Bodies Politic Read online

  ‘Hang on, Perilla,’ I said. ‘You and me, fine, but I’m not sure about the kids. Cass’s Mika said there might be trouble there shortly.’

  She paused. ‘You never told me that. What kind of trouble?’

  Bugger. Well done, Corvinus. Marvellous. Mouth open and foot straight in as usual. ‘Ah...between Greeks and Jews.’

  ‘Marcus...’

  I backtracked, desperately. ‘Oh, I’m sure it’ll be okay. Agron said himself, we’re Romans, we won’t be involved. And you know Mika. Exaggerate, exaggerate, doom and gloom, everything’s a crisis. Besides, the two communities’ve been at loggerheads with no real harm done for years.’

  ‘In that case Marilla and Clarus are definitely coming.’ She was sitting on the couch. ‘It’s their wedding. Marilla can help me look for dress material, she can even get her wedding dress made there. And Clarus has never been further than Bovillae. It’ll let him see a bit of the world. At least we should give them the opportunity to refuse.’ She got up, crossed the space between the two couches, and kissed me. ‘I think it’s a marvellous idea, dear. Whatever your reasons are. And old Stratocles will be delighted to see us. Now, I’ll just go and talk to Lysias.’

  She went out.

  I took a swig from the winecup that Bathyllus had handed me as per usual when I’d arrived back. Well, barring the slight wobble at the end that’d gone okay. Not that I’d had any doubts that it would, mind, because it’d been the lady’s idea in the first place. And, like she’d said on the earlier occasion, there were plenty of sailings from Brindisi this time of year. The crossing would only take twelve days, max, which meant that including the trip down to Brindisi in the sleeping carriage we could be there in about half a month. All the major arrangements for the wedding were already made; we were just at the fine-tuning stage. A round trip was possible inside the time, despite what I’d said before.

  Meanwhile, I wanted to think about the business with the imperials. Oh, sure, Etruscus had put the lid on that good and proper, but after mature consideration I wasn’t convinced that there wasn’t something there, maybe an angle that the guy himself wasn’t aware of; although they hate to admit it, civil servants don’t know everything. What it was, and how it connected, I had no idea; but the implications of the Gemellus plot, plus the stage-managed accident with the cart, suggested that it fitted in somewhere along the line. Besides, I’d got that itch at the back of my neck that always comes when things’re slightly out of kilter, even if the how isn’t immediately obvious, and that I’d learned to trust over the years. Etruscus wasn’t infallible, he could make mistakes like the rest of us, and he couldn’t know everything. Certainly the angle was too promising just to let it drop. And I might as well do something while we were waiting for our Alexandrian boat.

  Which meant dirty linen.

  Caelius Crispus.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I packed Alexis off to Ostia first thing in the morning and then walked over to the city judges’ offices on the Capitol where Crispus worked. To use the verb loosely.

  Mind you, maybe that wasn’t altogether fair any more. When I’d last seen him about eighteen months previously the erstwhile professional rumour-merchant and all-round slug had been well on the way to becoming a born-again conscientious civil servant. Not that it had seemed to blunt his appetite for insalubrious gossip, fortunately, or his sense of smell for sniffing it out, which was what I was interested in. If anyone could help me in the dirty-linen-furkling business then it was Crispus, the ace dirty-linen-furkler. All he needed was a little persuasion.

  I got the slave to show me up to his snazzy office: Crispus might not be a praetor himself, but he’d wormed his way so deep into the infrastructure that he’d somehow managed to bag a room which was top of the range. When I went in he was sitting behind a desk that could’ve been filched from the palace. Knowing Crispus it probably had been.

  ‘Oh, bugger,’ he said.

  ‘Morning, Crispus.’ I gave him my best smile. ‘And what a lovely morning it is. Not too hot, nice fresh breeze -’

  ‘I’m busy, Corvinus. As usual. What is it this time?’

  Well, there was no point in beating about the bush. ‘You know the imperials? Agrippina, Livilla, Vinicius? I was wondering if -’

  He was on his feet. ‘Out!’

  ‘Oh, come on, pal!’ I went over to the desk, pulled up a chair and sat on it. ‘I’ve got the emperor’s blessing.’

  ‘And I’m the bloody King of Parthia. Out!’

