Parthian Shot

13

The next room. — the one through the door I’d noticed — was a smaller version of the one we’d just left, with hardly enough space for a reading couch, a chair and a twelve-lamp candelabrum. Like in the sitting-room, there were lamps already in place and lit. Interesting.

‘You have the couch, Corvinus,’ Phraates said, closing the door. ‘I prefer a chair in any case.’

I lay down, cradling my wine cup. Okay, maybe I was being picky, but before we got seriously down to things a scrap more honesty might be in order.

‘None of this is accidental, is it?’ I said.

The blank look I got back was perfectly judged; but then given the level of Phraates’s other accomplishments that wasn’t surprising.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m not with you.’

‘This whole evening was a fix from the start. The meeting at the theatre. The dinner invitation. The carriage. The Euripides original that hooked Perilla then got rid of her. You set everything up in advance, including this room.’

‘Indeed?’ The blank look had disappeared; Phraates didn’t look too pleased, to put it mildly. ‘And what leads you to that conclusion?’

‘Come on, pal! I may not know my Jason from my Theseus but I’m not stupid.’ I indicated the oil-lamps. ‘As far as these’re concerned, it’s obvious. Even someone as rich as you are doesn’t keep every room in the place lit on the off-chance it’ll be used. Your major-domo had his instructions long before we got here. Now tell me I’m wrong.’

I thought for a moment I’d gone too far — guys like Phraates don’t like being told to their face that they’ve been sussed — but suddenly his expression cleared and he laughed. ‘Oh, dear,’ he said. ‘I really have grossly underestimated you, Corvinus, and believe me that is something I very seldom do. You’re quite right, of course, I did arrange things. From the best possible motives, naturally. And you will, despite what I said, have an excellent dinner. That I guarantee absolutely.’

Well, he couldn’t say fairer than that. ‘How did you know we were going to Marcellus Theatre?’ I said.

‘Oh, that was simple. I had one of my slaves strike up a conversation with your coachman yesterday. One of my female slaves. Quite a good-looking girl, so don’t be too hard on the poor man, will you?’

I found myself grinning back. Yeah, that’d do it: Lysias had always had an eye for the girls, and a trip to the theatre isn’t exactly classified information. Simple but effective. ‘Fair enough. So tell me about the motives.’

Phraates sat down. ‘They’re straightforward too. We had to talk privately, and this was the…well, the pleasantest, least overt and most convenient way I could think of. You’re not upset, I hope?’

‘Not at all’ I sipped the wine. It went down like liquid velvet. ‘So far. My congratulations.’

‘Thank you.’ He smiled. ‘Well, then. I’ll leave the governance of the conversation up to you. Where do we start?’

‘With a question. Why me?’

The eyes flickered, just for an instant: that he hadn’t been expecting. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Yeah, well, it was nice that I could still do something to throw the slick old bugger off balance. I didn’t flatter myself that now he’d been caught out he was levelling. All it meant was that he was using a different approach. ‘I asked Isidorus the same thing, and got his answer. Now I’d like to hear yours.’

‘Then I’m afraid I must disappoint you. I insisted on an independent investigator, yes, but I named no names. How could I? You were Tiberius’s personal appointee, and that being the case like Isidorus himself I had no further choice in the matter. Surely Isidorus told you that?’ I didn’t answer. ‘That said, now that I know you personally I have no complaints in retrospect. None at all. You think in a straight line, you don’t start with any preconceived ideas, you’ve no personal or political axe to grind, in the career sense or otherwise. You’re gauche, insensitive — forgive me — and you call a spade a spade, even when you know you shouldn’t and the result will be that someone clouts you with it. You are basically very simple.’ He smiled. ‘Does that answer your question?’

‘Uh…yeah.’ Jupiter in rompers! Well, I’d asked, and honesty goes both ways. ‘More or less.’

‘On the other hand — or rather, also, because I don’t believe these are negative qualities, far from it — I’m reliably informed that you can be discreet where discretion is important, and you have a strong sense of justice, even where the justice in question may, shall we say, go rather against the natural grain, your own included. Happy?’

‘Delirious.’ I took a swig of the wine. ‘Thanks a bunch.’

‘You’re welcome. And I was being complimentary. Believe me.’

‘Yeah. Right. So let’s move on. Tell me about Tiridates.’

