Ovid

24

I found a letter waiting for me from Gaius Pertinax when I got home.

Pertinax was the guy I'd thought might know the inside story on the Julia scandal. Not Paullus's Julia. Her mother, Augustus's daughter, who'd been exiled when the City Watch had caught her putting it around one night in the Market Square while her husband Tiberius was off sulking in Rhodes. Harpale had claimed that she'd been innocent, too. What she had to do with our little mystery I wasn't sure — that particular scandal had broken ten years before Ovid went to Tomi — but it was a lead all the same. And we had less of them than a eunuch has hard-ons.

I'd known Pertinax all my life. He was an ex-subordinate of my grandfather's when the old man had been city prefect forty-odd years back and the two had hit it off like fish sauce on broad beans. Not that Granddad had held the job for long. According to family tradition (Uncle Cotta, not my father) he'd thrown it up because it was, and I quote, "a major pain in the arse". Not that that was how he'd expressed it to Augustus. The official reason he gave was that it was "undemocratic". Which I suppose was as strong as he could make it without putting a knot in the imperial knickers.

Unlike Granddad, Pertinax had his daily bread to earn. He'd stuck with the city service and when the Elder Julia had been arrested he'd had one of the top jobs with the Watch. As a regional commander no less. For Region Eight, the Market Square area…

Yeah. Pure gold, right? If Uncle Gaius couldn't tell me what had happened that night then no one could.

He was retired now, of course. Long retired, to a farm in the country about thirty miles down the Appian Way where he grew the best pears and apples you've ever tasted. I used to go there with my grandfather at harvest time when I was a kid, and Pertinax took quite a shine to me. He still sent me a bushel or two out of his crop in the autumn, and I'd call in whenever I was down that way to see how the old guy was doing.

So when the Julia thing came up I'd sent a runner to Pertinax's place with a note asking him if I could come down and milk his brains, subject unspecified. This was the reply. It was short and snappy: Uncle Gaius could've given a Spartan lessons in prose style.

Gaius Attius Pertinax to Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus. Greetings.Come when you like. Bring fish.

I grinned as I read it. Some people's weakness is money, others power, others women. Pertinax's was fish, and he would sell his soul for a sturgeon. When he came to dinner with my grandfather (which he did on average about once a month) Old Corvinus would send Philip his cook down to scour the fish market in the Argiletum for the widest and best selection money could buy. It cost him, too — good fish costs an arm and a leg in Rome and always has done — but then my granddad was generous to his friends. I'd never understood why Pertinax hadn't settled further south when he retired; at Naples, say, where the seafood would draw Jupiter himself down banging his dinner pail. Maybe he'd thought too much perfection was dangerous. Or maybe he just liked growing good apples better.

When I'd read the note I sent Bathyllus out for a barrel of Baian oysters and the biggest sturgeon he could lug home without giving himself a hernia, packed off another minion to tell Perilla where I was going and why, and ordered up the carriage.

The journey was uneventful. Not knowing how busy the Appian Way would be after the holiday (it wasn't, especially) I'd taken the big sleeping coach. Thirty-odd miles may not seem a lot, but I'd been caught out before on a slow road and unless you want to risk being rolled or eaten alive by fleas at a quaint wayside inn or have acquaintances en route (I didn't unfortunately. Or not ones I'd've willingly spent an evening with, anyway) it's a sensible way to travel. Apart from the coachman and my body slave Flavus I took the four Sunshine Boys. Three of them could ride without falling off. The fourth usually landed on his head, which didn't seem to worry him much and provided harmless amusement for the rest of us. I had a private bet with myself (which I won easily) that he'd go arse over tip at least once per mile.

Pertinax was looking pretty fit for his seventy-odd years, brown as a berry and with less of a gut on him than I had. When he saw the sturgeon his eyes lit up like a twenty-lamp candelabrum.

'Slow-steamed with coriander,' he murmured as two of his lads levered the fish out of the boot. 'Perhaps with a celery-mint sauce. What do you think, Marcus?'

'It's your fish, Uncle. Have it how you like.'

'I'm your debtor, boy. Let's see what Nestor has to say.' Nestor was his cook. 'What's in the barrel? Sea-urchins?'

