'No.' Luckily Cotta was still busy with the peach. 'Not as such. Of course not; he's got no legal rights in a criminal trial. But you know how it is. He stood there embarrassed as hell with his boils glowing like a fifty lamp candelabrum asking us to let the bitch go and we had to tug our forelocks and do it. Right?'

  'Right.' Yeah, that figured. You don't buck the emperor, whatever the legal ins and outs. But it smelled, and no mistake. 'So Tiberius protected Plancina. How about Piso? You said they were friends. Personal friends.'

  'Sure. But with friends like the Wart you don't need enemies. Tiberius had made it clear right from the start that the guy was on his own. No umbrella, no safety net.' Cotta popped the last slice of peach into his mouth and chewed. 'No nothing. We had to decide two things, and two things only: whether there was a murder rap to answer and whether Piso had tried to subvert the legions and retake the province by force. The first was easy. With Martina dead there was no case, however much we might want to think otherwise. And the second was what my smart lawyer pals call incontrovertible fact.' He reached over for another filbert and cracked it. 'If we'd been given access to the letters, mind, it might've been another matter.'

  My stomach went cold; and beside me I felt Perilla stiffen.

  'And what letters are these, Uncle Cotta?' she said.

  Cotta held up his cup. I motioned wearily to Bathyllus. Shit. I didn't want the guy drunk now. He'd as hard a head as mine, but another cup was pushing it.

  'The ones between Piso and the Wart, of course.' Bathyllus was splashing wine into the cup: it'd look more than it was. I made a mental vow to up the little guy's perquisites. 'We asked to see them but they turned us down flat.'

  '"They"? Tiberius and Piso? Both of them?'

  'Sure. Odd, right?' Gods! If Cotta said it was odd you could bet your last copper penny it was downright weird. 'They must've had some reason, but they weren't saying.'

  'They didn't give a reason?'

  'Zero. Zilch. Pan faced and poker arsed, the pair of them. Like I said, all we got was the flat refusal.' He drank. 'Then there was the business of the note.'

  'What note was this?' You could've cut the tension now with a knife. I was amazed Cotta didn't seem to feel it, but then he's more self-centred than I am.

  'If it existed.' His hand scrabbled in the nut bowl and came up with a stuffed date. He stared at it pop eyed for a while like he'd never seen one before in his life. That, and the non sequitur, told me his last swallow of wine had taken him over the limit. 'If it existed,' he said again.

  'Go on, Uncle,' Perilla prompted. 'This is fascinating.' How the woman could be so calm and patient beat me, but she was. Personally I had a dozen ice cold centipedes doing clog dances all up my backbone, and I was having difficulty stopping myself from grabbing the bastard by the throat and shaking the information out the hard way.

  'Yeah.' Cotta gave her a fatuous grin, nodded, and bit the date in half. 'If it existed.' Shit. The wine had definitely got to the guy. He'd always had an irritating habit of sticking with a phrase when he was drunk, like a non-swimmer hanging on to an inflated bladder. It was the one way you could tell he'd had enough, before he actually passed out. 'Maybe it didn't. Jupiter knows we never saw hide nor hair of the bugger.'

  'Let's pretend,' I said carefully, 'that it did. Okay?'

  'Okay.' Cotta was frowning. 'Okay, Marcus. The day Plancina reserved her defence Piso went home, wrote a note for his lawyer and gave it to his freedman.'

  'His freedman?'

  I got the full bland pop-eyed look. 'You want the guy's name?'

  'Yes, I want his name!'

  'Carus? Carillus? Something like that.'

  'You like to pick one, maybe?'

  'Corvinus!' Perilla laid a hand on my arm.

  'Okay.' I backed down. 'Never mind.'

  'Anyway,' Cotta went on, 'Piso wrote a note and handed it to this freedman guy –'

  'Sealed?'

  'Marcus!'

  Cotta gave me his bug eyed stare again. 'Sealed. Then he went to bed as usual. Or so everybody thought at the time.'