The smile disappeared completely. ‘In what way?’

‘Maybe this is one of the spades you mentioned. If so, then tough, you can clout me if you like. I get the distinct impression that Tiridates and his pal the Iberian don’t exactly support you for Great King. Also, that there’s at least one guy in the embassy — Osroes — who’d agree with them.’

Phraates was staring at me. Suddenly, he laughed again and shook his head. ‘Corvinus,’ he said, ‘I really am very glad that Tiberius appointed you. Do you know how long it would’ve taken someone like Lucius Vitellius to say all that to my face?’

‘No. I don’t really care, either. So how about an answer?’

He set his wine cup down beside the chair. ‘Before I give you that I have to explain a little of the background. I’m sorry, but that’s essential. Under Parthian law, both my nephew Tiridates and I are eligible candidates for the kingship; equally eligible candidates. There is no such thing as primogeniture. Just because I am the elder doesn’t mean to say that my claim is any stronger than his. And, incidentally, we are both more eligible than is Artabanus, who is only royal through his mother. You understand?’

‘Yeah, sure, but — ’

‘Of course, eligibility isn’t everything, which is why Artabanus is presently Great King and I am not. My strength is that I have the support of Rome and — consequent on this but not wholly so — the support of the anti-Arbanus faction at Ctesiphon. As long as this continues, my claim is stronger than my nephew’s; but only as long as it continues. If it were to be withdrawn — or naturally if I were to die — then Tiridates would be next in line.’

Right. Now we were getting somewhere. ‘If you were to die,’ I said neutrally.

Phraates smiled. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and you’re quite right. Tiridates would love to see me dead, and he would not be averse to…shall we say giving fate a nudge. I’m not surprised, nor do I blame him. Murdering relatives has always been endemic in our family. My stepmother — an ex-slave, incidentally, given as a gift to my father by the Divine Augustus — poisoned my father to gain the throne for her own son, whom she then married and later killed. For us royals this is quite normal behaviour.’ He must’ve noticed my expression. ‘Oh, yes. Brother-and-sister marriages, and less commonly mother-son ones, are completely acceptable by Parthian custom, in certain quarters. Our friend Osroes, being a Magian, would certainly approve. But that’s by the bye. As I say, we Parthian royals have always murdered our kin, or tried to, if they were obstacles. It’s become a sort of game.’

‘“Game,”’ I said.

‘Oh, yes, indeed. More or less. The attempt, anyway.’ His eyebrows lifted in amusement. ‘I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, actually you have.’ Sweet gods, Perilla was right: the guy wasn’t Roman, no way, never, not unless you were comparing him with Romans like that old bitch Livia. And even Livia wouldn’t’ve called bumping off your relatives a game. If you can’t take murder seriously then what’s left?

‘Then I’m sorry. But the fact remains: of course Tiridates would like to see me dead, especially under the present circumstances. The important question is, is he working actively to that end? Was he responsible for the attack on my litter? I don’t know, and that is what I need you to find out.’

‘Was that why you had your food tasted at the dinner?’

Phraates chuckled. ‘Ah, so you noticed? Partly, although I doubt if he could’ve engineered anything. He was a guest himself. No, that was just standard practice. The etiquette, if you like, of the Great King’s table, and I was very concerned to show myself the Great King that evening. It may’ve caused a little temporary indignation, but these formalities are important. Now. If you don’t mind, let’s move on to the next point.’

‘Okay.’ I took a steadying sip of my wine. ‘Mithradates. He’s got your nephew under his thumb, and my bet is he doesn’t like you either.’

‘Oh, it’s quite mutual.’ Phraates sipped at his own winecup. ‘I did enjoy your little spat, by the way. Very embarrassing for me politically, of course, and he knew exactly what he was doing all the time, but I still enjoyed putting him down. It does no harm for a future Great King to show that he has teeth and isn’t afraid to use them. And you’re absolutely right again: Mithradates has my nephew completely infatuated. Which says just as much about Tiridates as it does about the Iberian. Kings — good ones — can’t afford to allow other people to exert too much influence over them. Tiridates would make a very poor Great King.’ He set the winecup down. ‘Mithradates, by the way, could well be a danger to me. He’s ambitious, quite ruthless, and he has a very powerful personality. Fortunately, he’s also intelligent.’

‘Fortunately?’

