Parthian Shot

19

I bundled Nicanor into the summoned litter — he was sober enough not to need watchdogging after all — and went back into Renatius’s to have my postponed half jug and my think, the latter of which had added to itself considerably in the last half hour.

The kid hadn’t had any details about his father’s involvement with Vitellius, none at all, just the fact and the name, which was maddening but not altogether surprising given his current family circumstances. Sure, the likelihood was that it was a complete red herring: as far as I could tell, the whole business with Sebasta, nasty as it was, had nothing whatsoever to do with the case barring shedding some barely-needed light on the characters of Tiridates and Damon and explaining how Phraates’s son had lost his finger. All the same, I didn’t feel too happy about the coincidence, if it was a coincidence, of a name from the sharp end cropping up where it shouldn’t. I poured my first cup from the new half jug and made a start on the untouched bread and cheese. One aspect certainly posed no problems: as far as dodginess of character went, Lucius Vitellius had it in spades; I’d known that long before I’d got into this business. Also, although one end of the conundrum was flapping around loose the other was pretty firmly tied in. Vitellius, as the head of the senatorial commission to dicker with the Parthian delegation, had a definite, central connection with that side of things. On the other hand, slippery and devious as the bugger undoubtedly was by nature, he seemed to be toeing the official line like a good Roman public servant should. What he did in his private capacity — and even Roman public servants had their own private business to conduct in their own time — wasn’t relevant. So long as the two didn’t clash, it was all fine and dandy.

So long as the two didn’t clash…

I sipped my wine. Yeah; that was the clincher, and it was where Vitellius’s character came in. Me, I wouldn’t’ve trusted the bastard an inch. If he saw some kind of personal advantage offer itself and felt safe to grab it then my bet was he’d take the chance with both hands. The question was, did it exist and if so what was it? That was something I’d have to find out.

Tiridates. That was the other puzzler. Nicanor had said that his father was still on good terms with the guy. Anacus might be a social climber and having once got his hooks into a Parthian prince he wouldn’t want to let go in a hurry, but even if he were the double-dyed bastard his son described him as that took a lot of swallowing. By Nicanor’s account again, he knew nothing about Damon being responsible for Sebasta’s pregnancy, but even if he had in the circumstances it would’ve made things worse, not better. As far as Anacus knew, Tiridates had seduced the girl, got her pregnant and so caused her suicide. Even if he did put the blame for the last squarely on his daughter, to carry on treating the guy responsible as if he was still a bosom buddy just wasn’t natural; or rather, given the bastard Anacus evidently was, it’d need a pretty hefty reason. Sebasta was dead; there was no question of a marriage alliance or whatever any longer. So what could the reason be?

The obvious answer was blackmail, or rather the prettied-up society version of blackmail. Tiridates had taken advantage of a girl from a rich, if not socially-distinguished family, and as a result the girl had killed herself. Her death might not be directly his fault, sure, but under the rules of the social stratum he moved in he’d owe a debt; just how big a debt being decided by where exactly her family came in the social stakes. In actual fact, Anacus would be in a better position there than he knew, because what Tiridates would be paying for if the truth ever got out was something far worse than a simple seduction. He wouldn’t be paying in money, mind, nothing so crude: that was where this high-class type of blackmail differed. Anacus was rich enough already, probably richer than Tiridates. His price — whatever it was — would be something else, and it wouldn’t be cheap. That might bear thinking about, too.

On the other hand, I couldn’t buy blackmail as an idea, or not altogether, anyway, not even the high-society version. Tiridates hadn’t seemed all that bothered about possible repercussions when he’d set the rape up, and he certainly couldn’t rely on the girl not peaching, either immediately or later. Also, he didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d be blackmailed easily, not by the likes of Anacus, anyway: he was too arrogant, too sure he could do what he liked with other people beneath him socially, and to hell with the consequences. Like Nicanor had said, he and his pals had been laughing in their sleeves at the Anacus family all the time. Setting things up so Damon could rape Sebasta was nothing but a joke.

Fine. Great. The bugger of it was that if I scratched the blackmail angle and assumed that all this had some sort of relevance to the case I had to explain why despite everything Anacus and Tiridates were still an item. It might make some sort of sense — just — from Anacus’s side, but what was in it for Tiridates? And, more important, how, if anywhere, did Lucius Vitellius fit in?

I sank a mouthful of wine and topped up my cup. I didn’t know, I just didn’t know. The whole thing was probably a mare’s nest. All the same, I had a gut feeling about it; it was too much of a coincidence to be coincidental, if you like, and two members of the triangle being involved with the Parthian business was suspicious as hell. It was just lucky that when I’d asked Crispus to recommend a Parthian expert he’d put me on to young Nicanor. If he hadn’t done that then I’d never have known…

I stopped as the implication hit me. Bugger. Crispus! Caelius fucking Crispus!

It hadn’t been an accident, no way had it been an accident: the devious, muck-raking bastard had given me Nicanor’s name deliberately. Why he’d done it — probably, knowing Crispus, for unsavoury reasons of his own — I didn’t know; but I’d bet a year’s income to a mouldy sprat that he had all the answers at his greasy fingertips.

