Sejanus

10

Scratch the idyllic atmosphere of a spring day in Rome; when I arrived back I found myself in the middle of a Grade One domestic crisis. Meton the chef had been sulking in his kitchen like a culinary Achilles since the Torquata affair two days before. Now the bastard had hit the cooking wine and barricaded himself in. He wasn't coming out for no one.

'You talk to him, Marcus.' Perilla was standing outside the kitchen door with Bathyllus and a couple of gawping kitchen skivvies. She looked flushed and angry. 'I've tried, but he won't pay any attention.'

Jupiter! The guy must be far gone if Perilla couldn't get through to him. Still, as head of the household I owed it to the good old Roman ethos to give it a go, at least.

'Hey, Meton!' I banged on the wooden panelling. 'Cut that out right now and open the door!'

No answer, bar a snatch of an Alexandrian love song. He could cook better than he could sing, that was for sure. And from the sound of him he was pissed as a newt. I turned to Bathyllus.

'You've tried forcing the door?'

'He has the chopping table wedged against the other side.'

'Shit. How about the outside window? Any chance of taking him from behind?'

'We've tried that too, sir, but it's too high and narrow. Also, he throws things.'

'Onions?'

'Knives.' The little guy was bristling with disapproval. Bathyllus always had thought Meton was too anarchic to live, and his musical appreciation was zilch.

'Knives, eh? Kitchen knives?'

'Yes, sir.'

This was a bad one. Meton normally looked after his kitchen knives as carefully as if they were new-born babies. No one was allowed even to breathe on them in case they lost their edge. And the last time he'd gone on a bender it had lasted three days. I'd've recycled the bugger for scratchings long since if he hadn't been the best cook we'd ever had.

I banged on the door with my fist. 'Meton! I know you're listening! Open up this minute! That's an order!'

The singing stopped momentarily in favour of a loud raspberry. One of the skivvies sniggered and Bathyllus shot him a look that would've curdled milk.

I turned away from the door and shrugged. 'Okay, guys, that's it, show's over. We leave him to it. He'll come out eventually.'

'Oh, marvellous!' Perilla snapped. 'And what do we do for meals in the meantime?'

Yeah. She had a point there. The larder was on Meton's side of the door as well as the cooking facilities. Still, the problem wasn't insuperable.

'We live on take-away sausages and meatballs,' I said. 'I know a cookshop off Tuscan Street where they don't use rats. Or not many, anyway. Unless you'd prefer to sponge off Mother and Priscus.'

'And have your stepfather throw sauce over every good mantle I've got? No, thank you, Corvinus. Not until I'm desperate.'

'Okay, lady, it's your decision.' I held out the pastry that I'd bought her on the way home. 'Here. Make it last.'

She looked at it and her mouth trembled. A moment later and we were hugging each other and laughing helplessly while Bathyllus glared. That little guy has no sense of the ridiculous. Left to himself, he'd probably have called in the City Guard to evict Meton with a battering ram, and told them not to take prisoners.

'I'll get back to polishing the silverware, then, sir, shall I?' he said finally. If I didn't know better I'd've guessed he'd just swallowed a neat pint of vinegar.

I nodded while I tried to get myself under control. Perilla was leaning against the wall hugging her ribs.

'You do that, little guy,' I said at last. 'And keep me informed. When that bastard in there sobers up enough to move the table I want to see him.'

'Certainly, sir,' Bathyllus said primly, and turned to go. 'It will be a positive pleasure.'

A thought struck me. 'Hey, Bathyllus. One more thing. Where does Vibius Celsus hang out, do you know?'

'No, sir.' A sniff. 'I've no idea.'

Sure he knew; Bathyllus knew everything. He just wasn't co-operating. Jupiter! Slaves! There must be a better way to run a household. 'So find out, sunshine. Ask around when you go for the sausages.'

'I'll try my best, sir.'

'And take something for that cold.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Who's this Celsus?' Perilla was her normal cool self by now, except for a certain raggedness round the edges that I found sexy as hell.

