In at the Death

31

By the time I’d reached Carsidius’s I’d realised what the itch in my brain had been trying to tell me, and the last bit of the mosaic was in place.

Carsidius wasn’t going to like it. I didn’t much like it myself.

He was at home. Mind you, I’d spotted three or four unconvincing loungers across the street who looked hard and mean enough to have filled the same number of sets of Praetorian armour no problem, so maybe he didn’t have much option. If Macro — and my old pal Felix — were anything, they were thorough. Carsidius, like Fregellanus, wasn’t going nowhere.

A scared-faced slave showed me through to the guy’s study, where we’d talked first time round. He was lying on the reading-couch with an open book-roll in his hands, and he looked like death warmed up.

‘Ah, Valerius Corvinus.’ He grinned like a skull. ‘I won’t say “welcome”, because you’re not, or not particularly. But you don’t come entirely unexpected, and in a way I’m glad of the chance to talk to you again. Our last conversation left a bad taste in my mouth. Sit down, please. Flavius’ — to the slave — ‘some wine. We may as well be civilised about this.’ The slave bowed nervously and left. Carsidius held up the book-roll, then laid it aside. ‘Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods. A great man, a true Roman and a fine writer. I find he has a steadying effect. Now. Would you like to start, or shall I?’

‘You were involved in a plot to assassinate Gaius Caesar and Sertorius Macro,’ I said. ‘The other conspirators were Lucia Albucilla, Acutia, Pontius Fregellanus, Laelius Balbus, Domitius Ahenobarbus and Sextus Papinius. Fregellanus’s job was to assassinate Macro, Papinius was to kill Gaius the next time he visited the Greens’ stables. How am I doing?’

Carsidius had heard me out impassively. He nodded. ‘All quite correct,’ he said. ‘I’m impressed. Incidentally, that latter opportunity would have occurred within the month. Gaius is in a very difficult position, you see: he has to be at the emperor’s bedside on Capri in case Tiberius dies, and yet he can’t leave Rome — and Sertorius Macro — unsupervised for too long. So he has to shuttle back and forth.’

‘Gaius would’ve had a bodyguard. Papinius was just a kid. How would he do it?’

‘You mean there’s something you don’t know?’ I waited. ‘Very well. You remember the story of Pelops and Oenomaeus, of course?’

‘Ah…’ Shit. ‘Remind me.’

Carsidius chuckled: coming from that mouth, the sound was like a death rattle. ‘Really, Corvinus, I’m shocked. Didn’t you learn anything at school? To win King Oenomaeus’s daughter Hippodameia, any prospective suitor had to beat him in a chariot race. Hippodameia fell in love with Pelops and persuaded her father’s groom to substitute lynch-pins made of wax for the real ones. The wheels came off Oenomaus’s chariot at full gallop and he was killed.’

Right. Clever. A good classical education is never wasted. ‘So Papinius was going to sabotage one of the cars.’ I said. ‘How would he know Gaius would play ball?’

‘Oh, Gaius always takes a turn round the practice course when he visits the Greens, and he always uses the lead driver’s team and chariot. It wouldn’t have been difficult for the young man to arrange things in advance. He was trusted completely, and he’d had the run of the stables unsupervised since he was a child. That was why he was so essential to the plan. Papinius was unique, perfect. If he hadn’t existed, or if he had not been the true, patriotic Roman that he was, our task would have been much more difficult. That’s what I meant by the bad taste. To protect myself — or rather others far more important than I–I had to slander him to you, and I found it repugnant in the extreme. I ask his soul’s forgiveness.’

‘You couldn’t be sure that Gaius would actually be killed.’

‘No. But the way the Prince drives…Well, let’s just say that it would have been a miracle if he’d survived. Gaius has never lost the child’s ambition to be a racing driver, and indulges it to the full whenever he can. Besides, as you’ll appreciate, a staged accident gave us a far better chance of success than a more direct approach would have done.’

Yeah, well, that was true enough. As a common-or-garden assassin an inexperienced kid like Papinius wouldn’t’ve had a hope in hell of killing Gaius. Still: ‘Even if you did succeed you’d never have got away with it. There’d still be an enquiry.’

‘Would there? Who would authorise it? Who would care? By that time Macro would be dead too. The assassinations were to be simultaneous, or as near so as possible.’

‘Tiberius would still be alive. The Wart may be on his last legs, but he wouldn’t ignore the killing of his heir, and he’s no one’s fool. He’d find out it was murder, and you and your pals would be up shit creek without a paddle before you could whistle.’

Carsidius got off the couch. Like I said, he was an impressive guy, tall, silver-haired, straight as a ramrod, and he was looking down at me like I’d just scuttled out of his salad.

