‘Tribune, now really!’ he said. ‘Not in front of all these people, please! Control yourself!’ The man still didn’t move, or answer; his arm was still up at the salute. Finally, Gaius tutted, rose from his couch and pulled the arm down. ‘Chaerea, darling, you are absolutely no fun whatsoever!’ he snapped. ‘Do you know that, you bum-face?’ He waited, but there was no answer. ‘All right, have it your own way. You’ll like this. The watchword for tonight is “Chubby-chops”. Oh, and you have to do this as well.’ He leaned forwards and planted a smacker of a kiss on each cheek. The room — at least the part of it where people were close enough to see — erupted. ‘Now bugger off, sunshine, I’m busy.’
The tribune saluted smartly, turned and marched off. I had a good view of the man’s face as he left, and it radiated pure frustrated hatred.
Gods!
I turned back to Vinicianus, who had been arranging a selection of nibbles on his plate with deliberate care. ‘That happen every night?’ I said.
‘So I believe. With that particular tribune, at least.’ His voice and face were expressionless. ‘Caesar does like his little joke.’
‘Who was the tribune?’
‘A Cassius Chaerea.’
‘Cassius Chaerea?’
That got me a slow look. ‘That’s what I said, yes.’
‘He any relation to Cassius Longinus? The Asian governor?’
‘Not that I know of. A distant cousin, perhaps, but nothing direct.’
‘He is a bit of a bum-face, isn’t he?’ Messalina giggled, and looked up from her own selection of starters. ‘And that voice! I’m not surprised the emperor makes fun of him.’
Vinicianus ignored her. ‘He was wounded in the groin, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘While he was serving with Germanicus on his Rhine campaign.’ Shit. Veteran was right. And Germanicus … just mention his name to any soldier any time in the twenty-odd years since the overrated bastard’s death — Praetorian or legionary, officer or grunt, it didn’t matter who — and he’d go all dewy-eyed; having served on the Rhine with Germanicus was equivalent to deputizing for Ganymede in bringing Jupiter his morning cup of nectar. Military street-cred just didn’t get any higher.
No wonder being given a watchword like ‘Chubby-chops’ had had the guy spitting nails. And if the emperor’s treatment of Cassius Chaerea was at all typical, then the chances of a strong Praetorian involvement in a possible assassination plot had just taken a substantial hike.
The ‘Cassius’ was interesting, too, right?
‘Marcus, petal! You came! How delightful!’
Hell; I looked over my shoulder. Gaius was standing behind the couch, although ‘standing’ was a bit of an exaggeration: the emperor was pissed as a newt and swaying. Handling it well, on the whole, though, apart from the goggle-eyed stare and the slight slur.
‘Ah … yeah. Yes, Caesar,’ I said.
‘And lying beside the most beautiful woman in the room, too. My Caesonia excepted, of course. How on earth did you manage to wangle that, you crafty bugger?’ He reached down and patted Messalina’s bottom. She smiled up at him and arched her back like a cat. ‘Look at her! Couldn’t you just eat her up, the little minx? Wasted on a poor old stick like Claudius. Isn’t she, Uncle?’
Claudius was already holding his cup up for more wine to the slave behind him; he obviously liked his booze, too. He turned back round.
‘Hmm? Oh. Yes. Yes, if you s-say so, C–Caesar,’ he said equably.
‘I do s-say so. I kn-know so, and I s-speak from experience.’ Gaius ran the back of his index finger slowly up Messalina’s spine and tweaked the stray lock of hair at the nape of her neck. ‘Don’t I, darling? You’re a lucky sod, Claudius, you randy old bugger. Far luckier than you deserve.’
‘Th-thank you, Caesar. I’m e-extremely aware of that.’
Gaius gave the bottom another pat and smiled. ‘Oh, I am glad,’ he said. ‘I would just hate for talent like this to go unappreciated. And she does have the most marvellous tits. Well, boys and girls, enjoy. Livilla, try not to eat too much, my dear, or the next time you go sea-bathing at Baiae you may find yourself harpooned.’
He lurched back to his own table.
‘Yes, well,’ Vinicius said after a long pause. ‘There you are, then.’
He reached for the bowl of pickled radishes.
We settled down to eat.
It was a good four hours later that we finally climbed into the litter, thoroughly bloated and gently pickled. At least, I was, although as far as food’s concerned Perilla can shift it when she likes.
‘Urp.’
‘Yes, well, dear,’ she said icily as the litter louts took the unaccustomed strain, ‘you’ve only yourself to blame. Three helpings of flamingo was just a tad excessive, wouldn’t you say?’
‘That wasn’t the flamingo, that was the radishes. You can tell.’
‘Marcus, please!’
I grinned and settled back against the cushions. Actually, our evening out hadn’t been all that bad in the end, if you made allowances for the earlier part. The food had been pretty good, well up to Meton’s standard, which is saying something. And a generous supply of imperial Caecuban makes up for a hell of a lot of shortcomings elsewhere.
‘Your pal Tiberius Claudius was a bit of a revelation,’ I said.
‘Really? How so?’
‘I reckon I’ve misjudged him. You’re right, he is smart.’
‘I kept telling you that, but you wouldn’t listen.’
‘No, not just book-smart. That’s nothing. He’s a survivor, like Asiaticus.’ I frowned; hadn’t Lentulus said that Asiaticus was a Claudian client and a personal friend of Claudius himself? ‘You saw how he reacted, or didn’t react, rather, when Gaius was feeling up Messalina? And six gets you ten it hadn’t stopped there. He’s had her, when and how serious the affair was I don’t know, but that’s practically a cert.’
‘Obviously he has. She’s very beautiful, completely unprincipled, and she’s been one of his intimate circle for years, long before Claudius came on the scene. It’d be surprising if he hadn’t.’
I shifted on the cushions. ‘Yeah, but that’s not all,’ I said. ‘I was watching what’s-his-name, Chaerea’s face when he marched out. The guy was fit to be tied. No one could’ve missed that; Gaius certainly couldn’t. Which of course is why the sick bastard does it. Needles people, winds them up, knowing that they can’t do a thing about it.’
‘Marcus, it’s late and I’m tired. Will you either shut up or get to the point, please?’
‘The point is that Claudius wasn’t like that. You saw for yourself. He shrugged the whole thing off. He didn’t even look or sound interested, from start to finish.’
‘Maybe he wasn’t. Livilla has affairs, Vinicius knows that. Like the one with that greasy smarmer Seneca. He ignores them for the puerile nonsense they are, and quite rightly so. The marriage was one of convenience; it isn’t as if they have any liking for each other, let alone affection, so why should he bother?’
‘Maybe because Vinicius is a survivor too. He’s certainly survived.’
Perilla stifled a yawn. ‘Marcus …’
‘Yeah, OK, lady. But all I’m saying is that unless Claudius genuinely doesn’t have any feelings for his wife, not even at the basic sexual level, then he’s a bloody good actor, and it’s probably what’s keeping him alive. And Gaius swallowed it whole. That’s his weakness, not taking people he despises seriously. He’s doing it with Claudius, he’s done and is probably still doing it with Valerius Asiaticus, and he is sure as hell doing it with Chaerea. That’s playing with fire, especially with everything else that’s going on. Me, I reckon that if the egotistical bastard isn’t very careful it’ll kill him.’