Parthian Shot

2

Litters I hate, but it was throwing it down outside, and besides I was still too much in shock to object. The four chair guys and the half-dozen outwalkers that Vitellius rated were sheltering beneath the branches of the big beech tree that grew the other side of our garden wall and overhung the pavement. I thought I heard one of them swear as we came down the steps — understandable, seeing what the poor bugger was faced with hefting on the return journey — but they were over and ready to go almost as soon as we’d climbed in. Vitellius, I noted, didn’t bother to give any instructions.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked. ‘Or is that a secret too?’

‘The Palatine.’ Vitellius was beetroot-faced and breathless with the effort of climbing over the sill. He grunted and heaved himself upright against the cushion facing me. The litter rocked and, outside, someone swore again. ‘House of Augustus.’

Well, that made sense, anyway. Taken together with the letter, a lot of sense. It meant that whoever this Isidorus was — I’d’ve guessed, from his name, he was a freedman, but maybe I was wrong, because even the most trusted imperial freedman didn’t have that much clout — he was on the imperial side of things. Fifty years back when Rome’s first First Citizen Augustus had been handed his major slice of the administrative cake by the Senate he and his wife Livia had worked, as it were, from home, and built on accordingly; with the result that a lot of the purely imperial business was done on the Palatine, while Capitol Hill tended to be senatorial or shared. Most of it was pretty high-powered, too; certainly too important to trust to just any broad-striper whose family connections might’ve got him the city judgeship or consulship but who still couldn’t be relied on to find his backside three tries out of five with both hands and a map. A Greek was pushing things, mind, freeborn or not; which made Vitellius’s tight-lipped play-it-by-the-book attitude doubly weird.

He wasn’t very forthcoming on the journey, either. Not that I pushed, mind. I was still in shock.

I’m not all that familiar with the Palatine. There’re still some private houses up there, sure — I used to own one of them myself — but most of these are on the outer slopes. Since Augustus’s day the central area has gradually been becoming state-owned, and there’re more libraries, picture galleries and temples than you can shake a stick at. Plus, of course, the various properties that technically belong to the imperial family but are mostly used by the imperial administration, like Augustus House itself.

The rain was slackening off as we parked the litter and mounted the steps, but by the looks of the sky there was plenty more to come, which didn’t bode well for the Augustalia in four days’ time. We were met in the cool, tastefully-decorated atrium by a cool, tastefully-decorated secretary. A couple of mean six-foot-tall-by three-foot-wide Praetorians glowered at us under their helmets from either side of a staircase that was all coloured marble and polished cedar.

‘Morning, Quintus.’ Vitellius nodded to the secretary. ‘This is Marcus Valerius Corvinus. We’ve an appointment with Isidorus.’

‘Ah, yes. Indeed.’ The guy gave me a long, cool stare. Yeah, well; at least this time round I was looking respectable. I hadn’t changed my tunic but I had on one of the new mantles Perilla buys me every Winter Festival and I never get round to wearing. ‘You’re to go straight up, sir. Alciphron!’

An exquisitely-barbered slave unfolded himself from a stool by the wall. I raised an eyebrow at Vitellius — I’d expected he’d know his way well enough to do without an escort — but he didn’t seem particularly surprised. Maybe this Alciphron had a pocketful of doggie biscuits to get us past the Praetorians.

We set off up the stairs. Forget the pocketful: if our gopher had been handing out doggie biscuits he’d’ve needed a sack. It could’ve been a hangover from Augustus’s own day — although from what I’d heard of the old buffer he’d been far too smart to give the impression of a closely-guarded autocrat — but there were sentries stationed every few yards. Seriously armed sentries, too. Impressive. Finally, we reached a pair of oak-panelled doors. The gopher tapped gently, waited, then opened the doors and stood aside to let us pass.