‘You think, then,’ he said, ‘that Tiberius didn’t know?’

It was like being slugged in the brain with an iron bar. I gaped at him, and the silence lengthened. He moved over to stand beside the shelf of portrait busts, and I could see the physical resemblance: strong jaw, firm mouth, straight aristocratic nose.

Oh, Jupiter! Oh, sweet holy Jupiter!

‘You’re telling me he did?’ I said at last.

‘Not just that. The plan was Tiberius’s own, right from the start. I told you when we talked before: I’m no traitor and I’ve always been a faithful servant of the emperor. The same goes for the others, the men, anyway.’ He frowned. ‘Do you think I, or Fregellanus, or Balbus, or even Ahenobarbus for all his moral shortcomings, would ever dare consider killing the legitimate heir except on explicit orders from Tiberius himself? Let alone Sextus Papinius, who was one of the bravest and most honourable young men I have ever known.’

Gods, this made no sense! Or maybe it did, and I didn’t want it to. ‘Tiberius wanted Gaius dead?’ I said. ‘His own fucking successor?’

‘Tiberius hated Gaius and dreaded his becoming emperor. You know that yourself from your own conversation with him five years ago.’ Carsidius smiled; again the effect was ghastly. ‘Oh, yes. He told me about that, when we discussed things and I put that very question to him. “Ask Valerius Corvinus”, he said. “When it’s all over, naturally. Remind him of Thrasyllus’s forecast and what I said to him about the consequences to Rome of destroying Sejanus.” Well, it is all over, bar the shouting, although not as the emperor hoped, and I am asking you.’

Shit. I felt sick. If I’d thought the guy was lying, or been hoodwinked somehow — and the thought had crossed my mind — then I’d no doubts now. That part of it he couldn’t’ve known except from the Wart himself, because I’d never, ever spoken to anyone about what had been said in that loggia on Capri. Not even to Perilla.

Still, you don’t buck a direct order from the emperor. That was the whole point of this business.

‘He told me,’ I said, ‘that Thrasyllus had predicted that Gaius would be the next emperor. And what kind of emperor he would be. He said that if the choice had been his, even knowing what kind of man Sejanus was and what crimes he’d committed, he would’ve chosen him over his grandson, or let his plots go unhindered. For the good of Rome.’

Carsidius was staring at me. ‘Tiberius wanted Aelius Sejanus to succeed?’

‘Yeah. In both senses of the word.’

‘Then why did he destroy him?’

I looked away. What could it matter now? And Carsidius, by his lights, was a good man; I owed the guy that much honesty, at least. Let him have the whole boiling. ‘Because Sejanus had murdered his son, who would’ve made a far better emperor than either of them,’ I said. ‘Also because — I’m quoting old Thrasyllus here — you can’t cheat the stars.’ I brought my eyes back to his. ‘Only evidently, from what you’re saying, he changed his mind about that.’

Carsidius went back to the couch and lay down. He moved like a man ten years older than his years; I could almost hear his bones creak as he settled. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘No, I don’t think he did. At least, not in the sense you mean. The good of Rome. That always was Tiberius’s yardstick, wasn’t it? Perhaps he simply thought it was worth a try, and now Thrasyllus is dead there was no one to dissuade him. But Thrasyllus was right all the same: you can’t cheat the stars. Not even an emperor can do that.’

Yeah; I remembered that Thrasyllus had said that, too.

There was a knock, and the door opened: the slave Flavius with the wine tray. He set it down on the table, poured and left without a word. Without even a look.

‘So,’ I said when the door had closed again. ‘What was the plan? After Gaius and Macro were dead?’

‘Tiberius gave me a letter, a will, really, appointing his other grandson Gemellus as emperor. Or that’s what it amounted to.’ Carsidius picked up one of the wine-cups but didn’t drink. ‘Useless now; if I tried to produce it I’d only hasten the young man’s death. He is young, of course, only just eighteen, and not experienced enough to rule.’ He tried a smile, and produced a rictus grin. ‘That, incidentally, was the inducement we used to bring Domitius Ahenobarbus onto our side, or one of them. If you were wondering.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I was.’

‘It’s natural enough.’ Carsidius’s voice was dry. ‘Ahenobarbus would not have been my choice as a colleague — I’ve never liked or trusted the man — but the emperor insisted. He has the ruthlessness, Tiberius said, which the rest of us lack, and that is certainly true.’ I thought of Caepio, and my Aventine muggers, but I said nothing. ‘Tiberius pointed out that Gemellus would need a strong…let’s call him a regent. For a year or two, at least. As a member of the imperial family himself, Ahenobarbus was the perfect candidate. Besides, as you know, he was Sextus Papinius’s real father, he had influence over him, and we needed Papinius. Perhaps the fact that when Tiberius ordered him to kill Gaius he was doing so as the young man’s grand-uncle as well as his emperor helped too.’

