Sejanus

2

We got back late. Bathyllus, as usual, had the door open for us even before we'd stepped out of the litters. If anything the little guy's psychic powers had improved with age.

I'd kept up the house on the Palatine, partly through sentiment, mostly because to sell it would've been an admission that I was finished with Rome. That I couldn't be, ever. The city was in my bones, and if I'd trusted myself to live there quietly without scratching the dangerous itch of curiosity now and again I'd never have left. Expensive, sure, but we came for visits regularly, and Mother and Priscus had used it for a while after their own place had been gutted in the big Caelian fire.

'Hey, Bathyllus.' I handed him my stripped-off mantle and took the pre-dinner cup of wine he held out. 'Everything okay now?' A genuine question: the caretaker staff we left in Rome didn't come up to the little guy's high standards. The first few days back there was always blood on the walls.

'Yes, sir.' Bathyllus folded the mantle carefully. 'I've cancelled the arrangement with the jobbing gardener and located the missing mushroom dish.'

'Great. Good work.' I took a long swallow of the Setinian. Beautiful. You can get it in Athens but somehow it doesn't taste the same. 'That mushroom dish was worrying me.'

Perilla took off her veil while I carried the wine into the living-room and lay down on our usual couch. Bathyllus had brought her a chilled fruit juice. She lay down beside me and sipped at it.

'He'd have been pleased, Marcus,' she said at last. 'Your father. Especially at the funeral speech.'

'Yeah.' I helped myself from the jug on the table. 'Old Appianus did well. If he'd had a few more teeth he would've been almost intelligible.'

'What did Aelius Lamia have to say to you?'

'You recognised him?'

'Oddly enough, I generally do tend to recognise governors who've thrown me out of their provinces. It's one of the skills I had to develop when I married you.'

I grinned and kissed her. How Perilla can be so prickly and yet make a put-down sound like a compliment has always amazed me. She's pretty good at puncturing a black mood, too. 'Nothing much,' I said. 'He and his pal Arruntius want me to put the skids under Sejanus for them, that's all.'

Perilla sat up wide-eyed, spilling her fruit juice over the couch arm.

'Oh, Marcus! No!'

'That was my reaction.' I took another swallow of wine; the Special was mellowing nicely now it had a chance to sit in the cellar. Luckily my stepfather Priscus wasn't a drinker. He kept his enthusiasms for important things like tombs and Oscan optatives.

'They're mad!' She was still staring. 'Insane!'

'Sure they are. They're senators. It goes with the stripe.'

'No, but really!'

'Oh, I agree. You want me to give you the arguments against it myself, just to save you time?' I counted them off on my fingers. 'Sejanus is as dangerous as a crocodile in a swimming pool. He's the Wart's ears, eyes and hands in Rome. I don't know the political ropes here any more. I'd get nothing out of it if I won, not even thanks, and a short-cut to the death mask if I lost. And it's none of my business anyway. Those do you or should I start on the other hand?'

'Marcus, be serious!'

'I am being serious. Believe it.'

'But why you?'

'No one else is stupid enough.' I didn't tell her about Livia's letter, although it wouldn't've surprised her: Perilla knew as much about the old empress as I did, but I wanted to read that privately first. Or maybe just burn it unopened.

'Corvinus, that is not being serious!'

I shrugged. 'They seem to think I'm their best bet. And they're desperate.'

'You turned them down, of course.'

I'd been hoping against hope she wouldn't ask that. 'Uh, not in so many words, no.'

'Oh, Marcus!' She reached for my wine cup and emptied it at a swallow. 'What the hell do you think you're playing at?'

I blinked; the lady doesn’t swear all that often, and when she does you take notice. 'Hey,’ I said, ‘I didn't actually agree. I never even said I'd consider it.'

Flannel, flannel. Well, I didn't expect it to work, and it didn't.

'You do realise, don't you,' she said, 'that we left Rome to avoid attracting that man's attention? I would've thought one funeral in the family was enough for a while.'

I shifted uncomfortably. 'It's not that bad. I only — '

'It isn't even as if you have the excuse this time that Livia has forced you into it. And you certainly wouldn't have imperial protection. Quite the reverse.' She filled the cup again, looked at the wine with distaste and set it down. 'Marcus, why?'

I put my free arm round her shoulders. She was stiff as a steel rod.

'Because it's something I can do,' I said. 'Instead of making speeches in favour of things I don't believe in, or hammering the hell out of foreigners who'd rather not be blessed with the benefits of Roman civilisation.' I paused. 'Or maybe there's just something wrong with my brain.'

She looked at me for a long time, then smiled gently to herself and kissed me. Her shoulders lost a little of their tenseness.

