Bodies Politic Page 6

  Complicated, right?

  Still, we weren’t going to solve Alexandria’s Roman/Jewish/Greek problem in five minutes round an Ostian dinner table. It was time for a little tact. I put the spoon with its dumpling back down carefully on the plate. ‘Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing serious,’ I said to Cass. ‘Mika’s always been a worry-monger.’ That was certainly true enough: two years back, when a minor stomach bug had swept the city, Mika had sent a letter to Cass that read like it was a last desperate missive smuggled out before the plague wiped out all human life within the walls, and had her making offerings at every temple in Ostia. When a second letter arrived a month later to say it had only been a small dose of the gripes and enclosing a recipe for quince jelly she hadn’t known whether to cry with relief or curse her sister black and blue for the worry she’d caused. According to Agron she’d done both.

  ‘Not this time, Marcus,’ Agron said. ‘It’s bad, or getting that way. And it’s your fault.’

  ‘My fault?’ I’d been reaching for the wine cup. ‘How the hell can it be my fault?’

  ‘Come on, pal!’ He chuckled. ‘I mean the fault of you Romans. According to Mika, anyway. The governor’s a guy by the name of Flaccus, Atillius Flaccus. You ever hear of him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He was a crony of the Wart’s.’ Yeah, well, I’d suppose he’d’ve had to be to make Egyptian Prefect: the job has always been a direct imperial appointment. ‘Up to recently he was on the Jewish side, but now he’s done a U-turn.’

  ‘Not before time.’ That was Cass again, and it was snapped.

  Agron glanced at her. ‘Maybe,’ he said cautiously. ‘But at least it kept the peace.’

  ‘The peace?’ Cass’s spoon went down. ‘We’re not threatening the peace. All we’re doing is protecting ourselves. Trying to, anyway. The Jews are parasites, they’ve all the perks of living in the city with none of the duties. They don’t mix with us or anyone else if they can help it, they’ve their own assembly, their own courts, their own festivals -’

  Uh-oh; this was a bad one, and when Cass got the bit between her teeth she was worse than Perilla. I lowered my head and concentrated on my soup.

  ‘Cass, love.’ Agron put a hand on her wrist. ‘That’s enough. Come on, settle down, eh? And what’s this “us”? You were born here in Ostia. You’ve never even seen the place.’

  It was touch and go for a moment, but then she took a deep breath, patted his hand and smiled. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. But it still makes me angry.’

  Yeah, I could see that. And if someone like Cass could get so upset about conditions in Alexandria then there was trouble there right enough. None the less, I was interested. ‘How do you mean, “done a U-turn”?’

  ‘Flaccus used to support the Jewish community, like I said.’ Agron dipped his bread in the soup. ‘Stuck up for their rights to try purely Jewish cases, where only Jewish religious law was involved, in their own courts. Things like that.’

  ‘Hang on, pal. No problem there. It’s standard Roman policy anywhere a Jewish community’s concerned. Their religious law’s a minefield, even I know that. The governor would keep out of it, stay neutral. So long as no actual crimes or common issues were involved.’

  ‘That’s the point.’ Agron put the piece of bread in his mouth and chewed. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m no expert, I just know what Mika told us. But it looks like as governor he’s not sitting on the fence any longer, and he’s come down on the Greek side. Maybe it has something to do with what’s happening in Judea. They’ve had trouble there in recent years, riots, that sort of thing. A few hothead Zealot leaders crucified, and you know how these things spread, especially when religion and politics get mixed. My guess is he’s stopping trouble before it starts, sending out a message to keep his own local Jewish hotheads’ tails down.’

  ‘Are there any?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m only passing on what we get from the letters. Far as I can see, and reading between the lines, it seems like any hotheads there are’re Greeks, and Flaccus isn’t doing anything about them at all.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Cass said.

  ‘I’m sorry, love, but it is.’ Agron could be firm when he wanted, and he was firm now. She frowned but said nothing. ‘That guy Isidorus sounds a real troublemaker, for one.’

  ‘Isidorus?’ I paused, the wine cup half way to my mouth. ‘I knew an Isidorus, a couple of years back. Here in Rome. He was one of the Wart’s top men in the diplomatic corps.’

  ‘Different person, then. This one’s Alexandrian born and bred.’