'Just someone I want to talk to.' I put my arm round her waist. 'Come into the living room and I'll tell you about it. Hey, and Bathyllus?'

'Yes, sir. At your orders, sir.'

'Cut the sarcasm. And bring us a jug.' That was one thing saved. After the first time Meton threw an alcoholic wobbler I'd made damn sure we had a separate wine cellar with a solid lock.

Bathyllus sidled in with the address an hour or so later, like I knew he would: one thing Bathyllus can't stand is to smudge his reputation with me for omniscience.

With the first premonitory rumbles in my stomach I set out for the Esquiline.

Celsus lived in a modest house just off Patrician Street near the Temple of Juno the Light-Bringer. Not a particularly good neighbourhood, and the outside walls were pretty tatty, with the brick showing in places through the cement facing. The mosaic in the entrance lobby was patched as well, and it hadn't been all that impressive to begin with. The Venus had a distinct squint and there was something wrong with her legs.

I gave my name to the door slave. Luckily the master was at home.

He was a thin, weak-chinned man of about my own age, maybe a bit older, and going bald on top. The minute I saw his eyes I knew I wouldn't trust him further than I could throw him.

'Valerius Corvinus?' We shook hands and he showed me to the guest couch. 'What can I do for you?'

I ignored the question. No point in coming on heavy until I had to, and the situation was pretty delicate.

'You're a relation of Vibius Marsus?' I said. 'We met in Syria ten years back, when he was deputy governor.'

'He's a distant cousin.' Like I'd hoped he would, Celsus relaxed slightly. There're rules to these things. Establish a connection with the family and you're half way there. You've shown your credentials, even if they're bogus as hell, like mine were. I was glad, though, that Marsus wasn't a close relative because I'd liked the guy, even though he had been on the other side. Celsus I didn't like at all. 'You were in Syria, you say?'

'Antioch. I spent some time there just after Germanicus died.'

Did his eyes flicker? I couldn't be sure, because he was turning to his own couch. A slave brought wine in plain silver cups. Not much, and no jug. I drank. Massic, and not the best vintage either. That fitted with everything else I'd seen so far. Money was tight in the Vibius household; and that told me something in itself.

'I've never been to Syria.' Celsus was sipping his own wine. 'A charming province, they say. My own service was in the west.'

'With your father in Spain.'

'That's right.' His voice was neutral. 'I was on his staff. A junior tribune.'

'That'd be when he was prosecuted the first time, for maladministration.'

Celsus gave me a long, slow look. Finally he said:

'Corvinus, what exactly do you want with me?'

I shrugged. 'Just making conversation.'

'Is that what it is?' The carefully-brushed eyebrows dropped. 'Curious. You're from a good family, I know that from your name. And of course although we haven't met I've heard of your father and uncle.'

'So?'

'So didn't anyone ever tell you that to begin a conversation with a reference to the other person's criminal antecedents is terribly bad form?'

I grinned and took another sip of the wine. What there was of it. Two more decent swallows and it'd be gone.

'Yeah, they told me that,' I said.

'Why do it, then?' His mouth pouted like a puzzled child's. 'I assume it wasn't accidental.'

'I shouldn't've thought you'd've been too sensitive on the topic. Considering the second time you blew the whistle on Serenus yourself.'

I was still getting that long, puzzled look. I wondered if Celsus was altogether sane, and a small cold finger touched my spine.

'My father was a traitor,' he said slowly, 'and treachery supersedes family loyalties. What I did was unpleasant but necessary. And the fact is that we were never very close.'

'Close enough for him to want you on his staff.'

Celsus drew his mouth into a thin line, like a child who's decided it isn't going to play any longer.

'I'm sorry, Valerius Corvinus,' he said. 'I'm trying hard to be polite, but you really are making it very difficult. Father has been in exile for over six years now, deservedly so. I rarely even think of him, let alone talk about him, certainly not with a total stranger. So would you mind either changing the subject or telling me straight out what you want from me?'

