Germanicus

30

Perilla was on cake-klatsch duty again next day when Critias brought me a message from Giton the coachman. That surprised me; I wouldn't've thought the bastard could write much past his own name, if that.

Then again, maybe he couldn't.

'Hey, Critias.' The strip of paper had been torn from a receipted grain bill. I held it out. 'Who delivered this?'

Critias came back over. 'One of Apollonius's boys, lord.'

'You sure?'

'So he told me.'

'Uh-huh. What did this kid look like?'

A sniff. 'Squint eyed, as I remember, lord. With warts.'

Yeah, that checked out. I remembered that one of the lads who'd been throwing dice in the tackle room had had a vicious squint. Still, it was just as well to be careful. Especially since I hadn't told Giton who I was, let alone where I lived.

'He say what it was about?'

'No, lord. Only that the message came from the coachman.'

I read the thing again. It was neatly written and well spelled: ‘To Marcus Valerius Corvinus, at the house of Athenodorus. Meet me at the Shrine of the Dryads at two hours before sundown. Bring some real money’. 'So where's the Shrine of the Dryads?' I said.

'In Iopolis, lord, on the western side of the Capitol. Above Caesar's Baths.'

'Yeah. Got you.' It hadn't figured on our tour, although we'd been all over Iopolis. 'Not one of Antioch's major monuments, I take it?'

'No, lord. The shrine is a ruin, and quite isolated.'

'Uhuh. Thanks, sunshine.' It would be isolated. Isolated was par for the course. Taken all in all this whole thing smelled. Giton had told me all he knew when I'd seen the guy last. Why should he want to meet again? On the other hand 'bring some real money' sounded authentic Giton. And promising. Too promising to pass up just on a suspicion. Still…

I'd go, sure; but I'd go careful.I found the shrine eventually. Isolated ruin was right: it was nothing but a tumble of old masonry half-hidden by rocks and bushes at the end of a path that would've given a goat vertigo. When Critias had said 'above Caesar's Baths' he hadn't been kidding; I could practically have spat down the furnace chimney. If Giton wanted privacy inside the city limits he couldn't've chosen a better place.

He was there all right, sitting with another guy on the broken steps of the shrine.

'So you got the note, Corvinus.' he said.

'Yeah.' I scratched my left wrist under the long sleeve of the tunic, checking that my knife was taped in place. So far so good, but I still wasn't taking any chances. 'How did you know where to send?'

'I've got my methods. Young smartasses fresh from Rome aren't thick on the ground. You bring the money? Real money, like I said?'

'Maybe.' I indicated the other man. 'Who's this?'

'My name's Orosius, lord.' He was a weaselly little runt with the look of a clerk, or maybe a school teacher. 'A pleasure to meet you.'

'Orosius is a friend of mine,' Giton said. 'He works in the records office. Listen to him, Corvinus. He's smart.'

Yeah. And working in the records office he could spell, too. That was one mystery cleared up. I sat down with my back against a lump of column.

'So what's this about?'

It was Orosius who answered. 'You were enquiring about the Parthian Vonones, lord. I knew him.' The guy gave me a smile like third rate olive oil. 'Perhaps I can give you the information you need.'

'If the price is right,' Giton grunted.

They waited. I waited longer. I'd got Giton's measure at our last encounter.

'Three names,' Orosius said at last. I noticed for all his smile he was nervous as a cat, and sweating. 'Archelaus, Epiphanes and Philopator'

'That supposed to mean something to me, pal?'

'Archelaus of Cappadocia. Epiphanes of Commagene. Philopator of Amanus.'

I'd got them now. 'The client-kings?'

'Ex-client-kings, lord. That's the point. Very much the point.'

Giton laid a hand on his arm. 'Okay, Corvinus, that's all you get for free. You want more, you pay for it. Fifteen silver pieces. Sixty drachmas. Each.'

I whistled. Whatever Giton thought he'd got here he wasn't selling it cheap. Which meant the information might just be worth it.

'Thirty tetradrachs is a hell of a lot of gravy, pal,' I said. 'I haven't got that much with me.'