'Oysters.'

'Baian oysters?'

'Would I stick you with less?'

'Holy Neptune! I haven't had Baian oyster stew since the Winter Festival. You're a true Roman, lad. And a gentleman, which isn't the same thing.' Pertinax was from Cremona. 'Come inside. I've a jug or two of good Rhodian that's just asking to be drunk.'

I followed him in. The place looked different from the last time I'd been there.

'You've made some changes,' I said.'

'That's right. I've had another solar built on, to catch the afternoon sun. We'll go in there now. Rejigged the baths at the same time, so you can wash the dust off properly before we eat.'

Maybe Pertinax's farm was a working one, but he'd never been a sour-faced Cato. And taking an interest in building had kept him going since his wife had died three years before.

'Decoration in the dining room's new too. Chap I got in from Naples. Tell me what you think.'

'Let's have the wine first,' I said. 'I've got a throat like a short-legged camel's scrotum.'

Pertinax chuckled. 'You've your grandfather's turn of phrase, boy. And his priorities. Make yourself comfortable while I have a word with Nestor about dinner. I'll send in the wine, don't you worry.'

I lay down on one of the couches in the solar and examined the wall paintings. Pertinax's late wife wouldn't have approved. She had gone in, I remembered, for still lifes. Grapes and hanging pheasants, those were her limits. Nymphs and satyrs were definitely out. And these nymphs and satyrs would have had her reaching for the whitewash. I wondered if Uncle Gaius was fitter even than he looked.

The wine came, with a bowl of last season's apples, wizened now, but hard and sweet inside. They brought back memories.

'Good? The wine, I mean.'

I looked up. Uncle Gaius had come in while I wasn't looking and was helping himself to a cup from the jug.

'Very good,' I said, and meant it. 'I always think Rhodian's overrated but this stuff's not. Where do you get it?'

'Another chap in Naples. The architect's cousin. Clannish lot the Greeks.'

'Did he do the mural as well? The architect?'

'That's right. Do you like it? I thought it was pretty good myself.'

'You'll have to give me his name before I go. The guy's talented.'

'Wait till you see the dining-room. That'll really knock your eyes out.' He settled down on the couch and selected an apple. 'So. The baths are heating up nicely and we've got a couple of hours to kill before dinner. Now do you really want to discuss pornographic art or would you like to tell me what the hell this is all about?'

I sipped my wine. 'Talk to me about Julia,' I said.

'Which Julia?'

'The old emperor's daughter.'

'Ah.' He set his cup down carefully on the table beside him. 'I thought it might be something like that.'

Shit. We were a long way from Rome, but Uncle Gaius still had his contacts.

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Exactly what it says.' He wasn't giving anything away, that was for sure. 'How badly do you want to know?'

'Very badly. Very badly indeed.'

Pertinax stared into his cup. 'I do hear things stuck out here, Marcus. And I may be old but I'm not a fool. What would you say if I told you that what happened to Julia isn't important now, but that you'd be better off not knowing?'

Yeah. I'd heard that one before. It looked like this was going to be a wasted journey.

'I'd say that was for me to decide. And that I have to know for my own peace of mind if nothing else.'

His eyes came up level with mine. 'You're like your grandfather,boy. Very like. That could've been him talking.' He hesitated. 'There's a woman involved in this, isn't there?'

I didn't even think of lying. I owed him that, at least. 'Yeah. There's a woman. A client. Her name's Rufia Perilla. She's Ovid's stepdaughter.'

'You love her?'

My throat was dry. 'Yes.'

'Enough to sacrifice your political career?'

'Yes.'

'You're sure? Absolutely sure?'

'Yes.'

'Because it may come to that, you know. And it may not be worth it in the end. I don't mean her. I mean what comes of just having the information without being cleared for it. You understand?'

'Yes, I understand.'

'And you still want me to answer your question?'

'Yes.'

He sighed and turned away. 'Then you're a fool. Still, I'll give you what I can.'

I relaxed. 'Thanks, Uncle. I'm grateful. Really.'

