do; just the word, with no details. Especially if there’s no explanation, no trial and a quick execution. The guy was stitched up. The question is why, and who by?’

  ‘If the emperor signed the order himself, then –’

  ‘The Wart’s on Capri. Sure, he probably did sign it, but one gets you ten it wasn’t his order. Most of the stuff over the imperial signature these days comes from Gaius and Macro.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Perilla put her chin on her hands. ‘What did Proculus say when he was arrested?’

  ‘According to Camillus’s pal he didn’t have a clue about the reason. Genuinely.’ I reached for the wine jug on the table beside me and poured myself a reviving belt. ‘Nor did Camillus himself. That smells. Whatever is going on here it stinks to high heaven.’

  ‘Very well. If you think there’s a connection with the murders then what is it?’

  ‘The gods know.’ I took a swallow of the wine. ‘But we’re in a whole new ball game now. A political ball game. Proculus had nothing to do with Cornelia’s death; he couldn’t have had. The only link the guy had was that he–’ I stopped. ‘Oh, Jupiter! Jupiter best and greatest!’

  ‘Marcus?’ Perilla’s voice was sharp. ‘Marcus, what’s the matter?’

  I waved her down. Sweet gods! Political was right! And it made sense; at least, some sort of sense…

  ‘Marcus, will you please tell me what the matter is.’

  ‘We know what Nomentanus got out of arranging Cornelia’s murder. We never asked about Myrrhine.’

  Perilla made a huffing noise and reached for her notebook and stylus. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘if you’re going to be in
furiatingly Delphic over this then–’

  ‘Nomentanus got himself off the hook over the loans business because whoever hired him picked up the tab. Myrrhine wanted something different. And it wasn’t money.’

  ‘So what was it? A pardon and her freedom?’

  ‘Uh-uh. Something less personal. Or rather personal in a different way.’

  ‘Marcus–’

  ‘She wanted Considius Proculus’s head. It all hangs together,’ I said as I refilled the wine cup. ‘And it means we’re talking top level here. Absolute top. We have to be, because there’s no way Nomentanus or Lepida – or even Aemilius Lepidus himself – could swing an execution order with the Wart’s signature on it. The same goes for Nomentanus’s cash bail-out. Sure, the Lepidi could manage a million or two at a squeeze, but there aren’t many families who could match them. Barring the Caesars themselves, naturally.’

  The lady had put the wax tablet down again. ‘You’re saying that the emperor is behind this?’

  ‘Tiberius? No way, never, not the Wart. Gaius, now…’

  ‘For heaven’s sake! Why should Prince Gaius pay to have a Vestal killed?’

  ‘Why I don’t know. Or not exactly, rather, because we’re back to young Marcus Lepidus’s secret. The kid was one of the prince’s circle of pals, remember, and he could’ve seen or heard something he wasn’t supposed to. That I’d believe, no problem: that bastard must have enough skeletons in his closet to fill a boneyard.’

  ‘But a Vestal! Marcus, he’s our next emperor!’

  ‘I’ve met him, lady. You haven’t. He’s ten tiles short of a watertight roof and he’s got an ego the size of the Capitol and a code of ethics you could drive a cart through. Killing a Vestal wouldn’t lose him much sleep. Believe me.’

  Perilla was quiet for a long time. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘How would it work?’

  ‘Practically? With Gaius pulling the strings?’ I sipped my wine. ‘No sweat, none at all. He’s on Capri himself, of course, but his buddy Macro’s in Rome. Very much so. Macro may be a prime bastard but he’s no thickhead, he’s the de facto imperial rep and he knows his way around. He’d have the lowdown on Nomentanus, for a start, and because the guy’s obviously crooked as a Suburan dice match the recruitment pitch would be easy-peasy.’

  ‘I thought you said that Lepida was the moving force.’

  ‘Uh-uh.’ I shook my head. ‘Not if the secret wasn’t hers. It has to be our pal the city judge. Lepida was involved, sure, but only as the second-stringer: Nomentanus would need inside information to pass on to Myrrhine, and his girlfriend’s the obvious source.’

  ‘You think she’d give him it? For the asking, as it were? She wouldn’t profit personally in any way, would she?’

  ‘Perilla, that bitch would do it just for the kick it gave her.’ I stretched out on the couch. ‘I doubt if she had any more motive than that. Our sweet little Lepida is not a very nice person. The word “rotten” springs to mind.’

  ‘So.’ Perilla was frowning. ‘Prince Gaius – through Sertorius Macro – recruits Nomentanus, who in his turn enlists the services of Myrrhine and Lepida. Nomentanus’s reward is purely financial: enough money to clear him of his up-and-coming debt to the Treasury with possibly a substantial sum over and above. Myrrhine’s price is the death of her former owner who persistently raped her as a child.’

  ‘Yeah. Plus, in Nomentanus’s case, a better-than-average chance at the consulship in a few years’ time. Having an emperor-elect in your pocket is pretty powerful clout in career terms. I’d say he made a fairly good deal.’

  ‘If he lives to collect on it.’

  I nodded. ‘Personally I wouldn’t take any bets. Playing footsie with Gaius Caesar isn’t exactly conducive to a long life. But then I get the impression the guy hasn’t got all that much between the ears, not where planning for the future’s concerned. I doubt if he thought that far ahead; or maybe he thinks he’s covered his back somehow.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Perilla played with a lock of her hair. ‘One thing puzzles me. Cornelia was killed, and Niobe, of course, but not young Marcus Lepidus himself. If the murders were intended as a cover-up then why not him?’

