Ovid (Marcus Corvinus Book 1) Page 6

  Not that blackmail is my only hold over him. I am too old a hand to trust to that completely, and I know full well that not only are worms apt to turn but they invariably choose the most embarrassing moment to do so. Ceionius is well paid for the assistance he renders. Very well paid. Arminius is generous, and so I can afford to be generous in my turn. Between the carrot and the stick, I contrive to keep my ally moving.

  So much for Ceionius. Consider yourselves properly introduced.

  8.

  Lentulus's house was the exact opposite of Rufus's. It was big, old, sprawling and reeked of self-indulgence. There was no mosaic of Augustus in the lobby and the slaves wore green.

  There ain't no money like old money. I felt at home straight away.

  I'd been right about the dinner party. The old guy was sitting on a chair in the atrium being shaved and titillated. I watched from the doorway while the barber trimmed what little thatch still covered his bald scalp, patted him with scented talc and removed the unsightly hairs from his nostrils with tweezers. When a pause came in the disgusting proceedings I coughed.

  Lentulus looked round.

  'Hey, boy!' he greeted me. 'Some husband been wiping his boots on your face?'

  'Yeah. Something like that.' I came forward and sat carefully on the marble rim that surrounded the ornamental pool. Lentulus would've enjoyed the real story, I knew, but I didn't want to risk scaring him off. 'So what is it tonight? More pythons?'

  'Egyptian pygmy contortionists. They do it to music.' Gods! 'Don't sit there unless you want piles. Pull up a couch.' I lay down on the guest couch, and his slave brought wine and a bowl of fruit. 'Now, young fellah, what brings you to this neck of the woods?'

  'I've come to pick your brains, sir,' I said. Clichés are catching.

  Lentulus snorted, and the barber, who was reaching into his right nostril with the bronze tweezers, pulled back sharply with a grunt of annoyance. Lentulus ignored him.

  'Go ahead, boy,' he said. 'Not that you'll have much luck mind you. My old schoolteacher always used to say he was frightened to beat me too hard in case he did me permanent mental damage.'

  I didn't smile. The teacher had probably been serious. 'It's about Julia.'

  Again the barber whipped the tweezers away just in time as Lentulus's head came round.

  'What's that? Which Julia?'

  'The old emperor's granddaughter. The one that was exiled ten years back for adultery.'

  Lentulus took the napkin from his chest and slowly began wiping the talc and scraped-off hairs from his face.

  'Bugger off, Simon,' he said to the barber. 'You can finish me later.'

  The slave glared at him, gathered up the tools of his trade and stalked out.

  Lentulus grinned. 'Feisty little bastard fancies himself as some sort of artist. Been after me ever since I bought him to try a depilatory, but I don't hold with these things. Friend of mine had one once and came out in boils. Couldn't show his face in public for a month or his arse in private for two. And just in case you're wondering I don't mean the emperor.' He raised his voice. 'Hey you!'

  The slave who had brought the wine hurried over.

  'Let's have some of that stuff you've got there.' He finished wiping his face, threw the napkin onto the floor and eased his bulk onto the master couch. 'And top up Valerius Corvinus's cup while you're at it, you stingy bugger.'

  The slave did so and I drank appreciatively. It was Falernian again, and every bit as good as mine if not better. Lentulus might be a reactionary two shades bluer than Cato but he knew his wine.

  'Now.' he turned back to me. 'Why d'you want to know about Julia, young Corvinus? Not thinking of turning historian, are you?' The way he said it made it sound like a dirty word. I laughed.

  'No. I'm just interested.'

  'The hell you are. Let's have the real reason.'

  I looked at him. His piggy eyes, set in rolls of fat, were pretty sharp. Lentulus might not look much but he was smart, and I knew I'd have to watch my step. Sure, I couldn't tell him the truth, but then I'd be a fool to tell an outright lie, because he'd've been on to me like a stoat on a rabbit.

  'I can't tell you that, sir,' I was carefully polite. 'But it's important, or I wouldn't ask.'

  'This wouldn't have something to do with a certain young lady who's the stepdaughter of a certain dead poet, would it?'

  Shit. So much for the eager young ingénu approach. Well, that wasn't my bag anyway.