  ‘It’s true. I talked to him myself and he’s given me carte blanche. You wouldn’t like to upset the emperor, now, would you?’

  That one went home, as I knew it would. He frowned. ‘Corvinus, if you’re pissing me about -’

  ‘Cross my heart, hope to die. Private interview at the palace, just me and him, face to face.’

  ‘He actually gave you permission to investigate his sisters?’

  ‘Any questions I liked. Told me to follow my nose, enjoy myself.’

  ‘You swear it?’

  ‘Carte blanche.’ I held up my hand. ‘All his own words. I so swear.’

  ‘Good gods!’ He sat down again. I’d never seen Crispus really, really fazed. I saw it now. ‘Why the hell would he do that?’

  I shrugged. ‘He has his reasons.’ Well fudged, Corvinus. That’d been close. Crispus knew I wouldn’t lie under oath, but being the product of twenty generations of slippery politicians comes in handy sometimes.

  ‘All right. What do you want to know?’

  ‘Anything and everything that they might not want me to, pal. Let’s take Vinicius first.’

  ‘Vinicius?’ His eyes widened. ‘Why’re you interested in him?’

  ‘You mean I shouldn’t be?’

  ‘There’s no reason I know of. He’s squeaky-clean. Totally above board. Not a peccadillo out of place.’

  ‘He isn’t having an affair with Agrippina?’

  Crispus laughed. ‘Corvinus! Please! Venus herself could parade past that guy stark naked and making beckoning signs and he wouldn’t look twice. He hasn’t got an adulterous bone in his body. Besides, he can’t stand the woman and it’s mutual.’

  Yeah, that’d been Perilla’s assessment too. Still, it was nice to have it confirmed by an expert. ‘And he wouldn’t be interested in, uh, taking over if Gaius left off?’

  He gave me a sharp look. ‘That what this is about? Conspiracies? Treason?’

  ‘Could be,’ I said cautiously. ‘It’s one angle, anyway.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ He licked his lips nervously. ‘Look, Marcus -’

  ‘Gaius’s blessing, remember? What about Livilla?’

  ‘Forget her too. Thick as two short planks, and not the ambitious type. She’s screwing Annaeus Seneca, mind, but -’

  ‘Livilla’s having an affair with Seneca?’ I stared at him.

  ‘Very discreetly. It started a couple of months ago.’

  ‘Does Vinicius know?’

  Crispus chuckled. ‘Not unless they’ve been having it off in the reading room of the Pollio, dear. And even then he probably wouldn’t notice unless they were doing it on top of a book he was using at the time. As a husband he’s an adulterer’s dream.’

  Gods! Mind you, I did wonder if Crispus hadn’t got his assessment wrong for once, because Vinicius might be a culture-freak but he wasn’t blind or stupid. And in retrospect that comment he’d made about Circe the enchantress at the poetry reading had been pretty apposite. Maybe he just didn’t care. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘The big one. Agrippina.’

  ‘Oh, now!’ He licked his lips again, but this time not from nervousness: Crispus was the scandal-monger’s scandal-monger, and he was beginning to enjoy himself. As I’d known he would if I could get him going. ‘Where do I start? She has picked up with a lovely young North Italian boy. Quite dewy and virginal. One of the new quaestors. In fact, that’s the reason he is one of the new quaestors.’

  ‘Gaius Anteius?’

  ‘You know
him?’

  ‘Yeah, we’ve met.’ Jupiter!

  ‘Of course, he’s just a passing interest. I’m not sure if they’re even sleeping together, but the innocent lamb is certainly besotted. And Ahenobarbus is at death’s door anyway, so he’s out of it.’ He hesitated. ‘The really juicy gossip, though - and keep this to yourself, because it’s top-grade and definitely not common knowledge - is that she’s currently consoling the young widower. Aemilius Lepidus.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Fact.’ He beamed. ‘His wife so recently dead, too. Quite convenient, that, isn’t it? Mind you, Agrippina never could stand Drusilla, especially since she was Gaius’s favourite sister. But she’s always had a soft spot for Lepidus. Particularly after the emperor fell ill and named Lepidus as his heir.’

  My stomach had gone cold. ‘Hang on, pal. That was Gemellus.’

  Crispus shook his head. ‘Oh, no. Gemellus was the heir on paper, naturally. But when Gaius fell sick he passed his signet ring to Lepidus and Drusilla.’