‘Because he’ll always choose the winning side, and he’s clever enough to work out which that will be. Oh, yes; he, too, would love to see me dead and Tiridates on his way to Parthia with a Roman army behind him. On the other hand, he knows that neither Rome nor the anti-Artabanus faction wants a puppet king.’ He smiled. ‘At least, not a king who’s someone else’s puppet. At present, he has the promise of Armenia, which is enough for anyone. He’d be a fool to sacrifice a bird in the hand for two very doubtful ones in the bush, and Mithradates whatever else he may be is no fool.’

Yeah, okay, I’d accept that, especially his final assessment. Still, I wasn’t entirely convinced that Phraates was right this time. Personally, I wouldn’t lay any hefty bets that Mithradates wouldn’t go for the two birds option after all, only it’d turn out that the bastard had already limed the twigs.

‘Incidentally,’ I said, ‘we had a sort of brush, the two of us, a couple of days back. Maybe I should mention that, just in case it’s relevant.’

Phraates gave me a sharp look. ‘“Brush”? What kind of brush?’

I indicated the bruise on the side of my face. It wasn’t so noticeable now as it had been, but it was still pretty obvious. ‘Down an alleyway off Tuscan Street. He had three hired gorillas with him.’

‘He attacked you?’

‘Yeah. No bones broken, but he didn’t seem too pleased that I was taking an interest in the case.’

Phraates’s chin lifted, nostrils flared and lips set in a straight line. The expression was pure outraged eastern royalty. ‘What happened?’ he said quietly. ‘Tell me. Exactly.’

I told him. His face didn’t change. If anything it hardened. When I’d finished, he said:

‘You have my apologies, Corvinus. And my thanks. There will be no repetition, I can promise you that. Be very, very sure. I’ll have a word with our Iberian friend personally.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, right.’ Well, the point had been made and taken on board, and like I’d said there’d been no bones broken. ‘Okay. We’ll leave it at that. Last name, then. Damon.’

Phraates reached for his cup and sipped again before he answered. His expression had gone blank again.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I was wondering when you’d ask me about Damon.’

‘He’s your son. A descendant in the male line. Doesn’t that make him a candidate for the kingship too? At least a sort of one?’

‘His mother and I aren’t married, under either Roman or Parthian law. If we had been then yes, it would. Or it might, in the first case. The fact that she’s Greek, and a former courtesan, wouldn’t be all that important. As it is’ — he shrugged — ‘no, not at all. Simply being my son doesn’t qualify him.’

‘In your eyes or in his?’

Phraates looked straight at me for a long time, toying with the stem of his wine cup. ‘You’re very perceptive, Corvinus,’ he said at last. ‘However, your answer is, in my eyes, in Parthia’s, and in Rome’s. Those are the only three factors which matter. I’ve been very careful all his life to give Damon no reason to think otherwise.’

Uh-huh. The answer was clear enough, sure, but I hadn’t missed the fact that he’d pussy-footed. Interesting. ‘You don’t have any other children? Legitimate ones?’

Again, I thought he wasn’t going to answer, but finally he did. ‘Yes. And a wife. Or I used to have. Two sons and a daughter. They died of a summer fever, all four of them, along with most of my house staff.’

My skin prickled. There hasn’t been a major outbreak of plague in the city for a long, long time, sure, but localised killer diseases that destroy whole families or even whole neighbourhoods and then vanish as suddenly as they came aren’t too uncommon. Some people survive, some die, some never catch the disease at all; there doesn’t seem to be any logic behind it, and as far as doctors are concerned you can forget the buggers because they don’t have a clue either. ‘When was this?’ I said.

‘Over twenty years ago. They died within days of each other. I wasn’t touched.’

Twenty years. The guy would only’ve been in his mid- to late-forties. No big deal: lots of men married and had kids at that age, even non-widowers. ‘You didn’t think of remarrying?’

‘No. There was little point. I was my father’s youngest son and at that time my brothers were still alive. I’m not a particularly religious or superstitious man, but I did feel that in taking away my whole family perhaps the gods were telling me I wasn’t fated to have legitimate issue. Besides, I already had…let’s call it my unofficial menage; which, let me say, my wife knew of, if she didn’t actually approve. That predated my marriage by several years. It would’ve been a terrible insult to Polyclea if I’d simply taken another, younger wife after being with her for over a quarter of a century and fathering her child.’