  'Okay,' I said. 'You've got me. Now tell me to push off like everyone else.'

  He grunted. The slave handed him a cup of wine and he drank it down and held the cup out to be refilled.

  'If I did,' he said, 'would you stop asking questions and go back to the things you spoilt young brats are supposed to be interested in?'

  'Probably not. I'd just find someone else's brains to pick.'

  'That's what I thought.' He gave me a long considering look over his winecup. 'All right. It's your funeral. So long as you realise you're none too popular at the moment in certain quarters, and you don't come crying to me when you get burned. Agreed?'

  'Agreed.'

  'Good lad. Just remember you said it. Not that there's much to tell. Julia turned out to be a fornicating little bitch just like her mother.' Augustus's daughter, another Julia, had been exiled the year I was born for the same crime. She'd died at Rhegium four years previously. 'It happened once too often and someone reported her to Augustus. He packed her off to Trimerus. End of story.'

  I felt cheated. 'I could've told you that myself. What about the details? Like who reported her?'

  'Search me.' Lentulus belched and kneaded his stomach. 'Mind you, she hadn't exactly been touting it around.'

  'How do you mean?'

  'I mean she was the housewife type, boy. A natural Married. Gossip, kids and jewellery, those were sweet Julia's limits. Except for the literary nonsense, of course, but women often get these silly ideas.' I thought of Perilla. Yeah. 'On the fat side too. Not that that means much. When these quiet well-built ones break out there's no holding them, eh?' He snickered. 'I remember a woman from Veii, Paulina her name was, big girl, tits like a bloody heifer...'

  'Who was her lover? Julia's, I mean?'

  'Plural, boy, plural. She'd been laid by half of Rome.'

  'Names?'

  'Chap called Silanus. Decimus Junius Silanus. Good family. His brother Marcus got the daughter after the scandal broke.'

  'Which daughter?'

  'Her daughter. Julia's, of course. Don't they teach you youngsters anything about society these days?'

  The name Decimus Silanus didn't ring any bells, but I'd heard of Brother Marcus. Sure I had. He was a real high-flyer, consul three years before, a friend of my father's and an arse-licker of the first order. I hadn't realised that his wife was Julia's daughter but it didn't surprise me. We patrician families stick together.

  'Who else? Who else was involved?'

  'You mean who else was screwing her? Half of Rome. I told you.'

  'Like who, for example?'

  Lentulus opened his mouth – and then closed it again.

  'Damned if I know, actually,’ he said. ‘Oh, there were plenty of rumours, and there's no smoke without fire, as they say. But Silanus is the only name I can give you for definite.'

  'So what happened to Silanus? Was he chopped or did Augustus just tell him to slit his wrists?'

  The old man chuckled and gulped at his wine. 'Nothing like that, boy! Social ostracism, that's all Silanus got. Wasn't even formally exiled, just deprived of the emperor's friendship. Mind you the bugger left Rome pretty sharpish all the same for healthier climes. Just been let back in fact.'

  I thought I'd misheard. 'Silanus is in Rome?'

  'As of a few days ago, yes.' Lentulus gestured with the winecup, spilling a little on the tiled floor. 'His brother swung it with the Wart. Not that he's back in public life, of course, and probably never will be. Tiberius isn't that generous. Got a little place the other side of
the river, on the Janiculum. Not that little, now I come to think. Joys of the rustic life, all that sort of thing. Still he was luckier than the bloody husband, wasn't he?'

  I swear the hairs crawled on my scalp, but I kept my voice calm.

  'Whose husband?'

  'Clean the wax out of your ears, boy! That's the second time! Julia's husband, of course. Aemilius bloody Paullus.' Lentulus's voice was slightly slurred. There couldn't've been much water in the wine we were drinking and he'd had two full cups of the stuff straight off on top of God knows how much more. He wasn't quite pissed as a newt but he was well on the way. 'He got chopped, didn't he? Served the bastard right.'

  Everything was suddenly very still and clear. I can remember staring past Lentulus at the mural on the wall, a mythological scene of Perseus with the Gorgon's head. The slave standing next to it with the wine jug shifted and the squeak of his sandals on the marble tiles went through me like a knife.

  'Paullus was executed? What for?'

