Finished Business

TWENTY

So. That had been illuminating, if you like.

Accident, nothing; that was obvious. Sextus Papinius had been rumbled and his mouth shut before he could blab. I remembered that, when he’d talked to me on the Sacred Way, he’d not only been scared out of his wits, but he’d also been constantly looking over his shoulder like he suspected he was being watched. Which the odds were he had been, and it had effectively done for him. The modus operandi was interesting, too: where had a broken neck figured already in this case?

Right.

I really had to talk to Bassus. He’d be needed, naturally, to provide the circumstantial evidence of an eyewitness, but the corollary of that was that, once you knew damn well it was murder, he had to be lying through his teeth. And that meant he was involved in the plot himself. What got me — sickened me, to tell you the truth — was that there was a better than good chance that Lucius Papinius was in it as well, maybe even to the extent of collusion over his brother’s death. He had to be — why else would he spend the hour after the body was delivered to the front door in getting systematically smashed? Plus there had been the dead-voiced account of events, like he’d been told exactly what to say when someone asked for them, and that weird business at the end: the guy had finally put two and two together, realized who I was, panicked, and lost the plot completely.

Gods, the more you went into this thing, the worse it got, like some sort of hydra sprouting extra heads. And Lucius, like his brother, was a military tribune, with all the implications that brought with it. I had the horrible feeling that we’d only just scratched the surface.

So how did I find Bassus? I couldn’t go knocking on Secundus’s door again, that wouldn’t be fair. I’d twisted the poor guy’s arm right up his back once already in the name of friendship, and unless I absolutely had to, I wouldn’t be doing that again in a hurry. The same, in a way, went for Crispus: he wasn’t exactly a friend, but I reckoned I’d pretty well shot my bolt in that direction for the time being. Anyway, there was no need: Lucius Papinius had told me that he was one of the quaestors, and a visit to the Public Finance Office would net the information, no problem. After all, as far as they’d know, there was no skulduggery involved, just an innocent request for information.

So that’s where I went.

Like every organization in a position to allocate and monitor their own expenditure, the Public Finance Office had done themselves proud. Oh, sure, the quaestorship is the lowest rung of the senatorial magistracies’ ladder, and the quaestors only serve for a year, but the faceless administrators who staff the offices — mostly freedmen — do most of the work, and hold their young masters by the hand as they guide them through the maze of contract legislation, building regulations, fire-prevention requirements and the like. They are a permanent fixture, and they do like things to be nice. Especially the décor.

At least it’d been tastefully done, with the mural in the entrance hall showing a neutral lake scene complete with an architecturally complex villa rather than the rampant crowd of topless maenads that the clerks who had to sit there all day would probably have preferred, but that’s government thinking for you.

I went up to the freedman on the nearest desk.

‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘You have a Titus Bassus as one of your officers?’

‘Certainly, sir. Titus Herennius Bassus, that would be. I don’t know if he’s around at present, though. If you’d like to wait, I’ll go and check for you. Your name and business?’

I had my mouth open to answer when a young guy in a smart mantle with a senatorial stripe came down the stairs. He must’ve caught the freedman’s last few words, because he said, ‘What is it? Anything I can do?’

‘The gentleman’s looking for Herennius Bassus, sir.’

He turned to me. ‘Oh, gods, it’s not about the bloody replacement finials for the Temple of Jupiter Stayer-of-the Host, is it?’ he said.

‘No, I’m-’ I began.

‘Thank the gods for that. Titus isn’t in today; he’s out riding in Mars Field, the lucky beggar.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ I said. ‘Only, ah, something came up and he had to cut it short. You happen to know where I’d find him now?’

‘Not a clue. He isn’t back on duty until tomorrow morning. Was it urgent?’

‘Pretty urgent, yeah.’

‘Damn.’ The young man frowned. ‘You could try his father.’

‘His father?’

‘Up at the imperial offices on the Palatine.’ I must’ve looked blank, because he said: ‘Herennius Capito. He’s one of the imperial procurators-fiscal. He might know.’

‘Thanks, pal, I’ll do that,’ I said, and left.

