Ovid

'Yes, of course. I told you that responsibility meant knowing when not to pass on information where it would cause more harm than good.'

'Yeah, Right. Well, I'm really going to make your day. I'm going to apologise a third time. You were right. I can't take this to the Wart, not unless I have to. It'd cause more trouble than it's worth.'

'Marcus, if you know that Asprenas was responsible for the German disaster then it's your duty to tell the emperor.'

'That's the problem. It wasn't just Asprenas who was responsible. There was someone else involved. Someone more important.'

'If you're talking about Varus I don't suppose that after all this time Tiberius would-'

'I'm not talking about Varus. I mean the empress. I'm talking about Livia.'

That shut him up, as I knew it would; but if I'd expected him to look shocked I was forgetting that Valerius Messalinus was first and last a politician. He leaned back and regarded me steadily.

'That would certainly make a difference,' he said.

'Yeah. I thought it might.'

'Although the emperor and the empress tend to go their separate ways these days I doubt if Tiberius would take kindly to being told his mother is a traitor.' He allowed himself a wintry smile. 'Not as far as any unexpected imputations of treachery are concerned anyway. Besides, the information would cause grave complications. Political complications. If it is susceptible of proof.'

'I can make a good case, yeah,' I said. 'A circumstantial case, sure, although maybe the letter would help. There must be examples of Varus's handwriting on file we can compare it with. But I don't want to stir shit just for the sake of it.'

'Good, Marcus. Very good. You'll make a politician yet, my boy.' I grinned. I couldn't help it. 'So what do you want? What would you settle for?'

'How do you mean?'

'Polititians make deals. It's our purpose in life. So what exactly would the price of your silence be?'

'I want Ovid's ashes brought back to Rome. That's all I've ever wanted. No more, but no less.'

My father was silent for a long time, his fingers drumming on the table in front of him.

'Very well,' he said finally. 'And you would like me, I suppose, to act as your broker. With the empress.'

I tried to speak as calmly as I could. 'No. I want you to arrange a private appointment. No slaves, no secretaries. Just the two of us, me and Livia.'

My father stiffened. 'No!'

'Marcus, if you're right she'll kill you!' Perilla's eyes were wide. 'Even if you're wrong she'll kill you. It's not worth it!'

'Sure it is. Look, I've thought this thing through, okay? And going straight to Livia's the only way I can see of settling it once and for all.'

'Why don't you just confront Asprenas? Force him to tell the truth?'

'That wouldn't do any good. I've no concrete proof, remember? He'd just deny everything and go to Livia himself. And how long do you think I'd last after that?'

'But-'

'Hold on. I hadn't finished. Let's say I have insurance.'

'What kind of insurance?'

'Say I write the whole thing down. What I know. What I've guessed. Names, dates where I can give them. I leave it with someone I trust. If anything happens to me it goes straight to the Wart.'

'And if Tiberius already knows?' my father put in quietly.

Yeah. Nice one, Dad. I'd been hoping that no one except me would think of that.

'He doesn't,' I said.

'Would you wager your life on that?'

I swallowed. Put up or shut up. 'Yeah. Yes, I would. The Wart may not be a lot of things, but he's straight. He's straight, and he's Army.'

'Very well, son.' My father's voice took on a strange cold formality. 'If you're absolutely certain that this is what you want I'll arrange an appointment for you with the empress as soon as possible.'

'Marcus!'

'It's okay, Perilla. I know what I'm doing.' Yeah. Like a flea playing footsie with an elephant. 'There's just one more thing, Dad.'

'Yes?'

'The document. If you can hang on for an hour or so you can take it with you.'

He frowned. 'I'm sorry. I don't understand.'

'My insurance policy. I want it to go to someone I can trust. Someone who'll make sure the Wart gets it if he has to. I'm sorry, Dad, but you're elected. If you agree, that is.'

We looked at each other for a long time. Finally he cleared his throat.

'Of course, son,' he said. 'Go and write it out now while I talk to Perilla.'

I went through to the study and left them to it.

My father hadn't been gone long with the precious document tucked into the fold in his mantle when the last two bits of proof I needed arrived; first from Agron via Bathyllus, second from Callias. Quinctilia's eyesight had started to go a dozen years before, since when she'd relied on a secretary to read her letters to her. The litter slaves who'd kidnapped Perilla, Callias said, had belonged to a certain Curtius Macer. Macer had sold them cheaply after buying a matched set of Nubians at a bargain price from Asprenas. And Macer, Bathyllus informed me, was second cousin to Asprenas's wife…

Two straight bull’s-eyes in a row, and two too many for coincidence. We'd found our fourth conspirator. My only problem now was to nail the bastard where it hurt and come out the other end myself with a whole skin.

42

My father sent round details of the appointment later that day. The empress would see me an hour before noon the following morning.

People had died of old age waiting for imperial appointments. Maybe I was just lucky, maybe I'd got a last minute cancellation. Or maybe Livia wanted to see me as badly as I wanted to see her.

The short walk to the palace was one of the longest I'd ever taken. At least Perilla was out of it. I'd sent her to Baiae, to stay with a friend who owned a sizeable yacht and owed me a favour. If the worst came to the worst she could leave Italy fast. Marseilles isn't exactly the hub of the universe, but the seafood's good, and the climate would be a lot healthier than Rome's until Livia was safely dead.

The two Praetorians on the door gave me a suspicious look, and I wondered if they were the same guys who'd almost thrown me out on my ear the last time I'd visited this part of the Palatine; but maybe it was my imagination. These gorillas all look the same anyway. Big and mean. I walked between them and gave my name to the secretary at the main reception desk. He checked his list, then looked up. His eyes were bureaucratically blank.

'That seems quite in order, sir. Her Excellency will see you immediately.' He snapped his fingers and something large and hairy materialised out of the woodwork. 'Hermes, take the gentleman to Her Excellency the Empress's suite.'

Without a word the messenger-ape shambled off through the labyrinth leaving me to follow as best as I could. The maze of corridors would've had Daedalus tearing his beard in envy. If the interview went badly and I had to run for it I'd have no chance. Finally after walking for a good five minutes we ducked down a short corridor and into a waiting-room grander than the ones we'd passed so far. A little guy in a very smart lemon tunic sat polishing his nails at a desk beside two imposing panelled doors.

The messenger-ape spoke. It was like having your pet dog suddenly quote Plato. 'Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus to see Her Excellency the Lady Livia.'

The guy in the tunic got up. He took me by the arm none too gently and propelled me towards the panelled doors. A discreet knock, a less-than-discreet push in the small of the back, and I was inside. The doors closed behind me and I was alone with the empress.

Livia sat beside a large desk. It was the first time I'd seen her close to, and she seemed — I'm not exaggerating here, nor was the feeling part of my nervousness — not quite real, not quite alive. Her face was an elaborate cosmetic mask like actors wear, or hired mourners in a funeral procession, and her eyes were…dead. That's the only word I can use. Not empty, or dull, or even lifeless.