Sejanus

31

I felt a bit chary about walking the streets during daylight hours, especially since to get to Cattlemarket Square I'd have to go past the centre of town, but I kept to the alleyways on the river side of Tuscan Street where you're about as likely to see a pig playing a tambourine as a striped mantle. The Plum Tree wasn't easy to spot, but I finally tracked it down: a scabby-looking cookshop squeezed between a pork-butcher's that seemed to deal mostly in fly-covered tripe and a tenement I didn't dare lean against in case I knocked it over. There were no customers outside, which didn't say much for the culinary standards or the quality of the wine. I couldn't see any sign of the eponymous tree either, but there was a stump of wood sticking out of the pavement by the door so maybe they'd just kept the name for luck. It sounded better than the Wall-Eyed Sicilian, anyway, which from the look of the owner was another possibility.

The guy with the strabismus was shifting the grease on an outside table with a rag that might've started life as a breech-clout. When he saw me hovering he came over so fast that he blurred. Business must be bad right enough.

'You want to sit inside, sir?' he said. 'Pork liver rissoles, fresh today. Best Himeran wine, five years old.'

I took out my purse. 'Maybe later, friend,' I said. 'After I've seen your kitchen.'

He stared at the coin I held up — it would've paid for a meal three times over, easy — and his jaw dropped.

'You what?' he said.

I gave him my best smile. 'Call it a hobby. Some people look at statues, some people collect paintings. Me, I like looking round kitchens.'

The Sicilian gave me a hard stare, then shrugged, put the cloth down and held out his hand.

'Suit yourself,' he said. 'Follow me.'

'There's more.' I didn't move. 'I like to look at them alone, in private, and for an indefinite amount of time. Without interruptions.'

The wall-eye shifted. 'You serious?'

'Sure. I find it's much more satisfying that way. It conserves the ambience.'

His good eye was still on the coin. 'Shit!' he murmured. 'Capuans!'; then: 'Go ahead, pal, straight through the back. Don't mind me, I just own the place. Take as long as you like and enjoy.'

'Thanks.' I flipped him the silver piece and went inside.

There weren't any customers there, either, and from the looks of the room I wasn't surprised. Even the punters who hang around Cattlemarket Square have some standards, and they'd have to be drunk or desperate to patronise the Plum Tree. Cockroaches scuttled off the tables in dozens as I came in, but maybe they weren't so choosy. I followed my nose. Kitchen this way.

A tall thin guy was frying rissoles on a skillet. He turned round.

'Lygdus?' I said.

The skillet rang on the floor. He stared at me, his eyes wide.

'The name's Myron,' he said at last.

Too late, too nervous. 'Sure,' I said, 'and I'm Cleopatra's grandmother.' I'd already checked the place out. I was standing right across the only exit, and there was no one else here but us, the rissoles and the cockroaches. 'You and me are going to have a little talk, friend. About something called stibium.'

It must've meant more to him than it did to me, because his eyes went up under the lids and he crumpled. I stayed put in case it was a trick, but he was out for the count. I moved over to him, lugged him onto a stool, and slapped his cheek.

'Come on, pal,' I said. 'Wake up.' I noticed an old slave mark on his forearm: the initials DC.

His eyelids flickered open and he wet his lips with his tongue.

'How did you find me?' he whispered.

'Call it divine intervention. You okay now?'

'Yes.' He was shaking so hard his teeth were rattling. 'How did you know? It's been…' He swallowed, and the whites of his eyes showed again.

I had to go easy here. Damn Gaius, he could at least have given me some sort of a hint, but the name Lygdus and this whacky stibium stuff was it. If the word was Latin I'd never heard it, but probably it was one of the considerable number of Greek words that I still didn't know even after ten years of being bored to death by Perilla's philosopher pals. Sure, the guy was terrified and he had beans to spill. Trouble was, I hadn't the slightest idea what jar they came from.

'Never mind how,' I said. 'I know. And the emperor's going to find it pretty interesting too when I tell him.'

He gave me a look of pure horror. 'You'd tell Tiberius? Please, sir, it wasn't my idea, I only did what I was told. It was Eudemus and the mistress.'

Eudemus? Who the hell was Eudemus? A Greek, sure; but freedman? Slave? And the mistress… I tried not to let the puzzlement show in my face, but I needn't've worried: Lygdus was past playing games. The guy was in shock.

'Eudemus said there was no way of detecting it,' he said. 'None! He wasn't even suspected, none of us were, the death was put down to natural causes.' He was practically babbling. 'How can anyone know now, after eight years?'

I sat back, my brain numb. That made two of us in shock now. Oh, shit. Oh, Jupiter Best and Greatest. The mistress. Death by natural causes. Eight years. DC. All that could add up to just one thing.

He was talking about the Wart's son Drusus.

While he gibbered away I tried to remember what I knew already. Drusus had suffered from a chronic illness, something intestinal that had nearly carried him off ten years before. He'd survived that bout, only to succumb to a second attack two years later, and everyone had believed — still believed — that the death was natural. There was no question of poison at the time or subsequently, not so much as a hint or a wineshop rumour; I remembered Lippillus saying that when we'd first talked two months ago. Only now it transpired that the guy had been murdered after all. More: from Lygdus's mention of the mistress one of the murderers had been his wife Livilla. Who, much later and after a great deal of badgering on the Wart's new deputy's part, had finally been betrothed to Sejanus…

Gaius was right; this was major stuff. It put the lid on the case and screwed it down tight. When it got to Tiberius that Sejanus had rubbed out his only son and heir — and I'd wager a hatful of gold pieces to a bent cloak-pin that he'd been behind it — the Wart would cut the bastard's throat personally and whistle while he did it.

'Okay, pal,' I said. 'Let's have the whole story.'

