Germanicus

'Then why on earth should the emperor have chosen him as his successor?' Mother again. One thing the couple had shared, when they were married, was intelligence. The difference was that Mother's range of interests didn't start and end with politics.

'But he didn't.' My father sighed as if he were explaining two times two for the fifth time to an idiot. 'Augustus had him adopt him when he made Tiberius his own heir.' Yeah. That fitted, once you'd worked the grammar out. The old emperor had had a soft spot for Germanicus, and his wife Agrippina was the imperial granddaughter. In a way he'd be keeping the succession in the Julian family. 'Then of course Germanicus now being the elder of the two sons took precedence over Tiberius's natural son Drusus.'

'And being as popular as he was Tiberius couldn't edge him aside without a very good reason. Especially since Drusus shares his father's antisocial tendencies. I see.' Mother set aside her partridge wing and rinsed her fingers in the finger bowl. 'How unfortunate for the poor dear. Still, I liked Germanicus. He had flair.'

Dad grunted and reached for another beet. 'Flair isn't everything,' he said. 'We're far better off with Drusus.'

'If you say so.' She patted her lips with a napkin. 'Although I do wish the man wasn't quite so terribly dull. Drusus is not a name to conjure with, I'm afraid.'

Priscus laid his spoon down suddenly, spattering Perilla's sleeve with raisin sauce.

'Oh, but I disagree, my dear!' he said. 'I disagree most strongly!'

Everyone looked at him. Hearing Priscus express a political opinion is about as rare as seeing the Wart bang a tambourine up and down Pullian Street sitting on an elephant.

'You do, Titus?' Mother said at last.

'Of course.' Priscus smiled at her. 'Oddly enough conjuring is exactly what the name does suggest. In my view, at least. The accepted derivation as you no doubt know is from the Gallic chieftain Drausus whom the original Livius Drusus is said to have killed in battle, but personally I find that explanation rather facile, if it is not indeed a simple tautology. I consider much more likely a link with the Greek drus, an oak tree, and by extension with the cognate Celtic derwydd. Which as you will be aware from its Latinised form Druid has definite mystical connotations. But perhaps I should explain the linguistics in more detail before considering the historical aspects…'

Oh, hell! I knew it was too good to last. We were off again down the highways and byways of esoterica. I suppose it was the old guy's party, but I could still cheerfully have strangled him, and I'm sure I wasn't alone, although Perilla was trying not to giggle. I switched off and sneaked an extra cup of wine.

Still, things weren't too bad. Dad had given me what I wanted, for a start. More, if anything.

That bit about Drusus was interesting, too, when you thought about it.

12

It wasn't late when we got back: Priscus goes to bed early, which from the glow my mother always has doesn't seem to worry her any. Quite the reverse, in fact. I was glad to see Bathyllus had a jug waiting. The little guy knows that the wine doesn't exactly flow like water over at Mother's place, although what there is is top of the range, and when I get home after one of her dinner parties my tongue's trailing the marble. I sank a quick cupful, poured myself another and settled down for a cosy evening of domestic criminology.

Perilla had nipped upstairs to change out of her raisin-sauced mantle ('I don't mind being bored, Marcus, but why must your mother's husband always throw his dinner at me?'). She came back down in a fetching white tunic with gold edgings. I told Bathyllus to piss off minus the jug and patted the empty half of my couch.

'You want to sit over here?' I said.

She kissed me on the forehead and lay down. When you want to talk crime you may as well be comfortable.

'So,' I said. 'The Wart.'

Perilla sighed. 'Really, dear, do we have to? I mean, after an evening of bronzeware, Oscan verbs and etymology I'd like to relax my brain a little, if you don't mind.'

She wasn't getting off that easy. Anyway it was her own fault.

'You owe me one, remember?' I said. 'Oscan verbs I can take, but if I'm going to be shovelling the peas with Dad I like to know in advance. That's your job and you flunked it. So we talk about the Wart.'

She kissed my cheek and snuggled in a bit further. 'I'm sorry, Marcus. It wasn't my idea, and your mother didn't mention it until this morning. And then you were out, and I forgot I hadn't told you.'

'Hey, I'm not complaining!' I grinned. 'Not too hard, anyway, and not about the way things went. Dad was okay after Mother slapped him down over Sejanus and the corn commission. And what he had to say about Germanicus made my evening. Even with the Oscan verbs.'

She looked at me. 'You mean about him being a political liability.'

'Yeah. I was already getting there by myself after talking to Agron, but it's nice to have confirmation from a good source. And it gives us the missing angle on why the guy was murdered.'

'You still think Tiberius was responsible?'

'If he wasn't, lady, then I'm a blue-posteriored baboon with freckles.'

'Really. How interesting. Fruit for breakfast then, I assume?'

'Oh, ha. Okay, let's take it from the start. Stop me if I go off beam.' I shifted on the couch so that one arm was round her shoulders and the other could reach the jug and wine cup on the table. 'Thanks to Augustus the Wart's saddled with an extra son who outranks his own. Unlike Drusus — and unlike the Wart himself — the new guy's popular; he's the blue eyed boy who can do no wrong, the universal darling. Trouble is, once you get down to dickering he's all flash and no corn meal, not the stuff good generals are made of. Let alone good emperors.'

Perilla nodded absently. She was winding a strand of her hair round her first finger, as she often did when she was tired. 'So Tiberius has serious doubts about his fitness to succeed,' she said. 'Especially after the German campaign.'

'Right. Only the Wart's hands are tied. He may be emperor but in the popularity stakes Germanicus is streets ahead. The army think he's the best general since Julius, to the Senate he's a modest, regular guy without a boil to his name and the ordinary people want him to kiss their babies. In contrast the Wart's a morose antisocial bugger who hates the world and blue eyed boys in particular. And who's got Rome's best interests at heart, too much at heart to stick her with Germanicus once he's gone.'

'So.' Perilla took my wine cup from me, sipped at it and gave it back. 'Germanicus makes a mess of Germany. Tiberius, seriously worried about the soundness of his stepson's judgement and his fitness to control events, recalls him and sends him straight out again with plenary powers on a sensitive diplomatic mission to the east.'

I blinked.

'Uh…run that one past me again,' I said. 'I think I missed something.'

'Certainly. Having recalled Germanicus from Germany in disgrace and awarded him a triumph, Tiberius decides to use him as his representative in, among other delicate tasks, arranging the Armenian succession and resultant modus vivendi with Parthia. For which he gives him full powers as imperial plenipotentiary.'

'Ah.'

'Ah is right. Now don't you think that's just a little illogical?'

'Uh, yeah.' Bugger. 'Yeah, it could be construed as a problem, I suppose.'

'Don't understate. If the man's judgment was flawed in dealing with a situation at least within his theoretical range of competence as an experienced soldier then for Tiberius to send him on a purely diplomatic mission involving Armenia and the Parthians was sheer madness. So if he was as dissatisfied with Germanicus as you claim then why did he do it?'