Ovid (Marcus Corvinus Book 1) Read online

  Callias put his head round the door, presumably to ask if we'd finished with the starters. Before I had a chance to signal him the bastard had worked out what was going on and shot back out of sight fast as a greased eel. I reconsidered the tip in favour of a surreptitious knee in the groin on the way out. Perilla hadn't noticed him. Her eyes were still fixed on her plate and her fingers were systematically tearing the tiny squid in front of her into smaller and smaller pieces. There wasn't a lot left of it now.

  'We'd been engaged for about a year before I realised that it was the money he was interested in. Did I tell you that Augustus had left my stepfather his property when he exiled him? Anyway, Rufus had been badgering my mother from the first to let him take care of the family finances. It got quite nasty. If it hadn't been for Uncle Fabius I think he'd've had his way in the end.'

  'So why not break off the engagement?' I asked quietly. 'He'd no legal right to you or your money until the wedding. Why not just tell the guy to sod off?'

  Perilla shook her head. 'You haven't met my mother, Corvinus. She wasn't ill then but she still wasn't very strong-minded. And it was her money after all, not mine. Or Uncle Fabius's. My stepfather had made her caretaker of his estate.'

  'But Fabius Maximus was one of Augustus's closest friends. Surely he could've done something?'

  'He did what he could. But he'd no formal legal standing, only the right to advise. And Augustus had no love for my stepfather, remember. The wedding took place on schedule as agreed.'

  'So Maximus just let the shit get away with it?'

  Perilla smiled and nodded slowly.

  'He let,' she said carefully, 'the shit get away with it. As you so graphically put it. At least as far as the marriage was concerned. He didn't have any option there. The money, luckily, was a different matter.'

  I was getting interested despite myself.

  'So what happened?'

  'We got married. Rufus kept on at mother but there was nothing he could actually do, not while Uncle Fabius was alive to advise her. Mother always listened to Uncle Fabius. Besides, as you say, he was a good friend of the emperor.'

  'But then Augustus died.'

  'That's right. Augustus died. Closely followed by Uncle Fabius. Which was what Rufus had been waiting for. He'd been worming his way into Tiberius's favour for some time, you see. And when Tiberius became emperor Rufus went to him and asked that my stepfather's estate be formally transferred to himself as the property of a convicted criminal. We fought the claim in the courts and we won eventually, but it was a close-run thing. Now of course the estate is safe. With my stepfather dead it's my mother's absolutely and Rufus can't touch a penny of it.' For the first time she looked up from the fragments of squid and forcemeat that lay crumbled on the table in front of her. I'd expected tears but her cheeks were dry and her eyes were hard and cold. 'So now you know. Now you know how I feel about my husband. Why I hate him.'

  The silence stretched out between us like a winding-sheet. I don't think I'd ever been so completely lost for words. Or so embarrassed. Or so bitterly sorry for another human being. Or so helplessly angry.

  It was Callias who saved the situation. Forget the knee in the balls, I was really warming to that little bugger. He came in like one of these gods the Greek playwrights dangle above the stage to sort things out when they get their pricks tied in knots over a too-complex plot. Not that he was hanging from a crane, of course, but you know what I mean.

  'Shall I serve the main course now, madam?' he asked.

  Jupiter! I could've kissed him, and kissing male slaves isn't my bag, especially if they're as ugly as Callias. Perilla gave herself a sort of shake.

  'Corvinus, I'm terribly sorry,' she said. 'I've been boring you. You should have said.'

  'Hey, no, that's okay. It was fascinating.' Oh yeah! Well done, Corvinus. Another bummer in the conversation stakes. 'I mean no, it doesn't matter. Honestly.'

  Callias, bless him, didn't wait for further permission. He signalled to his minions who were waiting outside and they oozed in, cleared away the starters – most of which were untouched – and served the dinner proper. It was good plain stuff: pork in a sauce of honey and cumin, lentils with leeks, and a sea urchin ragout that made my mouth water just to look at it. Added to which Callias hadn't forgotten my instructions about the wine. I took the first cup at a swallow and held it up for more.