Yeah; Cluvia had said the kid was proud of his family, and you don’t get higher than the imperials. Stars in his eyes must’ve been right. ‘You said one inducement,’ I said. ‘There were others?’

Carsidius hesitated. ‘One other. Just one.’

‘And that was?’

‘A…something the emperor had from Thrasyllus. Just before he died.’ Carsidius was frowning into his wine-cup. ‘You understand, Corvinus, this is not for repetition. I tell you because Tiberius said you could keep a secret, and perhaps it’s better that someone else knows. One day Ahenobarbus’s son will be emperor.’

A chill touched the back of my neck. ‘Ahenobarbus doesn’t have a son,’ I said.

‘Not yet. But he will.’

Sweet gods! ‘Doesn’t that, uh, make it even more dangerous to trust the guy? I mean, if he knows his son will be emperor then — ’

‘Why choose him as regent? Perhaps the temptation to seize power himself might be too strong?’ Another rictus grin. ‘Corvinus, we’re not fools, nor is Tiberius. First of all — although of course we didn’t tell Ahenobarbus this — Thrasyllus was completely certain that Ahenobarbus himself would never wear the purple. Secondly, Gemellus would have other advisers whom he likes and trusts far more than Domitius Ahenobarbus, and Gemellus, although he’s young, is far from stupid. Thirdly…well, it was a way to use the man’s own greed and ambition for our own purposes. As I say, we — and the emperor — needed him on our side.’ Finally, he took a sip of his wine: I hadn’t touched mine, but for once I didn’t feel like drinking. ‘And now, if you have no more questions, and if I can’t help you further — ’

‘You know Laelius Balbus betrayed you?’ I said.

The cup slipped from Carsidius’s fingers, spilling wine across the couch. ‘What?’ he whispered.

‘Yeah. It had to be someone, otherwise how did Macro manage to decoy Papinius to the flat and get hold of a key so his lads could be there waiting? How would he know about the flat — or the conspiracy itself — in the first place?’

‘That’s impossible!’ Carsidius’s face was grey.

‘I’m sorry.’ I was, too, but the guy deserved to know, and I couldn’t leave without telling him. ‘Oh, sure, I might be wrong, but I don’t think so. It was Balbus who set up Papinius’s death. Besides, he was the only one of you who didn’t give the impression, when I talked to him, that he was nervous or afraid. He’d no reason to be, because he was working with Gaius.’

‘How could he be?’ Carsidius was staring. ‘He’s an honourable man, an old and trusted friend, as loyal to the emperor as I am.’

Yeah, right; still, it was a sign of the times. Or what would be the times, shortly. And loyal to which emperor? — the de iure Tiberius or the de facto Gaius? In another few months at most the question would be pointless, anyway. Me, I couldn’t bring myself to sympathise with the bastard, let alone excuse him, but at least I could understand his motives. Maybe the distinction is the reason I stay out of politics.

Or try to. Sometimes — like now — politics sneaked up on you and slugged you from behind. Not a particularly pleasant experience.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said again, and turned to go.

‘Corvinus!’

I looked back. ‘Yeah?’

Carsidius had himself under control again, and he was sitting up on the couch. Even with his wine-soaked mantle, he looked impressive as hell, and not out of place among the busts of his ancestors at all.

‘Perhaps I’d better say this in case no one else does. He may never have come to the proof, but Sextus Papinius was a hero to be ranked with any of the Greek tyrant-killers or our own famous names. Certainly he was more of one than any of his Domitii Ahenobarbi forebears of whom latterly he was so proud. He deserves far more than the footnote to history which he is going to get, if he is lucky, because it is very difficult for a good man to kill, even in the best of causes, especially if he is disinterested. And Papinius was a good man, in every sense of the phrase. He knew the risks if he failed and the benefits for Rome if he succeeded, and he chose accordingly, consciously and deliberately as a true Roman would. Young as he was, I honour him, and I grieve over his death, as will the emperor. Balbus has blood on his hands, as does Macro, and if there is any justice then they will both suffer for it.’

Yeah. Well, as a formal public eulogy I reckoned it was the only one the kid would ever get; but at least it was sincere and from all I knew he deserved it. I raised my hand — there wasn’t anything I could say, now, to the old guy, and he wouldn’t want my sympathy — and left.

Felix.