Germanicus

27

While Perilla was at her cake klatsch I took a walk up towards the Iron Gates to see if I could find Apollonius's place. No problems: the fruit juice seller I asked was parked less than a dozen yards away, and he pointed it out to me.

The coaches — Apollonius must've been loaded, because he had five, different sizes — were in the stables round the side of the house. Giton, if he was around, would be there too. Sure, I could've knocked on the front door but I didn't want to do that: a strange Roman turning up on the doorstep and asking to speak to the family coachman might've raised a few eyebrows. Set a few tongues wagging, too. So it had to be the stables.

Loaded is right. The horseflesh that eyed me over the cutaway doors would've made the Greens back home curl up and die with shame. And you ain't never been sneered at until you've been sneered at by something with two clear yards separating its hooves from its ears. Still, horses are okay if you take the time to get to know them. By the time I'd scratched a few noses we were old friends.

'Hey! What the fuck you think you're doing?'

I turned round to see a big guy with a head of hair like a black wire mop coming towards me. Giton, for sure. Critias had said he had a way with people.

'Sorry, pal,' I said. 'Just admiring your stock. Real beauties. What are they, Arabian?'

'Yeah.' He'd cooled down when he'd heard the Roman accent and seen the stripe on my tunic 'Straight off the desert south of Palmyra. Finest in Antioch. You looking for the master, lord? He's out.'

'No. It was you I wanted to see. If your name's Giton.'

The suspicious look was back. 'That's me. So what?'

'No hassle.' I took a pair of tetradrachms out of my purse. 'Nothing to do with you or Apollonius, and nothing illegal. I just want a word. Ten minutes of your time, okay?'

His eyes were on the coins. Eight drachs was as much as he'd earn from tips in a month.

'Okay,' he said at last. 'Let's go to the tackle room.'

He led the way across the yard to a shed against the side wall. Inside a couple of lads were sprawled out on the straw shooting dice. He jerked his head and they scuttled out. 'Right.' He pulled up a bench for me and sat opposite. 'So what's on your mind?'

'You used to belong to a Parthian exile named Vonones.'

'Yeah. So?'

So was right. I had to tread carefully here, and there was no point in asking directly about anything political because the guy would just've clammed up. 'He was pals with the Roman governor? Calpurnius Piso?'

'They had dinner about twice a month, yeah. Lord Piso and his wife came round just as often.'

'Just that? Dinner party stuff?'

'Far as I know.' He was scowling by this time, but the eight drachs were still working their magic. 'I drove him to the residence sometimes in office hours. Maybe he went to see Piso, maybe someone else.'

'He have any other bosom cronies that you know of? Romans, that is?'

'Bosom cronies I couldn't say. Not that I'd've put it past him. But yeah, he was friendly with a couple of Romans, on and off.' The scowl deepened. 'What's this about?'

'Just curiosity.'

'Sure. Eight drachmas worth of curiosity. That's a lot of metal, considering the guy's dead.'

'Let's just say I'm doing a favour for a client of mine in Rome.' Oh, the empress would love that!

'Uh-huh.' He held out his hand. 'In that case maybe you wouldn't mind opening that big purse of yours a bit wider. It might refresh my memory.'

I put the two tetradrachms into his palm. 'The same again when you've earned them. But remember I want names not flannel. And after that you don't talk to no one.'

'Who would I talk to?' The coins disappeared inside his leather belt. 'You know Marsus? The deputy governor?'

'Yeah.' My stomach did a turn. Hell. I hadn't wanted Marsus to be involved. 'Yeah, I know him.'

'He was one. But the man you really want is Celer.'

'Domitius Celer?'

'That's him.'

'He's still in Antioch?'

'Sure. Commands the Third's cavalry. For what it's worth. These screw-kneed hacks they ride wouldn't even make good glue.'

'Why should I want Celer in particular?'

He shrugged. 'You asked what Romans the boss was thick with. He was thick with Celer. And not just what you called dinner party stuff, either.'

Uh-huh. 'Tell me.'

'Same again, you said?'

'If the information's worth it.'

'It's worth it.' A pause, but I wasn't giving. Not until he did. 'We used to drive sometimes out along the Beroea road, towards the Third's camp. There's a grove of trees down a track just beyond Agrippa's Baths. I'd stop there and he'd go on foot to meet the guy further up the hill.'

'So how do you know it was Celer?'

'He left his horse in the clearing. Black gelding, patch above the eye like a crown. Nervous tail.'

'This happen often?'

'Not often. And not regular. Now and again. Maybe once, twice a month.'

'You know what they talked about?'

