Parthian Shot

24

Actually, when I woke up I didn’t feel too bad. Unlike Perilla, I can get by on three or four hours of sleep, in the short term, anyway, and besides the sun was streaming through the bedroom window. I slipped out of bed without waking the lady — after our late night she wouldn’t be surfacing for hours yet — and went downstairs. A shave could wait, but Bathyllus was padding around so I sent him for a bread roll that I could eat on the way and set out for the Janiculan.

It was a long walk, but it stretched my stiffened riding muscles nicely. By the time I got there it was still a good hour before even the most unconventional visitor would dream of banging the knocker. Not that that worried me all that much. Like I’d said to Perilla, if I got the bastard off his mattress before his usual time then that was just tough.

‘Marcus Valerius Corvinus,’ I said to the door-slave when he opened up. ‘I’ve come to see the master.’

The guy balked a bit, sure, but he let me in anyway and shot off like a greased ferret to consult higher authority. I twiddled my thumbs in the very fancy porch — murals of Leda and the Swan and the Rape of Ganymede plus a pricey-looking still-life floor mosaic — until Phraates’s major-domo appeared. He gave my unshaven face a pointed stare but he didn’t comment as he led me through the villa and showed me into a pleasant morning-room looking out on the grounds. Peacocks strutted on the carefully-manicured lawn outside the windows, and a couple of supercilious ostriches peered over the top of the ornamental box hedge. There was a small water-clock in one corner of the room. I twiddled my thumbs again and tried to ignore the drip.

Phraates strolled in about half an hour later, wearing a dressing-gown that wouldn’t’ve disgraced a cat-house madam.

‘Corvinus,’ he said, ‘I’m delighted to see you at any time, of course, but don’t you think — ?’

‘You set up the attack on your own litter,’ I said.

If I’d thought he’d be thrown, he wasn’t. All I got was a long look and a pair of delicately-raised eyebrows.

‘Did I, indeed?’ he said. ‘Well, well.’

Jupiter on bloody skates, the bugger couldn’t even manage a straight denial, even if it was a lie! Par for the course. I felt my temper slip and let it go.

‘Look, pal,’ I said. ‘I’ve been breaking my fucking neck trying to make a connection between Zariadres’s murder and what happened at the Esquiline Gate, and that was you all the time. You never were in any danger, or not from that direction, anyway. You took out a contract on yourself and you made sure the knifemen you hired wouldn’t touch a hair of your fucking head. I ought to — ’

‘What you ought to do, young man,’ Phraates interrupted sharply, ‘is to calm down and stop swearing.’ He pulled up an ivory chair that could’ve belonged to one of the Pharaohs. ‘It’s too early in the morning for that sort of thing. Hermogenes’ — the major-domo was hovering goggle-eyed — ‘Bring us some breakfast, please. In here on a tray will do. Have you eaten, Corvinus?’

‘Forget breakfast. All I want is for you to — ’

‘Nothing elaborate, Hermogenes. But make it quick.’ The major-domo bowed himself out. Phraates turned back to me. ‘Now. Calmly, please. Why should you think I organised the attack on my own litter and caused the death of three of my own bodyguard? I’m fascinated, really.’

‘Because you knew Tiridates was trying to kill you. You wanted an excuse to tighten security, but — and Jupiter help us here — you didn’t want to offend the guy by citing him as the reason.’

‘Indeed?’ Phraates’s expression unfroze and he chuckled. ‘You know, Corvinus, I think I may have said this before, but you’d make quite a good Parthian.’

‘Am I right or not?’

‘Of course you’re right. There’s no point in my denying it.’

‘Then why the hell not tell me in the first place? Or if not me then Isidorus? That attack on your litter was the reason I was drafted in to begin with.’

‘Oh, I’m sure Isidorus knows already by this time, if he didn’t before. He does have a very efficient spy system, after all, and he’s no fool.’ I opened my mouth. ‘And nor are you. I’m impressed. Really. How did you find out?’

‘I talked to the boss of the gang who did it.’

‘Isak? Well, well. I used a very secure intermediary, one of my Syrian freedmen. I didn’t know that Isak was aware who his ultimate employer was.’

‘He wasn’t. Or if he was he didn’t care. I just read between the lines.’

‘Then I am impressed. Not least that you managed to track the man down and persuade him to talk to you, then come away with a whole skin. How did you do that, by the way?’

It might just be simple curiosity but I wasn’t going to risk Lippillus and his Ostian pal getting into trouble, so I ignored the question. Instead, I said: ‘Isak and his gang killed three of your bodyguard.’

‘Yes.’ I’d’ve liked to believe that the change to a more sombre expression and tone were genuine, but I wouldn’t’ve made any bets. Phraates could give a crying crocodile a run for its money. ‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re saying there, but that was necessary. To be convincing. And the threat from Tiridates was very real. Another two or three days and if I’d allowed things to take their course he might have had me.’ He smiled. ‘Not that I feel any ill-will towards him, mind, even now, any more than I’m sure he does for me, on a personal level. It’s in the blood. We Parthian royals do love intrigue and assassination.’

