Parthian Shot

25

It was barely mid-morning when I left the villa and made my way back to the Agrippan Bridge. I was thinking hard.

I didn’t know what the hell connection Phraates’s brothel had with things, although finding that out was my main priority. Still, the fact that Vitellius’s name had cropped up again — and Phraates had dropped it deliberately — couldn’t be a coincidence. We were back with the unholy alliance between Vitellius, Mithradates and Tiridates, plus Damon as facilitator and the grey eminence of Prince Gaius lurking in the wings. That all fitted. It meshed especially with what Mithradates had said about me being out of my depth. If I was right — and at this stage I’d bet a rotten sardine against Meton’s missing basket of lampreys that I was — there was some pretty drastic skulduggery going on at very high levels. Phraates didn’t seem too worried, mind, which on the surface was surprising because in the last analysis the purpose of the conspiracy had to be to put him in an urn before his time, but then I suspected that the cunning old bugger had more survival capability than a Suburan alley-cat. Even so -

I stopped. Shit, if Vitellius was involved then it would clear up another problem too. As far as the guys at the Pollio library were concerned, I’d scratched — for different reasons — both Mithradates and Phraates from the suspect list. How about Vitellius? For someone in his position, organising an intercept would be easy-peasy, and his reasons for wanting me off the case would be the same as his Iberian pal’s. Added to which, a slime-ball like Vitellius wouldn’t have any scruples in the arm-twisting department; at least, as far as the threat went. That qualification was important. Mithradates, he was more the straightforward type: I’d seen for myself that his idea of discouragement was to take the offending punter down an alleyway and kick his lights out. Vitellius would be more subtle, and more nasty…

Yeah, right. If Lucius Vitellius was responsible, and I ever managed to prove it, then consular or no I’d haul the fat bastard’s guts out from between his teeth.

I was level with the Agrippan Bridge now. I crossed over — it was a lot quieter than the Sublician would be, this time of day — and made my way through the Aesculetum in the direction of Marcellus Theatre and the city centre. The Palatine wasn’t exactly on the way to Maecenas Gardens and the Esquiline Gate, but while I had the chance I’d drop in on Isidorus. After all, technically the job was half over: I’d found out who’d attacked the prince’s litter and why, which was all that had been involved originally; the fact that I still had no idea about the whys and wherefores of Zariadres’s death was a separate issue. Also, if Phraates hadn’t been shooting the breeze about Isidorus knowing he was responsible for the attack already I had some pretty important questions to ask Rome’s head Parthia-watcher, preferably while my thumbs were digging into the bastard’s windpipe. That he’d have an explanation I didn’t doubt: these diplomatic buggers always do. All the same, I wanted to be looking him in the eye when he gave me it. Knowing he was telling porkies would be just as interesting as hearing the truth.

It was a long, hard slog; the day before was finally catching up on me, and I still had a long way to go to the Esquiline. I took a break and three cups of wine in a wineshop at the Velabrum end of Tuscan Street before tackling the steps up to the Germalus, the Palatine proper and the House of Augustus. The front-man secretary — Quintus, I remembered — passed me in without a murmur.

‘Ah, Corvinus.’ Isidorus was behind his desk as usual, and looking genial. I wondered if he ever changed that threadbare tunic, but maybe he had several in the same condition. ‘How are you? You had a pleasant festival?’

‘Yeah.’ I nodded to the gopher as he closed the door behind me, then walked over to the guest chair, pulled it up and sat. ‘Phraates’s litter was attacked by a Jewish gang from Ostia led by a guy called Isak. The prince picked up the tab for the operation himself. Now tell me you didn’t know either of those things and we’ll take it from there.’

Isidorus didn’t blink, but his grey eyes lost their focus just for an instant and the geniality disappeared. ‘Very well,’ he said evenly. ‘I will. I didn’t know.’

Right. And I was Caesar’s grandmother. ‘You’re lying,’ I said. ‘The only question in my mind is when you found out, before or after you called me in.’

Isidorus pulled at his ear; puzzled, not angry, and that was significant. If you call a man a liar to his face you expect a stronger reaction than puzzlement. ‘I’m afraid you’re making no sense,’ he said. ‘Why, if I already knew the details, would I invite you to help discover them?’

‘Seach me. But things’re so twisted around in this whole business that the question stands.’

There was another long silence. Finally, he said: ‘All right. I had no idea as to the identity of the gang, but yes, I did know that Phraates had organised the attack, and why. In mitigation I should say that I didn’t have the information myself until two days ago, or not in any confirmed form, at least. I give you my word on that.’

His word. Right; for what that was worth in dud copper. I let it pass, though. Like with Phraates, there was no point in putting the guy’s back up. ‘You could still have sent me a note,’ I said.

