Ovid

'Yeah. Like I say this is the best time to catch him.' Then I had another idea, completely selfish and totally unconnected with Ovid. 'Look, uh, if he does give me some information can I come back here afterwards? Maybe early this evening?'

'Of course.' Was she redder than usual or was it my imagination? 'Come for dinner. I haven't any guests tonight. Or any night for that matter.'

Perilla never ceased to surprise me. As I left I wondered which of us had made the running. I'd thought it was me, but thinking it over I wasn't so sure. And that was interesting.

I saw my mother's litter on the way; I'd forgotten that she and her new husband lived on the Caelian too. The curtains were open so I waved, but I don't think she saw me. I thought about going over and saying hello properly — I hadn't spoken to her for two months, at least — but in the end I decided against it. After my run-in with Big Fritz I wasn't exactly personable. She'd only have asked awkward questions, and worried.

Varus to Himself

I wrote last about who we are, here in the wilds of Germany. I find I have been too sparing in describing Ceionius's role. I called him, without qualification, my ally. Perhaps I should say a little more.

I do not like Ceionius. You may have guessed. As I said, he is venal, cowardly and a thoroughly unpleasant character. However, we must all use the tools which come to hand, and that to one side the man is perfectly serviceable. He may be a louse, but he is an efficient louse, which is all I require. Ceionius has a nose for intrigue, and a talent for it, which is unique in my (extensive) experience. Generals are public men, especially when in the midst of their armies. Like it or not, when they engage in treason they must have faceless (but not faithless!) allies who can come and go on their dark business and arouse no suspicion in the breasts of the godly. Such is Ceionius, par excellence.

His faithfulness, I may say, is beyond question. I have ensured that it should be. The man has certain propensities which, were they to become known at Rome, would in the current moral climate prove the end of him militarily, politically and socially. Perhaps even physically. He is, naturally, aware that my silence on the subject is conditional on his continued co-operation.

Not that blackmail is my only hold over him. I am too old a hand to trust to that completely, and I know full well that not only are worms apt to turn but they invariably choose the most embarrassing moment to do so. Ceionius is well paid for the assistance he renders. Very well paid. Arminius is generous, and so I can afford to be generous in my turn. Between the carrot and the stick, I contrive to keep my ally moving.

So much for Ceionius. Consider yourselves properly introduced.

8

Lentulus's house was the exact opposite of Rufus's. It was big, old, sprawling and reeked of self-indulgence. There was no mosaic of Augustus in the lobby and the slaves wore green.

There ain't no money like old money. I felt at home straight away.

I'd been right about the dinner party. The old guy was sitting on a chair in the atrium being shaved and titillated. I watched from the doorway while the barber trimmed what little thatch still covered his bald scalp, patted him with scented talc and removed the unsightly hairs from his nostrils with tweezers. When a pause came in the disgusting proceedings I coughed.

Lentulus looked round.

'Hey, boy!' he greeted me. 'Some husband been wiping his boots on your face?'

'Yeah. Something like that.' I came forward and sat carefully on the marble rim that surrounded the ornamental pool. Lentulus would've enjoyed the real story, I knew, but I didn't want to risk scaring him off. 'So what is it tonight? More pythons?'

'Egyptian pygmy contortionists. They do it to music.' Gods! 'Don't sit there unless you want piles. Pull up a couch.' I lay down on the guest couch, and his slave brought wine and a bowl of fruit. 'Now, young fellah, what brings you to this neck of the woods?'

'I've come to pick your brains, sir,' I said. Cliches are catching.

Lentulus snorted, and the barber, who was reaching into his right nostril with the bronze tweezers, pulled back sharply with a grunt of annoyance. Lentulus ignored him.

'Go ahead, boy,' he said. 'Not that you'll have much luck mind you. My old schoolteacher always used to say he was frightened to beat me too hard in case he did me permanent mental damage.'

I didn't smile. The teacher had probably been serious. 'It's about Julia.'

Again the barber whipped the tweezers away just in time as Lentulus's head came round.

'What's that? Which Julia?'

'The old emperor's granddaughter. The one that was exiled ten years back for adultery.'

Lentulus took the napkin from his chest and slowly began wiping the talc and scraped-off hairs from his face.

'Bugger off, Simon,' he said to the barber. 'You can finish me later.'

The slave glared at him, gathered up the tools of his trade and stalked out.

Lentulus grinned. 'Feisty little bastard fancies himself as some sort of artist. Been after me ever since I bought him to try a depilatory, but I don't hold with these things. Friend of mine had one once and came out in boils. Couldn't show his face in public for a month or his arse in private for two. And just in case you're wondering I don't mean the emperor.' He raised his voice. 'Hey you!'

The slave who had brought the wine hurried over.

'Let's have some of that stuff you've got there.' He finished wiping his face, threw the napkin onto the floor and eased his bulk onto the master couch. 'And top up Valerius Corvinus's cup while you're at it, you stingy bugger.'

The slave did so and I drank appreciatively. It was Falernian again, and every bit as good as mine if not better. Lentulus might be a reactionary two shades bluer than Cato but he knew his wine.

'Now.' he turned back to me. 'Why d'you want to know about Julia, young Corvinus? Not thinking of turning historian, are you?' The way he said it made it sound like a dirty word. I laughed.

'No. I'm just interested.'

'The hell you are. Let's have the real reason.'

I looked at him. His piggy eyes, set in rolls of fat, were pretty sharp. Lentulus might not look much but he was smart, and I knew I'd have to watch my step. Sure, I couldn't tell him the truth, but then I'd be a fool to tell an outright lie, because he'd've been on to me like a stoat on a rabbit.

'I can't tell you that, sir,' I was carefully polite. 'But it's important, or I wouldn't ask.'

'This wouldn't have something to do with a certain young lady who's the stepdaughter of a certain dead poet, would it?'

Shit. So much for the eager young ingenu approach. Well, that wasn't my bag anyway.

'Okay,' I said. 'You've got me. Now tell me to push off like everyone else.'

He grunted. The slave handed him a cup of wine and he drank it down and held the cup out to be refilled.

'If I did,' he said, 'would you stop asking questions and go back to the things you spoilt young brats are supposed to be interested in?'

'Probably not. I'd just find someone else's brains to pick.'

'That's what I thought.' He gave me a long considering look over his winecup. 'All right. It's your funeral. So long as you realise you're none too popular at the moment in certain quarters, and you don't come crying to me when you get burned. Agreed?'

'Agreed.'

'Good lad. Just remember you said it. Not that there's much to tell. Julia turned out to be a fornicating little bitch just like her mother.' Augustus's daughter, another Julia, had been exiled the year I was born for the same crime. She'd died at Rhegium four years previously. 'It happened once too often and someone reported her to Augustus. He packed her off to Trimerus. End of story.'

I felt cheated. 'I could've told you that myself. What about the details? Like who reported her?'