Yeah, right; that I would believe. ‘I don’t suppose you killed Zariadres as well while you were about it, did you? Or had him killed?’

‘Good gods, no! Why on earth would I do that?’

‘Search me, pal. Not that a denial matters because I reckon you can lie as easy as breathe. Maybe he was Artabanus’s sister in a false beard.’ My anger was draining away; you couldn’t stay angry with Phraates for long. He might be a devious, conniving, three-faced twister but — witness his effect on Perilla — the guy had a natural charm. ‘Okay. So how did it work? Just for my personal records, you understand?’

Phraates yawned again and covered his mouth with a polite hand. ‘I’m sorry. Do forgive me. I told you: I knew from my own sources — which, I may say, are quite as thorough and reliable as Isidorus’s — that my nephew was planning to have me assassinated before any campaign against Artabanus could be mounted. The result, naturally, would have been that he, as Rome’s other available candidate, would take my place. That I couldn’t have: Tiridates would be a disaster as Great King, and besides I have a rooted antipathy to dying before my time. So I had one of my less law-abiding freedmen — his name doesn’t matter — find me a suitably reliable street gang and arrange a false attack. Suitably reliable, because I had no desire either to do my nephew’s work for him. Consequently, as you say, I was able to upgrade my everyday security arrangements without insulting Tiridates by publicly recognising that he was trying to kill me. In the process, of course, I obliged my Roman hosts to take protective steps of their own, the most significant of which was to enrol you on the strength. That, I’m afraid, was unavoidable. For what it’s worth, you have my sincere apologies.’

‘So you let me target Tiridates for the attack, knowing full well that bastard or not he had nothing to do with it?’

Phraates gave a short, barking laugh. ‘Oh, Corvinus, do be reasonable! And do give yourself just a little credit! You were — are — completely correct. Tiridates wants me dead, he wants to become Great King of Parthia, and he is actively labouring to that end. The only difference the business with Isak makes is that I am still alive and moreover have since been in the happy position of knowing that an extremely intelligent and capable young man was working to keep me so. Personally I can’t see a problem here, and nor should you.’

‘So how does Zariadres’s murder fit in?’

He spread his hands. ‘I honestly have no idea.’

‘You know Zariadres’s father, or his uncle maybe, was responsible for the deaths of Peucestas’s family and his own castration?’

Phraates chuckled. ‘Oh, my, you have been busy! How did you find that out?’ I didn’t answer. ‘Well, yes, I did know, as a matter of fact, and it was his uncle. A very unpleasant man, by all reports. However, if you’re thinking that Peucestas killed Zariadres I’d say you were making a mistake. Peucestas — at least as I read him — isn’t a vengeful person. If he’d had the opportunity to kill the elder Zariadres then I’m quite sure he would have done it. However, a nephew is something else again. Peucestas may not have liked Zariadres — I don’t believe he did, very much — but I doubt he’d’ve killed him just because of who he was.’

‘None the less, the last time we talked and I suggested one of the embassy was responsible for Zariadres’s death you never mentioned the connection.’

‘True.’

Gods! Not so much as a blink, let alone an apology. I’d met brass necks in my time, but Phraates beat them all hands down. ‘So now I’m just wondering if there’re maybe a few other potentially helpful nuggets of insider info that you’re keeping quiet about.’

I’d been watching him carefully for a reaction, but just at that moment the door opened and the major-domo came in with a loaded tray. Perfect diversionary timing.

Phraates had turned towards the opening door. ‘That’s fine, Hermogenes,’ he said. ‘Put it down on the table and go, please. We’ll help ourselves.’ The major-domo bowed and left. ‘Being interrogated does give one an appetite, doesn’t it, Corvinus? And if you’ve come all the way from the Caelian on an empty stomach you’ll be starved. My, don’t these rolls smell good? I must try to get up earlier more often.’

The hell with this. ‘Would you like me to repeat the question?’ I said. ‘Or would you care to give me a direct answer first time for a change?’

Instead of replying Phraates got up from his chair. He took two plates from the tray and laid them carefully either side of the table between the dining couches. Then he selected two of the rolls and put one on each plate. Finally, he eased himself onto one of the dining couches.

‘What I’d like, young man,’ he said quietly, ‘is for you to join me for breakfast.’

Yeah, well, if he wouldn’t be pushed he wouldn’t, and there wasn’t any point in annoying him to no purpose. I rose from my own chair and joined him at the table. ‘Nothing elaborate’ in the Phraates household obviously didn’t mean what it did elsewhere, and either the guy had a vast kitchen staff poised just waiting for instructions or the tray’s contents had been sitting ready for the master’s summons. I suspected the former. Whatever the reason, it was quite a spread: cheese, cold meat, a honeycomb, small bowls of olives and what looked like curds. A Syrian glass jug of milk, and another of fruit juice. Some of the sliced and candied fruits I didn’t even recognise. The gods knew where he’d got the fresh ones, this time of year. I broke the roll and scooped up some of the honey that was leaking from the comb.

