Germanicus

35

Acutia was right. The Castor was a lot more comfortable than the Artemis. Faster, too, even although the wind was against us all the way: being a trireme we didn't need the sails, and these boats can shift when the rowers hit form. Not that there was much difference otherwise. The captain was probably Theon's cousin, but I never asked; I lost my breakfast before we'd cleared Seleucia harbour and threw up all the way to Puteoli.

It was good to see Rome again, even in the dark (we got back after sunset). Smell it, too. Maybe it was my imagination but the first whiff of the Tiber seemed to hit my nostrils just as our hired carriage passed through the Appian Gate, and to a Roman coming home from abroad there ain't no better smell than ripe Tiber mud.

Bathyllus was waiting outside the front door when we pulled up. Jupiter knows how he knew we were coming, but he even had a flask of my best Falernian standing on the table in the hall, with a red ribbon round the neck and a tag saying 'Welcome home'. I was touched. While Meton shot off to check that nobody had filched his best omelette pan while he'd been away I gave the little guy the stoppered jar I'd picked up in the Old Market before we left.

'Thank you, sir.' He pulled the plug and took a cautious sniff. 'How interesting. What is it? Cockroach killer?'

'Hair restorer, you ungrateful bastard. The best in Antioch.' I was pouring my first cup of Falernian for two months. Slowly. Some pleasures you spin out. 'Made to an ancient Indian recipe based on silphium and tiger urine, handed down from father to son for six hundred years.'

'The urine or the recipe, sir?'

'Can it, sunshine.' Gods! Now even Bathyllus was making jokes. 'The shopkeeper swore it'd grow hair on the Golden Milestone, but if you don't want it…'

'Oh, Marcus!' Perilla was wearing her look of prim disapproval. 'You didn't actually buy that stuff, did you?'

'Sure I did.' I lifted the cup of Falernian and sipped, letting the liquid magic find its own way past my tonsils. Bliss! 'Don't knock it, lady. Come the next Games we'll have the hairiest major-domo in Rome.'

'Or possibly a total dearth of cockroaches, sir.'

'You say something, Bathyllus?'

'No, sir. Nothing of any importance.'

'Fine, fine.' I took in some more Falernian. Jupiter, that was good! Almost worth going the length of Syria for. I'd brought back a few jars of Chian, but it wasn't the same out of context. The glasses I hadn't had time to find. 'So how've things been? Any messages while we were away?'

'One from your client Scylax, sir. Almost a month ago now. He said the butcher was back in Rome. I hope that makes sense.'

'Yeah, Yeah, it does. That's great.' It was. Before we'd left I'd asked Scylax to keep his ear to the ground for news of Carillus, and with Piso's messenger boy (and possibly Regulus's murderer) home from the sticks we might be in business again. 'Anything from Lippillus?'

'Who, sir?'

'The guy from the Aventine watch.'

'Oh, yes.' I noticed that Bathyllus had surreptitiously recorked the hair restorer. Smart move: it was strong stuff. God knows what these Indian guys had fed the tigers on, but I could feel the hairs in my nostrils beginning to curl. 'Much more recently, within the last ten days. The enquiry has been discontinued, sir. The young gentleman hasn't yet been able to ascertain who apart from the Watch commander himself was responsible.'

'Uh-huh.' That was a name I badly needed, but I was glad Lippillus wasn't busting a gut to find it for me. Men like him were thin enough on the ground in the Watch already without me putting them in the way of a quiet knife in the ribs. 'He'll let me know if and when he does find out?'

'Yes, sir. He said on no account to contact him in the meantime.'

Lippillus was clever all right, and I was glad he'd taken my warning to heart. Maybe I could ferret out that particular goody from Uncle Cotta; but not tonight. It could've been the wine on an empty stomach — I never eat when I'm travelling — but I suddenly felt dead beat. I looked at Perilla. She'd taken off her hooded cloak and was handing it to Phryne to fold, and her hair shone in the light from the hall candelabrum.

Well, it was good to be home. And maybe I wasn't that dead beat after all.

I went round to Scylax's gym the next morning. It looked just the same as usual; some things don't change. Daphnis was pushing the same bit of sand with the same rake. I wondered what the guy did when he went home at night to relax. Probably watched rocks growing.