Interesting; so Bassus’s father was in government admin on the imperial side of the fence, was he? And pretty highly placed at that. Some procurators are freedmen — the name, of course, means nothing more than agent — but the imperial procurators-fiscal have the direct management of the emperor’s personal income and private estates, and they tend to be much bigger fish — knights, not senators, but no less important or influential for the thinner stripe. Quite the reverse, because it’s on the imperial side of the fence that the real governmental power lies, direct or indirect. And ‘fence’ it is: ever since old Augustus divided the government and everything connected with it between himself and the senate, the two sides have been as separate as the two faces of a coin. Oh, sure, they come into contact now and again where and when necessary — the empire couldn’t function if they didn’t — but essentially they’re two distinct worlds operating in parallel. Which was very relevant indeed. Granted, I might be leaping to unwarranted conclusions; just because young Bassus was implicated in the plot didn’t mean that his father had to be. But if he was then we had a third strand here: first the senate, represented by Cassius Longinus and his pals; then the military, by the two Papinii; now the imperial household itself.

Heads of the hydra was right.

Imperial admin officers — the ones on the private side, anyway, like Capito — have their offices in the administrative wing of the palace itself. So up to the Palatine I went, passed unchallenged between the two Praetorians on guard, and was directed by the clerk on reception to a room on the mezzanine floor. I knocked, opened the door, and went straight in.

There were two guys there. The one sitting behind the desk was late-middle-aged, in a narrow-striper mantle; the other, standing in front of it, had a senator’s broad stripe. He turned round sharply as the door opened, and I saw that he was much younger, in his late twenties. They were obviously, from the facial resemblance, father and son.

They were obviously also, from the expressions on the faces, in the throes of a family conference. A fairly urgent, unpleasant one, at that.

‘I’m busy,’ Capito snapped. ‘What is it?’

Fair enough; if that was the way he wanted to play it, fine with me. It’d save a lot of pussyfooting around, certainly.

‘Actually, pal’ — I closed the door behind me and set my back to it — ‘I wanted a word with your son here. About the death this morning of a military tribune by the name of Sextus Papinius.’

I was watching the younger man’s face when I said it, and I couldn’t miss the flash of panic — the same look I’d got from Sextus’s brother, Lucius. He glanced back at his father.

‘Dad-’ he began.

‘I’ll handle this,’ Capito said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off me, and his face was set. ‘Who are you? And what makes you think you can barge in here without an appointment?’

‘The name’s Corvinus. Marcus Corvinus.’ Definitely a flicker there; if I’d had any doubts that Herennius Senior was involved I didn’t have them any more. ‘I understand from his brother that the quaestor here was with Papinius when he died.’

‘That’s correct. In a fall from his horse on Mars Field. They were out riding together, and young Sextus’s horse shied and threw him. A terrible business, terrible.’

‘Was there anyone else around?’

‘No, as it happened. They were in the top corner of the field, near the river, beyond Augustus’s Mausoleum.’ He was frowning. ‘What’s this about? And what has it to do with you?’

‘I’m looking into the death — the murder — of Lucius Naevius Surdinus.’

He blinked; that name had registered, too.

‘So?’ he said.

‘Papinius told me, yesterday, that he had certain information he thought I should have. We’d arranged to meet this afternoon, only of course he never turned up.’

‘That was unfortunate, but-’

‘He never turned up because your son here killed him. Or rather, probably, he engineered things so that someone else could do the job.’

‘That’s a lie!’ Bassus was white with anger. ‘Sextus was one of my best friends! We grew up together! If you think-’

His father reached out and put a hand on his wrist. He was still staring at me, but he’d gone noticeably pale. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

‘Corvinus,’ he said, ‘that accusation is not only nonsensical, unfounded, and unwarranted, but actionable in a court of law. Which is where I and my son will see you as soon as I can lay a charge before the city judge. Now, get out of my office.’

Weak. I recognized bluster when I heard it, and I could see a bead of sweat on his forehead. I didn’t move. ‘You haven’t asked why,’ I said.

Capito’s brow furrowed. ‘Why what?’

‘Why he did it.’ I shrugged. ‘Oh, sure, you know the answer perfectly well already, but I’ll give you it nonetheless. There’s a plot to kill the emperor. Papinius was involved; your son Bassus here’s involved. You’re involved yourself. How Surdinus fits in I’m not sure yet, but that’s why he was killed, and Papinius knew about it. Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong.’

They were both staring at me: Capito like an actor who’d suddenly lost his place in the script, his son in pure wide-eyed terror.

‘That’s …’ Capito stuttered.