I had to stop myself from whistling. I’ve been in plenty of government offices in my time, sure, but this one had them all beat hollow. My bet was that in its day it’d been Augustus’s private library. Certainly it was grand enough: bronzes by the cartload and more book cubbies let into the walls than you’d see in Rome anywhere outside the Pollio. Fully stacked, as well. At the end of the room was a big desk with a huge window behind it, the shutters drawn back either side to show a canopied balcony and the city beyond. Nice; and that grade of view wasn’t wasted on clerks.

The guy sitting at the desk didn’t fit with the surroundings at all. Isidorus — it had to be Isidorus — was a little, nondescript, balding man with ears that stuck out like lugs on a wine jar, a snub nose and a scrawny neck bare and wrinkled as a plucked chicken’s. In that room he looked as out-of-place as a freedman’s nag in a racing stable.

‘Ah, Lucius,’ he said. ‘You’ve brought him. Well done.’ The bland face turned in my direction. ‘Come in, Valerius Corvinus. Have a drink. I’ve managed to get you some Caecuban. It’s one of your favourites, so I understand.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yes, it is. How did you — ?’

‘Very good. The jug’s on that table to your right. Help yourself. And one for Lucius, if you don’t mind. I won’t, myself.’

Feeling slightly unreal, I went over to the side table, poured two cupfuls from the snazzy silver jug and took them over to the desk. Vitellius was already overflowing one of the guest chairs. I handed him his wine, and he grunted.

‘Now. Sit down, my dear fellow. Make yourself at home.’

I took the second chair. Now I was closer I noticed the guy’s tunic. It was the lounging type, and practically worn through in places; the sort of old, comfortable thing you hang on to despite your wife’s and major-domo’s best efforts to get rid of it. That impressed me like hell, even more than the fancy surroundings. Dress sense on the Palatine or the Capitol’s important. Government officials wear formal mantles, the sharper the better, because they like to score over the underlings and visitors on the other side of the desk. It’s only the really senior types — and I’m talking imperial family here — who can wear what they damn well like because impressing visitors isn’t something they need to worry about. Isidorus wasn’t a blood-imperial, sure, of course not, but the principle was the same. I’d bet that if he stood up and walked around he’d have on the down-at-heel party slippers to match.

The other thing I noticed was his eyes. They were pale grey, and very, very smart. You didn’t see that very often either.

Okay; forget freedman. Whatever position Isidorus held in the imperial hierarchy, the guy rated. That was clear as daylight.

I sipped the Caecuban…

The stuff went past my palate and down my throat like liquid silk: real spice-route silk, too, not the Coan variety. Any Caecuban’s good, sure, if it’s the genuine article, which a lot of it isn’t, but this wasn’t just any Caecuban; this was the real stuff, from the Caesars’ private cellars. I’d tasted it once or twice before, and believe me there is nothing comes near it, not even the best Falernian. “Managed”, hell; I’d bet springing a jug of that nectar took clout in the five-star, gold-edged super-executive class. That was a clincher, if I’d needed one, which I didn’t. I reckoned if we weren’t quite at the top of the movers-and-shakers tree here we were as close to it as made no difference.

The ice settled on my spine. First the Wart’s letter, now this. What the hell was going on?

Isidorus waited for me to put the cup down. Then he said: ‘Lucius will have given you very little information, Valerius Corvinus. On my instructions, so don’t blame the poor man. That’s right, isn’t it, Lucius?’

Grunt.

I gave my erstwhile litter companion a sharp sideways glance. Shit; he hadn’t said a word since we’d come in, and he was sitting nice as pie sipping his wine like a dowager. My neck prickled. I just knew the guy had been warned in advance to keep his lip zipped and let Isidorus do the talking. The interesting thing was that he’d done it without a whimper. And consulars, like I say, don’t take a back seat for nobody…

‘Now.’ Isidorus sat back. I couldn’t see his feet, but I’d bet they were swinging clear of the floor. ‘No doubt you’re wondering what this is all about.’

‘You could say that, yes.’