'Let's just say I'm curious. I was wondering why a son would accuse his own father of treason.'

'And I've answered your question, to my own satisfaction if not to yours. I did what I considered and still consider was my duty.' Celsus got up and set his wine cup on a small side table. 'Now if your curiosity is satisfied then perhaps we can end this ridiculous conversation and part in reasonable amity.'

I hadn't moved. 'So you were working for Aelius Sejanus.'

'What?' He turned quickly. The puzzled look had gone. If he was a child now, he wasn't a very pleasant one.

'Your father was mixed up in a Julian plot against the emperor. Sejanus used you to nail him.'

'My father was certainly plotting against Tiberius. But my accusations had nothing to do with Sejanus. I told you, I was motivated by duty. And now' he cleared his throat, 'I really do think you ought to leave.'

I ignored him. 'The thing I don't understand is why you should accuse Lentulus and Tubero. If you were working for Sejanus then that wouldn't make sense. It's almost as if you wanted…' I stopped as the answer hit me. Fool!

'Wanted what?' He'd been plucking up the nerve to call the slaves. Now he shot me a look like I'd caught him with his hand in the biscuit jar.

Duty. Oh, Jupiter! Yeah, yeah, sure it was. That was it exactly. But not duty to the emperor. There were other varieties. I'd done the man an injustice.

'Celsus,' I said, 'I apologise. You weren't working for Sejanus at all, were you? Or for Tiberius.'

He stared at me, and said nothing.

'You were working for your father.'

Smack on the button. His face turned chalk-white and very slowly he walked back to the table, picked up the wine cup and took a swallow. I felt almost sorry for him. For all his bluster and man-of-the-world polish he hadn't the guts of a frog, and he'd reached his limit.

'That's nonsense,' he said at last. I doubt if he sounded convincing even to himself. 'Absolute nonsense. It doesn't even make a modicum of sense.'

'Doesn't it?' I could almost hear the clicks as the bits of the puzzle fell into place. 'The whole thing was a setup from start to finish. A piece of pure theatre. Your father knew he was blown, so instead of waiting for Sejanus to bring the charge through one of his chums he had you do it. He even fed you your line by challenging you to name his accomplices so that by citing Lentulus and Tubero you could destroy your own credibility as a prosecutor. He hoped that once that happened the case against him would collapse because our lickspittle senate wouldn't touch these guys with a bargepole.'

'But my father was exiled nonetheless.' Celsus's voice was the barest whisper.

'Sure he was, because the Wart knew he was guilty, whatever his slaves said. Which was why he brought you back to finish what you'd started.' I took a full swallow of wine. The taste didn't improve with further acquaintance. 'It was a good plan. The gamble just didn't come off. Anyway, why should you be ashamed? Filial duty's as good as any other, and better than some.' He didn't answer. 'Hey, come on. I'm right, and you know it. I've got no quarrel with you, quite the reverse. So sit down and let's talk.'

He collapsed onto the couch like a string puppet, still holding the wine cup like it was his lifeline. If I hadn't been there I suspect the poor little bugger would've been sobbing his heart out. I was almost sorry I'd come now, but I had to see this thing through.

'All right, Corvinus,' he said. 'What do you want? Money? I haven't got any, not any more.'

'No,' I said. 'I can see that. It's one reason why I didn't really believe you were one of Sejanus's cronies.'

'So if not that then what?' He was shaking so hard I could hear his teeth rattle. I doubt if I'd ever met a more complete coward. Sure, I knew what he was worried about: his father had only escaped the public executioner himself by a whisker, and if it got out now that Celsus had been involved in the conspiracy then old history or not his neck was legally forfeit. The fact that the Wart probably couldn't've cared a bust boil plaster after all this time wouldn't enter his head.

'I want information,' I said. 'Just that. Nothing more.'

He took a deep breath and emptied his wine cup at a gulp. 'Very well. What do you know already?'