  And Lentulus stopped. He stopped dead. Getting up, he set the winecup carefully on a nearby table. Then he turned to face me.

  'That was the wine talking, boy,' he said. 'Forget it, eh? I've told you enough. More than enough.'

  I set my own cup down. I had to. I was so excited I might've dropped it. 'Look, you can't just leave things there, you old bastard. Come on, I'll find out eventually anyway. What was Paullus chopped for?'

  Lentulus was still staring at me. He looked grey and very, very sober.

  'Okay, Corvinus,' he said. 'You asked for it and it's your funeral, remember. Just after Julia was sent to Trimerus Augustus had her husband executed for treason.' He turned away. 'Now go home and leave me in peace, boy. I don't want to see you again. Ever.'

  I thought about what Lentulus had told me on the way back from the Caelian. Or rather, about what he’d said he couldn’t tell me: the names of the other gents besides Silanus who’d been intimate with Julia. Coming from a gossip-monger like Lentulus the admission of total ignorance was surprising, to say the least. Sure, it was possible. Anything was possible. Maybe the guy genuinely didn’t know. But there was another explanation which, if it was the right one, opened up a whole new field of interesting possibilities.

  Lentulus couldn’t give me any more names because there were no more names to give. Forget the ‘half of Rome’ crap; as far as Julia’s partners went, Silanus was it. Full stop, end of paragraph, close the book. And that could mean...

  Interesting, right?

  9.

  I got back to Perilla's just on dinnertime. I'd gone home to change first (never go calling on a lady with a grubby mantle), and I'd also paid another visit to Cadmus's; not for the ring (I'd got that already) but to pick up a snazzy little pair of earrings I'd seen that I thought would look great against her hair. Alexandrian poets are okay in their place but I didn't want her to think I was some sort of culture freak. It would only lead to misunderstandings later.

  She'd chosen the subfusc look: a matronly mantle, the minimum of jewellery, and a hairstyle that could've come straight off the Altar of Peace. As a statement it was predictable but disappointing. I swallowed down my lust and prepared for a staid little domestic evening.

  She liked the earrings though. Even if she didn't let me put them on her myself.

  Callias served the honeyed wine (I hate that stuff but I was on my best behaviour), supervised the serving of the hors-d'oeuvres and then faded into the woodwork. I made a mental note to slip him a fat tip before I left. Tact in slaves is a thing to be encouraged, especially if you've designs on their mistress.

  'Well, Corvinus,' Perilla said as we settled down to the quails' eggs and stuffed dormice. 'How did your visit go?'

  I gave her the salient points, glossing over, of course, the doom-and-gloom aspects of the situation. There was no need for both of us to worry about my ending up with my throat slit. 'So we've got a couple of good leads,' I finished. 'Silanus being back in Rome's a definite plus.'

  'You intend going to see him?'

  'Yeah. I thought I might. It seems the logical next step.'

  'Why should he tell you anything?'

  'He's got no reason not to. The whole thing's over and done with. And it's too good a chance to miss. After all why mess around with middle-men? If anyone knows what your stepfather saw our Silanus is the lad.'

  'Do you know where he lives?'

  'Not exactly.' I rubbed a quail's egg between my palms to remove the shell. 'But I can find out. Lentulus said he has one of those fancy farms the other side of the Tiber. It shouldn't be too difficult to track him down. And I'm interested to find out how he managed to seduce Julia and get away with it while her husband got chopped. A trick like that might come in useful some time.'

  'Paullus was executed for treason, not because he was Julia's husband.'

  'You're telling me there's no connection? Come on, Perilla!'

  She selected a fish-pickle-and-honey canapé. 'If so then it's certainly not an obvious one. We're talking about different crimes. In one Paullus is the victim, in the other he's the culprit. Now if Julia had been married to Silanus and Paullus had been the seducer I could see your point. That is if you consider seduction of the emperor's grandchild per se as treasonable. Which personally I don't.'

  My head was beginning to hurt. I'd missed an opening there, I was sure of it. But I'm not used to discussing abstract problems over dinner. Wheel in the pygmy contortionists and stuff the Aristotle.

  'Besides,' Perilla finished the canapé and picked up a baby squid filled with sausagemeat, 'Silanus was punished. You said yourself he'd gone into voluntary exile. And he'll never hold public office again. Surely for a man of his standing that's punishment enough.'

