Germanicus marcus corvin.., p.1
Germanicus (Marcus Corvinus Book 2), page 1
Germanicus
David Wishart
This US Kindle edition 2015
Copyright © David Wishart 1997
www.david-wishart.co.uk
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical or photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
Dramatis Personae
(Purely fictional characters appear in lower case)
THE IMPERIALS
TIBERIUS (Otherwise the Wart; so-called on account of his skin problems):
The current emperor.
LIVIA: 'The empress'; Tiberius's mother and Germanicus's grandmother.
GERMANICUS: Tiberius's stepson, lately dead in Syria.
AGRIPPINA: His wife.
DRUSUS: Tiberius's son; currently commanding in Pannonia.
LIVILLA: His wife.
ROME
Agron: An Illyrian metalsmith; friend and client of Corvinus.
Bathyllus: Corvinus's head slave.
CARILLUS: Piso's freedman; now a Suburan butcher.
COTTA (Marcus Valerius Cotta Maximus Messalinus): Corvinus's uncle; one of the two current consuls.
Capax: Daphnis's cousin, Piso's former coachman; now a freelance litterman.
Crispus, Caelius: A dealer in scandal, loosely attached to the Treasury.
Daphnis: Scylax's slave assistant.
Lippillus, Flavonius: An officer of the Aventine Watch.
MESSALINUS (Marcus Valerius Messalla Messalinus): Corvinus's father.
Meton: Corvinus's chef.
PERILLA, Rufia: Stepdaughter of the poet Ovid; now Corvinus's wife.
PISO, Gnaeus Calpurnius: Ex-governor of Syria, accused with his wife PLANCINA of murdering Germanicus.
Priscus, Titus Helvius: Corvinus's mother's husband.
REGULUS, Livineius: One of the defence lawyers in Piso's trial.
Secundus, Gaius: A friend of Corvinus; formerly on Drusus's staff in Pannonia.
Scylax: Corvinus's client; owner/manager of a training gym.
TRIO, Lucius Fulcinius: One of the prosecutors in Piso's trial.
Vipsania: Corvinus's mother; now married to Priscus.
ANTIOCH
ACUTIA: Vitellius's wife.
ARTABANUS: Current king of Parthia.
Baucis: Martina's sister.
CELER, Domitius: Formerly on Piso's staff; now second-in-command to Rufus.
Critias: Corvinus and Perilla's temporary head slave.
Giton: Vonones's former coachman.
LAMIA, Aelius: The current Syrian governor.
MARSUS, Publius Vibius: The Syrian deputy governor under Piso and Lamia.
MARTINA: A Syrian suspected of poisoning Germanicus.
Orosius: A clerk in the records' office; friend of Giton.
Philotimus: Owner of the Two Cedars guest house; Corvinus and Perilla's
landlord.
RUFUS, Publius Suillius: Perilla's ex-husband; now commanding the Third Gallic Legion.
Sulpicia: Marsus's wife.
TAURUS, Statilius: Corvinus's friend, currently serving as tribune with the Sixth Legion.
Theon: Captain of the Artemis.
VITELLIUS, Publius: A senior member of Lamia's staff; friend and colleague of Germanicus who helped prepare and present the case against Piso in Rome.
VONONES: An exiled king of Parthia, now dead.
1.
So there I was, joy of joys unlooked for, back at the palace for another private talk with the empress. Hermes, the messenger-ape who led me through the maze of corridors to her office, hadn't changed in the eighteen months since I'd seen him last; not even his underwear, judging by the mouldy cheese smell that drifted back and up my nostrils. I didn't make any smartass comments, mind; there're some things even I won't risk, and sassing palace slaves is one of them. Besides, you don't cross gorillas. Not when they can lead you up dark dead ends where they can work their evil will in peace and shove your head where you won't find it until the next census.
The secretary in the lemon tunic behind the desk hadn't changed either. He gave me a look like I'd stepped in dog puke somewhere along the way and the fact was still painfully obvious, then carried on tidying his already immaculate nails with a slip of pumice, waiting for an introduction.
The gorilla spoke. 'Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus, to see Her Excellency the Empress.'