  Yeah, well, that wasn’t surprising: Isidorus - Gift of Isis - is a pretty common Greek name, especially among Alexandrians. And I knew my Isidorus was an African, from Charax.

  ‘Flaccus threw him out of the city for rabble-rousing two or three years ago.’ Agron glanced at Cass again, but she was concentrating on her soup. ‘Now it seems he’s invited him back.’

  I put the wine cup back down. ‘That doesn’t make sense. Unless the guy’s changed his spots and promised to keep his head down in future.’ Standard policy again: like I say, a governor’s first job bar none is to keep the pax romana. Persistent troublemakers are either booted or chopped, and they stay that way.

  Agron shook his head. ‘He hasn’t and he isn’t. Not from what Mika says, although she’s delighted. As far as she and the Greeks are concerned the sun shines out of his arse at midnight.’

  ‘Agron!’

  ‘Sorry, love. But it’s true enough, Marcus. And he and Flaccus are bosom buddies now. Hence the threat of trouble. Oh, you’re Roman, you’d be safe enough personally because this is purely a Greek and Jewish thing, but even so if Perilla’s thinking at all of going over there now’s not the time.’

  Well, that was good to know, anyway, and I could always add it to my battery of arguments if the lady did raise the subject again. Still, it was odd about this guy Flaccus. Indulging a known troublemaker, especially one you’d previously sat down hard on, just wasn’t something any competent Roman governor would do, even if there were other issues. And the guy would have to be competent, because the Egyptian governorship was one of the top imperial jobs.

  ‘When exactly did Flaccus -?’ I began; but Cass interrupted.

  ‘I think we’ve had quite enough of the subject for one afternoon,’ she said. ‘Especially when the bad language starts to creep in.’ I grinned. ‘Now eat up your soup before it gets cold, Marcus. Then you can tell us more about the wedding. We’re looking forward to it, Agron and I. We’ve never been up to the Alban Hills, and it’ll be our first real holiday in years.’

  So we talked about dresses, and catering, and the arrangements for the honeymoon - Mother had offered Clarus and Marilla the use of the villa she’d just bought at Baiae for a couple of months - and I finished the wine off. Then the marauding hordes came back and I thought maybe it was time to be heading home.

  It had been a profitable day, all round. And tomorrow, or the next day, as soon as he could round them up and ferry them over, Agron had promised to let me have the kids.

  Once they arrived we were in business.

  CHAPTER NINE

  They came after sunset, two days later, six of them, loaded in a cart with Agron driving, plus a big-boned woman I didn’t know but who from the looks of her was another of Cass’s many sisters.

  ‘There you go, Marcus,’ Agron said, climbing down. ‘You get my message?’

  ‘Yeah, everything’s ready.’

  ‘Fine. I’ve brought you the sharpest of the bunch.’

  The kids - they were all boys, ten or eleven years old - jumped screaming from the tailgate. Bathyllus, who’d fetched me outside to say they’d arrived, blanched.

  ‘Now that’s enough!’ the woman snapped. ‘You’ve all been told! Behave properly!’

  There was instant quiet.

  ‘And this is Pausimache, one of my sisters-in-law.’ Agron grinned. ‘She’ll be keeping an eye on them while they�
�re here, if that’s all right.’

  I nodded to her. ‘Hi, Pausimache,’ I said. ‘Glad to have you.’ I was: the lads were typical Ostian kids and it would take an experienced Ostian mother to keep them in hand, which meant the female equivalent of a legion’s First Spear. Pausimache clearly fitted the bill. Good name, too: Stay-the-Battle. ‘Okay, boys,’ I raised my voice. ‘Listen a minute. We’ve put you in the east wing. This is Bathyllus. He’ll see that you’re comfortable.’

  Six pairs of eyes raked the little guy speculatively from head to toe and I saw him swallow. Me, normally I’d back Bathyllus against your crustiest senior senator or even a top-five-hundred dowager on a good day, but he was outclassed here and he knew it. With no Pausimache to ride shotgun on our guests he wouldn’t last five minutes.