'Hey, Daphnis!' I called. 'Is the boss around?'

I got the long slow stare. I doubt if he'd even noticed I'd been gone.

'Yeah. He's in the office.'

'Right.' I set off across the empty yard — no punters today, it seemed — then stopped and turned. 'By the way, you got any hobbies?'

'Hobbies?' Daphnis's jaw slumped.

'When you're not working. What do you do?'

'I look at statues.'

'Uh…yeah. Right.' Well, I'd asked.

'You know how many statues there are in Rome, Corvinus?' He'd dropped his rake and he was following me like a dog. There was a light in the bastard's eyes that I hadn't seen before and I didn't want to see again. 'Real statues?'

'Tell me some time.' I moved off again. Quickly. 'I'll catch up with you later, Daphnis, okay?'

'Temples are pretty interesting, too. I like temples.'

Shit. The rot was spreading. First Bathyllus's jokes, now Daphnis. Maybe you could catch it, like eczema. I wasn't taking any risks.

When I got to the office Scylax was fixing a broken sandal strap. He looked up. 'Hey, look what the cat's dragged in,' he said. 'Take a seat, Corvinus. You have a nice time in Antioch?'

Well, at least he'd remembered. I sat down on the bench. 'You know your yard skivvy was a connoisseur of art?'

'Daphnis? Sure.' He worked the bradawl through the leather. 'He knows a lot, too. Mention Polycleitus's Canon to him sometime and he'll talk the pants off you.'

'Is that right?' I didn't think I could take this. Not on my first day home. I changed the subject. 'Bathyllus says you left a message for me. About Carillus.'

'Your butcher pal?' Scylax laid the bradawl aside, threaded a needle with catgut and tied a knot in the end. 'Yeah. He's back. I had someone stake out the shop and follow him around like you asked.'

'And?'

'And nothing. Nothing you'd want to know about, anyway. The guy's squeaky-clean. He sells meat, goes back and forward to his slaughterhouse up by the tanneries. Drinks beer. You sure you're interested in him?'

'Yeah. Very. No particular friends?'

'Locals, in the meat trade mostly. And the beer and barley bread contingent in the German beerhouse, of course.'

No mileage in that. 'What's his address?'

'He lives over the shop.' Scylax put the needle through the first of the holes and pulled the gut tight. 'First floor flat.'

'He ever leave the Subura at all?'

'Not that I know of.'

Shit. I'd been hoping Carillus had kept in touch with his boss, whoever that was. He'd be a middle-man, sure, especially if Tiberius was involved, but I couldn't imagine the Wart in a fake blond wig and moustaches, swilling beer and hacking chops. If I wanted to find out more about Piso's death, and that elusive disappearing letter, I'd have to do it the hard way, starting with Carillus himself. I stood up.

'Yeah, okay,' I said. 'Thanks, pal. I owe you one.'

'Forget it.' Scylax stuck the needle through the last hole in the strap, knotted the gut and cut it. 'Take it easy, okay?'

'Sure. Thanks again. See you later.'

Outside, Daphnis was still pushing sand. This time I held my breath and gave him a wide berth.

There wasn't any point in going straight round to the butcher's shop. I wanted my second interview with Carillus to be private, and he wouldn't finish work until nearer sunset. A bit of extra backup wouldn't go amiss either, from someone I trusted. So it meant the Subura in any case, Agron's metalsmith business near the Shrine of Libera.

I spent the time it took to cross the city thinking. The Wart was involved, sure; he had to be, because Germanicus was definitely a traitor and his death had been necessary for the safety of Rome. The cover-up in Syria had been official as well, and something like that needed top-level clout. So the emperor knew and approved, and the final responsibility had to be his. End of story, close the book, you might say. The trouble was I had a beginning and an end, but no middle. Like I'd told Perilla there were too many loose ends, the biggest one of which was the way the whole affair had been managed. Sure, Tiberius couldn't risk having his son arrested and openly charged; that would've sparked off a civil war that the Wart might not have won. Not when the guy had so many legions in his pocket and so much support; at the very least it would've torn the empire apart, and Tiberius wouldn't've risked that. He'd had a rough enough time as it was. An accident I might've believed, a boating accident, say, on the way back from Egypt, or a straightforward killing. But not poison. I'd never believe poison of the Wart, not directly.