'Then screw you, Roman.' Giton stood up. 'I said bring real money and I meant it. You know where to find me.'

'Wait.' Orosius pulled him back. 'You agree in principle, lord? To the price?'

'If what you've got's that valuable, yeah. Fifteen on account, fifteen later.'

'Very well.' He turned to the coachman. 'Giton, sit down, please. We'll trust to the lord's good faith.' The guy wasn't used to this, I could see, and that was another point in his favour. He belonged behind a desk or in a library, not out here in the real world. I began to relax. 'First, you know where these places are? Commagene and the others? It's important.'

'Sure.' Geography may not be my bag but I'm not a total bonehead. 'Commagene and Cappadocia are to the north, between us and Armenia. Amanus straddles the main land route through the Syrian Gates to Asia.

'Good. And the kings?'

Shit. The guy should've been teaching school. 'Archelaus of Cappadocia was hauled off to Rome three years back on a treason charge. The other two are just names to me.'

'Very well. Do you know the details of Archelaus's trial?'

'No. Except that it was held in the senate-house, behind closed doors, and that the guy killed himself before the verdict was given.' Like Piso. I felt the first prickle of interest. 'The Wart annexed Cappadocia and turned it into a province.'

'Correct.'

I was getting tired of this. 'Look, you want to do the talking for a change?’ I said. ‘I'm paying for answers, not questions.'

'Patience. So Archelaus died. The other two kings died too, in their own countries but at roughly the same time. Of, it was said, natural causes. Their kingdoms were also annexed.'

'Obviously what you're implying is that the deaths weren't natural.'

'I'm stating it. Both kings died by poison.'

'So you say.'

'So I say.'

The answer had come straight back. Whether he was right or wrong the guy believed it himself. 'And Archelaus?'

'The Lord Tiberius had a personal dislike for the old man. Perhaps he wanted that death to be more…personal.'

I sat back. Shit. This was high-powered stuff. If what Orosius was telling me was true then a hundred and twenty drachs was a fair price. More than fair. 'You've got proof of all this?'

'No, lord.'

Well, at least the guy was frank. 'So where does your pal Vonones come in?'

'He caused the kings' deaths.'

I hadn't been expecting that. 'You're saying Vonones poisoned them?'

'No.' Orosius smiled. 'Forgive me, lord. I'm being melodramatic. Vonones killed them with money. And unintentionally. The kings died because Vonones had bought them and the emperor found out.'

'Why?'

'He was paving the way for a return to Armenia. Probably more, probably Parthia itself. And an alliance with the northern client-kings would guard his southern flank.'

Oh, yeah. Sure. I was disappointed; seriously disappointed. If all the guy had to offer was unsubstantiated rumours and pie-in-the-sky strategic theory two centuries out of date then I was wasting my time here after all. I could've saved myself the climb.

'There's only one fly in the ointment, friend,' I said. 'Or two flies, rather. Us and the Parthians. Artabanus wouldn't take kindly to Vonones setting his bum back on the Armenian throne, let alone the Parthian one. And a couple of our legions could roll up all four of your client-kingdoms inside of a month without breaking sweat.'

If I'd expected that to faze him I was wrong. He just smiled his oily smile.

'This is the east, lord,' he said, 'and you're thinking like a Roman. Give us Greeks credit for a little subtlety.'

'Okay. So convince me.'

'First of all Parthia. Artabanus is royal only on his mother's side, whereas Vonones's father was a king. That, to Parthians, is important. Vonones was driven out with difficulty after a civil war, and he still had considerable support inside Parthia itself when he died. Second, Armenia. The Armenians themselves invited Vonones to rule. Furthermore to the Parthians Armenia is Parthian. A Roman king would be a standing insult, and any Parthian king who accepted him would be seen as betraying his own people.'

'But that's the point, surely. Vonones was a Roman puppet with a Roman outlook. That was the reason the Parthians threw him out in the first place.'

'Wait, lord, please.' He cleared his throat. 'Third, Rome. To us easterners, Greeks and others, Rome means — forgive me, but I must speak frankly — brute force and taxes. Increasingly so in recent years. You are not…sympathetic. Left to ourselves, we would rather do without you.'