  I frowned. 'Okay, okay. Have it your way. Maybe I've just got an over-suspicious mind, maybe everything is above board. But it won't hurt to talk to the guy at least.'

  Perilla laid the squid down and turned these lovely golden eyes of hers on me. 'You will be careful, won't you? It all sounds terribly politically sensitive. Don't go treading on any more toes. You've been beaten up once already over this. I'm sorry. Leaned on.'

  'Look, Perilla, the case is dead meat. It might've been sensitive five years ago when old Augustus was emperor. But Paullus is dead and buried, Tiberius is in power and Silanus is persona grata again. Okay?'

  'What about Julia? She's still alive on Trimerus, isn't she? Or have I missed something?'

  I sighed. The gods preserve me from feisty women. 'Julia's nothing to the Wart. She isn't even a relation.'

  'She used to be his stepdaughter.'

  'Until he divorced her mother.' Tiberius had been married to the elder Julia, the one who'd died at Rhegium. 'And from all accounts he never could stand that particular lady. It was a marriage of convenience, and you know what they're like, don't you?'

  It was just a throwaway line, I swear it, but as soon as I said the words I knew they were a mistake. A bad mistake. Like asking Oedipus's wife how her son was doing these days. Perilla lowered her eyes to her plate and her long slim fingers teased at the squid in front of her. The silence grew and kept on growing.

  'Shit,' I said at last. 'Look, I'm sorry if I...'

  'No, that's all right.' Her head came up. 'You aren't married, are you, Corvinus?'

  'Uh-uh. I run too fast.'

  She didn't smile. 'I am. But of course you know that. I've been married for six years.'

  Jupiter! How the hell did I get out of this? I tried to keep the conversation light.

  'Congratulations. Any kids?'

  Straight in again with both feet. Maybe it was my imagination, but I think she shuddered.

  'No,' she said quietly. 'No children.'

  'That's...uh...that's tough.' Desperately, I looked around for something to hang a change of subject on, but there's only so much you can say about stuffed olives and raw vegetables.

  'Maybe I should explain a little about...' she hesitated. 'About my relationship with my husband.'<
br />
  I didn't say anything. I'm a pretty good judge of mood, especially where women are concerned. Sure, with one of my bubbleheads I'd've been crowing long before now. When a lady starts bad-mouthing her husband under conditions like these you can usually be sure that the evening will follow a pretty predictable course. But this was no come-on. The ice was back for a start, and whatever Perilla had in mind it definitely wasn't busting a mattress strap together. She was sitting stiff in her chair –no enervating couch for this Roman matron – and staring down at her plate.

  'We met just after my stepfather was exiled. I must have been twelve, maybe thirteen. Rufus had been married before and his first wife had just died when he asked my mother for my hand in marriage.'

  I shifted uncomfortably on my couch. I'd've welcomed Callias back at that moment with open arms, honey-wine included. Even a minor incursion by German berserkers wouldn't've come amiss. However, we were stuck with no interruptions. If there were going to be confidences then I'd just have to grit my teeth and live through them. I didn't even dare risk a polite grunt.

  'It was a good match.' Perilla's eyes were still lowered. 'Rufus wasn't well off but he came from a good family. He was popular with Augustus, marked for promotion and a good political career. My mother had noble connections, not very strong ones – she's a distant cousin of Marcia, Fabius Maximus's widow – but things being as they were we were hardly popular any more at court. All in all I suppose I was very lucky really.'

  I sipped my wine. The click as I set the cup down on the table top was as loud as a door slamming but she didn't seem to notice.

  'We should have begun to suspect when Rufus suggested a traditional marriage,' she said. 'You know the kind I mean, where the wife's property passes to the husband absolutely.' I nodded, although she still wasn't looking at me. Marriages like that were still common enough in pukkah-patrician families, especially the ones that supplied the priesthoods, but they'd gone out of style generally for obvious reasons. 'Should have but didn't. Luckily Uncle Fabius – he was still alive then, and the head of the family – put his foot down. Rufus as I said wasn't particularly rich, and he had a bad reputation where money was concerned. So we compromised. He could have me after my sixteenth birthday but not my money.'