Ouch. ‘Pattern’ was right.
Fuck. Well, you took what you were given and liked it. Or, as in this case, maybe you didn’t: what I was hearing was really, really bad news. I stood up.
‘Thanks, pal,’ I said. ‘Very thorough and informative, as usual. I’ll leave you to get on.’
‘All this is strictly confidential, right, Corvinus?’
‘My lips are sealed.’
‘And you’ll stay the hell clear of my Alban villa?’
‘Of course. My word is my absolute bond. Perilla’ll be seriously disappointed, mind, but-’
‘Out!’
I left, grinning.
EIGHTEEN
So. Back home to the Caelian, for a serious think.
The lady was definitely not going to like this. In view of what Secundus had said about pussyfooting round the fringes of current politics, I didn’t like it more than half myself. Four guys, all highly placed, all with a grudge against the emperor, couldn’t be any sort of coincidence. Oh, sure, when I’d gone round to Longinus’s I might’ve been gatecrashing that common thing in Rome, a group of senatorial soul-brothers getting together to whinge in private about how rotten the emperor had been to them and what a despicable cad the bounder was; in which case as far as I was concerned they could get on with it and do all the whingeing they liked. Even so, particu-larly when you factored in the arranged ambush near the Janiculan, I had a horrible suspicion that I’d stumbled into something a whole lot nastier: we were looking at treason here, or potential treason, anyway, and it had something to do with the death of Naevius Surdinus.
Not that the prognosis was total doom and gloom. For a treason plot to be a viable proposition — if this was a treason plot — then the guys behind it had to have something in the bank that, when push inevitably came to shove, they could lay on the table. So far, at least, I couldn’t see that being the case. Oh, they were all senators, sure, but even in respect of that toothless shower they were lightweights: Graecinus was a newcomer from a no-account provincial family; Asiaticus might be a consular but he’d been out of the loop for five years; Cerialis hadn’t even been able to muster the support he needed to make suffect; and after his recall, Longinus was effectively a spent coin. Asiaticus had an in with Gaius himself, certainly, but from what Crispus had told me it was more as a figure of fun than anything else. Longinus … well, as Asian governor with three legions under him, he might’ve had some military clout at one time, but even if he’d hung on to that somehow after his recall, it was very localized, and nothing when measured against the rest of Rome’s armed forces.
Of course, there still remained the wild card of an assassin-ation — taking out the emperor personally — but the chances of success there were about the same as a snowball’s of making it through hell. Even given the opportunity, there’d be Gaius’s Praetorian bodyguard in the assassin’s way, for a start, and these buggers you do not mess with. And when they were off duty he had his personal contingent of Germans, who by reputation were an even worse proposition because they were complete head-bangers and would just love the chance to dice up one of the Roman master race with no comeback. So any senator stupid enough to try anything on, either in public or private, wouldn’t get within five feet of his target before he was carved up six ways from nothing like a Spring Festival chicken.
No worries there, then.
Maybe …
Like I said, I was heading back along the Sacred Way in the direction of the Caelian. I’d just reached the junction of Fabricius Street when I felt a hand on my arm. I turned.
‘Valerius Corvinus?’
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ I said, frowning.
The guy was young, in the mid-twenties or so, with a narrow-striper tunic showing under his cloak. And he looked scared as hell.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ve been following you, looking for a chance to …’ He stopped, glanced behind him, then went on in a rush: ‘We have to talk.’
‘About what?’
‘Naevius Surdinus.’
My stomach went cold. ‘Sure. No problem, pal,’ I said. ‘There’s a wine shop I know a bit further on. We can-’
‘No, not now. I haven’t the time, I have to get back.’ He was terrified, almost gabbling.
‘Back where? And who are you, exactly?’
He shook his head in a quick, nervous movement, and his hand gripped the edge of my cloak. ‘Tomorrow, right? Anywhere you like, but it can’t be before the seventh hour. I’ll be … I can’t come until then.’
‘OK. That wine shop I mentioned. Pollex’s, about a hundred yards on the right. You can’t miss it.’
‘I know it. Pollex’s it is, an hour after noon.’
And he was gone, walking quickly back towards Market Square.
Gods. What was that about?
One thing, though. I’d noticed, when he’d turned round, the red mark between his chin and his throat; nothing permanent, not a scar or a burn, but the kind of mark made by something that’s been rubbing a lot against the skin. Something, for example, such as a helmet strap. And, taking that together with his age and the narrow purple stripe on his tunic, that could only mean one thing.
My young pal was a military tribune. A Praetorian.
Shit.
Perilla was in the atrium when I got back. She had a book unrolled on her lap, but as soon as I came in she put it aside, and I had the distinct impression that she hadn’t actually been reading it. Taken together with the fact that she had her serious look on, the omens here were not good.
‘Marcus …’ she said, and stopped. She frowned, and shook her head. ‘No. You first. How was your day?’
I put Bathyllus’s cup of wine on the table and lay down on the couch next to it. I was beginning to get seriously worried.
‘Sod that for now,’ I said. ‘You OK? You’re not ill or anything?’
‘I’m perfectly well, dear,’ she said. She didn’t look it: death warmed up was the phrase that suggested itself. The worry went up another notch; for Perilla, this was not normal behaviour.
‘But something’s happened, right?’ A horrible thought struck me. ‘How’s Marilla? You had a message from Clarus?’ Like I said, our adopted daughter was in the last stages of pregnancy, always a dangerous time, particularly when it’s a first child.
‘Marilla’s absolutely fine, as far as I know. No, we’ve had no messages from anywhere. And nothing at all has happened. At least, nothing involving the family. It’s just that …’ She stopped again. ‘Look, I may be completely wrong about something. I hope I am, but I need your opinion.’
‘Come on, lady! Just forget all the mystery and spill, will you?’
She ignored me. ‘You talked to Surdinus Junior?’
I took a deep breath; we might as well get this over with. I wasn’t going to tell her about the attack on the Janiculan, mind you. ‘No. That turned out to be a wild-goose chase. Forget it, it’s not important. But I did end up having another word with Gaius Secundus. And with Caelius Crispus at the foreign judges’ office. It seems that Longinus isn’t the only guy out of the four to have something against the emperor. In fact, all of them do, of one kind or another.’ I gave her the details. ‘Plus I’d a run-in with a youngster on the way back. Although run-in isn’t exactly the phrase; nothing violent. He wants to talk to me tomorrow about Surdinus’s death.’
‘What was his name?’
‘He wouldn’t tell me. No name, no details up-front whatsoever. But the kid was jumpy as hell and seriously scared, and I’d bet my boots he was a Praetorian tribune.’ I paused. ‘And if that’s so, then I’m afraid we have a completely different ball game.’
She nodded; she was looking paler than ever.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘You’re not surprised?’
‘No.’ She gave a brittle smile. ‘My turn, dear. I’ll take this step by step, because I really, really do want to be told that I’m mistaken. You remember Aristarchus of Samos, that Julia Procula lent to me?’