Germanicus

'Hey, now! That's great! All we have to do is find this Mancus guy.'

'Corvinus, you obviously didn't pay much attention to your religious studies as a child. Mancus is the Etruscan god of the dead. And by association, like our Pluto, of wealth.'

'Is that so?' I digested the implications. 'Oh. Oh, right. You mean it's a pseudonym. Bugger.'

'Exactly.' Perilla's drink arrived. 'However at least we know now that Martina had no contact with Plancina. No direct contact anyway, because of course Mancus could still have been her agent. And if we can't identify Mancus then at least we know how the murder was arranged.'

'Baucis told you that?' I leaned forward.

'Not in so many words, but it's clear enough reading between the lines.' She sipped at the pomegranate juice. I winced. 'You've noticed that Baucis is a striking woman.'

'She'd turn a few eyes down Pullian Street, yeah.' An understatement: set her on Pullian and the lady would cause a major traffic jam just by breathing.

'So was her sister. A little older, a little smaller, but also striking. On Mancus's instructions she gained access to Germanicus's household as a laundress. She then seduced one of the slaves; Baucis never knew the man's name, and the affair was kept secret, but he was evidently high up the domestic pecking order. After that matters were comparatively easy to arrange.'

'Meaning the poison and the bits and bobs?'

'Her lover had the free run of the house. Also being a senior slave he could arrange for rooms to be empty or dishes left unattended when necessary.'

'Did Baucis mention what happened to him?'

'He was crushed by a runaway cart the day after Germanicus died.'

'Surprise surprise.' I took a swallow of wine.

Perilla hesitated. 'I gave Baucis my word that if we ever found out who this Mancus was we'd tell her.'

'Seems fair, lady. And I can't think of a better way of putting the fear of hell into the guy than have him know she's on his tail.' I shook the jug. The Chian was almost gone, and I poured the last of it on the ground as an offering to Martina's ghost. I doubted she'd get many offerings, not from Romans, anyway, and I wouldn't like to think of her going thirsty. 'So. Was that all Baucis told you?'

'That's all she knew. And I'm convinced she wasn't holding anything back. Martina was very close mouthed, especially latterly. The acting governor picked her up straight away; and that, of course, was the last Baucis saw of her.'

'Uh-huh.' I indicated her empty glass. 'You want another of these pomegranate concoctions?'

'Not at the moment, thank you, dear.'

'Good. You fight it.' I called the waiter over and paid. 'Okay, so we'll whistle up the carriage and get back. And we can ask the driver to take us the long way round by Epiphania and gawp at this house of yours.'

Which was why we got home pretty late, and after our usual dinner hour. Meton was going spare because his seafood pancakes were like leather and his egg sauce had hatched out. Philotimus was going spare, too, because we'd had a visit from Rufus.

'He refused to believe me when I said you were out, lord,' he said. 'I'm sorry, but he searched your rooms. I couldn't stop him.'

The guy was almost weeping, and it wasn't just on our account, either. The last thing a hotelier wants is to fall out with the local authorities, especially the military: a word from Rufus to the junior ranks of the Third Gallic's officer corps and Philotimus would find his place wrecked by a regimental romp. No compensation, either. Entertaining these braying half-wits is supposed to be an honour.

'That's okay,' I said. 'Not your fault.' I was furious. Quietly furious, which doesn't happen too often.

'Corvinus, why didn't you tell me you'd seen Rufus?' Perilla was angry too; more with me than with her ex-husband.

'Because I didn't want to worry you.'

'That's silly!'

'I'll decide what's silly where that bastard's concerned, Perilla.' It must've come out flatter than I meant because she shut up straight off. 'Philotimus. Any of my lads hanging around, do you know? Apart from Meton?'

'Yes, lord. Sextillus is in the garden.'

'Get him, would you?'

'Marcus,' Perilla said. 'Be careful. Please.'

'Oh, I'll be careful all right. But if that bastard thinks he can get away with-’

'You wanted me, sir.' Sextillus. He must've been hanging around outside all the time, listening. At least it saved explanations.

'Yeah. Get your backside over to the Island,' I told him. 'I know the public offices'll be closed just now but you camp out on the fucking doorstep until they open again. Okay?'

He grinned and nodded.

'You want to speak to a guy called Bion, the governor's secretary. Two messages, one for the governor, personal, one for Bion himself. Got me?'

'Yes, sir.' I was glad it'd been Sextillus. He wasn't much more than a kid, but he was smart as a whippet.

'First. Tell Lamia what's happened. Say if it happens again or anything like it he'll be short one legate. Exactly those words, no fancy wrapping. Right?'

The kid grinned again. It wasn't often he got to deliver a message like that, especially to a provincial governor. Maybe I was out of line myself but I didn't much care at the moment.

'Right.'

'Second. To Bion personally. Tell that little fucker if I find he was responsible for giving Rufus our address I'll wring his scrawny neck and peg his carcass out for the crows. Okay?'

'Okay, sir.' The grin widened. 'Any reply?'

'You think there will be?'

'No, sir.'

I took a silver drachma out of my pouch and threw it to him. 'Here. Don't spend it all in the one shop.'

Sextillus caught it, gave one final grin and disappeared at a run.

'Now, Marcus, that was silly,' Perilla said.

'I meant it, lady. Every word. And Lamia will be as mad as I am. He may even peg Bion out to dry himself.'

Philotimus was hovering and smiling nervously. 'Incidentally, lord,' he said. 'Perhaps it's the wrong moment, but I have that other address you wanted. The deputy governor's.'

'Great! Where?'

'He has a house in Epiphania. Not far from the Temple of Dionysus.'

'Temple on a podium with a portico? Couple of statues of the Twin Gods flanking it?' One thing about Zoilus's tour, I knew my Antioch temples.

'Yes, lord. On the southern side, directly below the citadel.'

'Got you.' It was too late to send tonight, and anyway we only had one skivvy left, but I could do it tomorrow. 'Thanks, pal.'

There wasn't much else to be done, so we called it a day there and had our belated dinner. It wasn't one of Meton's best. I was just sorry Rufus hadn't stayed to join us. He could've had the pancakes, for a start.

25

There wasn't much we could do the next day either. I sent our last skivvy Troas round to Marsus's place with a note: he wouldn't be in, but he'd get it later. In it I just said who we were and mentioned Perilla's mother. The rest was up to Marsus, but if he'd an ounce of hospitality in him the least we could expect was a free meal. I thought maybe this being our last day at the Cedars we might spend it lounging around the garden soaking up the atmosphere and being pampered by Theano. We didn't. Perilla hauled me off for another day's sightseeing, this time in the other direction, up into the hills to Daphne. Temples and statues again. A lovely place but believe me you don't want to know!

When we got back Sextillus was already there, with a letter from Lamia apologising and promising it wouldn't happen again. No mention of Rufus, but reading between the lines it was clear that the governor had talked to him, and if the bastard wasn't singing soprano in the Third Gallic's next glee club concert he could count himself lucky. With the letter was an invitation to a party in two days' time. That I could've done without. Dinner parties and party-parties I enjoy, but I'd bet my bootstraps this would be the kind of formal occasion where you stand around drinking second-rate booze and making inane conversation with people you'd normally run a mile to avoid and who'd run twice that to avoid you. Still, it might be useful, and we could be sure it was the only place in Antioch we wouldn't bump into Rufus.