Polyclea. I hadn’t even known his mistress’s name. ‘But you didn’t marry her.’

‘I offered. She refused.’ He smiled. ‘Polyclea always has been a woman of probity and very strong conviction. She said, as I remember, that while she knew my late wife hadn’t minded her sharing my bed as a mistress she’d certainly disapprove if she shared it as wife. I took her point. Still, it was another reason to marry no one else.’

‘So at this time Damon would be what, mid to late teens?’

‘Eighteen, yes. Two years older than my dead elder son.’

‘How did he feel about the situation?’

Phraates set his cup down. ‘Corvinus, I’m sorry, but this is getting rather too personal for my comfort. What Damon feels or felt isn’t relevant. If I had married his mother after my wife’s death then yes, under Parthian law it would have made him legitimate retrospectively, but that would have been a technicality. He could never have been a serious candidate for the Great Kingship. Besides, the question of his legitimacy is academic. Even if Damon were of pure royal blood through the male and female line he would, now, still be ineligible. He knows this himself.’

‘Yeah? Why’s that?’

‘Another rule governing the choice of a Great King is that the candidate must be whole and unblemished. Two months ago Damon got himself involved in a silly knife-fight and lost most of a finger.’ Phraates’s lips tightened. ‘As I say, being maimed makes no real difference to his prospects, but it does put the seal on things. No; Damon is not eligible for the kingship; not even — now — in his own mind. He knows that as well as I do. Now I’d be grateful if you’d leave him, please. We have plenty of other things to discuss.’

‘In a moment. Just one more question?’

I was working on the edge here, and I knew it. Phraates had stiffened. ‘If you must,’ he said. ‘But only one.’

‘He was at the dinner party. If he doesn’t have…let’s call it an official status then why was he there?’

‘Not by my doing. Nor by Zariadres’s, for reasons you’ll appreciate. Tiridates — and Mithradates — asked for him to be invited as a personal favour. The three of them are good friends.’

‘The Immortals?’

His eyebrows lifted, and the stiffness with them. He almost smiled. ‘You’ve heard the name? Well, now, you have been busy! Yes. I don’t approve, and Damon knows that I don’t, but he has a right to lead his own life as he sees fit. It’s just youthful high spirits. They don’t cause any real trouble — lasting trouble, I mean — and giving the boy money to spend is the least I can do for him.’

Right; I’d heard all that before, a million times. The usual father’s justification, with a large helping of guilt behind it and the blinkers firmly in place. It came strange from Phraates, but still -

‘He’s hardly a boy,’ I said.

I’d gone too far this time: Phraates’s smile disappeared. ‘Corvinus,’ he said, ‘I’ve spoken enough about Damon. You will drop the subject. Now, please.’

Yeah, well; even a Great King’s human and has his weak points. And I’d got what I wanted in any case. I moved on. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s talk about Zariadres’s murder. You think it’s linked to the attack on your litter?’

The hesitation was fractional, but it was there all the same. ‘Probably,’ he said. ‘Almost certainly. But the “how” is another matter entirely.’

‘Yeah. That’s what I want to ask you about. You have any theories?’

‘No. Zariadres was a representative, not a principal, as are the other ambassadors. His death makes no difference at all, politically. At most, it’s an embarrassment to Rome, but since the embassy is by its nature unofficial even that’s a minor issue.’

Uh-huh; that was more or less what Vitellius had said. Still, the political angle was too obvious a one to be dismissed out of hand. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Even so, do you mind if we work it through?’

‘Not at all. Carry on.’

‘Okay. There are two possibilities I can see. The first and simplest, because it comes with its own motive, is that the guy was killed by an agent of Artabanus.’

Phraates leaned back in his chair. ‘Indeed.’

‘One problem with that is that Isidorus says there are no Parthian agents in Rome. Me, I’m pretty sceptical on that point, but then he’s the expert and we’ll take it as fact until we know otherwise.’ I paused, but Phraates’s expression stayed bland. ‘The other problem’s more serious. Zariadres was either killed by someone already in the house or his murderer was let in to do the job. Whichever way you play it, someone on the inside was involved. Fine. So we put all that together, the positive and the negative. The logical conclusion is that the embassy brought Artabanus’s agent with them.’

Silence. Total silence. I really had Phraates’s attention now.