  I knew what was coming next. I just knew it. 'And that was the night he killed himself, right?'

  'Right.' He nodded. 'Right. They found him in the morning with his throat cut. Best thing the bastard could've done, of course. It would've come to the same thing anyway. At least this way he didn't pull his family down the tube as well.'

  'I shouldn't have thought he'd be too concerned about Plancina,' Perilla said dryly.

  'Yeah.' Cotta grinned. 'By that stage he couldn't've given a toss about her. His sons were different, they'd been involved in the treason. Or the elder one had, anyway. Tiberius included him in the amnesty, buggered if I know why. Personally I'd've nailed the bastard's foreskin to the Speakers' Platform.'

  I settled back and held up my cup for Bathyllus to fill. My brain was spinning. What was going on here? Cotta's story had as many holes in it as a maggoty Raetian cheese, and it stank even worse. Maybe Piso had been guilty, maybe he and Plancina had murdered Germanicus. But if so how did the Wart fit in? How much, now, could I afford to believe that bitch Livia? And if the Imperials were involved, did I want any part of it, promise to the empress or not?

  The answer to that last one was no. And yes. That was the real bummer.

  I was suddenly aware that someone was saying something. Nothing very important, but it meant I had to pay attention.

  'Hey, this is good Falernian, Marcus.' Cotta was swirling the last inch or so round in his cup. 'Better than I get at your father's. Messallinus has a palate like a camel's arse.'

  Hint, hint. What the hell. It didn't matter any more. Let the guy get plastered, he'd earned it and so had I. The thinking could wait. I signalled to Bathyllus to go all the way and turned my attention to the postprandial chit-chat.

  'Uh...you seen Dad lately, Uncle Cotta?'

  'Every day, boy.' He took a mouthful of wine, held it and swallowed. 'It's the drawback to the job. One of the many. He's on the grain supply commission I'm heading. Along with old what's-his-name. Sejanus's uncle.'

  'Blaesus?'

  'Blaesus. Your father hasn't lost his talent for arselicking, boy. He knows how to pick his friends. And the Sejanus tribe will be telling us when we can scratch our balls soon, you mark my words. You're better off out of it, the way you are.'

  Perilla shifted in her seat. Uh-oh. I could've cheerfully strangled Cotta. My refusal to stand for public office is the only real no-go area I've got with Perilla (yeah, well, maybe there are one or two others. Like the late night squid and pickle snacks or not letting the barber pull the hairs out of my nostrils. But these are minor). She sees it as a shirked duty, which is true enough, I suppose. I see it as on a par with not wishing a set of impacted anal glands on yourself. Anyway, knowing how highly she valued Uncle Cotta's opinions in general bringing out that particular gem was like tossing a pork chop to a wolverine.

  'Like yourself, I suppose, Valerius Cotta,' she said sweetly. 'You didn't have to run for consul, did you?'

  I knew that tone. It meant that whoever she was talking to had about ten seconds to find a deep hole somewhere, pile the dirt on top of them and stay put till spring. It didn't faze Cotta, though. Maybe the guy was going deaf in his old age. Or maybe he was just drunk and didn't care. No prizes for guessing which.

  'No. I didn't have to run for consul.' He beamed at her. 'But then rank has its rewards, my dear. You'd be amazed how many prim and proper matrons want to be screwed by one of Rome's serving senior magistrates. To coin a phrase. Isn't that right, Marcus?'

  I had to laugh. Even if I knew, from the expression on Perilla's face, that I'd pay for it later. Uncle Cotta may've been no great shakes as a politician or a criminologist, but he could certainly handle himself. Even against Perilla.

  We finished the flask cup for cup, while Perilla looked on in resigned disapproval. Ah, well. I had an excuse, apart from the simple fact that the wine deserved it. Starting from tomorrow, whether I liked it or not, I'd be up to my eyes in the political trash-heap again. And that wasn't a thought I wanted to face sober.

  5.