Lygdus stared at me.

'But you said you knew!' he whispered.

'So I lied. You murdered Drusus, or helped murder him; that much I do know. And believe me it'll be enough for the emperor, too.'

'But I didn't!' He pulled his knees close in and hugged them. 'It was the mistress and Eudemus! I only — ' He stopped.

'You only poisoned the guy's porridge. Sure.'

His eyes widened. 'You're playing with me, aren't you?' he said.

'I am?'

'You know about the porridge!'

'You mean that was how it was done? Seriously?'

'Yes, of course. The master liked his porridge made with spelt. I put the stibium in that. A little every morning.'

'Uh huh.' Yeah, well, we were getting somewhere, anyway. The stuff was some kind of poison right enough. 'Who's this Eudemus?'

'The master's doctor.'

That made sense. A doctor would know about poisons, who better? Also when Drusus did fall ill he'd be the one to advise what to eat and what not. For an invalid he'd recommend a bland, simple diet; more spelt porridge, for example…

'He's still in Rome?' I said.

'I don't know. Probably. With the mistress.'

'Who's now betrothed to Sejanus?'

A long pause. 'Yes.'

'And they fixed this up among them? Livilla, Sejanus and the doctor?'

'Yes.' It was a whisper.

Gods! It added up! The timing and everything! Sejanus had had to go carefully; sure, Drusus had to die, but he couldn't die quickly because that would've raised unwelcome suspicions and anyway Sejanus had needed the time to consolidate his own position. Livilla was an ambitious bitch, I'd known that for years, ever since I'd talked to Gaius Secundus, in fact: the guy with the shattered leg who'd served with Drusus in Pannonia. She'd thrown in with Sejanus because the Wart was grooming Agrippina's two eldest for eventual succession after Drusus, leaving her boy Gemellus out in the cold. And Sejanus, for all his faults, was a real tomcat…

'Sejanus and Livilla were having an affair,' I said. 'Before Drusus died.'

'Yes.' Lygdus had given up. He sat slumped on the stool like a bag of flour.

'So they murdered him together. And then they began working on Tiberius to allow them to marry. Sejanus would have the imperial connection he needed to legitimise his succession, Livilla would found a dynasty instead of simply being the wife of a caretaker emperor.'

'Maybe.' Lygdus shrugged. 'If you say so. The mistress wanted him for himself. That's all I know.'

'Yeah.' I looked at him. The poor guy was a weed, a long strip of dripping, and not the murderer type. He reminded me a lot of Celsus. 'So. How did you get out?'

'I ran. It was simple enough. I'm not a fool, I knew some day there'd be an accident. Suburinus, the man who owns this place, knew I was a runaway slave, but I'm cheap. I work for my keep and no more so he's happy. It's better than being dead, anyway.'

'He know whose slave you are?'

'No!'

I nodded. No, he wouldn't, no way: you didn't mess with imperials. 'DC' could stand for anyone, and cheap labour didn't grow on trees.

Lygdus had been watching me.

'What are you going to do?' he said.

It was a question I'd been putting off asking myself. I couldn't leave the poor sod where he was, that was for sure. The minute my back was turned he'd head for the tall timber and I could whistle for my proof. At the same time, I wasn't under any illusions as to what Tiberius would do to a runaway slave who'd poisoned his son's breakfast; and I wouldn't wish that kind of death on anyone.

Hell. I had the details and I had the name of the doctor. That would have to be enough for the Wart. He could do his own dirty work.

'Can you write?' I said.

'No.'

'Yeah, I thought not.' I sighed. 'Just an idea. Okay, pal, what happens now is that I walk out of here and you rescue what's left of those rissoles from the cockroaches.'

He stared at me. 'You mean that?'

'Sure. They can't taste any worse than they probably would've anyway. Oh, by the way. What is stibium, exactly?'

'A kind of glittering metallic sand, Corvinus. It's mined in Asia Minor, among other places. Including Pannonia, incidentally.'

I whipped round. Felix was standing in the doorway. He wasn't smiling.

'The Greeks call it wide-eye,' he went on, 'because it's used to make eye-shadow paste; your wife probably has some in her cosmetic box. It's also, so I understand, employed medicinally as an astringent. For external application only, of course.'

No point asking the guy what he was doing here. I'd half-expected he'd follow me anyway. Gaius was the type to keep a check on his investments.

'You're telling me Drusus was poisoned with make-up?' I said.

'More or less. Amazing, isn't it?' Felix came in and hoisted himself onto the kitchen table. He hadn't looked at Lygdus, who was staring at him open-mouthed. 'Actually, Eudemus was being extremely clever, and it explains why no one suspected poison at the time. A single large dose would've produced obvious symptoms, naturally, but the effect of many small doses was cumulative and gave the desired impression of chronic illness. Drusus died very slowly, Valerius Corvinus, over a period of months, if not years, and his murderers watched him die. That's not pleasant. Personally I wouldn't waste my sympathy on them.'

Uh huh. 'Where's your friend Aristotle?' I said.

'Intimidating the owner. But he's within call, so I really wouldn't recommend any heroics.'

Yeah, well, it was worth a try. Unless he was lying again, but I wouldn't've liked to risk it. I turned back to Lygdus. The guy had gone as grey as his rissoles.

'I'm sorry, pal,' I said. 'It seems I've been overruled.'

'Indeed you have, sir.' Felix glanced at the slave. 'If you've finished your questioning we'll take over now. Don't worry, we'll keep him safe. Until he's wanted.'

I could've gone for him, sure, but it wouldn't've done any good, even without Lamprus waiting outside. Gaius would make a bad enemy, and I had more of these already than I could handle. Not that those excuses made me feel any better, mind.

I walked out without a word.