'That Serenus was part of a major Julian scam to discredit Tiberius in the west. That it involved Silius the German governor, the rebels Florus and Sacrovir, and the governors of Asia and Cyrene who provided most of the cash.'

'Yes.' He looked down into his empty cup. 'Yes. Very thorough, and quite correct. In fact I doubt if I can add much more. I wasn't really all that important, you see.'

Surprise, surprise. 'Never mind. At least you can answer a few straight questions.'

'Of course. If I can.'

'Okay. First question. Your father supported Sejanus originally. Why did he switch sides?'

'Money.' Celsus gave a pale smile. 'Oh, I know I told you I hadn't got any and I wasn't lying. It's spent long ago, and it wasn't all that much to begin with. Perhaps because even more than he liked money Father enjoyed the excitement of plotting for its own sake.'

Yeah, I'd believe that. Serenus was obviously a different character to his son, a much harder case altogether. Not that that would be difficult. He'd prosecuted Libo for what he could make on the deal, and like I'd said his attempt to four-flush the Wart had been a pure gambler's trick that could well have come off. And if he'd managed to persuade or bully this sad streak of dripping into joining in the gamble then he'd been a man to be reckoned with. 'Okay. Second question. Cornutus. The accomplice at Rome who committed suicide before the trial. How did he fit in?'

'He channelled the cash from the Asian end. I only knew that and his name. I never met him, even when we were back in Rome.'

'Did he kill himself, or was he helped?'

'I'm not a murderer, Corvinus.' Yeah, that I'd believe too. The poor sap wouldn't have the nerve, even at second hand. 'I can't answer for anyone else because I don't know.'

'How did you manage to accuse Lentulus and Sejanus's stepbrother and come out the other side in one piece?'

'I don't know.' I opened my mouth to protest but he spread his hands. 'That's the truth. Honestly, I don't know! Perhaps because the accusations were so ridiculous that the senate threw them out at once. They were Father's idea, in any case, not mine.'

And maybe Sejanus just didn't think he was worth the effort; but I didn't say that. I'd been on the receiving end of that particular comment once myself, and I knew how it felt.

'Okay,' I said. 'Last question, and then I'll go. What else have you got for me in your locker?'

His eyes glinted from under lowered lashes. 'Such as what?'

'Don't play games, Celsus! You know what I mean. Names. Details. Facts and dates.'

'Connected with the Julian plot?'

He was giving me the run-around here, and I knew it. 'To hell with the Julian plot,' I said. 'I'm after Sejanus.'

His jaw dropped. He lifted the wine cup to his lips then set it down again when he realised that it was empty. It rattled against the marble table-top and overbalanced.

'He'll kill you,' he whispered.

'Yeah, maybe, but that's my problem. So give, or your name'll be splashed all over the next edition of the senate's "Daily Register". In the Forthcoming Executions column.'

'I can't!' He was almost crying again. 'Really, I can't! I don't know any more!'

'Fine.' I got up myself. 'I'll see you around. Maybe.'

I was heading for the front door when he called me back.

'Corvinus!'

I turned. 'Yeah?'

Celsus hesitated. 'Marius. Sextus Marius.'

'That all? Just the name?'

'I swear!' He was quivering like a dish of aspic prawns. 'I told you! I don't know any more!'

'So why give me that much? Who's this Marius?'

'My father mentioned him once or twice. He was one of his associates, but Father never trusted him.'

'Where was he based? Rome? Spain?'

'I don't know! I never even saw the man!' He was actually wringing his hands. 'Corvinus, I swear! I've told you all I know!'

I sighed. Yeah, he probably had, at that.

'Thanks, Celsus,' I said. 'Thanks a lot. And don't worry any more. You're safe.'

I didn't wait for his answer.

Sextus Marius. I turned the name over in my mind as I left. It wasn't one I recognised, from my general knowledge or from the senate's records. Not a purple-striper, that was clear, not with that name. Maybe not even a Roman. Yet Celsus had used the word 'associate', which implied that the guy had been important, his father's equal.

So who the hell was he?