  Perilla sat back in her chair. 'You do the talking for a change, Corvinus,’ she said. ‘Tell me about your family.'

  Some particularly evil-minded god must've been hovering round the dinner table that evening. Oh, no, I thought. No way, lady. Having just lived through one downer there was no way that I was going to be responsible for the next. At some of the more literary (or pseudo-literary) dinner parties the guests produce tiny articulated silver skeletons which they jiggle while declaiming merry odes on the subject of fate, death and bodily corruption. As a form of entertainment that's never much grabbed me. The thought of going in for a little soul-bearing of my own re my father and our relationship (or lack of one) made my balls shrink. So instead, and apropos of nothing, I began to trot out a few items from my usual store of dinner party winners. Suitably expurgated, naturally. Which in the event proved the best thing I could've done.

  I never really thought I'd ever hear Perilla laugh, but she did, especially when I told her the one about the Vestal and the vegetable marrow. We'd both had more than a few cups of wine by then and the expurgation was wearing pretty thin; in fact she'd got to the silly stage when she'd laugh at (and agree to) anything, and I suspect that if I'd really wanted to get her into bed I could've done it without much trouble. With one of my usual bubbleheads I wouldn't've thought twice, but Perilla was different. She'd hate me for it in the morning, I knew, and I suspected that I wouldn't be too popular with myself either. So just before midnight I thanked her, said goodnight, and slipped old Callias all the cash I'd got on me. Then I whistled up the lads with the torches and went home.

  I wondered on the way if I was getting soft. Or had misread her. Or misread myself. All of them were possible plus a few more. No doubt I'd be feeling pretty smug and virtuous in the morning, but at that precise moment I just felt lonely.

  10.

  Forget smug and virtuous. Next morning I was too hung over to feel anything but delicate, which was a pity because I needed to go calling on Junius Silanus. Luckily finding the 'farm' Lentulus had mentioned proved to be easy-peasy, and I didn't even have to call in any favours.

  If you want to know who's who in Rome and where they hang out, just ask Bathyllus.

  I learned pretty early in life that slaves can be pretty clued-up people, and that a brand on your arm doesn't mean to say you're necessarily a thicko. Quite the reverse. I've seen senators that set next to the guy who opens my front door wouldn't even make intellectual pygmy status. And the slave grapevine has the imperial secret service beaten hollow. Try it yourself some time. Mention in your coachman's hearing that such and such a respectable octogenarian matron is screwing a gladiator and all over Rome next day you'll see slaves sniggering at her litter.

  Silanus's address was nothing. Bathyllus could've told me where the guy bought his underwear.

  Once you get beyond the working-class rabbit warrens round the bridges, the west bank of the Tiber is pretty thinly populated and definitely an up-market area, especially popular with rich guys who want to give the impression of loving the simple life. The slopes of the Janiculum are sprinkled with good old-fashioned farms each with its good old-fashioned picture gallery plus a few more homely features old Romulus would recognise straight off. Like five or six dining rooms (so the light's just right all year round), ornamental gardens or maybe even a private zoo. You can wake up in the morning to the crying of the peacocks and the smell of the rhinos and tell yourself there's nothing quite so invigorating as being close to your ethnic roots.

  Even in this company Silanus's villa was something else. Real top-of-the-market stuff, I could
see that straight off: a sprawling complex of buildings in its own grounds with a riding circuit attached so the guy didn't have to mix with the plebs while exercising his thoroughbreds and a covered litter-walk so he could take the air in comfort when it rained. Silanus might be out of favour, but he wasn't exactly down to his last copper penny, that was for sure. I only hoped Julia knew. You could just about have floated her island in the carp-pond.

  I presented myself at the porter's lodge. The guy on duty was squint-eyed, smelt of dank chicken feathers and looked big enough to beat the shit out of an arena cat.

  'I'm Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus,' I said.

  'Yeah?' The porter fixed me with his good eye while the other checked out the weather over Ostia. 'You want a round of applause maybe?'

  Gods! Maybe the guy had trouble extrapolating. I spelt it out for him.