‘The simple unvarnished truth,’ I went on easily. ‘Right. Of course, you’re wondering just how much I know in the way of detail, and who else knows besides me. Whether it’s enough to take to the emperor himself, and whether I’m in a minority of one. Maybe whether I have taken it to the emperor already, in which case you’re all dead men walking. That includes your pals Longinus and Cerialis, plus the two Gauls. No doubt quite a few others that I don’t yet know about, yes, but never mind, because once you’re in the bag, the emperor has ways of getting the names out of you. Not very pleasant ways, but there you are. And believe me, if you are thinking of passing the fact that we’ve had this little talk on to your heavies so that they can take appropriate action, the secret isn’t a secret any longer. The horse is out, the stable door’s wide open, and you’re living on borrowed time. Trust me on this, absolutely.’ They were grey with fear now, both of them. ‘So the good news is that I’m cutting you some slack. Not much, but it’s the best offer you’ll get.’ I folded my arms and leaned back against the door. ‘As far as I know, Gaius doesn’t-’

I’d been half-expecting it, so it didn’t come as a complete surprise; besides, Bassus was no fighter. He came at me swinging, but I ducked and planted a fist in his midriff, then when he doubled up I followed it with a sock to the jaw. He folded like a wet rag and lay there groaning.

Capito had got to his feet, but he didn’t move.

‘Like I was saying,’ I continued, ‘as far as I know — although I may be wrong — all this’ll come as news to the emperor. Me, well, I’m an outsider, a nobody, but if someone he trusts, one of his own senior admin staff, say, were to go to him off his own bat and tell him the whole story up-front, first to last, he might just decide to overlook the details of where the guy had got his information. He might even be grateful, although I wouldn’t count too much on that possibility, myself.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s a gamble, sure, but I’d think the odds would be pretty good. Better, certainly, than if you let things slide, or if you’re stupid enough to stay on the losing team, because if you do and you are, then you have no future at all. Your decision completely, pal, and you might be lucky. Think about it.’ I opened the door. ‘As for the mechanics of the thing, well, Gaius couldn’t be more handily placed, since you’re virtually neighbours, so I’ll only give you until tomorrow morning before I make an appointment myself. I’ll see you around. Hopefully.’

I left.

That had been risky, sure, but it’d been a calculated risk, and I reckoned it would pay off because those two were no hardened conspirators — that had been obvious practically from the first. Someone with backbone like Longinus, or even Graecinus, would’ve laughed in my face and brazened it out, then quietly arranged to have me chopped. Them, I’d never have tried it on with, not in a million years, because it would’ve been just too damn dangerous. Capito and his son, though, were running scared, particularly the son, and if I’d been bluffing when I’d implied that other people were in on the secret, it’d been in the certainty that they wouldn’t call the bluff and arrange for the chopping themselves. Besides, I’d been totally honest about their options. Spilling the beans voluntarily to the emperor wasn’t by any means a guarantee that they’d live through this, especially in the current climate, but the chances of it were a hell of a lot better than if they’d just been two more names on the list. And given my deadline of tomorrow morning, which allowed them no time to think, it would be by far the best and fastest way of letting Gaius know what was going on; I could spend months putting a watertight case together, and whatever the plot’s timetable was, months were something I’d bet I didn’t have. Nowhere near it.

So, a good day’s work, and if I was lucky the first real crack in the case. I hadn’t lost sight of the fact that my remit was to find whoever had killed Surdinus, and a little thing like unmasking a conspiracy against the emperor was just an incidental feature. Oh, yeah, sure, there was a connection; there had to be. The simplest explanation was that, like Papinius, Surdinus had been involved in the plot himself, got cold feet, and taken the best indirect way he could of blowing the whistle. Or ensuring, rather, that if he were to die prematurely, the whistle would still be blown. Still, I didn’t actually know that, not yet, and there were factors militating against it. Like — given the other conspirators were either serving senators or Praetorians, or had strong imperial connections — why should an apolitical sort like him be mixed up in it at all? However, if I was lucky, when the whole boiling were hauled in for questioning, the case would solve itself. You might not like them — I didn’t, particularly — but as I’d said to Capito, Gaius had ways of getting even the most reluctant suspect to talk. And with a planned assassination in the pipeline, he wouldn’t pull his punches, either.

Anyway, I reckoned we’d call it a day. I headed through the Palatine complex towards Staurian Incline, the flight of steps that was the quickest way, if you were on foot, of getting from Palatine to Caelian. The easiest, too, because especially at this time of day they were pretty quiet. There was a punter a flight or so ahead of me, and another about the same behind, and that was about it.

I’d got almost to the foot, where there was one of the public litters parked with its two litter-men leaning against it shooting the breeze, when I noticed that the guy ahead of me had stopped and turned round. He reached into his belt and drew out a knife, while the two off-duty litter-men stopped lounging and did the same.

Oh, shit. I turned — or half-turned, rather — just in time to see that chummie behind me had closed the gap …

Which was when something that felt like a decent-sized marble column smacked me behind the ear, and I went out like a light.