Amazing what you can teach these things, with patience and a bit of fruit. The secretary never batted an elegant eyelash. He consulted his appointments list and made a firm tick.
'You're late, Corvinus,' he said.
'Yeah, well, I –'
'Never mind. We're here now, and that's all that matters, isn't it?' He stood up with a flash of insincere teeth and a whiff of hair oil. 'Her Excellency will see you immediately. That's all, Hermes.'
The ape nodded and loped off without a backward glance. Feeding time at the canteen, no doubt.
'This way, sir.' The secretary knocked gently on the double doors, pushed them open and stepped aside.
I recognised the smell at once. Camphor. It brought me out in a sweat. After the last time I'd been in this room I'd sworn never to let Bathyllus buy another mothball again. Old age, old crimes. Livia.
She was sitting behind her desk, as if she'd never moved. The same lifeless cosmetic mask, the same dead eyes. I wiped my sweaty hands on my mantle.
'Come in, Corvinus,' she said. 'How nice to see you again. Do have a seat.'
I pulled up the ancient Egyptian chair. That was familiar, too.
'Your Excellency,' I said.
Her dead eyes focused behind my left shoulder.
'Make absolutely sure that we're not disturbed, Phormio,' she said.
'Yes, Excellency,' the secretary murmured. I heard the doors close with a solid thunk and tried not to think of tombs. Shit. She might at least have told the guy to bring us some wine. I could've murdered a cup of Setinian.
The eyes swung back to me.
'And how is the lovely Rufia Perilla?' The mask cracked and I realised that Livia was smiling. Or trying to. 'Well, I hope?'
'She's okay. Excellency.'
'No problems with the divorce or the wedding?'
'No.' My palms were sweating again. I wiped them surreptitiously.
'That's good. I'm glad I was able to help there. Her ex-husband Suillius Rufus really was quite unsuitable. He's still serving in Syria, as I understand.'
'Yeah. He commands the Third Gallic.' I crossed my legs, leaned back and tried to look calm. The chair creaked dangerously.
'He wasn't too upset, then? About losing his wife?'
'I wouldn't know, Excellency.' Like hell I didn't. Rufus, by all accounts, had been fit to be tied when he got the news that Perilla was divorcing him and marrying me. Getting his Eagle had been no compensation. I swallowed and wiped my palms a third time. At that precise moment given the choice between a fist-fight with an arena leopard and swapping social chit-chat with Livia I'd've gladly picked the cat, no contest. 'Uh, I'm sorry, but might I ask why you sent for me? Please?'
She held up a hand. 'Corvinus, you really must have patience. It's a most valuable virtue and one well worth cultivating.' Not from where I'm sitting, lady, I thought. The sooner I was out of here and on the lee side of a wine jug getting quietly smashed the better. 'I promise you we'll come round to my reasons in due course. Meanwhile let me assure you that I bear you no ill will with regard to our past meeting. None at all. Quite the reverse, in fact.'
Oh, sure! The last time I'd sat in this chair Livia had made it clear she'd dance on my grave wearing her best clogs, and I doubted that she'd sweetened up any since. I trusted her just as much as I would a snake with a migraine.
'The Third Gallic, you say.' Her eyes were on the desk, and she was toying with the writing-tablet in front of her. 'They're based in Antioch, are they not?'
'Yeah. Yeah, that's right. So far as I know.' I cleared my throat.
'Then that would make sense. Rufus was a protégé of my grandson Germanicus, of course. No doubt the appointment was made before he died.' Her eyes came up and looked directly into mine, and I felt my balls freeze. 'So unfortunate, my grandson's death, was it not? Such a loss to Rome. And to our family.'
The silence lengthened. Jupiter Best and Greatest! I still didn't know what the empress wanted from me, but I did know I wanted nothing to do with it. There was complicity in those eyes, and knowing what I did about Livia and her involvement with past 'unfortunate' deaths the last thing I needed was a shared secret. And of course there'd been the rumours. She'd know about these. Sure she would.
'If you think so, Excellency,' I said at last.
Livia laughed suddenly. The sound was like an ungreased gate swinging.
'Oh, Corvinus, I like you,' she said. 'I like you very much. You're so terribly transparent.'
