Germanicus

17

Bathyllus got back late in the afternoon: forget 'run', on the way there and back the bastard must've had problems overhauling snails. Also he was smirking when he came into the study, which is always a bad sign.

'Hey, little guy,' I said. 'You find Lippillus?'

'Yes, sir. Eventually. He was out shopping for his mother.'

'Get her cheap, did he?' Not a flicker. Jupiter knows why I bother. 'Okay, so spit it out.'

'Livineius Regulus worked in the department dealing with Noricum, sir.'

I looked at him. 'Where?'

'Noricum. It's one of the minor northern provinces. Beyond the Carnican Alps. Between Rhaetia and Pannonia.'

'I know where Noricum is, you smart bugger! Regulus didn't have any connection with Syria? None at all?'

'No, sir. Before that he was in the Sicilian department.'

'Fuck. Double fuck.'

'Quite, sir.' Bathyllus paused, his hand on the doorknob. 'Now if you don't require me any further I'll get back to my normal duties. Such as there remains time for.'

'Yeah. Yeah.' I waved him away wearily. 'Go and count the spoons. And bring me a jug of Setinian. Easy on the water.'

'Yes, sir.' I expected him to scuttle out, but he didn't. 'Oh. I almost forgot. One more thing. Favonius Lippillus asks if the name Vonones means anything to you.'

I sat up straight. 'Who?'

'Vonones. It was your enquiry about Syria that promped the question, sir. Although Regulus had no connections with the province per se he was a very close personal friend of a young Parthian gentleman by that name when the latter was resident in Rome.'

'Almost forgot,' nothing! Bathyllus could give an elephant memory training. The bastard had kept it back intentionally. I could've taken the little guy by the throat and beaten him to death with his own floor mop.

'Okay, Bathyllus,' I said. 'Just tell me, right? What exactly did Lippillus say?'

'Only that while the eastern gentleman was in the city Regulus was very much attached to him, sir.' Bathyllus's mouth was pursed in disapproval. 'The two were quite inseparable, in fact.'

I translated that into straight Latin. 'In other words they were lovers?'

'Such would seem to be Lippillus's impression, yes.'

'Uh-huh.' Bathyllus was still hovering. 'That all this time?'

'Yes, sir.'

'You sure?'

'Except that Lippillus asked specially that his name be kept out of any subsequent enquiries.'

'Yeah. Smart cookie. Nothing about the murder investigation?'

'No, sir.'

'Okay, off you go and play with your dishrag. Don't forget the wine.'

When he'd gone I lay back on the reading couch to think. We'd really opened up a parcel of worms here. I hadn't known about Vonones's predilections, but I knew who he was: an ex-king of Parthia, no less, who'd spent his early years as a hostage at the court of Augustus. Which explained the 'ex' part of the title: he'd turned out too much of a Roman for the Parthians, who'd washed their hands of him four years after he'd succeeded to the throne. Driven from Parthia, he'd trotted off to neighbouring Armenia and taken up the vacant kingship there.

Which was where the Syrian connection came in. Under diplomatic pressure from Parthia, Piso's predecessor Silanus had forced Vonones to abdicate and brought him back to Antioch, where he was kept under what amounted to luxurious house arrest. Then came Piso's governorship and Germanicus's mission to dicker with the new Parthian king Artabanus. One of Artabanus's terms of settlement had been the request that Vonones be moved away from Syria, which he duly was. Only at some point — I didn't know the details — he'd tried to escape and been ever so slightly killed.

There were holes, but that was the general drift, and the implications of the last bit was pretty clear: Vonones had been playing the Parthian conspiracy game from behind the Roman border and Artabanus had finally had enough and pulled his plug. The question was, was any of this relevant? Sure, Regulus had known the guy when he was young and not so innocent, and Vonones might've had fond memories of balmy evenings on the Pincian, but that'd been a dozen years at least before Piso's time in Syria. A lot had happened since, and if Piso did have a scam going with Vonones then twelve years were too much water under the bridge to account for Regulus's claim to middle man status. Or were they?

I didn't know, and it was becoming increasingly apparent I wouldn't find out sitting around in Rome. Ah, well. It was a shame about Rufus…

Someone scratched on the door: Bathyllus with the wine.

'Come in, little guy!' I shouted; but it wasn't Bathyllus holding the tray, it was Perilla.

She set it down on the side table and kissed me.

'Marcus, I'm sorry I bit your head off earlier,' she said. 'I didn't mean it. Honestly.'

'Hey, that's okay. Although frozen balls would describe the effect you achieved better.'

She hid a smile. 'Really. The apology still holds. But I've been thinking it over and I've reached a decision. You really, truly think going to Antioch is necessary?'

'It'd certainly help, sure. Antioch was the scene of the crime, after all, there're people there who can tell us exactly what happened. As far as being necessary's concerned, well, yeah, I'm beginning to think we have to take things from the other end. At least that'd make them easier.'

'Very well. In that case we'll go.'

I simply stared at her. She sat down on the edge of the couch and poured a cup of wine. 'The sea lanes are open again now, aren't they? There will be a ship available?'

'Yeah. Yeah, there'll be a ship.' My head was spinning. I picked up the wine cup and drank. 'You sure about this?'

'Yes. Quite sure.'

'Swear on your grandmother's hoary old head and spit on the ground for luck?'

'Yes.'

'What about that bastard Rufus?'

'We're divorced, Marcus. Quite legally. There's no reason why I should even talk to him if I don't want to. And Syria — Antioch, even — is a big place. As you so rightly said.'

'Hey! Okay!' I hugged her. 'Great! Thanks, lady.'

'Drink your wine.'

I did, while she leaned against me. Finally I said: 'How's the book coming along, by the way? Thingummy's Poisons?'

'I've just finished it. Fascinating reading.'

'I can imagine. You know how it was done yet? The Germanicus business?'

'No, of course not. It could've been any of a dozen different methods using a dozen different substances. If the poor man was poisoned at all. I did discover one thing that might interest you, though.'

'Yeah?'

'It seems that if the…sexual parts are touched with aconite death ensues within a day.'

I winced. 'No kidding.'

'No kidding.' She kissed me again; a longer one, this time. 'Don't worry. I wouldn't even know what it looked like.'

'The aconite?'

'The aconite.'

Uh-huh. I can tell when I'm being propositioned. Study couches, however, are designed for chaste solo reading. Five minutes later we gave up in favour of upstairs.

Bathyllus was waiting in the hall to ask about dinner; tactfully, because the little guy had seen the direction we were heading.

'Tell Meton something light,' I said. 'Oh, and Bathyllus: send someone down to Puteoli to ask about boats for Antioch, okay?' Big ships don't sail from Ostia: the harbour's too full of Tiber shit to float anything bigger than a kid's toy yacht, and for serious sailing you have to go south. 'To leave as soon as possible, right?'

'Would that be Antioch in Syria, sir?'

'Is there another one?'

'Not that I know of. Would fish suit? Broiled tunny with a vegetable mousse and some Clazomenean wine?'

I looked him over carefully. Sometimes I suspect the little guy of having a sense of humour after all, but it's buried pretty deep and it's pretty weird. The fish gag slipped past me — if it was a gag — but not the wine. Wine I know, and Clazomenean's got sea water added to it: the locals say it gives it a certain unique tang.

Bathyllus was staring back with bland innocence. What the hell, I was probably only imagining things. 'Yeah,' I said. 'Tunny's good. Not the wine, we'll have Setinian as usual.'

'If you insist, sir.'

'I insist. And don't forget Puteoli.'

'Certainly not, sir.' He left in the direction of the kitchen.

One of these days I'll see the bastard fazed. One of these days.