Germanicus

7

After leaving Regulus I cut right across town to the Racetrack district and Scylax's gym. Not that I wanted a workout: I was getting enough exercise that morning without that dwarfish sadistic bastard beating the hell out of me as well. What I needed was information.

Scylax has lived in Rome most of his life. What he did before, where he came from, what his real name is — Scylax is only a nickname — Jupiter knows, though I doubt if even he'd've had the guts to ask straight out. He started as a gladiator trainer before going freelance, and taking him on as a client five or six years back and buying him his own place had been the best investment I'd ever made. Not just financially. The guy was a genius in teaching the kind of fighting that'd have you blackballed on any self-respecting training ground in Rome but made sure you walked out of an alley fight with all your appurtenances still attached. He also had a net of contacts among the city's underlife that would make the Imperial Secret Service hand in their cloaks and daggers and take up embroidery. That sort of return you don't get with trading.

When I reached the gym Scylax's slave and right hand freak Daphnis was shifting the sand around the exercise yard with a rake: his normal occupation, except on slow days when you had to be watching closely to see the bugger move at all.

'Hey, Daphnis! The boss in?' I gave him the big smile. It's just as well to keep in with the staff, and the big Spaniard was no bonehead, whatever front he put on.

'Yeah.' The rake paused, not that you'd've noticed, and Daphnis shifted his head towards the bath buildings. 'He's got a guy on the table, though. Help yourself, Corvinus.'

I nodded and picked my way between the wannabe bladesmen. The gym was getting popular. Even at this time, when most self-respecting Romans were out at work, there were three or four pairs slogging away with wooden foils. And I could hear the screams from the massage room up ahead already.

Scylax had the lucky punter face down and was rearranging the muscles of his back according to some arcane principle of his own. The guy's neck was the colour of raw liver and from the noise he was making he wasn't exactly enjoying the experience.

Scylax looked up, saw me and grunted. 'Hey. Be with you in a minute, Corvinus.'

'No hurry.' I sat down on the bench next the door and watched while the little bald-head prised two plates of muscle apart and inserted a knuckle. The punter's feet drummed the table and he chewed on the towel Scylax had thoughtfully provided. The knuckle slowly worked its way in and down and I found my balls contracting in sympathy. Scylax might be the best masseur in Rome, but he was also an evil minded bastard who liked his job far more than was decent. Finally, when he'd rearranged the guy's anatomy to his own satisfaction and rubbed the oil in, he let him up.

'That's all, sir,' he said. Polite as hell.

The customer swung his shaky legs over the side of the table, grabbed his towel and tottered off towards the changing rooms without a word. Supercilious bugger. Or maybe he was just afraid Scylax would change his mind and haul him back.

Scylax wiped his oily hands on a rag and looked at me. 'You next, Corvinus?'

'Uh-uh. No way.' I held up my hands. Having a massage from Scylax is like being mugged by a gorilla with a degree in anatomy. You may feel great afterwards but it's a pleasure to be rationed. 'This is business.'

'If you want to go over the accounts you can forget it.'

'Not that kind of business, pal. I need you to find someone for me.'

'Yeah?' He gave me a look and flung the rag onto the table. 'Okay. So tell me. But I can only spare you ten minutes, right?'

So much for the respect due from client to patron, but I was used to Scylax by now. If he'd called me 'sir' and licked my boots like your normal client I'd've had the doctors in. 'You ever heard of a guy called Carillus?'

'What kind of guy? Gladiator? Race driver? Knifeman?' Scylax sat down on the empty table. 'Pimp?'

'Freedman. I don't know what line he's in. Patron was Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso, before he slit his throat.'

A long whistle. 'You mixed up with that stuff again, boy?'

'Yeah.' I didn't go into details. Scylax would understand. 'You know him?'

'No. But if he was a freedman of Piso's I can put you on to somebody who does. Right now, in fact.' He got up and moved to the open door. 'Daphnis!' he yelled. 'Hey, Daphnis!'