So. We were back with Livia, or Plancina, or Drusus's wife Livilla. They all had motives of different kinds, they all had the clout to arrange things at second hand, and they could all count on getting away with it as far as the emperor was concerned.

I didn't believe Livia, not when it got right down to it. Sure, the empress would be the best bet: she hated Agrippina, she saw herself as the guardian of Rome and despite everything I couldn't see her allowing the Wart to be toppled and a Julian dynasty set up in his place. But unless she was playing a very deep game indeed swearing an unnecessary oath and getting me to dig the dirt after it'd already begun to settle made no sense at all. Plancina was more possible, and from what I'd heard of her she could've carried it through. She and Piso knew about Germanicus's treason and had secret orders to watch him. She was on the spot, and she had her friendship with the empress to protect her. Maybe she'd just used her own initiative, with or without her husband's knowledge, and relied on the end justifying the means. Even although Baucis had said she'd had no connection with her sister, Mancus, whoever he was, could easily have been her agent. And Plancina had a direct link with Carillus, who'd been Piso's freedman. Sure, the Wart had dropped Piso like a hot brick, but that wasn't Plancina's fault. She could've just miscalculated.

I was into the Subura now. You can keep the colonnades of Antioch, this was home. I cut down Cheesemakers' Alley specially to buy Agron one of the wicked-smelling blue cheeses from the Po valley he was so fond of, stopped off to watch a juggler at the corner of Spice Street (he wasn't very good, but he was getting plenty of laughs so maybe it was intentional) and found Perilla a pair of pomegranate earrings that she'd never wear but would be good for a laugh when I got back.

So. Livilla. We hadn't really considered Livilla on her own, but maybe we should. With her new pregnancy she had the motive, and Secundus had said there was a lot of the old empress in her. Enough, maybe, for her to want her husband on the throne rather than her brother after the Wart was fitted for his death mask and not balk too much over how she went about it. She could count on Tiberius's support, too, and I'd heard that she and the empress didn't get on despite — or maybe because of — the similarity in character. And I'd bet a gold piece to a brass button that she could twist Drusus round her little finger, which wouldn't make her too popular with his grandmother Livia either. Yeah, Livilla was a real possibility. The only problem with her was the means; but then maybe she had friends. Maybe even a friend like Plancina…

I stopped just in time to watch where I was putting my feet and stepped over a pile of donkey droppings. Pairing the two was an interesting scenario. The problem with fingering Plancina on her own was she'd be taking one hell of a risk without the promise of anything definite at the end. But if Plancina had been working for Livilla just as her husband was working for the emperor a lot of things would make sense. The Wart couldn't last for ever: he was in his sixties now, he drank too much and he lived hard. By poisoning Germanicus for Livilla Plancina would be getting the best of all possible worlds: she'd have the Wart's blessing, even if it was a sour one, for executing a traitor; she'd stand in well with the next empress; and she'd be doing herself and her husband a favour at the same time. It would explain Livia's attitude too, and her desire to see the case reopened: her friend Plancina would be safe under the amnesty but Livilla herself would be compromised. And I doubted if the empress would shed any tears if that happened.

Yeah. I liked Livilla. I liked her a lot. But then there was the question of finding the missing connections…

I turned into Metalsmith's Row, where Agron had his blacksmith's shop. The shop was open, but the guy swinging the hammer was Agron's assistant.

'Hi, Sextus. Where's the boss?' I said.

Sextus hefted whatever he was making — it looked like part of an iron gate — and pushed it back into the forge to heat.

'Making a delivery,' he said. 'He'll be back later.'

'How much later?'

'Two hours. Maybe three. Customer's on the other side of the Tiber.'

Shit. 'Can I leave a message?'

'Sure. I'm not going anywhere.'

There wasn't any way round it. I left my name and asked him to get Agron to meet me at Carillus's shop at sundown. Which, considering what Fate had up her sleeve for me in the next few hours, was one of the smartest moves I ever made.