‘I could. I ought to have done, but…well, I don’t normally use this as an excuse, but I am a very busy man. I simply didn’t have the opportunity.’ Plausible, and there was no way I could check he was telling the truth. Par for the course, in other words, as was his whole attitude. Isidorus radiated concerned — but now slightly offended — innocence. I reckoned if he ever took to the boards he would clean up, especially in comedy. Good straight-men are pure gold. ‘Let me say, though,’ he added, ‘that I am most impressed with your efficiency.’

I grinned back at him; smarm again. That was another trait he shared with Phraates. It must go with the job. ‘Nothing to do with me, pal,’ I said. ‘A friend of mine did all the work. I just put two and two together and came up with the obvious answer.’

‘None the less, pointless exercise or not it’s an impressive achievement.’ Isidorus frowned down at the wax tablet in front of him. ‘It really was very bad of Phraates. He could at least have dropped a hint that it was a ploy of his own and saved everyone a lot of trouble. You’ve seen him? He apologised, I hope?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, we talked this morning.’

‘And he absolved you of any further involvement?’

‘No. Strangely enough he didn’t. In fact, he seemed quite keen that I carry on.’ I wasn’t going to mention the brothel tip; no way was I going to mention the brothel tip! If Isidorus wanted to play secrets then it was a double-handed game. I might not be a game-player, but I knew that much.

The frown had deepened. ‘My, my. Did he give you a reason?’

‘No, not in so many words.’

‘Hmm.’ He picked up the stylus lying beside the wax tablet and tapped it gently against his lips. ‘Don’t feel that you’re obliged to. Certainly not from our side of things. And — a word to the wise — I would be just a little wary of falling in with Prince Phraates’s wishes too readily. He’s a very charming man, of course, and well-intentioned enough, but all the same…’ He set the stylus down. ‘However, doubtless you can make your own mind up on that point.’

‘Yeah. Right. I can.’ I shifted in my chair. ‘In any case, there’s still the small question of Zariadres, isn’t there?’

‘Indeed.’ The frown was still there. ‘I thought perhaps that would be your answer. Well, we called you in, as you say, and if Phraates is happy for you to continue then we’ll leave it at that. However’ — he picked up the stylus again — ‘if — and I’m only giving you an example, of course — if you were to find that there were, shall we say, non-Roman factors involved then that might lead to certain difficulties eventually. Even embarrassments. You understand?’

‘Factors like Prince Tiridates and his Iberian pal?’

That got me a very straight look. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Possibly. Among others.’

‘And if one of the others were a Roman?’

Isidorus’s expression didn’t change. ‘Now there’s an interesting idea,’ he said mildly. ‘Did you have anyone in particular in mind?’

‘Sure. Lucius Vitellius.’

His eyes widened and he set the stylus down. ‘Lucius? Why on earth should Lucius have anything to do with it?’

‘My guess is that he has a scam going with Tiridates and an Armenian merchant by the name of Titus Anacus.’ I’d expected some reaction, but the eyes didn’t shift. There wasn’t even a question in them. ‘Shit. You know about that already, don’t you?’

Suddenly, Isidorus laughed. It was so unexpected that I blinked. ‘My dear fellow, did I say before that I was impressed? I’m afraid if I say so again it will be an understatement. A very grave understatement. How on earth did you find out about Anacus?’

‘Ah…’

‘Never mind, it doesn’t matter.’ He was still chuckling. ‘You’re right, of course. Absolutely right. I’ve had my eye on that gentleman and his dealings with Tiridates ever since the unfortunate business over his daughter. He’s a schemer, naturally, but his ideas are far too big for his capabilities and quite impractical. And his wife is an absolute horror.’

Bugger; he sounded convincing, too. ‘Nevertheless, the scam exists?’

‘To give Anacus control of the Syrian pepper trade in return for a guarantee that Vitellius would support Tiridates should his uncle die in the near future? Oh, yes. Certainly it does. In Anacus’s mind at least. It’s complete pie-in-the-sky, of course, but as I say Anacus is a dreamer and a gambler, and his wife’s social aspirations don’t help, either. The spice trade is much too complex for any single person, however rich or well-connected, to hope for a monopoly.’

I didn’t like the sound of this. ‘So what about the other three? Tiridates, Mithradates and Vitellius?’

‘Oh, my dear chap! I’m afraid they’re rather taking advantage of the poor fellow, promising him the moon tomorrow in exchange for what they can get from him today, which I suspect is no inconsiderable amount. Anacus may be a fool in some ways, but he is extremely well-off.’

I didn’t believe I was hearing this. ‘And you don’t care? Jupiter, pal, an ex-consul, star of the senate, head of the commission to treat with the Parthian envoys and future governor of Syria is plotting with a guy doing his damnedest to murder his uncle who’s Rome’s candidate for the Great Kingship and you can laugh about it?’