  'I want to speak to your master.'

  'He's out.'

  'Look, Horace.' I stared him right in the chest. He was wearing an amulet of some god I didn't know, with pointy teeth and a big belly. Probably the patron of wall-eyed gorillas. 'Just run along like a good freak and tell your boss he has a visitor, okay? Can you manage that or should I write it down for you?'

  The guy scowled, leaned his massive shoulders against the gatepost and folded his arms. Stalemate. Scratch the friendly approach. I fell back on the old BTB gambit. Bribe the bastard.

  That, it seemed, had been what he was waiting for. He made a show of examining the silver piece I gave him like it was a mint condition Croesus original. Then he spat on it for luck, raised his tunic and slipped it into his breech clout. As a money box I reckoned it was the safest place going.

  'Okay,' he grunted. 'So what was the name again?' I told him and he nodded and disappeared inside, barring the gate behind him.

  Ten minutes later he was back. The grin on his face didn't improve it much but the poor bastard couldn't help that.

  'About time,' I said, preparing to barge past him through the half-open gate. 'So which way...'

  He stretched out his arm. It was like walking into the limb of an oak tree. The grin widened.

  'The master says fuck off,' he said, and pushed.

  The gate slammed in my face. It sounded pretty permanent, and I could hear the big guy walking off ho-ho'ing into the sunset.

  Great. So what was I supposed to do now? Sure, I could've made a fuss, maybe kicked at the door a little and tried out a few swear-words. That might've upset the neighbours, only there weren't any neighbours to upset. Besides, the gate was studded with more nails than a battleship. There had to be another way in.

  I began the long trek round the walls, looking for a convenient spot to shin over. Zilch for most of the way. Then, when I'd just about given up, I found the perfect ladder: a beech tree with a long overhanging branch. Getting up and dropping down on the other side would be easy-peasy.

  I took off my cloak, clambered up the trunk and along the branch, then dropped down on the villa side of the wall. There was no one in sight as I walked quickly through the rose garden, past the fishpond and over the lawn to the main building. I'd almost reached it when a young slave came out carrying a folding table. We stared at each other. Then, still carrying the table, he turned back the way he'd come.

  Hell. I had to do something fast.

  'Hey, you!' I bellowed. 'Yeah, you with the hair on!'

  There's something to be said for a rigidly-enforced class system and good old tortured patrician nasal vowels. The kid skittered to a halt and drew himself up to attention.

  'Yes, sir?'

  'Where's your master?'

  'In the north wing solar, sir.'

  'Take me there now.' And when he dithered: 'Come on, lad! I haven't got a fucking room plan! And you can leave the furniture behind. I'm not a bloody money-changer.'

  He dropped the table as if it were red hot. 'Yes sir. No sir. I'm sorry sir.'

  'Just do it, okay?'

  He swallowed. 'Yes, sir. If you'd care to follow me, please..?'

  It was certainly some place, and I've seen some places in my time. We walked along a Parian marble colonnade, then across a courtyard with a fountain in which two rampant satyrs were doing things with a nymph that I couldn't believe. I wondered who the artist was and whether he was still around to take commissions or if he'd been packed off somewhere for gross indecency. Finally the lad stopped outside a door and stood aside to let me pass.

  'Here we are, sir,' he said. 'Just go straight in.'

  Junius Silanus was feeding an African parrot chained to a perch. That is, the parrot was on the perch. Silanus was sitting in a high-backed chair beside it. He was a little rat-faced bastard well into middle age. I disliked him on sight.

  The feeling was obviously mutual. The guy glared at me like I was something the parrot had deposited in his dinner.

  'Who the hell let you in?' he snapped.

  'And I'm delighted to meet you too, sir,' I said. 'What a nice garden you have. Especially the fountain.'

  Silanus turned to the youngster who had brought me and who was standing goggle-eyed in the open doorway. 'Lucius, go to the front entrance and fetch Geta. Tell him we have an intruder.'

  The kid shot me a quick, scared look, bowed and left.

  'Come on, Silanus!' I said. 'This isn't necessary.'