  My Falernian is pretty smooth stuff, mind, unlike the Special that after a few cups will suddenly sneak up from behind and give you a belt like a blackjack. Besides, I was a good half flask shy of Cotta, which didn't happen all that often. The result was that when we finally got rid of the guy long after the lamps were lit I was still this side of capable, while Rome's current consul was pissed as a newt and repeating every second word. Backwards.

  We left Bathyllus and his minions clearing away. Perilla offered me her shoulder to lean on with a disapproving little sniff. I played along as far as the bedroom door. Then I stopped pretending and grabbed her in earnest.

  'Corvinus, don't swallow my earring, please,' she said. 'You'll give yourself indigestion.'

  'Mmm.' I pushed the door open with my foot. Why the hell did I have the architect build me such a big bedroom? The bed was miles away.

  'Marcus, please. Give me a chance to...'

  I didn't. It's more fun that way. Perilla enjoys it too, although she'd never admit it. We made it to the bed, just. After which any matronly protests were academic and not taken seriously by either party.

  'We should've had Meton lay us on a few oysters,' I said after the first time around.

  'They're out of season,' Perilla said. At least that's what I think she said. The words got a bit muffled because her face was pressed to the hollow between my shoulder and throat.

  'Onions, then. Or is that for wind?'

  'Corvinus...'

  'Mmm?'

  'Just be quiet.'

  So I lay there listening to the carts outside and being very grateful to have Perilla wrapped round me until she started nuzzling my earlobe again and we moved on to the main course. That took some time, luckily. With Perilla slow is definitely best.

  'Marcus,' she said when we'd finished and cooled down far enough to talk.

  'Yeah?'

  'Could I possibly let down my hair now? I mean, if you don't mind, of course.'

  I grinned down at her. 'I imagined you already had, lady.'

  'Oh, ha ha.' She threw me off and slipped out of bed. I watched while she took off her earrings, pulled the pins out of her hair and let the beautiful tawny mane do what it felt like...

  Hold on. Something was wrong here. No self-respecting Roman matron pulls out her own pins. Pulling pins is the maid's job.

  'Hey!' I said. 'Where's Phryne?'

  Phryne was the cross-eyed niece of old Harpale's that she'd taken on when we'd got married. A sort of peace offering to the dead Davus.

  'I gave her the evening off.' Perilla shrugged herself out of her tunic; the mantle, of course, hadn't made it the length of the bed.

  Jupiter! Legs like that shouldn't be allowed short of an original Praxiteles bronze. 'Yeah?’ I said. ‘Why?'

  'No reason.'

  I smiled to myself. Sure there wasn't. If Perilla would insist on keeping up this ice maiden pose even when we both knew it was phoney as a woollen toupé then it was fine with me. Without the ice and prickles she just wouldn't be the same girl.

  'You tired yet? I said.'

  'That depends what you have in mind.' What could've been Praxiteles's best had disappeared under a baggy linen sleeping tunic. Ah, well.

  'Just a talk this time.' I patted the mattress beside me. 'Unless you've got a dozen bootleg oysters and an onion or two squirrelled away for emergencies.

  She came back over and slipped under the blanket on her side of the bed. Or almost on her side.

  'You want to discuss Piso and Plancina, I suppose,' she said.

  A marvellous body, bagged at present though it was, and intuition as well. Who says you can't have everything?

  'Yeah. You mind?'

  'Of course I mind. But I'd prefer it to having you mumbling away to yourself into my back half the night.'

  'Would I do that to you, lady?'

  'You would. You have.' She kissed me. 'So I'd like the mumbling now, please. While I'm not trying to sleep. That way I don't miss breakfast.'

  'Yeah. Well. Okay.' I sat up with my back to the headboard while she snuggled against me under the blanket. 'First thing. The laundry lady with the evil eye and the penchant for poisons.'

  'Martina. You think the empress had her killed.' A statement, not a question.

  'Don't you?'

  'It would seem logical. Somebody certainly did. Suicides don't usually hide empty poison bottles in their hair when they've finished with them.'

  'You noticed that?'