‘Fair enough. You’ve heard, I expect, of Prince Phraates?’

‘Who?’

Vitellius might’ve been playing dumb-man-in-the-middle, but he grunted again like someone had shoved a pin into his ample rump. Isidorus ignored him. ‘That’s a no, then,’ he said. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. Phraates is the youngest son of a former king of Parthia, although the term young is no longer appropriate.’ He paused, then said cautiously: ‘You have heard of Parthia, haven’t you, Corvinus?’

Beside me, Vitellius choked on his wine.

Well, I appreciated the guy’s delicacy, and there wasn’t even a smidgeon of sarcasm in the tone, but even with my grasp of geography I couldn’t’ve missed a bloody great empire stretching all the way from the Syrian border to India.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Of course.’

Isidorus smiled. ‘Good. I’m relieved. Phraates, then, is a Parthian prince. He was sent here by his father, partly as a hostage and partly for his own safety, sixty-odd years ago in the Divine Augustus’s day.’

Sixty years! Gods! ‘And he’s still alive?’

‘Oh, my goodness, yes, very hale and hearty. He lives with his Greek mistress and son in a villa over on the Janiculan; a very nice property, very nice indeed, or so I understand. His survival, though, is very much to the point. Two days ago, on his way home from a dinner party in the early hours of the morning, he was attacked by a gang of knifemen.’

I sat back in my chair. We were into things here that I understood.

‘He was what?’ I said.

‘The attack happened not far from the Esquiline Gate, near Maecenas Gardens. Fortunately it was beaten off and the attackers never reached the prince’s litter, but three of his bodyguard were killed outright and one died later.’ The smart grey eyes hadn’t left mine, not for an instant, and there wasn’t even the hint of a smile now. ‘There. Your comments, please.’

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ I said.

‘Really? Now why would you say that?’

I was being tested, and I knew it. I wasn’t looking at Vitellius, but I could feel him watching me. ‘Jupiter, where do you start? You might as well’ve said that the guy’d been raped by a passing walrus. Knifemen don’t operate in gangs. They’re solo artists, or they work in threes or fours at most. Second, they go for pedestrians, usually lone drunks. They steer clear of heavily-guarded litters and carriages because taking on opposition like that just isn’t worth the risk. And last, in that part of the city even at that time of night there’s plenty of well-heeled traffic about with protection of its own that would wade in and sort the buggers out. Will that do you?’

The smile came back, but the eyes behind it were still cold and level. ‘Oh, yes, Corvinus. Thank you, very concise. That will do very well indeed. And yes, I agree that it makes no sense; I agree absolutely. The problem is that it did actually happen. Now. We’ll move on. There’s something I haven’t told you which may have a bearing on matters. And I must emphasise that the information is totally confidential.’ He glanced at Vitellius. ‘Five days ago, three days before the attack on Phraates’s litter, a Parthian delegation arrived in Rome. If negotiations with them are successful then Prince Phraates will be sent east with Roman military backing to be made Great King of Parthia.’

My guts went cold.

‘Oh, fuck,’ I said.

Beside me Vitellius gave a sharp, pained grunt and closed his eyes. Yeah, well; as diplomatic expressions go it probably did leave something to be desired.

‘Quite.’ Isidorus cleared his throat. ‘That aside, you see now, of course, the significance of the attack. And its implications. If Phraates had been killed — which was certainly the intention — then our whole plan for replacing Artabanus would have become unworkable at a stroke.’

‘Uh…Artabanus?’

‘Do forgive me, Corvinus. Artabanus is the present Great King.’

‘Of Parthia.’ Vitellius muttered. His eyes were closed again, so he missed Isidorus’s glare.

Well, if you don’t ask you never know. ‘Right. Got you,’ I said.

‘Artabanus isn’t popular at present with a fair percentage of the Parthian nobility. Hence the delegation.’