'Gee thanks, pal.' I didn't blame him, mind. He had a valid point. When you get down to it we are a set of rapacious sods. Right, but rapacious.

'You may govern Syria proper directly,' Orosius went on, 'but you control the territories to the north and south through local rulers. They aren't committed to Rome except at the crudest level. And the common people don't like you at all. You understand?'

'Yeah.' The guy was right again, despite the high-flown rhetoric. Between Syria and Egypt Roman civilisation has always lain pretty thin. In Judaea even thinner: the Jews have always been a pack of touchy stiff-necked bastards. And there's a lot of hatred around just below the surface, even in the Romanised coastal cities.

'So.' Orosius smiled again. 'That is the situation. Now a scenario. Vonones returns to Armenia. At the same time, on his instructions, the three northern client-kings break with Rome and Amanus fortifies the pass at the Syrian Gates against help from the west. The result?'

The smug little bastard's lecture style was beginning to get to me. 'I told you. The Syrian legions would march north and wipe the floor with them. And the Parthians would throw Vonones out on his ear.'

'True. Unless the kings were supported by a universal — and popular — revolt of the southern territories also. Coinciding with the murder of Artabanus by Vonones's Parthian supporters and a resulting threat from Parthia. As the orchestrator of the revolt Vonones would certainly no longer be regarded as in any sense a Roman puppet. And despite what you said the client kingdoms' armies are not negligible. Especially when one considers they would be fighting within their own territories.'

Jupiter! My scalp tingled. Sure, with four legions on the spot we might weather something like that, but it would be touch and go; far worse than what had happened a dozen years back in Pannonia, and that had been bad enough. Armies and garrisons were cut to the bone throughout the empire already, and Rome's security was the result of a fine juggling act that left no room for major changes. Man for man the client-kings' troops might not be a match for the legions, but they were well armed and well trained. Far better than the Germans or the Pannonians had been. It was possible, sure it was. And if the revolts were synchronised like Orosius was suggesting, and Parthia piled in on the rebel side, then the whole Roman east could go down the tube inside a month. As a scenario it was a potential nightmare.

'You're saying that's what happened?' I said.

Orosius shook his head. 'No, lord. Of course not. I'm saying that's what almost happened. With the deaths — executions — of the three northern kings the revolt was quietly abandoned. The emperor Tiberius is a clever man. Much too clever for a Roman.' Again the oily smile. 'That of course was Vonones's downfall.'

I sat quiet and thought it through. Sure, there were problems, but the way Orosius had described the plan I could see it working. Especially if Vonones had made his move in winter, when with the Syrian Gates blocked it would've been difficult getting reinforcements in by sea or land. The rebels would've had a good three months to consolidate. Time enough, easy.

'So how do you know all this?' I said at last.

'Vonones talked in his sleep. That gave me the main points. The rest — well, it comes from various sources, including my own poor powers of reasoning.'

'One point. Why didn't the Wart have Vonones killed as well? He was behind the whole scam, after all.'

'You're forgetting. Vonones had a strong claim to the throne of Parthia. So long as he was genuinely powerless within the Roman marches he was a useful bargaining chip with Artabanus; certainly too useful to kill out of hand. And with the three kingdoms now under direct Roman control the plot was dead beyond remedy.'

Giton was grinning. He'd sat through Orosius's spiel like the guy was his own personal performing monkey. 'You see, Corvinus?' he said. 'I told you he was smart.'

'Yeah, he's smart, okay.' He was, despite the weasel face and grubby fingernails. Too smart for his own good.

'So.' Giton's grin broadened, and he held out his hand. 'Let's have the money.'

'Wait a minute.' My brain was still spinning. 'All this may be right but it's old history. Piso didn't get to Syria until after the kings were dead, and he's the guy I'm interested in. And if the plot was stone dead like you say then what did he and Vonones have on the boiler together?'

Orosius spread his hands. 'Nothing, lord.'

I frowned. 'Run that one past me again.'

