Germanicus

22

It was too late when we got back home to make an appointment with the governor: Antioch's a lot more laid back than Rome, and nobody who can avoid it works later than mid-afternoon, just as nobody starts before the sun's half way through its first quarter or goes to bed until an hour or two before dawn. So it wasn't until the next day that I left Perilla house-hunting and went over to the palace to pay Aelius Lamia his courtesy visit.

The palace complex in Antioch fills most of the big island in the river to the north west of the city; Greek designed but Roman built, by our Marcius Rex about a hundred years back as a calculated goodwill gesture to the locals. It's impressive as hell. The Greeks may be stuck-up bastards where aesthetics are concerned, but when it comes to architecture they've got cause. Even where the guy picking up the tab is Roman.

The Syrian governor being one of the empire's top men I didn't expect any red carpet treatment, even on the strength of the introductory letter I'd screwed out of Cotta before we left. Sure enough, I was kept waiting in the anteroom for a good half hour. Not that I minded. Clerks and military adjutants were constantly in and out with reports and messages, and I picked up some useful information just by keeping my mouth shut and my ears flapping. Like the fact that Vibius Marsus, who'd been Piso's deputy before he fled the country, had the same job under Lamia. That surprised me, but then apart from his name I didn't know much about him. I gave the young tribune who'd mentioned him time to clear and drifted over to the secretary's desk.

'Uh…excuse me?' I said.

The secretary looked up from his desk and raised a carefully-plucked eyebrow. 'Yes, sir?'

'Vibius Marsus. Would he be any relation to Vibius Postumus at all? Guy who served as legate under my father in Dalmatia a dozen years back?' I'd heard Dad mention Postumus more than once. Whether they'd been concurrent I couldn't recall, but if he and Marsus were related then it would give me a definite in with the deputy.

'Possibly, sir.' The guy carried on transferring figures from one set of writing tablets to another. High powered stuff. 'I'm afraid I can't say.'

I tried again. 'Marsus is based in Antioch, anyhow?'

'Yes, sir. Of course.' A slight sniff that said only a moron would've asked the question.

'You happen to know where he lives?'

The pen stopped and the guy's lips pursed. Maybe he'd hit a vulgar fraction.

'No, sir,' he said coldly. 'I'm afraid I can't give you that information. But if you'd like to make an official appointment I'm sure his secretary would be happy to arrange one.'

'No. No, that's okay.' The discussion I had in mind couldn't be held across a desk. I backed off. Bloody hell, these Syrian bureaucrats were as bad as the Roman ones. Worse; they froze you out in Greek. 'Just a thought. No hassle, pal, none at all.'

Just then the door of the governor's office opened and a grey haired man in a broad-striper's mantle came out.

'Valerius Corvinus?' he said.

'Yeah. That's me.'

He smiled and reached out to shake hands. 'I'm Aelius Lamia. Terribly sorry to have kept you waiting. Endless paperwork. The bane of any decent man's existence. Come in, please.'

I followed him in to the office and he closed the door behind us.

'Now, Corvinus,' he said. 'Some wine.'

'Yeah. Yes, please.'

'It's only Laodicean, I'm afraid' — my heart sank — 'but it's not a bad vintage.' He poured from a tall glass jug into a pair of stemmed glasses and handed me one. I examined it with interest. I'd seen Phoenician glassware before, sure, but nothing this good. The glass was thin as eggshell, absolutely regular and almost transparent, and the wine shone through it like blood.

'Nice wine set,' I said.

'A present from one of the client-kings. It was made in Tyre, I believe. Beautiful, isn't it?'

'Yeah. Very unusual.' I sipped. The spicy taste of the Laodicean was toned down and mellowed, and it wasn't bad stuff, not bad at all. Still not Falernian, but getting there. Certainly beyond the swigging stage. Maybe Theon had been right. 'The wine's not bad, either.'

'I like it. Mind you, I'm no connoisseur.' He set his own glass down after the barest taste. 'So. How is your uncle the consul?'

I had the impression from the way he said it that he didn't like Uncle Cotta much, but then that was par for the course. Cotta was an acquired taste, like the wine. You either liked him or you loathed him. Most people took the second option, and Lamia seemed no exception. A pity, but I could live with that. Also, I was on my best behaviour and nervous as hell: Lamia could make or break me in Syria, and I had to make a good impression.

'He's fine, sir,' I said. 'He sends his regards.'

'Kind of him. Sit down, please.' Lamia gestured towards a chair: there were three in the room, besides the one behind the desk. Once I'd sat he took one of the others. 'Your uncle tells me in his letter that you're recently married. My congratulations.'

'Thank you, sir. Perilla's looking for a house for us to rent at the moment, or she'd be here with me.'

He frowned. 'You mean a house in Rome?'

'No. Here in Antioch. We've been staying in a guest house on the Daphne road.'

'Ah.' The frown deepened. 'So the lady Rufia Perilla came out with you?'

'Sure. Yes, she did.' I noticed he'd used Perilla's family name where I hadn't; but then he'd probably got it from Cotta's letter. 'Uncle didn't mention that?'

'No. Or at least he didn't make it clear.' Yeah, that I'd believe: Cotta's epistolary style reeled like a drunken rhino and his letters had more gaps in them than a boxer's grin. 'You do realise, of course, that her presence here causes certain complications?'