  ‘Ground rules,’ I said. ‘The rest of the house is out of bounds. No chasing the chickens. No pissing in the fountain. No Bathyllus-baiting. And no, absolutely no interference with next door. Even if their cat does come over the wall you leave it alone.’ We’d trouble enough with our ongoing feud with the Petillius household without them finding that someone had lynched their Admetus, especially since the hellhound Placida had managed to nail his sister before she was dragged off in ignominy to Castrimoenium. ‘Understood?’

  They nodded. So did Pausimache. Grimly.

  ‘Right, then.’ I brought out Paullus’s sketches. ‘One each.’ There was a scuffle as they surged forward. ‘Don’t grab, and anyone who tears or loses his goes straight home. This is the guy I want you to find. No flashing it around, no asking people, don’t make it obvious, you keep a low profile and your mouths shut and just look at faces. Okay so far?’ Nods. ‘Fine. We’ll begin with the Palatine. There’re six ways up there, so again that’s one each. I’ll get slaves to show you where these are. First thing in the morning and last thing in the afternoon when work starts and finishes’re your best times, but hang around all day anyway and keep your eyes open. Pay’s a silver piece each a day, plus ten to the one who finds him and tells me where I can find him without him or anyone else knowing that I know. Clear?’ They all nodded again. There had been a lot of elbowing and grins when I mentioned the money, which was a good sign: these kids dealt in coppers, if they were lucky. A silver piece was a rarity, and ten of them was a fortune. ‘Right. Any questions?’ One hand went up. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Where’s the latrine?’

  The rest sniggered. Pausimache glared at them and they stopped.

  ‘Bathyllus’ll show you in a minute. Any other questions?’ No one spoke. ‘Get settled in and then first thing in the morning off you go.’

  They trooped off, with Bathyllus in the lead and Pausimache following behind.

  ‘They’ll do you a good job,’ Agron said when they’d gone. ‘What makes you think the guy’s on the Palatine?’

  ‘It’s a fair bet,’ I said. ‘He’d professional clerk written all over him, and he knew too much about me and Macro for him to be private. So imperial civil service is my best guess, and that’s where the main offices are. He won’t live up there, of course, but that’s all to the good because he’ll be in and out every day. We’ve got all the entrances covered, and the chances are that if he’s there we’ll spot him. If we don’t after two or three days we’ll try the Market Square district. That’s the other likely possibility.’

  Agron shrugged. ‘Seems a long shot to me, but you’re the expert. And like I say they’re good boys, they don’t miss much. If he passes one of them then you’ll know.’ He grinned. ‘Mind you, Bathyllus is going to have a hell of a time in the meanwhile, even with Pausimache around. So’s Meton because they eat like horses.’

  ‘Any special diet?’

  ‘So long as you feed them plenty and often they’re not particular. Food is food is food. They eat what they can get, when they can get it, and they can’t afford to be picky.’

  ‘When I knew you were coming I had Meton cook up a big pan of bean stew with meatballs. That do them for tonight?’

  The grin widened. ‘Meatballs? Marcus, they will kill for meatballs!’

  ‘Fine. Okay. So come in yourself and have something to eat. What about Pausimache? She want to eat with us or with the lads?’

  ‘Oh, she’ll stay with them. Two are hers anyway, the twins.’ Yeah, I’d noticed a couple of familiar-faced lookalikes in the bunch. ‘Besides, like I said she’s here to keep an eye on them and that’s a full-time job because they’re little devils. This business could be pretty hard on your furniture and fittings, Corvinus.’

  ‘If it finds me Dion I can take it.’

  ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  ***

  We sent them off the next morning after breakfast, with accompanying skivvies to show them which bit the Palatine was: none of the lads had ever been to Rome before, although I’d bet that wouldn’t stop them from being completely at home inside of a day. Ostia’s a hard training ground for kids, harder even than the Aventine or the Subura, and your average Ostian eleven-year-old is streetwise practically from when he can totter up to a fruit barrow and nick his first apple. It was a good breakfast, as well: Meton had worked his socks off filling them up with omelettes; things would be tough on the chickens, too, the next few days. Agron left at the same time for Ostia and Pausimache headed cheerfully in the direction of Cattlemarket Square on a big city shopping binge.

  Okay; so it was in the hands of the gods now. All I could do was wait.

  I was doing just that, in the shade of the portico with a half jug of Setinian, when Perilla got back from one of her literary outings and told me she’d wangled an invitation to a poetry reading the next day. For both of us.