  ‘They’d’ve got round to it. Cornelia was the weak link, she had to go first. Lepidus was Gaius’s pal; he wouldn’t’ve told, not in a hurry, anyway. And by the time his mouth was the only one left to be shut he was dead anyway.’

  ‘All right. So what about motive? I mean Prince Gaius’s motive? You said it yourself: a million sesterces and a senator executed is a high price for safeguarding one secret. You’ve no idea what it could have been?’

  Yeah; that was the real bummer, and we couldn’t get past it. I took a swallow of wine. ‘Search me, Perilla. Like I say, the loopy bastard must have enough dirty underwear in his basket to keep a laundry going a year. But whatever it is, this one’s big. Maybe he’s planning to knock the Wart off his perch before his time.’

  ‘Unlikely. Tiberius can’t last all that much longer in any case, and apart from Gemellus he’s the only member of the imperial house left. Besides, as you said he virtually controls the state through Macro already. What would he gain?’

  Not a lot; added to which – although I’d never told even Perilla this – thanks to the Wart’s tame astrologer Gaius knew for a certainty that his name would be the next on the imperial decrees. An assassination plot at this stage just wouldn’t be worth the trouble. The same went for poisoning Gemellus’s porridge: the kid hadn’t even put on his adult mantle yet, he was a sickly wisp of a thing, and when the Wart popped his clogs one got you ten his Uncle Gaius would chew him up at a sitting without breaking sweat.

  ‘Excuse me, sir. Madam.’

  I looked round. Bathyllus had oozed in on my blind side.

  ‘Yeah, little guy?’

  ‘Meton asks me to intimate that lunch will be served in five minutes.’

  ‘Fine.’ The Call of the Chef. Well, we’d just have to leave it at that for the moment. I emptied my cup, picked up the jug and followed him through to the dining-room.

  There are worse crimes than murder…

  That was the key; sure it was. The problem was, I didn’t know what lock it fitted.

  I still wasn’t any further forward by bedtime; if indeed there was anywhere else to go. Sure, I wasn’t dumb: if Gaius and Macro were behind this – and I’d bet a year’s income to a poke in the eye that they were – then I wasn’t going to make much headway in any case. I’d had brushes with the imperials before, and I knew my chances of getting any of the dirt to stick where it belonged were about as good as an oyster’s were of making consul. Still, I’d’ve liked to solve the case for my own satisfaction, even if the bastards did go un-nailed. Camillus might be interested, too.

  I went to sleep with my brain still buzzing. I don’t usually dream – or at least if I do I can never remember the details – but this one was a beaut, clear as crystal. I was back in Athens with Perilla, at one of these highbrow plays of hers where the villain gets it in the neck in the final act after the chorus have spent two hours explaining in tedious detail why he or she has it coming. We were up in the top tiers with the fruit-and-nut brigade, looking down at the stage. There were two actors, one in a young man’s mask, the other in a woman’s. Maybe it was the distance – it seemed a hundred yards, easy – or maybe it was because the crowd on the benches around us were making so much noise, but I couldn’t hear what was going on, let alone recognise which play it was. I began to get bored, and I shifted around on my cushion until Perilla poked me in the ribs with her elbow.

  ‘Sit still, Marcus!’ she said. ‘How can they murder anyone properly with you fidgeting about?’

  ‘Who’s the guy?’ I said.

  ‘Corvinus, don’t you know anything about Greek drama, for heaven’s sake? Orestes, of course. And the woman is his sister-in-law Lepida.’

  ‘Uh… right. Right. Thanks.’ I tried to concentrate, but the old man at the end of the row had stood up, slipped on a pair o
f clogs and was tap-dancing down the staircase towards the priests’ seats. I recognised the Wart. Orestes stopped speaking and turned to stare at him.

  ‘Really, Grandfather!’ he snapped. ‘This isn’t necessary! I only had them murdered, after all. You’d think you cared.’

  Just then they swung a god from a crane above the stage; only it wasn’t a god, it was young Marcus Lepidus. He was wearing a tutu, like the hour marker on the water clock, only instead of holding a pointer he had a sword in his belly and his guts were spilling out. He held up his hand, and the three raised their faces to look at him. Drops of blood fell from the gaping wound on to the masks. The whole theatre was suddenly silent; I could even hear the creaking of the rope. Lepidus opened his mouth and cleared his throat.

  ‘Listen carefully, Marcus,’ Perilla whispered. ‘It’s the solution. The god always has the last word.’

  I bent forwards, all ears.

  ‘There are worse crimes,’ Lepidus intoned, ‘than murder.’

  . . .

  I woke in a cold sweat. It was worth it, though, because I knew now what young Lepidus’s secret had been.

  35.

  Next day I paid my really final visit to Furius Camillus at the King’s House where he had his office. I’d just given my name to the clerk on the outer desk when the acting chief priest’s door opened and a guy in military uniform came out. He gave me a quick, sour glance and carried on walking without so much as a nod. Yeah, well, I wasn’t crying. Sertorius Macro’s path and mine had crossed briefly a couple of years back when Sejanus was chopped, but on that occasion we hadn’t exactly forged the bonds of a lasting friendship. Now he had Sejanus’s old job as commander of Praetorians, a political no-hoper like me was beneath the great man’s notice. Also, of course, I’d spent the past half-month doing my best to bugger up his carefully orchestrated bit of whitewashing; unwittingly, sure, but these things are bound to rankle. No wonder the bastard had cut me dead.

  ‘You can go in now, sir,’ the clerk said.