  Bloody hell! I sat back. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Absolutely certain.’

  Oh, joy in the morning!

  ***

  ‘I’ve cracked it,’ I said.

  Perilla looked up, startled, from her book. ‘I’m sorry, dear?’

  ‘The case.’ I set the wine jug and cup on the folding table between us - we were out in the garden again - and dropped into the wicker chair. ‘It’s cracked. Wide open, top to bottom. Lepidus and Agrippina are plotting to replace Gaius.’

  ‘Oh, Marcus!’ Not a gasp of appalled horror or congratulations, more of a heard-it-all-before sigh. Hell.

  ‘Come on!’ I said. ‘We knew it had to be something like that. Given the fake Gemellus conspiracy it was obvious. The only question was which of the imperials was responsible.’

  ‘All right.’ She put the book aside. ‘Why Lepidus and Agrippina? In combination, I mean?’

  ‘Because they each have something the other needs, and together they fit the bill perfectly. And they’re definitely an item. Crispus was sure about that.’

  ‘Caelius Crispus is a dirty-minded degenerate muck-raker.’

  ‘True. Only he’s a professional dirty-minded -’

  ‘Marcus. Please.’

  ‘All I’m saying is he takes a pride in his work, and he’s been living successfully off muck-raking for years. He knows what he’s talking about. And when he’s sure he’s sure. That’s the thing about Crispus: the guy’s hundred-per-cent reliable.’

  She sighed again. ‘Very well. Explain.’

  ‘Fine. We’re assuming Gaius is dead, right?’

  ‘How does he get that way?’

  I frowned. ‘They kill him, of course. Jupiter!’

  ‘Marcus, it is not easy to kill an emperor. You have to be very sure he doesn’t suspect you in advance, you have to be certain that no one can stop you doing it when it happens, and assuming you do succeed you have to know that you’re safe and will profit from the crime. Unless you can tick all these boxes you’re a fool to try. You think Agrippina and Lepidus are fools? Agrippina especially? Or perhaps Gaius himself is?’

  ‘Ah...no, but -’

  ‘There you are, then. So I’ll ask you again: how do they kill Gaius?’

  Gods! ‘Come on, lady!’ I said. ‘I don’t know! That’s a detail! Just give me a chance, okay?’

  She sniffed. ‘Very well, dear. Carry on. We’ll assume that the emperor is dead.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I took a swig of the wine. ‘Right, then. Let’s take Lepidus first. There’s no direct heir, so with his family and imperial connections he has as good a claim as any, and better than most. Plus Gaius has already designated him as his successor.’

  She looked startled. ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said smugly. ‘That was something else Crispus told me. When the emperor was ill he handed his ring to him and Drusilla. In front of witnesses.’’

  ‘Wait a moment.’ She was twisting her hair: a good sign because it showed she was moving onto the defensive. ‘Drusilla was Gaius’s favourite sister, yes?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘But, Marcus, surely that makes all the difference! Gaius wasn’t appointing Lepidus as his successor because he was Lepidus, only because he was Drusilla’s husband. And now Drusilla’s dead that connection’s gone. Don’t you think that would weaken his claim just a little now?’

  ‘That’s the nub of the thing. I told you, lady: give me a chance. It all works out, believe me.’

  ‘Very well. You still have the floor.’

  I topped up my winecup. ‘So. To sum up for Lepidus. He’s from a good family with imperial ties that go back to Augustus, he’s already been marked de facto as a successor, and as far as the senate is concerned - and they’re the ones who’ll be making the choice of emperor - the only other candidates with a claim to the job are Marcus Vinicius, who’s a political non-starter, and Claudius, who’s an idiot. The drawback - the only one - is that with Drusilla dead he has no direct link with the imperial family any more.’

  ‘Oh, Marcus!’ A different Oh, Marcus! this time. She was beginning to see where I was heading.

  ‘Agrippina, now. She’s a full-blown five-star imperial. She already has a son, the only one of the sisters who does, so the dynastic line’s already assured. She’s married at present, yes, but she’ll be a widow before the year’s out. And she’s an ambitious, ruthless, smart-as-paint bitch. You getting there, lady?’

  She’d stopped twisting her hair. ‘They do complement each other, don’t they?’

