In at the Death

27

The Praetorian barracks are to the north-east of the city, between Viminal Field and Nomentan Road. They’re pretty new, only about fifteen years old: before Sejanus persuaded the Wart to bring them all together the nine Praetorian cohorts — with extras, just short of five thousand men — were spread through Italy, with only a single cohort stationed in Rome itself. Yeah, sure, having what amounts almost to a full legion, and that made up of the best troops in the empire, free, ready and waiting to send off to a sudden trouble spot at a moment’s notice makes sense, but it’s a double-edged sword: whoever commands the Praetorians effectively controls the city, or could do if push came to serious shove. Which was why, of course, Sejanus had suggested the amalgamation in the first place; why the Wart, when he sent Macro to pull Sejanus’s plug, gave him a letter appointing him as the guy’s replacement; and why, currently, the said Macro was de facto the most powerful, most dangerous bugger in Rome.

I was doing this properly. Oh, yeah, although the barracks weren’t exactly next door it would’ve been an easy hour and a half’s stroll, quite pleasant in good weather, which that morning it was; and although I’d pass by the Caeliolan, where according to Perilla’s satyric librarian pal Albucilla hung out, this early in the day was too soon for a social call. I could have my second talk with the lady on the way back. If there was an ‘on the way back’. On the other hand, arriving at Macro’s front door on foot and in a travel-stained tunic wouldn’t do much for my personal street-cred.

So I put on my best mantle and took the litter again. Apart from anything else, the long run would do our lardballs good: Perilla did use them whenever she went out, sure, but that didn’t happen too often and litter-slaves need to be constantly exercised if you don’t want a team bulging with unsightly fat and panting at the slightest incline. I also took four of the Wrecking Crew along, this time in their best tunics. Mostly for the show when I reached the barracks: if things got sticky, as they might, even four extra-large trolls on the staff wouldn’t be much help against nine cohorts of Praetorians. I didn’t even think of taking Placida. Praetorians aren’t exactly notable for their sunny, easy-going natures, and just one anarchic paw out of line in the wrong company could have us both in shtuck.

We processed up to the gate in fine style, and the squaddies on guard even came to attention when I got out of the litter. I gave my name to the duty officer, twiddled my thumbs in the guard-house for ten minutes while he checked with higher authority and was then escorted up the Headquarters Road towards the headquarters building itself.

When he’d had the place built, Sejanus had done himself and his men proud. There weren’t any fripperies, sure, visible ones anyway — this was a working army camp, after all — but the barrack blocks were solid, concrete-built with heavy tile roofs. They all had verandas, too, and there were quite a few squaddies lounging about them in tunics or leathers shooting the after-breakfast breeze. I remembered what Publius had said about the Praetorians being a cushy posting. Yeah, that squared. As the empire’s elite, they’d be fairly certain of staying put for the duration of their service unless something drastic went wrong on one of the frontiers that the local troops couldn’t handle, they had Rome on their doorstep when they were off duty and, best of all, they were paid at three times the rate of the ordinary legionary squaddie. If the buggers weren’t exactly laughing, they could at least raise a chuckle.

Outside the headquarters, my escort handed me over to the officer on duty — you could’ve used the guy’s breastplate as a shaving-mirror — and went back to guarding the empire’s heartland against any band of marauding barbarians that might’ve slipped across the border and crossed five hundred miles or so of Roman territory without being noticed.

‘The commander’s in here, sir,’ the duty officer said. ‘If you’d care to follow me.’

Two minutes later I was face to face with Sertorius Macro, for the first time in five years.

He hadn’t changed much; still the hard, bulldog face with the chiselled features and eyes like chips of marble, although his close-cropped hair was greying at the temples. And he’d kept himself in shape. I couldn’t tell whether he had a paunch under the leathers and breastplate, sure, but when he got up and came round the desk with his hand held out to shake he moved easily, like a fit man ten years younger.

His grip was powerful, too.

‘Valerius Corvinus,’ he said. ‘A pleasure to see you again. Come and sit down.’

There was a chair in front of the desk: plain oak, but good quality. I pulled it up and sat while he went back to his own chair. An orderly had followed me in and was standing at attention.

‘Some wine, Titus,’ Macro said to him. Then, to me: ‘Not too early for you, Corvinus?’

‘Uh-uh. A cup of wine would be great, thanks.’

The orderly gave a crisp salute, right-about-turned and exited.

‘How’s your wife?’ Macro said. ‘Ah…Rufia Perilla, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, Perilla’s fine.’ I was feeling pretty gobsmacked. I couldn’t complain of the reception, anyway. The guy couldn’t’ve been more affable if I’d been a long-lost brother, and that was weird, because when we’d seen each other last he’d hardly spoken half a dozen words to me. Mind you, then he’d had other things to think about. Like killing Sejanus.