There was a long pause while the ball of Spanish fire parked his rake, shambled over from the other side of the exercise ground and propped up the door frame with his shoulder.

'Yeah?' he said.

'Corvinus is asking about one of the Piso freedmen.'

'No kidding?' Daphnis looked unimpressed, but then he always did.

Scylax turned back to me. 'Daphnis's cousin's a litterman with the Pisos. Or was.'

Daphnis nodded glumly. 'The bastard's been cadging free drinks on the strength of it ever since the trial.'

'Is that right?' Hey! Someone up there liked me after all. 'This cousin of yours have a name?'

'Capax. Bought himself out after Piso's death. He runs half a chair now out of Augustus Square.'

'Great! He'll be there today?'

'Maybe.' The big Spaniard spat carefully onto the sand outside. 'You know the litter business, Corvinus. They don't work office hours. Stand around long enough in the Square and you might get lucky.'

'Gee, thanks.' I got up and he moved aside. 'I owe you one.'

'Just tell Capax I sent you.' Daphnis was already heading back to his rake. 'Then if you can manage to leave him pissed the stingy bastard might feel obliged to return the favour for once.'

It had to be Augustus Square, of course; right back the way across town, not far from where I'd just come from. I could've taken a litter, but litters aren't thick on the ground in the Eleventh District except on race days. Besides, it was getting late and my belly was rumbling. I decided to go back home first and see what Perilla had been doing.

She was out, visiting her mother at the Fabius place further up the hill. I thought of going round to join her. Then I thought again. Call me a selfish coward if you like, but as I think I've said somewhere else insanity's the one thing I can't hack, even if it's the gentle empty-headed kind Perilla's mother suffered from. When we'd got married I'd offered to give Fabia Camilla her own suite in the house, but I was relieved when Perilla turned me down. The old woman was happy enough staying with her cousin, and Marcia saw she was well looked after. There was no point in moving her. Luckily.

So I grabbed a slice of meat, a hunk of bread and a travelling flask of Setinian and took my own litter downtown. It'd be faster that way, and the litter slaves could do with losing a few pounds of unsightly flab. Eccentricity's fine, but unless you exercise them now and again chairmen can turn into real lardballs. I let them go just short of the Market Square, though, and walked the rest: picking up likely looking young chairmen from a litter of your own is a favourite game of a certain set of my acquaintance, and I didn't want to get myself that reputation.

As usual, there were a few chairs hanging about the south side of the square. I went up to the first one. The lead was a big Nubian, which more or less disqualified him for Daphnis's cousin unless the sisters'd had seriously different tastes in men.

'Hey, friend,' I said. 'You know Capax?'

The Nubian gave me a long careful stare that took in my slightly soiled but expensive mantle with its narrow purple stripe and my straight patrician nose. Obviously the guy had heard all about the young chairman dodge. From the look he gave me I'd've bet he could've written the script.

'Maybe,' he said at last. 'Tall thin man. Spaniard. Heavy breather. One eye gone.'

So; hardly Chairman of the Year material. When his parents had named him Capax they must've had their fingers crossed.

'Yeah. That's the guy,' I said, and hoped it was. 'Daphnis's cousin.'

The Nubian relaxed; either at the mention of Daphnis or more likely because having mentally placed Capax he couldn't imagine him as any narrow striper's sexual fantasy. 'He went out an hour ago with a customer for the Viminal, sir. He should be back any minute unless he gets another fare or stops off on the Sacred Way for a quick one.'

Yeah. That fitted in with what Daphnis had told me too; at least if by a quick one the Nubian meant booze, which wasn't necessarily so because the Sacred Way brothels are open all hours. To kill time I wandered over to the open booths behind the litter rank and bought a bilious looking pastry peacock with squinty currant eyes for Perilla and a new hernia support for Bathyllus. I was turning over a collection of amulets and wondering what the chances were of being caught in an earthquake or catching leprosy, and whether or not I needed the insurance, when the Nubian shouted over. I looked up. A litter was coming in on a wing and a prayer, and its second man was obviously Capax.