I took another sip of the Caecuban. ‘This may be a silly question,’ I said, ‘but why should the Parthians send to us for a king?’

‘Because they’ve no choice. When Artabanus came to power he had all his potential rivals executed. Which left our two candidates, who were beyond his reach. Or have been up to now.’ He was watching me closely. ‘I’m sorry. I have tried to simplify things, but the situation really is quite complex. That will do us for the present, but if you have any questions of your own I’d be glad to answer them, or try to.’

Fair enough. ‘Just the one,’ I said.

‘Ask away, then.’

‘It’s simple. I’m no diplomat, I’m not even political, and it’s obvious what I know about Parthia you could write on the back of a bust sandal strap. Whatever you want doing in this business, the Roman bureaucracy’s full of sharp cookies a lot more qualified than I am. So why choose me?’

Isidorus rubbed his temples. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Yes. A fair point. My instructions came directly from the emperor.’ He turned to Vitellius. ‘You did show Corvinus the letter, didn’t you, Lucius?’

I shifted in my chair. ‘Yeah, he did, but still — ’

‘Tiberius gave me no explanation — as, naturally, was his right — but I would imagine his choice of you in particular was based largely on, ah, certain events which took place a few years back.’ He cleared his throat again. Vitellius’s attention, I noticed, was suddenly on his wine-cup. ‘Events which we won’t go into here. I understand, though, that in the course of them you met the emperor personally.’

‘Ah…yeah.’ Sure I did. My balls still shrank at the memory.

‘Then you obviously made a lasting impression on him.’

I swallowed. Shit; now there was an uncomfortable thought. Just the mere notion that I figured anywhere at all in that cold, calculating, abacus-minded bastard’s world view made my skin crawl. ‘Okay. Fine. Forget me as such. Why anyone outside government circles?’

‘Because sixty years in Rome or not Phraates is still a bloody Parthian.’

I blinked; not at the mild swear-word, although I hadn’t expected it from Isidorus, but because of the tone. For the first time in the guy’s bland delivery I detected what sounded very like a note of exasperation. ‘Very illuminating,’ I said.

Isidorus gave a tight smile. ‘I’m sorry. You’re quite right; in itself that answer was not particularly helpful. Still, it’s the one you want. As a guest of the Roman state, Phraates is under our protection and eligible for our help — our official help — as and when necessary. As following the attack on his litter it now is. You’d agree?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Obviously.’

‘Obviously. Yes. I would have thought so too. The problem is that Prince Phraates is having none of it. Neither the protection nor the help.’

‘Why the hell not?’

‘Because he’s a Parthian. Parthians may ask for Roman help — the delegation is a case in point — but they don’t do so lightly. Also, there’s a certain amount of professional pride involved. Phraates has always had a private bodyguard: technically illegal on Roman soil, of course, but under the circumstances we’re not going to be picky. He also has his own espionage system; again unofficial, naturally, but which, to be fair — and I’m speaking professionally — is not one to be sneered at. He considers both these factors to be quite sufficient for countering any threat and has told us in no uncertain terms that he will look after his own safety. Which, from Rome’s — from my — point of view is extremely worrying. You’re with me?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, sure.’

‘On the other hand, Prince Phraates for all his faults is very much the pragmatical diplomat. As am I. The two of us may have our own opinions and priorities, but in this instance like it or not we have to agree on a common policy and course of action. His sticking point was and is that he wants no official nursemaiding — the word is his — because that, as he sees things, would compromise his new status as prospective Great King. He is, however, willing to compromise over an independent investigator with no vested interest in either camp. The compromise — as suggested by the emperor — is you.’

I kept my tone and my expression neutral. ‘Is that so, now?’

‘That, I’m afraid, is so. Your task, of course, would be to find out who is trying to kill Prince Phraates before he succeeds.’

Yeah, well; I’d assumed that might be it. Still, it was as well to have it out in plain Latin. None the less…

‘You don’t ask for much, do you?’ I said.

