Sejanus

'Open it.'

I broke the seal with my thumb. There were two enclosures: a thick document and a thinner one. The thick document was the title deeds to a property in the Subura. The thinner one was a letter from my father.

I looked at Agron.

'Go ahead,' he said. 'Read.'

I lay back on the couch and read.

Marcus Valerius Messalla Messalinus to his son Marcus. Greetings.I sincerely hope, my boy, that you will never read this. If you do it means that you are in trouble; very deep and possibly fatal trouble. Knowing you, and knowing the direction in which political events are taking us, I suspect that the hope is a false one; however, that is not important. Let it go.

I have felt for some years that Aelius Sejanus is a danger to the state; perhaps its greatest danger. We have only ourselves to blame, of course (we being the senate) in that we have systematically alienated the emperor; not by anything we have done, particularly, but by being the servile crew that we are. This is no one's fault, although I include myself in the charge and am making no excuses: you cannot reverse four generations of subservience overnight, although Tiberius has tried. It is one of the reasons why I admire him.

Sejanus is dangerous because he is what we are not: a strong-willed, capable, organised and directed force. Which is, of course, why the emperor likes him. Were he directed to the state's good I would have nothing but praise for the man, but his interests are purely selfish. To get what he wants he is prepared to pull Rome apart and throw the good out with the bad. In consequence, he must be stopped.

Marcus, I am mediocre in every sphere: a mediocre speaker, a mediocre politician, a mediocre general. A mediocre husband and father. I attract no superlatives, either good or bad. That is how I am made, and it lies at the root of our disagreements over the years. However — and I stress this — I am first and foremost a Roman, and I will not willingly see Rome go down into the dark, even although I am too cowardly to do anything to prevent it myself. Hence this letter, and its enclosure.

I know, from past events, that you have some sort of private commission regarding Sejanus from the Empress Livia, and that this commission is open-ended. The time must come (has come now, indeed, since you are reading this) when you are forced to choose between leaving Rome with your task uncompleted or staying to risk Sejanus's malice. For me the choice would, unfortunately, be easy. For you it will be more difficult, and what you decide may affect the fate of Rome. Should you decide as I think you will, the enclosed title deed will perhaps help in some small way. Agron will explain how.

The gods bless you, my boy. You have, as always, my love and my respect. Kiss Perilla and my grandchildren for me.

Farewell.

My eyes were smarting when I finished.

'Arrangement' was right. Gods! The devious old bugger!

25

'So what is this property exactly?' I said. I was still trying to take this on board. Owning a secret bolthole in Rome — so secret I didn't even know about it myself, for Jupiter's sake! — meant that I didn't have to leave after all. Sure, it was a gamble. If I was caught it'd mean the noose for certain, or a politely-worded order from Tiberius to slit my wrists; but on the plus side it'd wrong-foot Sejanus completely. Accused of treason, your normal purple-striper's reaction is to fight or to run. Straight disappearance isn't an option. Maybe I could shake the bastard's complacency enough to force a few mistakes.

'A tenement off Cyprian Street, behind the Temple of Tellus,' Agron said. 'The rents are paid into an account in Ostia, with me as the factor.'

'Neat.' Agron would be known in Ostia, but not Dad, and not me; like all the old families we did business through our own bankers in Rome. And when the big guy had moved from the Subura he'd've left his city connections behind. 'How long has this been going on?'

'Almost ten years now. So your balance is pretty healthy.' Agron was grinning. 'Some of it's gone on renovations and repairs, of course. Your dad and I didn't cut any corners. Neither of us wanted the place falling down before you needed it.'

Yeah. Still, the money was good news, too, almost as good as having the place itself, and tenements were real money-spinners. If — when — I did a runner the authorities would freeze my bank accounts, probably sequestrate them altogether, and confiscate my property. Even if I had somewhere to stay I'd still have to eat.

'Dad set this up ten years ago?' I said. I still couldn't believe it. 'Dad did?'

'Just after you left Rome. He bought the property under a false name. I only handled the finances and the everyday running arrangements.'

'Part of the block's unlet?'

'The first-floor flat. There's a caretaker, but he'll be no problem. The agreement was the flat would be kept ready at any time if and when the owner wanted it.'

I looked at the title deed again. The owner's name was given as Marcus Ufulanius, address (smudged) Pergamum.

'Who's Ufulanius?' I said. 'He exist at all?'

'No. But he's real enough to his banker and the tenants, I've made sure of that. He's an Oscan from Capua, a small-time wine shipper who wants to keep a toehold in the old country.' Agron was still grinning. 'Just another money-grubbing absentee landlord, in other words.'

Neat again; even the Oscan bit fitted. That'd be Dad's work: my old nurse had been Capuan, and I'd picked up the accent and a lot of the dialect words while I was still in leading-strings. I knew Pergamum well, too, and it was a smart choice. Having Ufulanius live in Athens would've been pushing things.

'I like the wine-shipper, too,' I said. 'Talking wine I can manage.'

'You don't say?' Agron's grin broadened.

'So when Ufulanius suddenly decides to come back to Rome and move into his flat in the Subura then no one's going to think twice about it, right?'

'That's the idea. You approve?'

'Sure I do. It's beautiful.' I had to hand it to Dad, he'd not only carved out a badly-needed bit of space for me, he'd given me a new face as well. 'There's only one flaw.'

'Yeah? What's that?'

'I hate to sound snobbish about this, pal, but certain things are still going to get noticed. Like my clean-cut patrician features and the way I pronounce my diphthongs, for example.'

Agron shrugged. 'No problem,' he said. 'Ufulanius catches a disease on the ship over. Something very nasty that keeps him out of circulation for two months. Time enough for him to grow a beard and learn to murder his vowels.'

I stared at him. 'Two months? I can't wall myself up in a tenement for two months!'

'Marcus, listen to me.' Agron wasn't smiling now. 'Two months is the minimum. You need time to get yourself forgotten about. Tenements're little worlds of their own, and as the new guy on the block you're going to stand out like an elephant in a bathtub. You skip bail one day as Marcus Valerius Corvinus and turn up the next as Marcus Ufulanius from the sticks with a sharp Market Square haircut and polished patrician vowels and you'll have the Praetorians beating your door down before you can say "fraud". Take two months to let things settle, grow your hair and beard, dye them maybe, and you might have a chance.'

Yeah, he was right. I couldn't rush this, I didn't dare. Shit, though! Two months shut up in a tenement flat and they'd be peeling me off the walls! And then there was the date Marilla had given me. July the twenty-eighth. Suddenly that didn't seem so far off after all.

Well, there was nothing I could do. At least Perilla would be out of this. She could go back to Athens with Bathyllus and wait for results. If any.

'Okay,' I said. 'So my name's Marcus Ufulanius. Let's go for it.'

'Corvinus, I am not going to leave you alone in Rome!'