'Nothing for the Lord Piso's part, in any event. Oh, Vonones believed that Piso was furthering his interests, and he himself was certainly still in touch with his Parthian allies. But I'm afraid that by this time he was…shall we say in a rather overoptimistic and unrealistic frame of mind, and too ready to catch at any straw that was offered. When a friend in Rome contacted him to say that the new governor would be…more amenable than the last it built up his hopes considerably. And out of all proportion.'

Yeah, that would fit. And the 'friend', of course, had been Crispus's middle-man Regulus. It fitted. Still… 'The guy couldn't've been that much of a fool,' I objected. 'Piso would have to give something in return for his bribes besides promises. Something more concrete.'

'Oh, but he did, of course!' Orosius sat up. 'You see, thanks to his imperial connections Piso was able to tell Vonones that the present situation was unlikely to last very long because the emperor had-'

The trees behind the shrine rustled. There was a sharp hiss and a dull thud. The guy jerked, his mouth still open and his eyes wide. Then, slowly, he fell forward to reveal the arrow-shaft buried in his back.

I threw myself to one side. Giton was slower: the second arrow caught him on the left shoulder and he screamed like a stuck pig. A third skittered over the rocky ground and broke against a boulder. By that time I was up and running, my knife out, keeping low and weaving. I'd got maybe ten yards when a fourth arrow stung my cheek and I caught sight of the bastard through the scrub. He lowered his bow and took to the mountain.

'Go left!' I shouted to Giton; he was on his feet now and he had his own knife out. 'Left, you bastard! Cut him off!'

Giton nodded. He was holding his arm but the wound couldn't've been serious because there was no sign of the arrow. I broke through the screen of bushes and found myself at the foot of a narrow ravine. The guy was about fifty yards ahead, his bow looped over one shoulder, clambering up the scree. He was fit, I'd give him that: my own chest was beginning to burn with the effort and I wasn't gaining any.

The ravine ended in a lip of rock, and that was where he was headed. Half way towards it I knew I was in trouble because he'd reach it while I was still struggling up the watercourse. There was no cover and no place to go except up and down, and whichever one I chose he'd pick me off as easy as a duck in a bucket. I swore hard and concentrated on closing the gap. I was still a good forty yards short when he swung himself over the lip, scooped the bow off his shoulder and fitted an arrow to the string. I waited, ready to dive whichever way it wasn't going; but the arrow never came.

The guy had been squinting down at me, waiting for a good line of shot. Suddenly he looked up and back. A second figure loomed behind him and he shouted and pitched backwards arse over tip. I went hell for leather up the scree, my head low and my lungs bursting, and threw myself across the lip onto the plateau.

I landed right on top of him. He was dead. Very dead; Giton's knife had all but taken his head off. His bow lay to one side. No sign of the arrow, so he must've loosed it after all and I hadn't noticed.

Giton was sitting on a boulder, staring at the corpse.

'Thanks, friend,' I said, when my ribs had stopped hurting and I could breathe again.

He didn't look up. 'Fuck that. You think I did it for you?'

I put my knife back into its wrist sheath and said nothing.

'He was smart, wasn't he, though?' Giton still wasn't looking at me. 'A right smart little bugger.'

'Yeah, he was smart.' I knelt down beside the dead man. He was a soldier, that much was obvious from his leathers and army boots. 'Hey, Giton. You know if the Third have an archer troop attached?'

He was quiet for so long I didn't think he'd answer. Then he said: 'Sure. The Seventh Cretans. Mostly from the west, around Mount Leuca.'

Uh-huh. I'd forgotten he was a Cretan himself. 'You know this guy, by any chance?'

Giton got up, walked over and spat very deliberately into the upturned face. 'His name was Lyncaeus. Julius Lyncaeus. I killed his uncle years back in Dictynnaeum.'

'Is that so?' I paused and touched the corpse with my foot. 'You want to help me bury him?'

But Giton was already on his way back down to the shrine. He didn't even look round.

'I owe you thirty silver pieces, friend,' I shouted after him; but I was talking to his back.