Not a pretty sight. Forget Chairman of the Year. Capax wouldn't even've made the last five.

I pulled my eyes away. 'Hey, pal,' I said, turning to the stallowner. 'You got anything for flat feet?'

He rummaged around and held up two evil-eyed little figurines.

'One Greek, one Egyptian. Both good, sir. Which you want?'

'Give me the pair. Put them on the one chain.' I reckoned the poor guy needed all the help he could get. Besides, a silver piece covered it easy. Gods who look after flat feet come pretty low down in the divine pecking order.

I tossed another silver piece to the Nubian, who caught it and grinned. Then I went over to the tall thin guy on the new chair, who was busily engaged in trying to keep his lungs working.

'Your name Capax, friend?' I asked.

'Yeah,' he wheezed (eventually). 'So what?'

Obviously the open, cheerful type. I could see the family resemblance already. 'These're for you.' I gave him the amulets. 'Also your cousin Daphnis suggested I buy you a drink. There somewhere near here we can go?'

On the word 'drink' his one eye had lit up like Polyphemus the Cyclops's.

'Sure,' he said. 'The White Poplar. In Gaul's Alley.'

'Let's do it, then.' I turned to his partner: a short beefy German who must've been mentally subnormal to have hitched up with Old Capable here. 'Sorry, friend. You mind finding a jug of your own someplace else?'

'Was?'

Gods! You'd think someone would teach these guys Latin before letting them come over. I slipped him another Wart's Head. The German may've been slow, but not that slow. He made the coin vanish. Then he vanished too, along with the Nubian and his mate, in the direction of an evil-smelling cookshop that sidled onto the square. I wished them luck. I'd bet whatever went into the rissoles would keep them running all afternoon.

We made our way to Gaul's Alley, a hundred yards off the square, and bagged a choice table under the eponymous poplar. From the state of the ground under the tree the neighbourhood dogs must've thought it was a prime site too, but I doubted if Capax could've made it inside and I didn't want the guy folding up on me before I'd milked him dry, so I just watched where I put my feet and tried not to breathe too often. Then I ordered up a jug of their best and grinned with professional appreciation while Capax sank his cup at one go. I tasted mine more gingerly. Not bad stuff, not bad at all; in fact, it might even be Calenan, and you don't see that stuff often these days since the vineyards deteriorated. Dog shit or not, this place was a find, and I tagged it for future reference. Old Capable might be a walking disaster but he obviously had the soul of a wine drinker.

'So.' He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Daphnis sent you, did he? You want to tell me why?'

No. That was one thing I didn't want to do, unless I had to. I ducked the question. 'He said you were Calpurnius Piso's chairman. Before he had the run-in with the razor.'

'It wasn't no razor, friend. But yeah, I carried him, off and on.'

'You were in Syria?'

'Nah.' He poured himself another belt of wine and drank it straight down. Jupiter! And Perilla thought I was bad! I signalled the waiter for a second jug. 'I was one of the house slaves.'

That made sense. Piso would've taken the cream with him, sure: major-domo, chef, his wife's maid, his own valet. Maybe even a coachman. Not the rest. It would've been cheaper to buy them over there and sell when he left; and of course the Residence would have its own staff.

'But he kept you on in Rome?' I asked.

'That's right.' Capax sank another cupful. For a thin guy he could really put it down; maybe he was well named after all. I just hoped he could hold it too. 'Some of us were farmed out to his brother, but mostly we just hung around.'

'He was a good master?'

'He was okay. Nothing special. Plancina was a bitch, though. I was sorry she got off.'

That gave me my opening. 'You think they did it, then? Murdered Germanicus?'

'How should I know?'

A fair answer; but then sometimes litter slaves overhear things, so the question wasn't exactly stupid. I tried my main tack. 'Okay. So tell me about Piso's freedman Carillus.'