'Your father understood,' she said. 'He may not have agreed, but he did understand. He never blamed you, not really. Don't forget that.'

'Dad's got nothing to do with this.'

'No. Of course not.' She kissed me again and pressed closer. 'I married you because you were different, you didn't fit in. But remember that if you died I'd make a bad and very sad widow. Much worse than Cosconia. Think about that before you do anything silly, won't you? And you don't have to prove anything to me, either.'

After we'd eaten I locked myself in the study and took out Livia's letter. There was a lamp burning on the desk. I looked at the clear flame, considering. Then with a twist of my thumb I broke the seal.

The letter was two years old, dated a month or so before the empress had died. She'd written it herself — I'd known that from the superscription — and the writing sprawled across the page like the tracks of a drunken spider:

To Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus. Livia Julia Augusta gives greetings.Well, young man, I'm dead and burned at last, or you wouldn't be reading this. Let me say first that I have no regrets, either about being dead or for having removed so many of my collateral relatives before their proper hours. I acted for the good of Rome; and Rome, although presently she believes herself hard done by under Tiberius, will look back and thank me for him. She could have done worse; she will certainly do worse when my son has gone and she discovers the quality of what is left. So no apologies, and no justifications.

Which brings me to the point of this letter. Aelius Sejanus. We talked a little about him the last time we met. Again the fact that you are reading this shows that the time for talk is past. The man is a malignant growth, a danger to Rome, and he must be removed. No; I dislike euphemisms. Sejanus must be killed.

I don't suggest you do it yourself. I can't see you knifing him in the back or poisoning his porridge, although I could make some suggestions there, as you know. That would be far too risky, and besides overt murder is always a mistake. Consider Brutus and Cassius, who performed the very laudable act of killing the far-from-divine Julius and got nothing but death and infamy for their pains while taking most of Rome's best with them. The question mark, Corvinus, must always be there, if only for the purposes of insurance. In Sejanus's case exposure of his true character in Tiberius's eyes will be quite sufficient. Then, assuming my son hasn't lost the wits he was born with, he can be rendered harmless and those cowardly fools in the senate relied on to finish the job for you.

So. How is he to be exposed? That, my dear, I leave entirely to you because I have the utmost faith in your expertise. For the same reason (and for the reason which you so astutely divined in our last interview) I am giving you no help whatsoever in the way of inside information. Find things out for yourself, young man. I would, however, suggest that an examination of the records of trials before the senate over the past eight years will make instructive reading, plus, of course, any others which postdate my own death. I have already approached the senate's archivist Junius Rusticus in this connection and should he still be alive when you read this he will be happy to give you access. If not you must make your own arrangements.

That is all. I wish you luck, which I am certain you don't need. Oh — one more thing, a personal matter. I called you, at the close of our interview, a 'divine idiot' and compared you to my grandson Claudius. I regret that bitterly: not the term, nor the comparison, but simply that you misunderstood it as an insult. That was most certainly not my meaning, and I apologise sincerely for any hurt caused. Should you ever have the opportunity, talk to my son's astrologer Thrasyllus. Normally, unlike Tiberius and my late husband the god, I have no time for such nonsense, but in Thrasyllus's case I make an exception. He is an honest man by his own lights, and — so far as I can tell — genuinely gifted. Ask him about Claudius; discreetly, please, there are certain understandable rules about these matters. What he tells you — if he tells you anything — will surprise you, and perhaps alter your opinion of my remark.

Again, Corvinus, and for the last time, my thanks. You will be acting, as I have always acted, for the good of Rome. Fools look for public acknowledgement and public honours. You will have neither, ever; and you will not, I think, care too much. We altruistic beings who truly love Rome (don't laugh, young man! I can hear you, but I mean it!) are above such things.

I am entrusting this letter to Lucius Arruntius. He has his faults, but he is, believe me, one of the few true Romans left. He knows nothing of its contents, and although — because! — he is an honourable man I would hesitate, were I you, to count on his practical assistance. A keen sense of honour is not a quality we require in this business, nor indeed is it a very safe one. Burn this now. You have my prayers.

Yeah. That was Livia, all right. I picked up my cup of Setinian and scattered a few drops to the thrawn, tough-minded old so-and-so's ghost: where she was at the moment I'd bet she needed all the prayers she could get. Then I burned her letter as instructed, in the flame of the lamp, and ground it to ash. There was a lump in my throat as I did it, why I don't know: she'd used me before, she was using me again, and this time she hadn't even had the grace to ask. I owed her nothing; quite the reverse.

I'd go after Sejanus like she wanted me to do; sure I would, I couldn't help myself. Whatever the cost, and however crazy it was. But then Livia, like Lamia, had known that all along.