Sejanus

Perilla was reading in the garden. I sneaked up behind her and planted a smacker on the back of her neck, just under the curls.

'Hey, lady,' I said.

She smiled but didn't look round. 'Did you have a good morning, Marcus?'

'Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.' Bathyllus had been following me with a tray. He set the wine jug and cup on the table and I took the chair opposite Perilla's. 'What's for lunch, little guy?'

'Cold braised lung with chickpeas, sir.'

'Great.' At the back of my throat I could still taste the old-paper-and-glue smell of the archives. I took the full cup he was holding out to me and sank it in one. Nectar.

'You ever hear from Junia Torquata these days, Perilla?' I said.

She set her book down and I took a glance at the label. It was in Greek: Theagenes's Homeric Allegories. One of her lighter reads.

'No,' she said. 'I do not hear from Junia Torquata these days, because Junia Torquata as you well know was my mother's friend, not mine, and Mother is dead. However, I assume you have an ulterior motive in asking the question, Marcus, so you may as well tell me what that is now and save yourself the strain of inventing a lie that I won't believe anyway.'

Jupiter! I glanced at Bathyllus, but the little guy had run for cover at the first subordinate clause. 'Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do have a reason for asking, actually. You see…'

'It's to do with Sejanus, isn't it?'

Even the frogs in the pool had shut up: one croak out of turn and it might be them next. 'Not directly, no. At least…'

'Oh, Marcus!' Perilla sighed. 'Can't you leave this alone? Please?'

That was better. I leaned over and kissed her cheek. 'No,' I said simply. 'I can't.'

Another sigh, but this one had a note of resignation. We were over the hump, and the frogs and I breathed again. I waited.

'So,' Perilla said at last. 'What do you want with Torquata?'

I didn't even try fibbing. It wasn't worth the risk.

'She's Gaius Silanus's sister. Silanus was exiled to Cythnos nine years ago for treason and I want to know why.'

'Do you think Torquata will tell you?'

'There's no reason why she shouldn't, and no harm in asking even if she doesn't. The alternative is to take the case from the other end, through the prosecutor, and I don't want to do that.'

'I see.' Perilla looked at me for a long time, frowning. Then she snapped: 'Bathyllus!'

The little guy was there almost before she'd got the last syllable out.

'Yes, madam.' Cringe cringe.

'Send someone over to the House of the Vestals to ask if Junia Torquata is free for dinner this evening. Or if not to arrange a suitable date.'

Bathyllus hovered nervously. 'Ah…I assume, madam, that you've already mentioned this to the cook?'

Oh, bugger. I saw his point straight off. Meton was touchy as hell at the best of times, and short notice dinner parties always got up his nose. Even the little I knew about Junia Torquata's foibles warned me that he was going to like the idea of this one even less than usual.

Perilla gave Bathyllus a look that would've crisped his hair, if he'd had any.

'Tell Meton I'll discuss the menu with him later,' she said.

'Yes, madam. Certainly, madam.' Bathyllus left, so fast I could hear his truss creak.

'Uh…thanks,' I said.

'Don't mention it.' She picked up Theagenes again. 'I don't approve of this, Corvinus, remember that. But I take your point about the prosecutor. Just be careful, please. And don't get Torquata into any trouble, either.'

I had my mouth open to answer, and then I decided not to. In Perilla's present mood any crack about getting a Vestal into trouble would've been as welcome as an owl at a wedding.

Not that anyone had a hope in hell of fooling with Junia Torquata against her will, even if they'd been short-sighted and desperate enough to want to. Given the choice of going two rounds bare-fisted with the lady herself or her complimentary axeman escort I'd've taken the guy with the rods any day. How a woman can manage to look at the same time completely unworldly and tough as a Suburan bruiser beats me.

On water and vegetables, too. 'I don't eat meat,' she snapped at me that evening as she made her way to the guest couch like a trireme going in for the kill. 'It thickens the blood. And wine enervates. Even the smell is sufficient to cause the greatest bodily harm.' Oh, gods! 'I hope your chef has taken those maxims into account, Caecinus.'

'Uh, yeah.' I glanced at Perilla, who had lain down chastely on a couch of her own three feet from mine: no funny business this evening, not with a Vestal as dinner guest. She'd warned me to watch my language, too. One four-letter word out of place and we'd probably be hit with a curse that'd drive Aeschylus to crochet. 'And it's Corvinus.'

Torquata ignored me. She was prodding the couch's upholstery with a large suspicious forefinger. Maybe she thought it hid our illicit meat-safe.

'Marcus has seen to everything. Haven't you, Marcus?' Perilla gave the old warhorse her best smile.

'Yeah. Yeah, that's right.' I didn't deserve the credit, because Perilla had made all the arrangements, but she obviously wanted me to look good. Jupiter knew what this meal was going to cost us, and I'm not talking cash. I'd been right about Meton. When Perilla had told him she wanted a wholly vegetarian menu he'd thrown, in quick succession, a fit, two saucepans, a skillet and his third best cleaver. We'd be suffering the aftereffects for a month at least.

'Then I hope you double-checked the arrangements yourself, my dear.' Torquata sniffed. 'Men are well enough within their limits but they cannot be totally depended on to remember crucial details.'

Oh, joy. From the sound of things this was going to be a peach of an evening. I wondered what the penalty in the Twelve Tables was for booting a Vestal round your dining room.

'How do fern roots braised with almonds, lettuce purée, a nut omelette and a milk casserole to finish sound, Junia Torquata?' I said.

'Delicious.' Torquata had finally arranged herself on the couch and was adjusting the woollen girdle that supported her massive breasts. 'The fern roots will not have been braised in wine, I trust? And the milk will be sheep's?'

I counted to ten slowly. Perilla was biting her knuckles.

'The best,' I said. 'And only from contented ewes.' Jupiter's balls on a string! We should've asked Mother round. The pair of them could've swapped idiosyncracies.

'Oh, how nice.' The Vestal beamed. 'It's almost impossible these days to get really first-rate ewe's milk. You must give me the name of your supplier.'

Perilla gave a choking cough. I turned to Bathyllus who was hovering in the background doing his smarmy butler act. 'Okay, little guy. Wheel it in.'

He signalled to his minions waiting outside. They brought in the appetisers and laid them out.

'Those things look most interesting.' Torquata pointed to a plate of green-flecked rissoles. 'What are they?'

'Uh…Bathyllus?' I said.

'Pumpkin and buckwheat fritters, madam. With wormwood.'

'Ah.' Torquata nodded. 'Wormwood. Excellent. So good for the bowels.'

I'd kill that bastard Meton. Some jokes just aren't funny. 'Just serve the wine, little guy,' I said.

Bathyllus raised an eyebrow at me. 'Wine, sir?'

I stared at him in horror and got a look that was blind and bland as Homer's. Oh, hell. Oh, hell, no! I'd assumed Torquata would miss out on the strong drink, of course, and be given some foul concoction of her own, but not that I'd be expected to join her.

'Whatever we're having, then.' I sighed. 'Just pour.' A peach of an evening was right. I only hoped the mad old biddy was worth the sacrifice.