Germanicus

16

Next morning I went for a haircut down to one of the barber shops off the Market Square. Sure, I had a barber of my own at home, but people don't go to one of those streetside places just to get scalped. You can pick up some juicy bits of gossip, and they're great for sitting thinking about life, the universe and murder. Which was more or less what I had in mind. I sat down in the chair, told the guy with the shears to use his own judgment, and settled back with my eyes closed.

So. Regulus had been Piso's 'middle man'. That meant a deal, or maybe a scam; and given Regulus's predilections one that was illegal or at least shady. The obvious deal was the one with the Wart, but I dismissed that out of hand. Not because I didn't believe it existed; it had to for anything to make sense. But Crispus would've cut his own tongue out before he gave me anything that might lead me to Tiberius. The same went for Drusus. Parting with information that might bring an angry imperial down on his greasy neck wasn't something the guy would risk. Not under any circumstances. Besides, if we needed an imperial middle man then our best bet was Carillus. He was Piso's ex-slave, and Piso had used him as his messenger to carry the mysterious phantom letter to whoever the hell's name was on the front, which could well have been the Wart.

No, Piso and his lawyer Regulus must've had another scam going, one that didn't involve the emperor and that I didn't know about yet. A private scam that had nothing to do with Germanicus. Or nothing directly to do with him…

'You want more off the sides, sir?'

'Hmm?' I opened my eyes.

'I'm sorry, sir.' The barber was waiting with a mirror. 'Is that okay for you or do you want me to cut some more?'

I looked into the polished bronze. Hell. Did I always look this worried? Maybe I needed a holiday. 'Uh, yeah.' I said. 'Yeah, go ahead.'

I sat back again while he clipped away at the top. Piso's lawyer. That was something else that didn't fit. Why had Piso asked Regulus to represent him in the first place? And why had Regulus agreed? The unwritten rule in court cases is that lawyer and client share some sort of common bond, social or political. The other two guys fitted the rule: Lucius Piso was his brother and Lepidus had followed him as governor of Tarraco. Regulus was the odd man out. Politically and socially he was a nobody, he wasn't Piso's type, and as far as I knew there'd been no existing link at all between them.

The operative phrase there was as far as I knew. That was where the 'middle man' came in, naturally. If I could ferret out the missing connection then maybe I'd understand what Crispus was telling me.

Right. If. The only problem was that Piso and Regulus were both dead, Carillus was the gods knew where and liable to stay lost until hell froze over, and that particular avenue was closed. Crispus had been a good idea, sure, but the bastard hadn't helped all that much. We still needed a major lead, and I hadn't the slightest idea how to go about getting it…

'You think the Reds have a chance tomorrow, sir?'

Oh, bugger. I opened my eyes again. Most barbers can gauge a customer's mood straight off and gab or shut up accordingly; the tips are better that way. This guy was evidently new, or he had all the sensitivity of a brick. Still, you have to be polite. And some subjects are sacred.

'About as much chance as a Vestal in a dice game, pal,' I said. 'The way these morons've been driving lately Green'll wipe the sand with them.'

'Right. Right.' He nodded. 'It's a crying shame. If Felix cut in on the turns different he could grab another five yards easy.'

'You think so?' I kept my voice neutral. Felix was the Reds' principal driver, a total incompetent who couldn't cut a decent turn if he practised between now and the next Winter Festival. But I wasn't going to say that, oh no: my barber was obviously a Red supporter, and you don't disagree with the guy with the scissors.

'Sure,' he said. 'Listen…'

Luckily I had my experiences with Priscus to fall back on, so at least I managed to look vaguely interested. It was good stuff, though, smack on the button, even I could see that and I'm no expert. If I'd been the Reds' trainer I'd've had enough to fill a notebook.

'You seem to know a lot about racing, friend.' I said when he'd finished gabbing and cutting together.

'Used to be in the business myself.' He flicked the stray hairs off my mantle and held the mirror up. 'Not a driver, just one of the stable hands, but you get a feel for the cars. Besides, I'm a Syrian. From Antioch. You ever meet an Antiochene who doesn't like racing?'

'No, come to think of it I haven't.' Certainly not a barber. Half the barbers in Rome were Syrians, and you always saw more stubbly jowls around on race-meet days.

'Ever been to Syria yourself, sir, by any chance?' the barber was shaking clippings off his cloth.