'I don't want gratitude. Your father would kill me for this if he knew. But then I never could stand young Messalinus and I think your grandfather would've approved, which is far more important. Besides, I'm too old to care. So ask away.'

'I think she was innocent. Julia, I mean.'

'That's not a question.'

'Was she?'

He hesitated for a long time. A very long time.

'Yes,' he said at last. 'Julia was innocent. Of adultery, at least.'

I was tired of fencing. I just wanted hard facts. 'Just tell me what happened that night. Please.'

He got up and went over to where the slave had left the wine jug. He didn't look at me as he carefully filled his cup.

'Very well, Marcus,’ he said. ‘I'll tell you what happened. Exactly what happened. You know our company was responsible for the Eighth Region? The Market Square area?'

'Yes. That's why I'm asking you.'

'Right. So I'd gone out with the lads. We started our patrol at dusk, just as usual. We picked up a couple of disorderly drunks near Marcellus's Theatre and banged their heads together. Then we walked up towards Pallacina Street. One of the lads thought he saw someone breaking into a wineshop but it turned out to be a cat. We came back along the north side of the Capitol, down past the edge of the Citadel and into the Market Square. Then we went up the Sacred Way. Young Publius Afer had a stone in his boot so we stopped while he leant against a shop wall and got rid of it.'

Shit. What was going on here? It wasn't like Pertinax to spin a story out. He spoke like he wrote. Give the guy a nut to crack and he went straight to the middle.

'Look,' I said. 'I just want to know about Julia, right? Remember her? The hot little number being gang-banged on the Speakers' Platform?'

'And I'm telling you what happened that night. Exactly. When Publius got his boot back on we went up towards the Subura. It was pretty quiet…'

By this time I'd caught on.

'You mean nothing happened?’ I said. ‘Nothing at all?'

Pertinax brought the cup back to his couch and lay down. Now his eyes were sharp as chips of marble.

'Nothing happened, boy. Not a thing. If the emperor's daughter got herself laid in the Market Square then it wasn't that night. Or whoever saw her it wasn't us.'

'But she must've been there! Everybody says…' I stopped. Yeah, sure. Perilla had tried that argument with me when we were talking about the other Julia. It didn't cut any ice then, either.

Pertinax was nodding. 'That's right. Circular logic. Everybody says she was there so she was there. QED.' He took a large swallow of his wine. 'Only she wasn't. The orgy story's a myth. Believe me.'

'But what about the men she was with? She was screwing some of the top guys in Rome!'

'Fine. Give me names.'

'Uh.' I thought. 'Sulpicianus. One of the Scipios. Sempronius Gracchus. The others I can't remember, but they're on record. And Iullus, of course.' Iullus Antonius had been cited as Julia's principal lover.

'Of course,' Pertinax said drily. 'You notice anything?'

'What's to notice? Like I said, they're all big names but-'

'Not good enough, boy. Listen.' He ticked the guys off on his fingers. 'Cornelius Scipio. Grandson of the emperor's first wife Scribonia and so Julia's first cousin. Gracchus. A "persistent adulterer" according to the charge-sheet. Supposed to have been sleeping with Julia when she was Agrippa's wife. Helped her compose a certain letter of complaint to Augustus. Sulpicianus. Consul seven years before. Quiet man, no previous convictions except for a deep devotion to the emperor.' He paused. 'Are you getting the idea yet?'

My scalp was beginning to tingle. 'I might be. Go on.'

'I could give you a few more you haven't mentioned, but let's just settle for Iullus. Iullus Antonius, Adulterer-in-Chief. Mark Antony's son. Brought up by Augustus's sister Octavia like he was her own. Deeply devoted to Augustus. Married to the emperor's niece Marcella, with three children. Full political career under Augustus's personal supervision. As a child he was even included on the Altar of Peace along with the rest of the imperial family with his hand on Julia's head. Come on, Marcus! Do you want me to spell it out for you?'

Something cold with lots of legs was running up my spine. 'They're all political. Attached to the imperial family, by blood or obligation.'

‘Getting there. The imperial family?’

Shit. 'Augustus, then. Augustus personally. Or his first wife.'