  'Corvinus, isn't it?' He held up a melon seed. The parrot took it gently in its beak, turning it round and round to crack the outer shell. 'I believe you were told that I wasn't at home. Common politeness demanded that you take the hint and leave. Please do so at once before I have you forcibly ejected.'

  Pompous bastard. I hadn't met Latin like that since my teacher beat me through Cicero. 'Look, it's no big deal,’ I said. ‘I just want to ask you some questions, right?'

  'Your wants are immaterial.' The parrot spat out the fragments of shell and Silanus held out another seed. 'This is my house and you are trespassing.'

  'Okay.' There was a stool by the door. I sat on it. 'Just tell me about your affair with Julia and I'll go.'

  Silanus stared at me open-mouthed. Then he laughed. 'Young man, I may be out of touch with high society nowadays but I doubt if it's become the norm to walk into someone's house uninvited and question them about who they've been to bed with.'

  'Fair enough.' I leaned back against the wall and folded my arms. 'So let's talk about your so-called ‘exile instead. Where were you? Athens? Pergamon? Alexandria, maybe?'

  'All of these places. And a few others.' Silanus fed the parrot another seed. 'Not that it's any business of yours. Please close the door as you leave. My porter will show you out.'

  The guy was really getting up my nose. 'Hardly the back of beyond, right? Very civilised and enjoyable. No little shit-holes like Trimerus or Tomi, and a hell of a lot better than what Paullus got.' I paused. 'And speaking of Paullus, where does he fit in? Or don't you want to talk about that either?'

  I'd finally got through to him. If looks could've killed I would've been a little smoking pile of ash on his Carrara marble floor.

  'You're being offensive,' he said slowly. 'I was never formally exiled. I could go where I liked.'

  'Quite right, sunshine.' I smiled. 'Why should you be punished after all? None of it was your fault. You weren't the guilty one, were you?' I could hear running feet somewhere in the interior of the house, coming towards us. Lucius, probably, with the man-mountain Geta in tow. I didn't have much time left and I had to make the most of it. 'In fact I think it was pretty noble under the circumstances to leave Rome at all. Not to mention giving up a promising political career.'

  Silanus had heard the footsteps too. His narrowed eyes were shifting back and forward between me and the door.

  'How do you mean, noble?' he said. 'I had no choice in the matter.'

  They were almost here now. I could distinguish between the pitter-patter of Lucius's fairy feet and the pounding of the porter's heavy nail-studded boots along the wooden corridor outside. God knows what the cost of rep
airing the flooring would be. Not that Silanus gave a toss about that. So much was obvious from his expression. The guy's first priority was to get me out, and fast, which was interesting. I went for the throat and prayed that I'd guessed right.

  'Maybe you didn't have a choice,’ I said. ‘Maybe you just had to do as you were told. That doesn't matter. But it was pretty noble, wasn't it, to take the rap for something you never did in the first place.'

  His head came round as if I'd slapped him; and simultaneously the door burst open and I found myself grabbed by two huge hairy arms and hoisted off my feet. I didn't much care because I had what I'd come for. The unmistakable look of guilt on Silanus's face told me I'd hit the bull’s-eye.

  'You didn't screw Julia at all, did you, you bastard?' I shouted at him as the porter hustled me towards the door. 'Nobody did! It was a put-up job!'

  Silanus had risen from his chair. He was white as a sheet, with fear or anger or both. Beside him the parrot was screaming, dangling from its perch by the chain around its legs, its clipped wings beating frantically. I thought of the old woman's chickens in the Subura.

  Silanus spoke quietly; so quietly I could hardly hear him over the noise of the parrot.

  'Geta! Get him out of here!'

  The porter's huge hand was pressing against my mouth and his other arm encircled my ribs in a painful bear-hug. My feet left the ground and I was suddenly being carried kicking and struggling through a chain of richly-decorated rooms, past knots of gaping house slaves and across the front courtyard to the main gate.

  And that, when Geta had pitched me outside onto my ear, was when things began to get too interesting for comfort.