'Uh, yeah.' I was sweating worse than ever. Baiae must be nice this time of year. Or maybe somewhere further off. Like Alexandria. 'Yeah, well...'
The empress stood up and groped for her stick. I'd forgotten how old she was. And how tiny. Seated, I was almost her standing height.
'I know exactly what you're thinking,' she said. 'You think I arranged Germanicus's death myself.'
I gaped. She'd hit it smack on the button, of course. Sure I thought that, along with half of Rome; but I wasn't going to admit it, not to her fac
She was still smiling at me. I've seen cats at the Games smile like that just before they overtake their lunch.
'You see?' she said. 'Transparent as glass. Of course that's what you think. I could argue the case myself. First of all, Germanicus was married to Agrippina who is a Julian and whom, as you know, I cannot stand. Their children, although part Claudian, naturally carry the Julian blood. Secondly, Germanicus was poisoned; and again as you know I'm no stranger to poisons. Thirdly, his death is popularly attributed to the Syrian governor Calpurnius Piso and his wife Plancina, and Plancina is one of my oldest and closest friends. I thus have motive, means and - through Plancina -opportunity. I am therefore guilty. A simple solution. QED.'
'Lady, please! I really don't...' I swallowed and clammed up: I was sweating buckets now. What the hell did the woman want from me? Blood? Sympathy? A round of applause?
Her smile faded.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm teasing you, and I really shouldn't do that, especially since I want to ask a favour. Forgive me. Now watch what happens next and listen very carefully, because I don't want you leaving here with the feeling that I've somehow cheated.' Leaning on her stick she hobbled over to the portable altar in the corner of the room and laid her hand on the top. 'Are you ready?'
Ready for what? 'Ah, yeah. Yeah, go ahead.'
'I swear,' she said slowly, 'by all the gods above and below, by my hope of escaping torment in the next world for the murders I have committed in this and by my hope for my own eventual deification, that I was neither directly nor indirectly responsible for the death of my grandson Germanicus Caesar.' I was staring at her. She took her hand away. 'There. Close your mouth, now, you look ridiculous. Does that satisfy you, or would you like to dictate the words yourself?'
'No, that about covers it.' My head was spinning. 'You mind explaining why, now?'
She lowered herself painfully back into her chair. It must've been built up because we were on the level again.
'Why the oath?' she said. 'Or why I brought you here in the first place?'
'Both, Excellency. They're the same thing anyway, aren't they?'
'Naturally. But if you've realised that then the answer to your question should be obvious.'
'Let's pretend it isn't. Tell me anyway.'
'Oh, Corvinus! You disappoint me!' Her thin lips turned down. 'Of course, now you know that I wasn't responsible for Germanicus's death I want you to find out who was.'
We stared at each other. She wasn't smiling any more, and the dead eyes were expressionless. I swallowed painfully.
'Excellency, this wouldn't be official, would it?' I said at last.
She tutted with impatience. 'Don't be a fool, boy! Of course it isn't! Officially my grandson died of a fever. You know that.'
I nodded. 'Okay. Just asking. So why me?'
'Because you've already shown certain...talents in that direction.' Was that a smile again? I doubted it. 'And I'm betting on your curiosity.'
She had me there. Ever since the business with the altar I'd stopped sweating. Instead I could feel the little tingle at the nape of my neck that I'd been missing these past eighteen months. Not regretting, just missing.
'Fair enough,' I said. 'You have any ideas yourself?'
This time I detected a definite smile; but it was like the smile you sometimes get on the face of an old Greek statue; the smug sort I always feel like wiping off with a hammer.
'Naturally I do,' she said. 'But that's all they are. Ideas. I would hate to prejudice your investigation by sharing them.'
'Yeah. Sure.' I hoped that didn't sound as sour as I thought it did; I hadn't missed the irony there. 'So no help at all, right?'
'No help at all. But then, no hindrance, either.' She paused. 'Well? Was I right? About your curiosity? I need a definite answer.'
Shit. I'd hate to play her at dice, not with these eyes staring across the table at me. She had me hooked, and she knew it. Nevertheless I hesitated for form's sake. 'No help and no hindrance, right, lady?'
'You have my word.'