'Remember that. Now, you say they're all attached to Augustus personally. You mean that? All of them?'

'Yeah. Apart from Gracchus.'

'So what was special about Gracchus? Come on, you can do it! You can do it, boy! How did they describe him? What did I say was on the charge sheet?'

The sweat was pouring off me in bucketfuls. 'He was a "persistent adulterer". Julia's long-standing lover.'

'That word “persistent” sound familiar?'

Persistent depravity. Holy shit! 'Postumus?'

'You're doing well. Keep it up. So. Who's Postumus?'

'Augustus's grandson.' The Augustus connection again! Jupiter!

'And whose son?'

'Julia's. Our Julia's. The emperor's daughter.'

'That's right. So let's get back to Gracchus. Anything else? Come on, boy! What about that letter to Augustus I mentioned? The letter Gracchus helped Julia write? Who was she complaining about?'

My head was bursting. 'For God's sake! How the hell should I know?'

'All right. She was complaining about her husband, Marcus. And her husband was…?'

The answer hit me between the eyes like a butcher's hammer. 'Tiberius! Julia's husband was Tiberius!'

Pertinax leaned back with a smile of satisfaction.

'Give the man a handful of nuts,' he said.

I sat stunned. So there was a connection after all. We always came back to Tiberius, to the emperor. The Elder Julia. Her daughter. Paullus. Fabius and Postumus…

Ovid?

'You mean it was Tiberius?’ I said. ‘Tiberius framed Julia? His own wife?'

The smile disappeared. I'd missed something, obviously. But I couldn't see what it was.

'Marcus,' Pertinax said carefully, 'I don't usually talk politics. I crawled out of that particular sewer years ago and I've never regretted it. But I'm going to educate you, son. You've asked for it and you're going to get it. Tiberius is only half the story, and you're going to get the whole thing. Even if it kills you. As it well might if you're not careful. Very careful indeed. Remember that.'

I said nothing. Pertinax rose from the couch, brought over the wine-jug and filled first my cup and then his own. 'The only reason — the only reason, boy! — that I'm telling you this is because you remind me so much of your grandfather. I think he would've trusted you and I think he would've wanted you to know. So pin your stupid over-privileged Roman-patrician ears back and listen.'

Varus to Himself

We were talking of treachery.

Mine, as you have seen, is a harmless thing, and hardly worth the name; a piece of diplomacy of which I am sure the emperor will approve but of which I am loath as yet to inform him. In the long run it will turn to Rome's benefit as well as being — rather more immediately, I hope — profitable to myself: to my mind, the perfect combination. I am certainly not a traitor in the grand style, as is Livia. If the gods regard treason and murder as crimes of any weight then Livia is damned.

I am revealing no secrets here. The facts are known to most of the inner circle, not excluding Augustus. No doubt the empress, in common with most traitors (such as myself!) would say that she has acted for the good of the state. Perhaps she could even argue her point. One can also understand a mother's preference for her own son over the offspring of her predecessor. However, for Livia to further Tiberius's interests through subterfuge and false accusations is quite another matter. To put it plainly, the empress is a treacherous, murdering bitch.

Where are they all now, the Julians? Where are they, Augustus's own family, who should have followed him in honour? Call the roll. His only child Julia, accused of a filthy crime she never committed, rotting in exile at Rhegium. Her sons Gaius and Lucius, whom Augustus was grooming for empire: dead, poisoned abroad in the performance of their duty by their stepmother's agents. Their younger brother Postumus: slandered, disgraced and banished to Planasia. But for young Agrippina, a clean sweep…

Bitch!

Finally, a year past, the other Julia, Augustus's grandchild. Like her mother, exiled on a trumped-up charge, her husband executed for a conspiracy that was no conspiracy at all…

And the emperor is helpless. What began in secrecy must remain secret. His letter to me, of course, is long-burned — burned, indeed, upon receipt. There was never anything else. I do not blame Augustus. He could not have acted otherwise, and the fact that he protected us (and still protects us) shows that he has not entirely given up hope.

Bitch!

If there is any justice then Livia will burn, and her bastard of a son with her. And if I am a traitor then I thank the gods that at least I am a clean one.