The foreign judge’s staff would be back after their festival break, and the afternoon still wasn’t all that far gone. If I hurried I could catch him.

I got Renatius to put the rest of my half jug on the shelf, bolted the rest of the cheese and headed off for the Capitol.

He was in; just. And he wasn’t too pleased to see me either. But then, what else was new?

‘Hi, Crispus,’ I said. ‘Have a nice Festival?’

I thought he was going to bite my head off. When I’d come in he’d been fastening a very pricey-looking dove-grey cloak round his shoulders while the secretary I’d seen last time adjusted the folds at the back. His hand paused on the buckle-pin like he was thinking of taking it off again, but he didn’t. ‘It’s been a long hard day, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘You don’t improve it.’ He turned to the secretary. ‘Tell the others I’ll be along shortly, Menelaus. And don’t forget the bathing cap.’

The secretary left with a sniff. I sat down in the visitor’s chair. ‘Bathing cap?’ I said.

Crispus sighed, took the cloak off after all and went back behind his desk. ‘What do you want this time? Make it quick, please.’

Shit, not a nibble; he was certainly coming on. Just a few months ago we’d’ve had threats and temper tantrums, but he’d got the busy executive manner down pat. Maybe it was the snazzy new office. Yeah, well, I shouldn’t criticise: being a linchpin of the great wheel of government a whole six hours out of the twenty-four was a pretty gruelling job. ‘What’s Lucius Vitellius got cooking with the Armenian Anacus?’ I said.

Pause. ‘Who?’

‘Come on, pal! You put me on to his son Nicanor. You mentioned the guy’s name yourself.’

‘Did I?’ He was inspecting his nails, but I had the distinct impression of nervous smugness. ‘Oh, yes. He’s a spice merchant, isn’t he? Now why on earth should Lucius Vitellius be involved with someone like that?’

It occurred to me that so far the bugger had asked more questions than I had. And I knew prevarication when I met it. I leaned forward and had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.

‘Crispus, you bastard,’ I said evenly, ‘you gave me Nicanor’s name on purpose so I’d find out about the father and Vitellius having business together. And if you say “Did I?” again I’ll wring your scraggy neck.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Then I won’t. That’s not an admission, mind.’

‘Sure it isn’t. Perish the thought. So why did you do it?’

Crispus cleared his throat; he was nervous now more than smug. His shifty eyes shifted. ‘Come on, Corvinus!’ he said. ‘You told me you were engaged in an official investigation. As a conscientious public servant I was — I am — trying to help you. But splitting on senior members of the senate, especially where their private business is concerned, is another matter. After all, I do have my professional reputation to consider.’

I laughed. ‘Jupiter in a fucking hand-cart, pal! You’ve been dishing the dirt on guys like Vitellius for years! Why should now be any different?’

‘There may be…complications.’ Was it my imagination or was the bastard sweating slightly? ‘Don’t press me. Not this time.’

I didn’t like the sound of this; I didn’t like it at all. Crispus was a born dirt-disher; professional, sure — he wouldn’t’ve got where he was without being shit-hot at finding out things Rome’s administrative movers and shakers would rather keep buried and were willing to give him a discreet hand up so they stayed that way — but he enjoyed the game for its own sake. If he said that he didn’t want to play any more, it meant whatever he’d dug up in the dirty laundry basket was a lot worse than just a set of soiled smalls. Maybe I should back off, at that. Give him a bit of room to slither, anyway.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Just this once I’ll compromise. All you’ve got to do is nod or shake your head. Does it have anything to do with Prince Tiridates?’

Crispus’s naturally pasty face went even whiter, and he swallowed. ‘Look, let’s just — ’

‘Just nod or shake your head.’

Slowly, he nodded. Bull’s-eye!

‘Some sort of three-way scam, then? Tiridates, Vitellius and Anacus?’

Swallow. Nod.

‘And Vitellius’s bosses don’t know about it?’

A hesitation; a nod, turned into a head-shake.

‘They do know?’

No response; evidently that was all I was getting on that point. Odd. ‘But it’s political?’

Another hesitation, followed by a reluctant nod. The guy was sweating now in earnest. ‘Corvinus, please — ’ he said.

‘You’re doing well. Don’t give up now.’

‘No.’ He pushed his chair back and got up like someone had jerked him on strings. ‘That’s as much as I’m giving you. You’re okay, you’re an outsider, but I’ve got my job and my neck to consider. Work the rest out for yourself. And I swear if anything gets back to me over this, official or not, I’ll hunt you down. I’m serious. Clear?’

Yeah, well; maybe I was expecting too much. The guy had played fair by his own lights, better than fair, and as a senior senator Vitellius would have major clout even if he wasn’t directly concerned with the foreign judge’s department. At least now I knew I wasn’t chasing shadows; I’d just have to find a lead some other way. I stood up. ‘Thanks, pal,’ I said. ‘You’ve been a big help. This time I mean it. Enjoy your evening.’

He didn’t move. Then, when I had my hand on the doorknob, he said:

‘Wait.’

I turned. ‘Yeah?’

‘Talk to a man in the spice market by the name of Gaius Praxa. Ask him about pepper.’

I didn’t reply. I just opened the door and went out.

Pepper, eh?

Yeah. Right.