‘Yes, Corvinus, I can.’ The smile vanished and Isidorus was suddenly serious. ‘Listen. Vitellius is not a fool, nor is Tiridates. Anacus wouldn’t be one either, if he sat down and thought things through for a change. I told you, the whole thing is a mare’s nest. Also, it is nothing whatsoever to do with me or this department. A monopoly — even a partial one — in the Syrian spice market is impossible, but even if it weren’t preventing it wouldn’t come within my remit. My job is to look after Rome’s interests vis-a-vis Parthia and the Eastern client-kingdoms. Yes, these do overlap to a certain extent with economic and mercantile concerns, but spices are luxuries not essential trade goods, and anything to do with the luxury trade is guaranteed to set the emperor’s blood boiling. For all Tiberius cares buyers and sellers can swindle each other to their hearts’ content, and if I were foolish enough to suggest devoting even a fraction of this department’s time to preventing them doing so he’d have my head by the next post from Capri. Quite rightly so.’ He paused. ‘So you see if Anacus allows himself to be gulled in exchange for a few nebulous promises which only a fool would trust to it’s no business of mine.’

‘Even if Prince Gaius is involved?’

Everything went very still.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Isidorus said.

Yeah, well, maybe I had surprised him at that, but I doubted it. I suspected where some things were concerned it wasn’t not knowing about them that fazed Isidorus; it was finding that someone else knew. I was learning a lot about diplomacy in this case.

‘It’s a fair bet.’ I held up my hand and counted reasons off on my fingers. ‘One. If there was involvement at the imperial level the scheme wouldn’t be quite so crack-brained after all, and Anacus needn’t be quite so gaga as you say he is. Two. Gaius is a personal friend of both Tiridates and Mithradates. Having the one as Great King and the other as king of Armenia when he gets to be emperor, which he will, would be a plus. Three, connected with two. Phraates is no spring chicken. Even if he does survive the journey and the campaign, he’s not going to be around for long. Tiridates is the natural heir. Why wait, especially since you might have to do things over again in a few years’ time and you can make a little on the side from not waiting in the meantime? Four, connected with three. By all accounts Prince Gaius isn’t exactly the plain-living sort, and if Anacus wanted to contribute the odd copper to keep him in the style he’s accustomed to then I’d bet that’d be fine by him. Five. The imperial choice isn’t as clear-cut these days as it was. Sure, Tiberius is still emperor, but he’s out of it in Capri. If — and I’m saying if — Phraates dies unexpectedly then having Gaius on the team to smooth over any wrinkles in connection with the takeover will be really useful. Now. You want to hear all that again at half speed or shall we take it as read?’

Isidorus’s eyes hadn’t left my face throughout. There was a long pause. Finally, he said quietly: ‘We seem to have got off the subject of Zariadres.’

‘His death fits in somewhere. It’s the “where” part that’s beating me.’

Isidorus leaned forward, placed his hands palm down on the desk and took a deep breath.

‘Corvinus, listen to me,’ he said. ‘I advise you very strongly to forget all of this. Prince Gaius is not involved.’

‘Yeah? You sure about that?’

‘Very. The same goes for Lucius Vitellius. Lucius is greedy, venal and totally self-seeking, yes, I admit all that, but — as I said before, and I stress it now — he is definitely not a fool. Nor is he a gambler. He knows exactly how far he can go, and treason, which is what you’re accusing him of, is well beyond his personal pale. Besides, and most important, he is an excellent diplomat and one of the few Romans I’ve ever met who is a match for the Parthians on their own ground. Rome needs him, I need him, and I have absolutely no intention of jeopardising our relationship just because he happens to take a few piddling backhanders from a pushy Armenian with more money than sense. As for Prince Gaius, as you say he is our future emperor, which is a prime reason for his not getting involved with Tiridates’s schemes. Tiberius, although you may not think it, is still very much in charge; he’s certainly very well aware of what goes on, in the empire and beyond, and septuagenarian or not his mind is still razor-sharp. Gaius — and as you can appreciate we’re speaking in strict confidence here — may wish things were different, but if he wants to stay in favour then he must accept the realities. In any case, he’s not as self-seeking as you might think. Gaius has his limits, and they would certainly stop short of giving the Parthian throne to a drinking friend simply because he was a drinking friend.’ He paused. ‘So you see, all things considered Tiridates has no chance whatsoever of becoming Great King.’

‘Even if he manages to murder Phraates?’

‘He won’t. Of that I am absolutely sure.’

‘Yeah? And why’s that, now?’

‘Because Phraates won’t let him. And nor will we.’ He looked down at the wax tablet on the desk. ‘Now, I’m sorry, but I’ve given you all the time I can spare. I can’t absolutely forbid you to take any further interest in this business, naturally, but do think things over carefully. Whatever you decide, remember you have my total respect, and in any case keep me informed.’

Yeah, right. I stood up. Interview over. Well, if that was the best I could do I’d have to settle for it. Still, if Isidorus had pulled down the shutters on Vitellius and Gaius — or appeared to, anyway — then I hadn’t: the theory made too much sense just to dismiss altogether. Besides, I wouldn’t trust anything Isidorus told me the length of my arm, especially if it sounded convincing. If I was wrong then great, but I needed to find out for myself.

It was time for a visit to the Three Graces.