Uh-huh. Whatever that was worth. But then, I didn't have any choice. 'Okay' I said. 'I'll settle for that.'
The smile widened. 'Good. I thought you might. And now if you'll excuse me I have work to do.'
She turned back to the writing tablet in front of her. It was like she'd forgotten me already. I stood up. Then a thought struck me. It wasn't a pleasant one, but I couldn't leave without putting it into words. I cleared my throat, and the mask raised itself.
'Yes, Corvinus? What is it now?' Testy as hell. You'd've thought I'd been the one asking the favour.
‘One last thing, Excellency.' I hesitated. 'The rumours in the Market Square. They don't just concern you. Maybe you'd like to add something to that oath you took after all.'
She didn't blink. 'You mean in respect of my son.'
'The emperor. Yeah.'
'Young man.' She placed her hands flat on the desk. 'I cannot and will not answer for Tiberius. We are no longer close, and I refuse to perjure myself where I have no definite knowledge.' She waited. I waited longer. 'However I will say that I find the attempts to link him with Germanicus's death both malicious and...ill informed. My son, unlike myself' – that smile again – 'is not by nature a murderer. Will that serve?'
It'll have to, lady, I thought. For the moment, anyway. But I didn't say anything. I just nodded.
'Good. Thank you. Come back when you've solved our little mystery, won't you? That's all.'
This time Oily Phormio wasn't poised at the door to let me out. With a brief bow to the top of her head and a few parting politenesses that she ignored, I left.
Hermes wasn't in evidence outside either, but I couldn't wait to get shot of the place and back to the real life of the city. Outside the gates I just stood and breathed for a while. After the atmosphere of the palace, Rome had never smelt so sweet.
2.
I thought things over in the litter on the way home. The facts of the case were pretty straightforward. Germanicus had been the nephew and adopted son of the Emperor Tiberius (aka the Wart). At his death the previous year he'd been thirty-four, two years older than his stepbrother Drusus, and Rome's blue eyed darling. After his campaigns in Germany the Wart had sent him east to dicker with the Parthians over Armenia and generally make sure the bastards knew their place and kept to it. Which was where Piso came in.
Calpurnius Piso was the Syrian governor. Syria borders on the Parthian Empire, Armenia and our screen of client kingdoms, so the two were bound to see a lot of each other; which was a pity, because they hated each other's guts. The wives didn't get along either. Piso's Plancina was an arrogant, snobbish bitch with imperial connections who had no intention of playing second fiddle even to a granddaughter of Augustus, while Agrippina could've given even old Cato lessons in character building and made him thank her for the privilege. A situation like that was bound to lead to trouble. Finally Piso had yelled obstruction, thrown his hands in the air and left the province.
Meanwhile Germanicus had fallen ill. He got worse – both he himself and his friends suspecting poisoning and witchcraft – and died accusing Piso and Plancina. After his death Piso made the mistake of trying to shove his way back into power. The attempt didn't come off and he was captured by Germanicus's appointee governor and sent back for trial. Agrippina was on her way back, too, with her husband's ashes.
I remembered the next part myself. The funeral party had arrived in Rome in November. The whole city was in mourning, except, so it seemed, the Wart and his mother who carried on as normal. There'd been no state funeral and no special games; in fact, the Imperials had hardly bothered to go the length of seeing the guy buried. Curious, right? Curious enough for even their biggest supporters' noses to start twitching. Sure I'd thought Livia was guilty, with Tiberius covering for her. If it hadn't been for that business with the altar I'd still think so. Even now I wouldn't've risked a heavy bet.
We'd reached the Septizonium, which is a real bugger to get along ten hours out of the daylight twelve, and the road was jam packed up ahead. The litter slowed to a crawl, and five minutes later we came to a dead stop. Litters aren't really my bag. They're de rigueur when you go visiting and want to arrive with a clean mantle, but generally I can do without them. I had the lads set me down and went the rest of the way on foot. It'd been a long hard winter and a cold spring, but the weather had broken at last and the slopes of the Palatine were beginning to look interesting again. Good walking weather, in other words, if you don't mind the disapproving stares of the fat guys with beefsteak faces who pass you in litters of their own.
