Germanicus

'Did you have a successful day, Corvinus?' she said.

'Yeah. You could say that.' I gave her the cross-eyed peacock. 'Present.'

'Oh, how lovely. Just what I've always wanted.'

I grinned. 'You should see what I brought Bathyllus.'

She laid the peacock on the edge of the pool. 'So tell me. What did you find out?'

'In a minute. I've been three times across Rome today, and I'm whacked. That rates a celebration drink.' On cue, Bathyllus came in with a jug of the Falernian on a tray. I gave him his hernia support, modestly wrapped.

'Thank you, sir,' he said. 'What is it?'

'Open it in private, sunshine, and enjoy. What time's dinner?'

'Meton says it'll be some while yet, sir. He's had an upset with the sauce.'

'No problem. We'll have a couple of liquid starters while we're waiting.'

Bathyllus poured and left.

'So,' Perilla said. 'You have your drink. Now tell me.'

'The Wart's in this up to the hairs on his boils.' I let the Falernian trickle gloriously past my tonsils. 'Maybe even Livia, whatever she says to the contrary. Jupiter knows what game she's playing.'

'Explain, please.' Perilla sipped at her own cup.

I started at the beginning, with the visit to the Treasury.

'You think this Regulus knows more than he told you?' she asked when I'd finished.

'Sure he does. But he thought I knew it already. Maybe it was relevant, maybe not, but I'll swear the guy was doing a runner when I nailed him. Funnily enough I don't think it had anything to do with the trial, though. He blossomed like a rose when I told him I wanted to talk about that.'

'Perhaps he has a guilty conscience. You say he works in the tax department.'

'Yeah.' I frowned. There had been something there, something I'd missed… 'Anyway, the main business was over the letter.'

'Uncle Cotta's missing letter?'

'Fuck knows. That's one big problem with this case. Too many letters.'

'You've lost me, Corvinus. And please don't swear if you can help it.'

'Sorry.' I took a mouthful of Falernian and used it to marshal my thoughts. 'Okay. Let's take the letters, then. We've got three. Or three sets. Whatever. One, the private correspondence between Piso and the Wart that neither of them would let the Senate see. Call that A. Then there's Letter B that Cotta says Piso wrote the night he died and gave to his freedman Carillus to deliver. Check?'

Perilla smiled. 'Check.'

'Only I find out from a guy called Capax who was one of Piso's slaves that there's a third letter. Call it C. A suicide note addressed to the emperor and which the Wart read out to the Senate the next day, and Cotta never told us about.'

'But the answer's simple, Marcus! He did. B and C are the same. Piso wrote his suicide note to the emperor and gave it to Carillus to pass on through his lawyers.'

'No. I assumed they were the same when I left the Treasury, because that's what that bastard Regulus told me and I'd no reason to disbelieve him. But Regulus was lying.'

'How do you know?'

'Because Capax, who's got no axe to grind one way or the other, said C was found in Piso's room the next morning. If B were identical with C then Piso couldn't've given it to Carillus the night before, and we know he gave him a letter of some kind. So C's accounted for but B's still missing. We're back at what Cotta told us. The night he died Piso wrote a letter to someone, sealed it and gave it to his freedman to deliver. At which point it disappeared. Who it was to, what was in it and whether it was delivered we still don't know.'

'I see. Can't you ask the freedman directly?'

'Yeah. Sure I can. That's tomorrow's job. At least I know who he is now, and where to find him.' I sank another quarter pint of the Falernian. 'And that's another thing. This guy Carillus is some queer cookie. For a start he sounds as crooked as a Corinthian dice artist. Also I'd assumed he was Piso's secretary or some such, but it turns out he was in charge of plucking the chickens.'

'So?'

'An ex-kitchen slave's hardly a social giant, lady. They tend to smell of giblets and pick their teeth with the dinner knives. Patrons may take a percentage of their profits when they set up in business for themselves but they don't encourage an intimate acquaintance. So why should Piso choose a chicken plucker to give an important letter to? Or do you think that after a hard day in the dock he made a habit of sneaking down Suburan Street for a pound of sausages and a cosy chat?'

'But there must be some connection between them. After all, the man did carry the letter. Or did he?'

'Of course he did.' I paused. 'At least I think he did. At least…' Oh, shit. I didn't know what to think any more.

'He wasn't' — Perilla hesitated — 'a favourite of any kind, was he?'

'You mean was he Piso's toyboy? Yeah, that's a possibility. Not a strong one, though. I haven't met the guy and I didn't know Piso, but Capax wasn't one to pull his punches and I'm sure he would've said.' My cup was empty. I got up and refilled it from the jug on the table. 'Perilla, I'm sorry, I can't think. I'm too tired. Let's leave it for now, okay?'

'Why did you say you thought the emperor was involved?'

'That was Capax too.' I sat down again.

'He told you?'

'Not in so many words. The guy was only a litter slave. But the way he told it the Wart had to be involved.'

'Why?'

I sighed. 'Okay, let's play charades. We're Piso and Plancina, right? We've just murdered the emperor's son and heir and committed ten kinds of treason. Germanicus's widow and half the Syrian staff are itching to get us up a dark alleyway somewhere for a quiet talk and the whole of Rome wants to see what we look like turned inside out and pegged up for the crows. Like it or not we have to come back to stand trial. So how do we do it?'

'We slip back quietly, of course. Probably at dead of night and in a closed carriage.'

'Right. Only in the event we don't. We sail down the Tiber in a barge scattering roses like Antony and Cleopatra, put in about as far upstream as we can get, let all our friends and enemies know we're coming and stage a public bump and grind through the middle of the city at a time when everyone's around to wave. Then we throw the biggest party of the season and blow raspberries at the crowd from the balcony. Does that tell you something about us?'

Perilla smiled. 'It tells me we've lost our senses. Or perhaps that we couldn't care less for public opinion.'

'Okay.' I stretched my length on the couch. 'Let's take the second suggestion. Why shouldn't we care? Remember we're not just talking about a few yobbos throwing cabbages and calling us dirty names. Some of that public opinion's got a wide purple stripe down its mantle and it's pretty pissed off at us already.'

She was silent for a long time. Then she said slowly:

'We don't care because we know we're innocent and we can prove it. Because we know we've got right on our side. And because we know we're protected.'

I grinned. 'Smack on the button. And who's big enough to protect us against everything the mob, the Senate and Agrippina's fan club can throw at us?'

'The Imperials. Tiberius and Livia.'

'Tiberius and Livia.' I drank my wine. 'Congratulations. You win the nuts.'

'But Livia swore she had nothing to do with Germanicus's death. And Tiberius may have saved Plancina but he went out of his way not to protect Piso. In fact, he abandoned him to the Senate.'

'Right. Only we're talking pre-trial here. Piso and Plancina didn't know that was how it would be played at the time. You see what I meant last night about a standing deal?'

Perilla shook her head. 'No. I'm sorry but I simply cannot believe Tiberius had his son murdered. And if you are convinced that Livia was telling the truth too, then-'