Germanicus

31

The Third's camp was five miles out the Beroea road. I could've gone back home to get my own carriage but that would've taken too long. Instead I picked up a public one from outside Caesar's Baths and left the driver twiddling his thumbs while I crossed the camp's main causeway and introduced myself to the gate guard.

'Yes, sir?' The guy in charge was a big decurion who looked like he'd been boiled in his leathers and then dried over an oakwood fire.

'Your legate on base at the moment, soldier?' I said.

The hard eyes raked me like I was a fifth-rate rookie who'd just fumbled his throwing spear at the present. Maybe I should've gone home first and smartened up after all, but I'd been too angry to put this off, and I'd hoped my patrician vowels and the purple stripe on what was left of my tunic would make up for appearances.

'Who wants him?' The guy was polite enough, but I noticed he'd dropped the 'sir'. I dabbed at the arrow scratch on my cheek. It'd stopped bleeding now but I'd bet good money my face didn't look too respectable either.

'The name's Valerius Corvinus. Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus. Rufus knows who I am. Tell him he's just lost himself an archer.'

The decurion stiffened, and I thought for a moment he'd have his squaddies throw me out. Then he nodded slowly.

'Wait here,' he said. 'Geminus!' One of the squaddies stepped forward. 'Message to the duty adjutant. Visitor for the legate at the main gate. Give him the b — ' He stopped himself. 'Give him the gentleman's name and ask for instructions.'

'Thanks, sunshine.' I sat down uninvited on the bench inside the gatehouse to wait.

Ten minutes and not a word of social chitchat later the guy reappeared, panting.

'The adjutant says I'm to bring him up, decurion,' he said.

'Do it, then.' The decurion turned his broad back on me.

When I strode into Rufus's office he was standing beside the desk, his face dark with anger.

'All right, Corvinus,' he said. 'What's this about an archer?'

'His name was Julius Lyncaeus. One of your Cretans. He shot one of the people I was with over by the Shrine of the Dryads, wounded a second and near as hell put an arrow through me. I thought maybe we should discuss it, Rufus.'

'Where is the Cretan now?'

'Last I saw he was lying on a plateau under the Capitol with his head hanging off. Pick him up any time you like.'

I was hoping he'd go for me but he didn't. 'You killed him?'

'Not me. The other guy, the one he wounded in the shoulder. Personally I'd've preferred the bastard alive so I could sweat him.'

Rufus turned abruptly and crossed behind me to the door.

'Sabinus!' he shouted. 'In here! Now!'

The adjutant who'd met me in the outer office came running. He was a young guy, no older than me, and he looked scared. Rufus glared at me. 'I want you to listen very carefully to what this…gentleman says,' he said. 'And to remember it.'

The adjutant swallowed. 'Yes, sir.'

I was cooling down now, although my anger hadn't lost any of its edge. Quite the reverse. 'Lyncaeus was one of your men, you bastard. You sent him, you or Celer.'

'Understand this, Corvinus.' Rufus came so close I could smell his breath. 'I've been ordered to stay away from you and I've done it. I don't know what the hell Domitius Celer has to do with anything, but if I really wanted you dead I'd kill you myself. You've come in here uninvited and confessed to being involved in the death of one of my auxiliaries. When the governor gets to know about that, which he will as soon as I can send a despatch rider, you'll be out of Syria so fast your feet won't touch the ground, consul's nephew or not. Is that clear enough for you?'

'Sure it is.' There was a camp stool next to me. I pulled it up and sat on it. 'Now you understand me. This wasn't a personal thing. Nothing to do with Perilla.' He'd been staring at me, and he didn't blink. 'The first arrow wasn't meant for me, unless the guy was the worst shot in the army. I don't know yet what bit of political garbage you and your mates are covering up, but I'm getting there. What I do know is it stinks, and throwing me out of Syria isn't going to alter the fact that now you've gone the length of murder and attempted murder. So you just shove that bit of information in your despatch rider's bag while you're at it, sunshine. Unless Lamia knows already, of course.'

Rufus was breathing hard and his fists were clenched. 'Sabinus,’ he said, ‘escort Valerius Corvinus back to the gate, please. Tell the guard he's not to be readmitted. Under any circumstances.'

'Yes, sir.' The young officer snapped a salute; I noticed he didn't look at me. Or, more to the point, at Rufus. I stood up to go.

'Wait. One more thing, Corvinus.' Rufus was stiffly formal. 'The name of your dead friend, please. And the name of the man who actually killed my Cretan.'

I held his eye. 'I think you know both their names already. Or if you don't you can always ask your pal Celer.'

'Get him out of my sight, Sabinus.' Rufus turned back to his desk.