  ‘You’ve done what?’ I stared at her in horror.

  ‘Got you invited to a poetry reading, Marcus.’ She was quite composed.

  ‘Lady, you know me and poetry readings! I can’t tell an ode from a fucking satire and I’m happy to keep it that way! Go yourself, sure, no problem, but leave me out of it!’

  ‘You’ll love this one, dear.’ She sat down in the portico’s other chair and took the fruit juice from the tray Bathyllus was holding. The little guy was looking definitely ragged, and I swear there was a twitch in his left eyelid. Less than a day, and our almost superhuman major-domo was feeling the pressure already. I hoped the kids found Dion quickly. ‘It’s Annaeus Seneca.’

  ‘Who the bloody hell is Annaeus Seneca?’

  ‘He’s a Spaniard. From Corduba. He’s also a rising orator.’

  ‘I thought you said it was a poetry reading.’

  ‘It is. He writes poetry as well. This is his first collection.’

  ‘He any good?’

  She sipped her fruit juice. ‘Actually, he’s absolutely dreadful.’

  I did a double-take. ‘What?’

  ‘His poetry’s complete drivel. And fawning, sick-making drivel at that.’

  ‘So why do you want to go?’

  ‘I don’t. Not at all. But you do.’

  ‘Perilla, I will kill you very slowly and painfully unless you -’

  ‘Seneca,’ she said, ‘is a protégé of Gaius’s sister Livilla. The reading’s in her house on the Palatine.’

  Oh, gods. ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘Certainly not. I bumped into Marcus Vinicius in the Pollio library - I told you I knew him - and he invited me himself. I asked if you could come too.’

  ‘That surprise him?’

  ‘No, of course not. You’ve never met, he doesn’t know you’re a complete literary boor, or at least I don’t think he does. And he’s a very nice man anyway, he’d never think of refusing.’

  Jupiter Best and Greatest! It’d be worth sitting through an hour or so of guff if it meant I’d get a chance to talk to one of the imperial sisters and her husband face to face. And I would, too, I’d make sure of that. Oh, I’d go careful, sure, and it might not produce any results; probably wouldn’t, in fact. But it was far too good an opportunity to pass up.

  I kiss
ed her. ‘Brilliant!’

  ‘I knew you’d be pleased. It’s early evening, an hour before sunset, so we’ll eat before we go.’ Good idea; I didn’t want to be sitting through a poetry recitation with a rumbling stomach. ‘We can take the double litter.’

  I skidded to a mental halt. Oh, hell! Of course we’d have to take the litter! No carriages inside Rome before sunset, so barring walking a litter was the only option. And I hate those things. ‘Ah...actually, come to think of it, Perilla,’ I said, ‘maybe it might be a better idea if we went separately and met up there.’

  She blinked. ‘Why on earth should we do that? You’re not doing anything tomorrow afternoon, are you?’

  ‘Just before sunset’s when Agron’s lads’d be reporting back. If none of them spots Dion today they might tomorrow, and seeing as we’re on the Palatine anyway I could arrange for the kid to meet me somewhere there instead.’ It sounded thin, but what the hell?

  ‘Oh, Marcus, for goodness’ sake don’t be silly about this! The reading will only last a couple of hours at most. Surely you can wait for any news until we get back? Or if you absolutely insist on knowing straight away you can come with me in the litter as far as the Pollio and then I’ll drop you off and go on ahead.’

  ‘Ah...’ Bugger; she was right, going separately didn’t make any logical sense. It would have to be the plain unvarnished truth. ‘I’d rather walk it, lady. Honestly.’

  ‘Marcus Valerius Corvinus, you are not turning up at an imperial poetry reading in a crumpled, sweaty mantle, even if you do hate travelling in litters!’

  I grinned; she’s no fool, Perilla, and after almost twenty years of marriage she knows my quirks inside out. Just like I know hers. ‘Yeah, okay,’ I said. ‘Fair cop. But I was dead serious about the kids: I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else all evening for wondering whether one of them had seen the guy. Besides, it’s not all that far to the Palatine, I’d get just as hot in a closed litter that time of day, if not hotter, and on foot I could take the short cut up the Staurian Stairs. I’d probably get to Livilla’s place before you did, and in far better shape.’