‘Ennia and I must have the pair of you round for dinner some evening. I’m sorry we seem to have lost touch over the years. Perhaps we can do better in future. After all, in a way I do have you to thank for the fact that I’m sitting here today.’ Jupiter! ‘Now.’ He smiled and steepled his fingers. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Ah…’ I was trying to keep my jaw from sagging. This wasn’t how I’d envisaged things happening at all; or maybe I was, in my dreams. Not that I was complaining, mind. ‘Actually, I was hoping to talk to someone on your staff. Pontius Fregellanus.’

I was watching his eyes when I said the name, and there was nothing. No reaction. Zero. Zilch.

‘Fregellanus? Why would you want to talk to him?’ The orderly came in with a winejug and two cups. ‘That’s fine, Titus. Just put them on the desk, pour and go.’

I waited until he’d done all of that, with due military precision. The guy probably went to the toilet by numbers. Then I said: ‘I thought, maybe, that he might have something to tell me about the death of Sextus Papinius.’

I was watching closely. Zilch again.

Macro picked up one of the wine-cups. ‘That the youngster who threw himself out of a tenement window ten days or so ago?’ he said.

‘Yeah. I’m…looking into the circumstances. As a favour to Natalis of the Greens and the kid’s mother.’

‘So how do you think Fregellanus can help?’ There was nothing in Macro’s voice beyond polite interest.

I shrugged; this, at least, I’d been ready for. Not that I had a proper answer; not even a genuine proper answer. ‘Maybe he can’t,’ I said. ‘In fact, probably he can’t. But I’m just checking round the lad’s friends and acquaintances to see if they can shed any light on why he might’ve done it.’

That, at least, got me a sharp look. ‘I didn’t know Fregellanus even knew young Papinius, let alone that he was a friend,’ Macro said. ‘And frankly, Corvinus, I can’t see that being very likely. Fregellanus is as old as I am, and, to tell you the truth, the man’s a monumental bore. What would he have in common with a…How old was Papinius?’

‘Nineteen. But — ’

‘With a nineteen-year-old lad-about-town?’ He shrugged. ‘Still, you know best, I suppose.’

‘He’s only a friend of a friend. But I’m trying to cover every angle. They may’ve been at the same party and he may’ve noticed something.’

‘Sounds pretty tenuous to me.’ The grey eyes rested on mine for a moment. It was like being raked by a fusillade of stones from an onager. Then he shrugged again and sipped his wine. ‘Well, as I say you know your own business. If you want to talk to Fregellanus then go ahead. He should be around at present. I’ll get my orderly to show you to his office.’

I picked up my own wine-cup and took a swallow of the wine: Faustinian, and bloody good. I was seriously puzzled: puzzled and relieved. Relieved that Macro wasn’t showing any signs at all of being mixed up in this business, puzzled because the guy was so matey. Dinner invitations, indeed! Just wait until that one hit the mat. Perilla would have a fit.

Against all expectations, we were doing okay here. Time, maybe, to push my luck a little.

‘Ah…there was something else,’ I said. ‘I was looking for a couple of men, centurions possibly. Sextus Aponius and Quintus Pettius.’

Was that a flicker? It was there and gone before I could be sure, but I’d lay good odds that it’d been there. Still, that was all I got. When he spoke, his tone of voice hadn’t changed.

‘The names ring a bell,’ he said, ‘although I couldn’t swear to them. I’m afraid I don’t know half my centurions except by sight. A terrible admission for a commander to make, but there you are, I’ve always been bad with names. They were friends of young Papinius as well?’

‘Uh, no, not exactly. Or not as far as I know, anyway.’ Even with this new super-friendly version of Macro I was treading carefully; keeping as close as possible to the truth without risking setting the guy’s back up. ‘I thought they might have some connection with a guy called Mucius Soranus.’

For the first time, Macro frowned. ‘Oh, I know Soranus. By name, at least. What does he have to do with it?’

‘Papinius owed him some money. A large gambling debt, so his friend said.’

‘That certainly makes sense.’ Macro drank some of his wine, a proper swallow this time. ‘He’s a bad one, that, Corvinus. As far as any of my lads being tied up with him goes…well, they’re no paragons, but I’d be sorry to hear it. You’ve met him yourself?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, twice.’ I judged the risk and decided to push things a little more. ‘In a manner of speaking. The second time was pretty much one-way. When I got to where we’d arranged to meet he was dead with his throat cut.’

Macro set the cup down slowly. ‘That so, now?’ he said.

‘I…ah…thought Aponius and Pettius might have something to do with it.’

‘Did you, indeed?’ His voice was neutral. ‘Excuse me.’ He stood up, went to the door and opened it. ‘Titus!’