Capax upended the jug into his cup after pouring me a token splash. 'Carillus? Why the hell should you be interested in Carillus?'

'I'm buying, friend. Remember? And there's another of these on its way. Just answer the question.'

He shrugged. 'Fair enough. He worked in the kitchens. Skivvy, not chef. Bought himself out a few years back. He's got a butcher's business now in the Subura.'

So much for Regulus's statement that the guy had left Rome. But then I hadn't believed that for a minute anyway. 'You know the address?'

'Sure I do. Just behind the Shrine of Hermes, off Suburan Street.' I knew the place. Not a bad location, for the Subura. High class, in fact, comparatively speaking. 'He's doing quite well. Owns a slaughterhouse too now, up near Tannery Row.'

'What was his connection with Piso? Apart from the client-patron link?'

Capax shrugged again. The waiter came over and set the new jug on the table. This time I got in first and filled my cup before the bugger finished that one as well. At least the wine didn't seem to be affecting him, but at this rate Daphnis's request that I leave his cousin plastered looked like costing a small fortune.

'No idea. They may've had a scam or two going, though, because Carillus always was a bit of a wide boy. After he left the chef bought the family's meat from him and got his cut on the deal. The meat wasn't all that great, either.'

Something had been bugging me. 'You said Piso didn't use a razor to commit suicide.'

'Damned right he didn't!' Capax chuckled. 'His barber kept the things under his own mattress. Said if the master wanted to kill himself he was keeping the fuck out of it.'

'So what did he use? A dagger?'

'Cavalry sword. We found it by him the next morning. Not me personally, of course, but the word got around.'

I sat back. The hairs on the back of my neck were lifting, always a sure sign that something is screwy somewhere. But thinking could wait.

'Okay,' I said. 'So let's talk about something else now. Were you with the family through the trial?'

'Yeah. Right from the moment they landed.' Capax helped himself liberally from the jug. 'We got the word they were coming downriver and to meet them at the Mausoleum. Bloody stupid way to do things, especially the mood the mob were in, but that was Plancina for you. Didn't care a wet fart about anybody's opinion but her own.'

The tingling increased. I tried to put it to the back of my mind.

'Where is the Piso place, exactly?' I said.

'City centre.' He jerked his head towards the mass of the Capitol. 'One of these big old-fashioned places overlooking the Market Square.'

'Uh-huh.' I took a swallow of wine. 'So. Piso and Plancina get off the boat by Augustus's mausoleum and you take them all the way to Market Square. What time was this?'

'You mean what time of day?' I nodded. 'Must've been mid-morning because the streets were packed. Besides, Plancina had all their clients and hangers-on turn up. As well as the household, of course.'

'Okay. Then what? After they got home?'

'Not a lot. But they threw a party that evening. Thousand lamp job. You could've picked the house out from right across the river if there'd been nothing else in between.'

Shit! This guy was pure gold! I could've taken him home with me, but it would've cost a fortune to keep him in wine.

'One last thing,' I said. 'You know anything about a letter? A suicide note?'

'Sure.' Capax nodded. 'The master left one with the emperor's name on it. They say Tiberius read it out in the Senate.'

'Any idea how it got to him? The emperor, I mean?'

'Search me. How do these things usually get delivered? Somebody picked it up and passed it on, I suppose. You don't mess with the imperial mail.'

Forget the tingling at the back of the neck. What hit me now was a cold hook right deep in my bowels. '"Picked it up"? Picked it up from where?'

'How should I know?' Capax poured himself another full cup of the wine and drained it. 'And what does it matter, anyway? The desk? The floor? Where do suicides usually leave notes?'

'Hold on, pal.' I had to have this right. 'You mean the note to the emperor was still in the room when Piso's body was found the next morning?'

He looked at me like I'd suddenly grown an extra head. 'Sure it was,' he said. 'Where else would it be?'

Where else would it be? Oh, Jupiter!