‘You don’t believe him?’
Lentulus chuckled and coughed. ‘Now don’t you go putting words into my mouth or taking me up wrong just because it happens to suit you, you over-suspicious young bugger,’ he said. ‘I don’t have an opinion one way or the other, and nor should you. All I’m saying is that the man’s a survivor, but whether that comes about through deliberate craft or inbuilt nature, I don’t know. He was a close friend of Junius Silanus, too, and that wasn’t a safe thing to be when the emperor decided he was conspiring with Gemellus and ordered him into suicide. Asiaticus was left alone because he kept a low profile. Head well below the parapet. Best policy to adopt when you’re dealing with a paranoid bastard like Gaius, hey?’ He caught himself and tutted. ‘As you were, Marcus, forget that, I didn’t say it. It was the wine talking, right? Or maybe this cold. I’m not at my best.’
‘Yeah, sure. Understood.’ A survivor. Head below the parapet. Yeah, that had Asiaticus to a T: he’d survived this time as well, whether because, as Lentulus had said, he’d planned things deliberately, or because he was quite genuine and what you saw was what you got. Certainly, he’d convinced Gaius, and like I say the emperor was no fool where judging character was concerned. I thought of those snakes that blend in with their background so perfectly that you don’t know they’re there until they rear up and bite you …
OK, so plenty of food for thought there. And it all fitted. Pace Gaius, Asiaticus was definitely in the frame. Move on.
‘What about Julius Callistus?’ I said. ‘You crossed his path at all?’
‘The emperor’s financial secretary? No, can’t say I have.’
‘Know anything about him?’
‘Only that he’s bloody good at his job, like a lot of the freedmen Gaius has been filling the top imperial admin posts with these past few years. Mind you, he’d have to be, especially these days.’
‘Why so?’ I reached over and helped myself to a stuffed date.
‘Because what with one thing and another, Gaius is getting through money like there’s no tomorrow. Publicly and privately. It has to come from somewhere, and even those bloody fancy direct taxes he’s introduced lately aren’t bringing in enough pennies to pay the bills.’ Lentulus chuckled and peeled a quail’s egg. ‘Just shows you to be careful what you wish for, boy. When the emperor started using freedmen, some of my more poker-up-the-arse colleagues down the hill moaned like hell. Ex-slaves with their master’s slap still fresh on their cheeks giving the orders and running the empire? What would Sulla have said? Barbarians at the gates, the end of civilization, grouse, grouse, grouse. You know the sort of thing.’ He dipped the egg in fish sauce, popped it into his mouth and chewed. ‘Only now you don’t hear a cheep from them, do you, because the tossers know that if they moan too loud and Gaius hands the job over to them, Rome’ll be bankrupt inside of a month.’
‘As bad as that, is it?’
‘Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a tad. But if it wasn’t for Julius Callistus and his ilk over on the Palatine doing their financial balancing act and holding things together, the treasury would be looking pretty bare.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Interesting. ‘OK. Last name. Arrecinus Clemens.’
‘Clemens, eh?’ Another shrewd look as he reached for the quails’ eggs. ‘Quite a mixed bag you’ve got there, Marcus, my boy. Praetorians, now, is it?’
‘Yeah, as it happens.’ I kept my voice neutral. Not that I had any illusions about being able to pull the wool over Lentulus’s eyes. He was no Secundus; he’d been involved in the labyrinthine world of politics all his life, certainly long enough to know how many beans made five, and the pattern that was emerging here was pretty obvious. As were the implications, and so my reasons for asking. If he’d decided to play dumb then it was through conscious choice. ‘Anything you’ve got.’
He grunted and concentrated on shelling the egg. ‘Joint Praetorian prefect, equestrian, good provincial Italian family but nothing special — from Arpinum, or thereabouts. Military type to the bone, not a political. Steady, reliable, conscientious. Solid clear through, particularly where his head’s concerned. Which of course was why Gaius appointed him.’
Well, again I’d known most of that, and from Gaius himself. But there had to be more. ‘Happy in his job?’ I said.
Lentulus hesitated. ‘Moderately,’ he said. ‘Chap’s got a bit of an awkward bee in his bonnet, though. About the Jews, of all things.’
Yeah; Gaius had mentioned that, too. ‘The God-Fearer business,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘That’s right. You’d heard?’
‘Not in any detail, no. Why awkward?’
‘Because it’s producing a certain … conflict of interests.’ He still wasn’t looking at me; all his attention was on the egg. ‘You know about the Alexandrian delegation?’
‘No. What delegation would that be?’
‘From the Jewish community there. Led by a chap called Philo. They arrived in Rome a year ago to petition the emperor to give them equal citizen rights with the Greeks. They’re still around, as it happens.’
‘After a year?’
Lentulus laid the egg aside and looked up. ‘Gaius is in no hurry, boy,’ he said. ‘That’s the point. Or partly the point. Philo and his cronies have spent the past twelve months twiddling their thumbs on the other side of the river, and they’re likely to stay there indefinitely. Jews haven’t exactly been flavour of the month with Caesar ever since the trouble at Jamnia.’
‘Where the hell’s Jamnia?’
‘Palestine. Near Jerusalem, on the coast. The town’s part of the imperial estates. Mixed Jewish-Greek, like a lot of those places. Just after the delegation got here, the Greeks in Jamnia set up an altar to the imperial cult. The local Jews rioted and pulled it down.’ I winced. Trouble was right: Rome’s pretty tolerant where religion’s concerned — as long as you don’t go in for ceremonies involving cannibalism, ritual bestiality or the wholesale sacrifice of virgins, you can worship whatever god you like — but start mixing religion with politics and you’re up shit creek before you can say military intervention. Pulling down an altar to the Goddess Rome and her earthly representative would qualify in spades. ‘When Procurator Capito passed the news on to Gaius, the emperor went spare. He-’
‘Hang on, Lentulus,’ I said. ‘Capito? Herennius Capito?’
‘That’s the fella, yes.’ He was bland. ‘Gaius pulled him back to Rome shortly afterwards. He’s dead now, poor bugger. Blotted his copybook good and proper, so I understand. Anyway, I was saying, Gaius decided that if that was the way the intolerant bastards were going to play it, then he’d give them tit for tat and convert their temple in Jerusalem into an imperial shrine, with a statue of himself as Jupiter as the centrepiece. Not that that came to anything in the end, mind, fortunately, because the Syrian governor deliberately dragged his feet over supplying the actual statue itself. By which time Caesar’s pal Herod Agrippa had managed to persuade him to drop the idea.’
Yeah, I remembered that Secundus had mentioned the statue business. I hadn’t realized at the time that it was going to be relevant. Which it appeared it was.
‘And all this is connected with Clemens, right?’ I said.
‘Naturally. In a way, at least. I told you: Clemens may not be political as such but he and Philo are pretty thick together. Plus he’s a good friend of Agrippa’s. Just as well things panned out the way they did, mark you. Things being as they are, if the emperor had had his way it would’ve caused real trouble. Still might, for that matter, if he’s not careful and pulls his horns in. No fan of the Jews, our Gaius, and they know it.’ Lentulus picked up his wine cup and took a swig. ‘So. There you are, young Marcus. Had enough?’