The orderly came in and snapped to attention. ‘Yes, sir!’

‘Sextus Aponius and Quintus Pettius. Centurions, I don’t know the cohort or cohorts. Find out if they’re on base. If they are, I want to see them here as of five minutes ago.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The guy saluted and left. Macro closed the door.

‘Let’s have the details,’ he said.

With that tone you didn’t argue. I told him — not the whole thing, of course, just the circumstances of the rendezvous and what I’d found.

‘Pompey’s theatre?’ he said when I’d finished. ‘Why should he want to meet you at Pompey’s theatre?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But he’d been dumped there by…whoever killed him. Presumably the killer or killers chose the venue.’

‘And you think the killers were Aponius and Pettius.’

Statement, not question. Well, the attempt at disguise had been pretty thin, and Macro wouldn’t be where he was if he was stupid. ‘Uh…yeah,’ I said carefully. ‘Yeah. It’s a strong possibility, anyway.’

He went back behind the desk again and sat down. ‘Corvinus, I’ve got a lot of respect for you,’ he said. ‘You may not believe that, but it’s true. I’ll take it you know what you’re about here, and if you’re right I’ll see the bastards broken. That’s only for starters.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Not that I’ve got much sympathy for Soranus, mind, I’ll tell you that now. He was an out-and-out bastard, and he had it coming. You know he was a blackmailer?’

I nearly swallowed my wine-cup. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I knew that. Or at least I’ve found it out. I didn’t know it was common knowledge, though.’

‘It isn’t. Still, he was, all the same. Not that I’m suggesting that’s relevant here, of course, but it’s another reason why Rome’s better off without him.’ There was a knock on the door. ‘Yes. Come in.’

It was the orderly. He was holding a wax tablet.

‘Well?’ Macro said.

‘I’ve checked with the adjutant, sir,’ he said. ‘Aponius and Pettius were assigned to garrison duty on Capri, starting on the kalends.’

Macro held out a hand. ‘Let me see.’ The orderly passed him the tablet, stepped back and saluted. ‘All right, Titus, thank you. You can go.’

I waited until the guy had left. Macro was reading the tablet.

‘They’re in Rome,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen them myself.’

He shook his head. ‘Not according to this. Here. You read it.’

I took the tablet. Sure enough, there was the entry: ‘Kal Oct. Cs Sex Aponius coh 1 amp; Q Pettius coh 5 Capri garrison.’ Bugger. ‘Who authorised this?’ I said.

‘My camp commandant Aquillius. He handles all that sort of thing. Although naturally I would’ve countersigned the order.’

‘And yet you didn’t remember the names when I mentioned them?’

‘Corvinus.’ For the first time Macro’s voice sounded a little tetchy. ‘Do you know how many of these things appear on my desk for initialling every morning? Temporary transfers, notification of leave, defaulter punishments and so on? And do you know how much real work I have to get through? I said the names rang a bell. Obviously this was why.’ He spread his hands. ‘Now I’m very, very sorry but under the circumstances there isn’t much I can do for you. Perhaps you made a mistake, perhaps the men gave false names.’ I kept my lips tightly shut. ‘Of course I can and will double-check with Aquillius, in your presence if you like. I’ll also send to Capri to make sure the men are there, although that may take time. Apart from that I’m afraid I can’t help you further.’

Well, all that was fair enough, reasonable and better than reasonable. I knew what I knew, sure, but I couldn’t blame Macro for not believing me. Or rather, not not believing so much as wanting external confirmation. And, after all, what more could he do, in practical terms? If the guys were on Capri they weren’t, ipso facto, Soranus’s killers; while if they weren’t there, he couldn’t put his hands on them anyway…

Or maybe he could; but then that was an angle that I didn’t want to dwell on. Certainly not here in the middle of the Praetorian barracks.

‘Yeah. Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘Still, wherever they are officially I’ve seen that pair twice in the last five days. And I’m pretty sure they murdered Soranus.’

‘In that case they’re deserters and will be dealt with accordingly when we find them. Not if, when.’ Macro stood up. ‘Now I’m not rushing you along, but I do have a staff officers’ meeting in half an hour and I have things to prepare. Titus will take you to Fregellanus.’ He held out a hand. ‘It really has been a pleasure to see you again. Any time I can help, please feel free to ask.’

I shook. ‘Uh…thanks. That’s…very kind.’

‘My regards to Perilla. And I won’t forget the matter of the dinner invitation.’ He walked me to the door, his hand on my shoulder, and opened it. ‘Titus, take Valerius Corvinus to Pontius Fregellanus’s office, please. And you’re to make sure that he’s escorted formally to the front gate when he chooses to leave.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The orderly gave another snappy salute; then, as Macro’s door closed, he turned to me.

‘This way, sir.’

I followed.