'No. Never east of Athens.'

'You should go some time. Nice place. Lovely country. Except for the tax-collectors, of course.'

He didn't smile, and I wondered if he used that exit line for all his customers. My hand was in my purse to pay. I stopped -

'Shit!'

The barber paused. 'Some problem?'

'No. No, no problem.' I gave him my best smile and half a gold piece. 'Thanks a lot.'

He stared at the coin like it was the key to the mint. 'Hey, I'm sorry,' he said. 'I can't change that.'

'You don't have to, pal.' Bells were ringing. It was going to be a good day after all. 'Keep it, and thanks again. Thanks very much.'

'Uh, yeah. Likewise.' He was still looking after me, jaw hanging, when his next customer took the empty chair. Probably waiting for the minder to leap out from behind a pillar and cart me off somewhere quiet.

I'd meant to kick around the Market Square in the hopes of running into Crispus and bending his arm a bit more. Now I didn't have to. Sure, I could've gone up to the Capitol and asked the guy on the desk at the Treasury itself for the information, but he'd've wanted to know why the question. Probably passed me on to someone higher up, too, and that I didn't want. The fewer waves I made the better. Anyway, there was someone else I could ask. I headed back for the Palatine.

Who says oracles always speak in riddles? I'd just heard one, and short of grabbing me by the scruff of the neck and giving me the answer in words of one syllable it couldn't've been clearer. Thanks to the guy with the magic shears I knew now what the connection between Piso and Regulus had been.

When I got back home Bathyllus was outside the front door, chewing our young door slave to shreds for getting muddy sandalprints all over his nice clean mosaic. I collared him while the kid slipped away.

'Hey, Bathyllus,' I said. 'I've a job for you.'

'Really, sir?' I got the little guy's best boiled turbot look; Bathyllus has a fixed routine and he doesn't appreciate any sudden alterations.

Hard cheese. Even Bathyllus had to be prepared for a few loose cobbles in the paved road of life. 'Yeah. I want you to run down to the Aventine for me. Now.'

'The Aventine, sir?' He reeled, a bit too dramatically to be convincing. 'Me, sir? Now, sir? Run, sir?'

I'd forgotten his hernia. Supported although it now was. 'Okay, walk. Only walk fast, right?'

'Thank you, sir. Most generous.'

'Cut it out, little guy. It’s important, and I want you to go yourself because I know you'll get it right first time.' Oil oil, smarm smarm.

'Your estimation of my capabilities is most gratifying, sir. However I had planned to — ’

The hell with this. 'Look, just go, okay?' I snapped. Jupiter's balls on a string, did everyone have these problems with the bought help or was it just me? I gave him directions to Lippillus's place and told him what I wanted. 'And if he's not at home then try the Watch headquarters. You know where they are?'

'Of course. Not a very prepossessing building, as I remember.' He sniffed.

'You starting a cold, Bathyllus?'

'No, sir.' Stiffly.

'Fine. The mistress in?'

'As far as I know, sir, yes.'

'Good. Bugger off, then.'

He buggered off fast as a speeding tortoise. I went inside, being careful to wipe my feet on the mosaic in the process.

Perilla was in the garden, deep in a book. I crept up on her and bit her neck. She didn't look round.

'Go away, Corvinus,' she said. 'You smell of barber's talc.'

Good start. 'That's because I've just had a very interesting haircut.' I peered over her shoulder and examined the book. Heavy stuff, and in Greek: Nicander's Theriaca, a study of poisons and their antidotes. 'You doing some research, or were you serious the other night about poisoning my breakfast porridge?'

'The former, actually, but the latter is becoming rapidly more attractive.'

Ouch. What with Bathyllus and Perilla both in moods the home team weren't doing too well this morning. Maybe I should go out and come back in again as somebody else. 'You want to watch that reading, lady. Too much of it drives you mad.'

Perilla closed the roll with a sigh. 'Are you especially trying to be annoying, dear, or does it come naturally?'

'Both.' I came round the front and kissed her. 'I know what scam Piso and Regulus were involved in. Or at least I think I know. Bathyllus has just galloped off to get the proof.'

That got her interest. 'Tell me,' she said.

I sat down next to her on the stone bench. 'I'd assumed it had something to do with the trial. It doesn't, or not directly. Regulus worked in the tax office. Imperial division.'