'You think I'm a fool? I stuck to the coach. Ears shut and eyes on the horses.'

'It wasn't…ah…a romantic assignment?'

'With Celer? No way! Celer's not that type.' He held out his hand again. 'That's the story. All you get.' I passed over the other coins and he slipped them under his belt. 'A pleasure doing business with you. I always had a soft spot for Romans.'

'Yeah, sure.'

'Truth.' He stood up. 'You want a tip for the races tomorrow? Back Green in the third heat. Not the second or the fourth, the third. Okay?'

'Okay.' I stood up too. The Orontes would freeze over before I bet on anything this guy recommended, and not because he didn't know horseflesh. A bastard like Giton would tell you to put your shirt on a team just for the fun of knowing you'd lose it.

Perilla got back late afternoon, and we exchanged notes.

'You do realise, dear,' she said when I'd told her about Giton, 'that you are talking to the current Antioch expert on how women in Rome are wearing their hair at present?'

I grinned. 'No kidding?'

'I was also interrogated on what was the chicest way when we left of draping a mantle, what authors were popular — of the lighter Alexandrian sort, naturally — and who was having an affair with whom.' She took a morose swallow of her pomegranate juice: I was becoming seriously worried about the effects that stuff was having on her. 'These topics not necessarily in the order I've given.'

'So you had a nice time?'

'Marvellous.'

'Think of it as work, lady. You find out anything interesting? Besides how to make upside down egg pudding?'

'No. Not anything specific. Sulpicia was being very close mouthed and I didn't dare ask anything overtly.'

'So who was there?'

'You want a list? There were at least a dozen.'

'Just the key names.'

'All right.' She paused. 'Sulpicia. The governor's wife Caecilia Gemella…'

'How about Mrs Celer?'

'Yes. Popilla, I think her name was. Then there was Acutia, of course. A rather plump lady with artistic pretensions. Several others I can't recall.'

'And you got nothing? Nothing at all?'

Perilla stared into her juice glass. 'I wouldn't exactly say nothing. It's difficult to explain. There was a certain…atmosphere.'

'Yeah?'

'I mean, there are undercurrents to any group. Parties. Factions. Petty jealousies. Nothing an outsider can identify, just…undercurrents. But these ones were particularly strong.'

'Come on! You can do better than that!'

'I'm trying. Let me think. Sulpicia, for example, didn't get on with Popilla. And Acutia wasn't popular with anyone. Not that she was left out but she simply wasn't…included. Oh, she was a bit of a pain, but that wasn't the reason. Some of the rest were worse.'

'Who's this Acutia?'

'Publius Vitellius's wife.'

Yeah, that made sense. Vitellius had been one of Germanicus's main supporters; he'd helped to prepare the case against Piso in Rome. Marsus and Celer, on the other hand, had both been Piso's men. Given the feud that'd be plenty to account for a certain coolness still among the wives.

'You think it's a hangover from Germanicus's time?' I said.

'Maybe. Probably. But it seemed more general. Caecilia was distant with Acutia as well, and Caecilia wasn't in Antioch when Germanicus was alive. Nor were some of the others.'

I was out of my depth here, and I knew it. Simple facts like guys being knifed in the back or holding secret meetings beyond the city limits I could understand, even if I didn't know the whys and the wherefores, but all these women’s names just made my head spin. Not that what Perilla was saying wasn't important: sure it was. But there was nothing I could latch on to. Not yet, anyway.

'Okay. Let's leave it,' I said. 'You feel up to going again tomorrow?'

'Not really. But I will, of course.'

'Good.' I kissed her. 'So. Any of your lovelies coming to the governor's party tonight?'

'Most of them. It is his birthday, after all.'

'It's what?'

'The governor's birthday, Marcus. Sulpicia told me.'

'Then why the hell didn't it say so on the invite?' Oh, Jupiter! That was all we needed. To turn up at Lamia's birthday party without a present would be the diplomatic equivalent of blowing a raspberry in the guy's face. He wouldn't say anything, of course, but we could forget any little future indulgences.

'Don't worry. I bought something in town on the way back home. An alabaster perfume jar. He's interested in antiques, seemingly.'

I breathed a sigh of relief. 'Quite a cultured lad, all told. First Tyrian glass, now antiques. You think he's a poet as well, like your pal Marsus?'

'Perhaps. I don't know. Do you have a reason for asking?'

I didn't, not as such; but I had a suspicion that we were going to have to stir up some shit soon. And when that happened we'd need all the goodwill we could get.

Incidentally, I checked the race news with Critias the next day. The Green team in the third heat lost. They lost by a nose, but they lost.