That got me a level stare. ‘Trust me, I know exactly how much I’m asking. Although I’d remind you the idea did not originate with me.’

‘And things would depend on me agreeing, naturally?’

The grey eyes were still fixed on mine. ‘In theory, yes. In practice…well, I’m afraid that in the light of circumstances you would be a very brave man to refuse.’

Well, at least the guy was being up front about it. And he was spot on. Saying no to the Wart was about as smart a move as taking a stroll through a snake-pit.

‘Point taken,’ I said.

‘Believe me, Corvinus, I’m no happier about the situation than you are. I dislike having to use amateurs at the best of times, and on this occasion it worries me very much.’ He must’ve seen something in my expression, because he held up a hand. ‘No. Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean to be disparaging, I’m simply stating a fact. As you’ll discover for yourself, dealing with Parthians — Parthian aristocrats, especially — isn’t easy. They’re touchy, vain, two-faced as Janus, and it takes a lifetime’s study to understand the way their minds work. If you ever get that far.’

‘No different to Roman senators, then, right?’ I glanced at Vitellius. He coloured to the eyeballs but didn’t bite.

‘Oh, a great deal more complicated than that. I never said your task would be easy. What I am saying is that it’s important for Rome. And, I believe, for Parthia.’

‘Not to mention for this Phraates.’

His lips twitched in a smile. ‘Quite.’

‘One last question?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘It’s the obvious one, sure, but it has to be asked and answered. This King Artabanus; he have any spies — agents — operating in Rome?’

Isidorus leaned back. Obvious question or not, he took his time answering. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘He does not. Not that I am aware of, certainly. And before you ask, I would, Valerius Corvinus, be very aware of something like that, believe me.’

Well, you didn’t get much more definite, and from Isidorus I’d take it as final. No one had told me what the guy’s exact job was, but I’d bet a sturgeon to a pickled walnut he knew what he was talking about there. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘So. When do I get to talk to Phraates?.’

‘Ah.’ Isidorus turned briefly to Vitellius. ‘This is where Lucius comes in.’ Yeah; I’d been wondering — barring the messenger-boy angle — why our broad-rumped consular had been invited to this little confab. ‘Lucius is heading the imperial sub-committee negotiating with the Parthian envoys. That side of things doesn’t affect you, of course, but fortunately it does provide you with an excellent natural opportunity to meet the prince and certain…others.’ There was something in his tone, and in the hesitation before that last word, that made me frown, but the eyes discouraged questions. ‘Lucius?’

Vitellius shifted his massive weight in his chair and leaned forward. The wooden joints of the chair creaked. ‘We’ve put the Parthians in one of the imperial guest-houses, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘West slope, facing the Capitol. They’re giving a dinner there tonight for Phraates and a couple of the other local eastern bigwigs. I’m invited, and I’ve cleared it with Phraates for you to come too. As my aide.’ He scowled. ‘Which last fact you’ll remember, please, and act on accordingly, because as far as the delegation’s concerned that’s all you are at present. That clear?’

‘Yeah.’ Jupiter on a trolley! ‘It’s clear.’

‘Fine. Don’t forget it, then.’ The scowl didn’t lift. Obviously, my fat pal the consular wasn’t any more tickled to have me aboard the good ship Diplomacy than his boss was. Only Isidorus covered it better.

Isidorus stood up. I’d been right about his lack of height; the top of his head was about level with my chin. ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘I wish you luck, Corvinus.’ He held out his hand and we shook. ‘Luck, and success. Incidentally, I’ll have a word with Quintus on the front desk. If you do need to see me at any stage without Lucius here in attendance you should have no trouble.’

Meeting over, evidently. I drank the last of the Caecuban at a gulp — that I wasn’t going to waste — and got to my feet.

‘I’ll pick you up at sunset,’ Vitellius growled. ‘Wear your best mantle.’

Well, that was the easy part over. Now I had to explain things to Perilla.