I didn't feel too proud of myself on the way home. No, I'd no regrets about facing Rufus, but I'd let my temper rule my head and that'd been a mistake. He hadn't been bluffing when he'd said he'd contact the governor, I was sure of that, and if we weren't on the first ship out we could count ourselves lucky. Still, there hadn't been much else I could do. We had the whole of the Syrian top brass against us. To keep things under wraps would be playing into their hands. The only way we were going to come through this was to scream blue murder as publicly as possible and hope they'd be too embarrassed to try anything else.

I'd told Rufus that as far as the cover-up was concerned I was getting there. Like hell I was. What Orosius had told me about Vonones was interesting but it didn't help much. The only really useful part had been the bit at the end just before the guy had been shot. Piso had told Vonones that the situation was only temporary. And that the Wart was involved. The implication being that Piso, as a friend of the emperor or maybe as governor, knew something that most people didn't.

I settled back against the cushions. Okay. What situation? Presumably the only one Vonones had an interest in, namely Parthia and Armenia. Parthia was unlikely: Roman writ stops at the Orontes, and anyone who isn't a Parthian themselves born and bred would go mad inside a month trying just to make sense of Parthian dynastic squabbles, let alone manipulate them. Armenia then. Only the Armenian question had been solved once and for all by Tiberius's rep Germanicus. But then if Piso had told Vonones not to worry about Germanicus's arrangements because they wouldn't last then the implication was…

No. No, that wouldn't wash either. Tiberius hadn't cancelled his son's arrangements. They'd lasted even after Germanicus's death, because whether he was acting on orders or not Germanicus had done a bloody good job. The Parthians were happy, too. Or at least they couldn't afford to pretend otherwise. So that wasn't it. Not Parthia, and not Armenia.

Okay, I thought. So let's go back a bit. Maybe Piso had meant Germanicus himself; that Germanicus was only temporary. That angle was more interesting. Sure, Piso could've been spinning a tale to keep the pennies coming in, but I didn't think so: Orosius had been certain that he had something solid to offer, and I trusted the smart little clerk's judgment. We were back to the theory that Piso had a private scam cooking with Tiberius. A special relationship. But if so then what was it?

Okay. What if the Wart had sent Piso out because the Armenian situation was too important to louse up? In other words, as the blue-eyed boy's official-unofficial minder?

It made sense. Germanicus had ballsed up the German campaign; he was on probation, crown prince or not. Piso was an experienced diplomatic hand and the emperor's personal friend. Let's say Tiberius had called him in, given him Syria, and told him to ride point. Make sure Germanicus handled the diplomatic juggling the way the Wart wanted it handled; simply and with none of the lad's usual flash. Which meant Tiberius also had to give Piso secret discretionary powers that overrode Germanicus's official ones. That would explain why Piso had been so blasé about crossing a ranking Caesar; it would explain the friction, especially if Germanicus knew the arrangement; it would explain why the two of them had been so cagey about letting the senate see their correspondence; and it would explain Piso's cockiness when he got back to Rome. He'd followed the Wart's orders and he expected support. When he didn't get it it must've felt like a surprise boot up the backside…

Only that theory didn't work either. I kept hitting the objection that as far as Armenia and the Parthians were concerned the boy had done good. Tiberius was a sour bugger but he was fair. If he'd been testing Germanicus as a diplomat, or maybe just for his willingness to follow orders and take advice, then the guy had passed with flying colours. If anyone deserved to be ridden home on a rail it was Piso; which was exactly what had happened. Piso had had his knife into Germanicus from the start. He'd been rude, obstructive, petty-minded, and he'd finally caused more trouble than a rhino in a flower shop by committing an overtly treasonable act. If Tiberius had let the senate claw the guy's balls off he'd thoroughly deserved it.

Yeah, sure. But I still couldn't get round what Orosius had said. Piso had practically told Vonones that Germanicus's days were numbered. Which would imply, in the event, that the Wart had had him killed. And that just made no sense at all. Germanicus was a long way from deserving poison in his porridge and a trip home in an urn, even if that was the way Tiberius did things, which it wasn't. Livia, sure, but not the Wart. It didn't explain this Syrian cover-up, either. So I was still missing something…

Ah, hell! Leave it! I looked out the carriage window. We were half way along Epiphanes Street, just beyond the central plaza with the Shrine of the Nymphs and the Caesarium. Maybe I should spend more time just taking in the sights. If Rufus had his way this might be the last trip through Antioch I'd get. Perilla would be disappointed, too; she'd enjoyed it here. And Antioch wasn't a bad place. Not Rome, but then you can't have everything.

We turned up towards Epiphania and the hills, the sunset behind us covering the mountain ahead with purple like an emperor's cloak.

When I got back, I found a message from Lamia waiting for me. He wanted to see me in his office the next morning. First thing.