'So?'

'So I'll bet my boots he looked after Syria.'

She was quiet for a long time. Then she said: 'I see. You think Piso and Regulus were fiddling the taxes between them while Piso was governor?'

'That's the theory.'

'It's possible, I suppose.'

'Sure it's possible. It's every governor's dream to have a friend at the tax office who can juggle the figures and level out the bumps in the balance sheet. And it explains why Regulus practically hugged me when I told him all I was interested in was the trial. The guy was heading for the hills with a ton of documents under his arm, and one gets you ten they weren't the Residence's laundry bills.'

'Mmm.' Her brow creased. 'So what, if anything, does this have to do with Germanicus?'

'Simple. One reason Germanicus was sent out east — besides to clinch the Parthian deal — was that the locals were screaming over the amount of tax they had to pay. It's an unwritten law that within reason a governor's entitled to his perks, but I reckon Piso was getting greedy. Taking two bites at the cherry and counting on his personal friendship with the Wart to keep him out of trouble, like it did in Spain. So then suddenly he finds a strait-laced imperial banging on his door and asking to see the receipts, and he panics.'

'Are you saying now it was Piso who killed Germanicus after all? Piso personally, to cover up embezzlement?'

I shifted uncomfortably. 'Well, no. I wouldn't go quite that far. But it'd help to explain why the two were at daggers drawn right from the start. If Germanicus were building up a case against the guy — a valid case — then Piso would be keen to get rid of him. Maybe even keen enough to agree to act as someone's agent for murder. Someone with the clout to protect him when the feathers started to fly.'

'Whose agent? Presumably not Tiberius's, for obvious reasons. Drusus and Livilla's?'

'I don't know. I really don't know. Maybe.' I sighed. 'I'll tell you one thing, though. We won't get many more answers in Rome. We're going round in circles as it is, and we need to break fresh ground.'

'Then what would you suggest? Or could we possibly just give this whole thing up? It has nothing to do with us, anyway.'

I ignored that. She didn't mean it, really.

'You ever been to Syria?' I said.

‘No. Of course not.’

‘Like to go?’

Her eyes widened. 'You're not serious!'

'Sure I'm serious. Lovely country, so I'm told. Good barbers. Cheery locals. They like racing.'

Perilla was frowning. 'I may not have been to Syria myself,' she said slowly. 'But I do know someone who has. He's there now, in fact. Very much so.'

Oh, hell. Hell’s bloody teeth; I'd forgotten about her ex. Suillius Rufus had been on Germanicus's staff, and now he commanded one of the Syrian legions. Not only was the guy there, he was one of the top brass…

'Uh, yeah,' I said. 'Well, that's certainly a drawback, I suppose.'

'Marcus.' There was the barest touch of ice in her voice. 'I'm sorry, but this is not a good idea. Please forget it altogether.'

I back-tracked rapidly. 'Well, maybe it is a bit of a bummer at that,’ I said. ‘Never mind, just a suggestion.'

'I don't even want to be in the same country as Rufus, never mind the same city.'

'Uh, Syria's pretty big, Perilla.' Bugger. I hadn't considered checking things out at the other end until my pal the barber had put the idea into my head. Not consciously anyway. But the more I thought about it the more I liked it. 'The guy's probably up country somewhere sticking pigs.'

'The Third Gallic is based in Antioch, as you well know. I assume that would be where you would be conducting your investigations.' She bent down and picked up her book. 'Now if you don't mind I want to get on with this. The librarian at the Pollio gave me it on special loan and he needs it back by tomorrow.'

She'd frozen up on me. I knew the signs. Not that I blamed her: I'd never actually met Rufus, but from what she'd told me about him at our first-ever dinner together and the few times she'd mentioned him since he sounded a real thoroughgoing gold plated bastard. Also, as I knew, he hadn't wanted to agree to the divorce. If I hadn't had Livia pitching for me, and through her the Wart, it never would've happened. That must've made the guy pretty sour. I didn't particularly mind having to meet him face to face, but I wasn't going to bust a gut arranging dinner.

We needed a new angle on the case, though. We really did. And taking things from the Syrian end would've given us it.

Well, maybe Lippillus would come up with something. I kissed the top of Perilla's head and went inside to catalogue my pottery collection.