Phraates was pouring himself a cup of fruit juice. ‘Don’t be too hard on me,’ he said, his eyes on the cup. ‘I appreciate your feelings, but I have to work with these people in ways they comprehend. Which, I hasten to add, is not to say I find it difficult or unpleasant. Although I’ve lived in Rome for most of my very long life I am not Roman. You must understand this. Parthians — and I am a Parthian, completely, where it matters — thrive on secrecy. We like to find out things about other people, especially if the knowledge affects us and they don’t wish us to know, but we do not easily pass the information on to a third party. And we don’t appreciate it if others do so without our permission.’ He reached for the curds and added a spoonful of honey. ‘After all, we can’t control the third party’s use of it. The answer to your question is yes, I do have information which you don’t. Of course I have; I told you, my sources are very, very efficient. On the other hand, you are a very intelligent and persistent young man with prejudices of your own. There is a massive difference between telling you something which since it comes from me I suspect you might not believe and letting you find it out for yourself, in which case you will. Trust me: in the long run, although there may be certain problems involved, my way is by far the best.’ He smiled. ‘Now. Eat your breakfast, please. If it’s any consolation, I haven’t told you any lies, or no serious ones, anyway. Nor will I. That I can promise you.’

I left the honeyed roll where it lay. ‘So you didn’t send a couple of tame stooges to hassle Perilla outside the Pollio library yesterday?’

He’d been lifting a spoonful of curds to his mouth. He set it down sharply. ‘No. Of course not. Why should I?’

‘To get me off the case before I found out about your litter scam. I thought it was Mithradates, but when I talked to him I changed my mind.’

‘You already knew about the litter.’

‘Sure. But then you couldn’t’ve known that, could you?’

Phraates’s eyes held mine. ‘Corvinus,’ he said, ‘I assure you — and if it helps then I’ll take any oath you like — that I had absolutely nothing to do with whoever accosted your wife. Nothing. And why should I bother much if you found out about the false attack on the litter? As I said, your principal Isidorus probably knows all about it, and it had already served its purpose. As far as wanting you off the case is concerned, yes, frankly, I admit it because I don’t think there’s much to be gained in practical terms from your continuing. However, I am certainly not foolish enough to try stopping you by coercion, not least because I appreciate that that might have exactly the opposite effect. Better, as I told you, to let things run their natural course.’

‘Then who was responsible?’

‘Who knows?’

Bland as hell, and ambiguous enough for a pythoness, although I couldn’t really say I’d been expecting anything else. I felt my temper slipping again. ‘This isn’t a game,’ I said.

‘You think not? Well, perhaps that’s another difference between your Roman view and mine. I don’t say it’s not a serious game; not all games are frivolous or harmless. But that’s no reason not to enjoy them.’

‘I doubt if Isidorus would agree with you. He’s — ’

‘Oh, yes he would.’ Phraates reached for a slice of melon. ‘Isidorus plays the game very well indeed, most of the time. And he enjoys it just as much as I do.’

Bugger; I was getting tired of this. ‘Look, let’s get this straight. Me, I don’t play games, right, nothing more complicated than dice or knucklebones, anyway, and as far as I’m concerned both of you can play this one until you go blind or hell freezes. All I want to do is find out who killed Zariadres and why, hand in my report and get shot of the whole fucking business. Full stop, draw the line and roll up the book. You get me?’

Phraates had set the slice of melon on his plate. Carefully, his eyes on what he was doing, he separated the red flesh from the rind and, with the point of his knife, began removing the black seeds. I could hear distinctly — I hadn’t been conscious of it since the guy had come in — the drip of water from the water-clock in the corner.

Finally, he raised his eyes. ‘Very well, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘I’m going to break my own rule. Just a little, you understand, and if you want a reason then I’ll cite the incident involving your wife, which I most certainly do not approve of. In return you will ask no questions. Agreed?’

I nodded; the back of my neck was prickling. ‘Agreed.’

‘Good. You will find, then, in a small side-street between the Esquiline Gate and Maecenas Gardens, a brothel called the Three Graces. The owner-manager is a woman by the name of Helen and the girl you want to talk to is Anna. I strongly suggest, for reasons you’ll appreciate later, that you present yourself as an ordinary paying customer. If you need to prove credibility and credit, which you will because the Graces is a most exclusive establishment, then mention that you’re a friend of Lucius Vitellius. No’ — he held up a hand — ‘No questions, remember, or comments. There; that’s all I intend giving you. Now let’s drop the subject and have breakfast properly, shall we? If you’re not hungry I am.’

Yeah, well, a bargain was a bargain: I clamped my lips together and, brain in overdrive, forced myself to reach for the jug of fruit juice.

Lucius Vitellius, eh?

Hmm.