'I know Perilla's ex-husband commands the Third Gallic, sir, yes,' I said carefully. 'And that the Third is based in Antioch.'

'Mmm.' His fingers drummed on the desk top. 'Well, there's no reason why they should meet, naturally, but it's worth remembering that Rufus is still…disgruntled. Seriously disgruntled. You understand me?'

Sure I did, and I was grateful for the warning. Translated out of diplomatic-speak seriously disgruntled meant given half the chance the guy would have my guts for bootlaces. 'Yes, sir,' I said. 'I understand perfectly.'

'Good.' Lamia nodded and inspected his glass. 'I'm not interfering, but Suillius Rufus is one of my officers and I do have a certain interest in the matter. I'll bear your wife's presence here closely in mind.' The eyes came up. 'Very closely in mind.'

Uh-huh. 'Thank you, sir.'

Lamia sipped his wine. 'Thanks aren't necessary, young man. It's for my own sake as much as yours. As far as a house goes we'll see what we can do there as well. Sometimes properties do become temporarily vacant, and the owners are delighted to have them taken care of in their absence. Tell my secretary where he can get in touch with you when you leave and we'll ask around. Now.' He set the glass down. 'What exactly are you doing in Antioch, if you don't mind my asking?'

The tone was polite and I'd expected the question, but my mouth still went dry. I couldn't tell him the truth, but then again he was a smart cookie and I couldn't risk a direct lie. 'We were only married last winter, sir,' I said, looking (I hoped) innocent and ingenuous as hell. 'I thought we might do the eastern tour. A sort of holiday.'

'You chose a strange time for it.' His eyes on mine were like chips of marble. 'The sailing season's only just started. And from what you say about looking for houses you made no prior arrangements.'

'Uh…yeah. I mean no. No, we didn't.' Shit. I'd been afraid that this would happen. The interview was turning into an interrogation, and I wondered how much Lamia knew already. Or just suspected, which would be bad enough. I tried to look innocent. 'Maybe it was a pretty half-baked idea at that, sir.'

'Half-baked is right, young man. Especially with Rufus in the offing.' He paused; another frown. 'Well, it's no real business of mine. At least I hope not. You're welcome here in any case.'

I said nothing. If I'd been through some sort of a test I'd passed it, seemingly. Just. But if I'd expected the usual diplomatic chit-chat to follow I was disappointed because suddenly, without any warning, Lamia got to his feet.

'Now I really do apologise,' he said, 'but I have a very tight schedule today.'

'Uh, sure, sir.' I was left clutching my glass. I swigged down the wine and stood up. 'Certainly.'

'We'll meet again less formally soon, of course.' He smiled. 'And I'm looking forward to making the acquaintance of your charming wife. Bion will arrange things.' Bion must be the mathematical wizard with the sniff. 'A pleasure to meet you, young man.'

'Me too, sir.' I set the glass down on the desk. 'Oh, by the way. Your deputy's Vibius Marsus, I understand. My father knew a Vibius Postumus in Dalmatia.'

'That's right. Postumus is Marsus's uncle. Or was, poor fellow. He's dead now, of course.'

'Yeah. Yes, I knew that.' I'd've asked for an introduction, but I didn't want to push things, not with this guy. The information was enough. Besides, Lamia obviously wanted me out, fast. Maybe I should've wondered why, but I was too relieved to care and too happy to oblige. 'Thank you for giving me so much of your time, sir. And for the wine.' Gabble, gabble. Smarm, smarm.

'Not at all. The pleasure was mine. I'm sorry our first meeting has been so short.'

'That's okay. I know how it is.'

We shook hands, and he took my arm and led me to the door. The secretary looked up.

'Bion,' Lamia said, 'Valerius Corvinus needs a house urgently. Get the details, will you? Quickly, there's a good fellow.'

'Yes, sir. Certainly, sir.'

'Very nice to have met you, Corvinus. My apologies again.'

Lamia disappeared back inside his office and closed the door. I breathed a mental sigh of relief. The secretary turned to me and smiled. Obviously I'd gone up a notch, even with the brusqueness; but like I said, the Syrian governor's a busy man, so maybe even that hadn't been unusual. 'Now, sir,' he said. 'If you could just tell me where you can be contacted.'

'You know the Two Cedars guest house? Philotimus's place?'

'Of course.' He reached for a pad and made a note. 'On the Daphne road.'

'Right.' Someone was coming up the stairs: a big guy in army uniform. I nodded to him. He gave me a sharp look, then sat down on one of the benches with his helmet under his arm. Not one of life's natural socialisers, evidently. 'That's where we're staying. Philotimus will pass on any messages.'

'Good. That seems quite in order, Valerius Corvinus.' He made another note on his pad. 'I'll send a messenger as soon as something comes up. Have a nice day, sir.'

'Yeah, you too, pal.' I turned away, trying to remember where the nearest wine shop was. The governor's Laodicean had been welcome, but after that minor grilling I needed the rest of the jug.

The gorilla in uniform was on his feet again. The secretary smiled at him.

'You're a little early, Legate,' he said, 'but I think the governor is free now if you'd like to go straight in.'

The big guy ignored him. He was staring at me like I'd just pissed on his lunch. Legate. Oh, Jupiter! Coincidences like this I could do without. No wonder Lamia had wanted shot of me so fast. I knew what was coming. I just knew. And there wasn't a thing I could do to stop it.