  ‘Like fish-pickle sauce on radishes.’

  ‘And Crispus is sure? That they’re having an affair?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘So the idea would be for Lepidus to become emperor, marry Agrippina, adopt young Nero and make him his heir?’

  ‘Right. He gets the immediate kudos but Agrippina gets to play Livia to his Augustus, which she’d do to perfection. And eventually her son makes it to the purple.’

  ‘You don’t think they -?’ She stopped. ‘I mean, Drusilla’s death was convenient, agreed, but a husband and a sister! They wouldn’t!’

  ‘Of course they would. They’d have to. Things don’t make sense otherwise.’

  She frowned. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Okay. Gemellus and Silanus died when?’

  ‘The end of last year.’

  ‘And Macro and Ennia?’

  ‘About two months later. What has that got to do with -?’ Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Right. It all has to do with timing. Drusilla died less than a month ago, by which time the fake Gemellus plot, which cleared the ground, had been dead and buried along with its protagonists for almost half a year. Unless Agrippina and Lepidus - or one of them, at least - was pretty hot in the prediction business, that was fairly fortuitous, now, wasn’t it? Crispus obviously believes Drusilla’s death wasn’t natural, but there again the guy’s a dirty-minded degenerate muck-raker, isn’t he? That type’ll believe anything.’ I took another swig of the wine. Perilla said nothing. ‘So. Crunch time. You think the scenario’s valid?’

  She was quiet for a long time. Finally she said: ‘Oh, yes. It makes perfect sense.’

  Hey! ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘No criticisms at all. Barring what I said about the problems of killing Gaius, as a theory it hangs together perfectly. It might even be true.’ Ouch! ‘Only -’

  ‘Only what?’

  ‘Well, several things, really.’

  A cold wind blew: several things? ‘Such as what?’

  ‘First, where does Etruscus fit in? After all, if what he wanted you to bring to light by investigating Macro’s death was a plot against the emperor the broad details of which he already knew, then why should he be so shocked and surprised when you mentioned the imperials? That makes no sense at all. And what about these two men Flaccus and Isidorus? He obviously thinks they’re vitally important, but in your theory they play no role at all.’ />
  Bugger; she was right. In all the excitement I’d forgotten all about Etruscus. ‘Yeah, well...’

  ‘Secondly, what about this “accident” of yours? You said yourself: Agrippina couldn’t have known you were going to be on the Stairs in time to arrange that, and for the same reasons nor could Lepidus.’

  I was on firmer ground there. ‘Yeah, they could,’ I said. ‘I’ve thought about that. Livilla would know, and she’s having an affair with Seneca. Crispus told me that as well. Her husband isn’t aware of it, or not according to Crispus, anyway, but more to the point I’d bet Gaius isn’t either. My guess is Agrippina and Lepidus have got her on the team - at least marginally - by threatening to tell the emperor. Gaius wouldn’t take kindly to his sister committing adultery with a no-account hack poet from Spain. They’d both be heading for their respective fly-speck islands before you can say “Pandateria”’.

  ‘Hmm. Which brings me to the last point. Even if you’re right about this plot, what can you do?’

  ‘Jupiter, Perilla! Tell the -’ I stopped. Fuck! She was right again! Even though Gaius was accommodating, it was only a theory: I’d no proof, none whatsoever. And without it the emperor wasn’t going to take kindly to being told that practically the entire imperial family wanted to put him in an urn. ‘Ah.’

  ‘Quite.’

  At which moment Alexis came in.

  ‘I’ve booked the passage, sir,’ he said. ‘A passenger-carrying merchantman sailing from Brindisi in seventeen days’ time.’

  ‘Perfect!’ Well, at least that was done. And we could pick up Clarus and Marilla on the way.

  Rome, for the present, was played out. We’d have to see what Etruscus’s Alexandria had to offer

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  We set out five days later, in the big sleeping carriage plus one cart for the supernumeraries and another for the luggage: twelve days would be enough to get us to Brindisi, sure, with good roads all the way, but you don’t take chances where sailing times’re involved. Or pickups: I’d sent a skivvy haring down to Castrimoenium to tell Clarus and Marilla that we’d meet them at the Appian crossroads near Bovillae on the evening of the first day, but delays happen and it was best to be careful.