  'I'm not stupid, Corvinus. Stop acting like your Uncle Cotta. Whoever tied that bottle into the woman's bun wanted to make sure people assumed she'd smuggled it in that way in the first place. In other words, that it was straight suicide. And Livia and poison are practically synonyms.'

  'Livia swore she wasn't involved in Germanicus's murder.'

  'Not directly involved. Do you believe her?'

  I considered. 'Yeah, I believe her, though I wouldn't go to the wall over it because that old fraud's more devious than an Ostian landlord. Still, she didn't have to send for me, she didn't have to do the business with the altar, and she sure as hell didn't have to ask me to dig the dirt.'

  'But the empress doesn't have to be responsible for Germanicus's death to have murdered Martina. She'd only be protecting her friend.'

  'Yeah, right.' I eased my arm out from under her and rested it along the back of the headboard. 'That's something else that worried me. You think they really knew each other?'

  'Plancina and the empress?' She grinned. 'Of course they did.'

  'Cut it out. You know who I mean. Martina and Plancina. Cotta said they were thick as eels in a stewpot.'

  'So?'

  I sighed. 'Plancina was the wife of the governor. Also she was a bigger snob than our Bathyllus, which is putting her straight at the top of the tree. You think she'd trade pickle recipes with a Syrian laundress?'

  'If the laundress also happened to be a professional poisoner and she needed her services, yes.'

  'Okay. So Plancina invites this well-known local poisoner round to Government House for a spot of honeyed wine, introduces her to her friends and generally lets everyone know they're bosom pals. Then she takes her aside one day and says, "Oh, by the way, Martina, while you're washing the crown prince's smalls tomorrow the governor and I would like you to poison him. Only when you've done it don't say we were involved, will you? There's a dear."'

  Perilla was frowning. 'Put like that it does sound fishy.'

  'Damn right it sounds fishy! If Plancina were using the woman she wouldn't go within a mile of her. And I'll tell you another thing that's queer as a five legged cat and that's whatever game the Wart's playing.'

  'Why he should put himself out to protect Plancina, you mean.'

  'No.' I shook my head. 'That had to be Livia's doing. The two may not get on but she's still the guy's mother. She knows things about him that would make your hair curl, and you can be sure as hell she can still twist his arm when it matters. Also if the Wart has the guts to tell the empress to piss off when she tells him she wants a favour then he's a braver man than I am.'

  'So what do you find odd, then?' Perilla was sitting up too, now. I had her hooked.

  'Cotta said Piso and the Wart were pals. Yet Tiberius makes it very plain right from the start that the guy's on his own. No loaded hints to the jury, no files in the cake. Right?

  'But naturally! The emperor had to show himself impartial. Piso may have been a personal friend, but he was on trial for an offence against the state.'

  'Is that all?'

  'Oh, and murder, of course. But as your Uncle Cotta said that charge wouldn't stand.'

  I was grinning. 'You've just made my point, lady. To anybody with an ounce of curiosity – even to Uncle Cotta who didn't like the guy, for Jupiter's sake – the murder was the most important thing in this whole business. Germanicus is a five star gold plated national hero. He's Cincinnatus, Scaevola and Brutus and any other blue eyed wonder-boy you like to name rolled into one, and he's been chopped. The mob's literally banging on the senate house doors screaming for Piso to be handed out to them in cubes. Yet suddenly the actual death is shelved. Tiberius fixes it so's the Senate has to concentrate on the treason charge, whereas what they're busting a gut to know is who hung their darling's clogs up for him. You get me?'

  Perilla was quiet for a long time.

  'Yes, of course,' she said at last. 'You're saying that Tiberius ensured Piso's conviction, but on his own terms and for his own reasons.'

  'Right. Terms that affected events postdating his son's death and which had nothing directly to do with it, and the proof for which according to that old bastard Cotta is incontrovertible. No need to dig any further. Full stop, end of paragraph, end of trial.'

  'That does sound rather odd.'

  'You bet your pants it sounds odd! Then there's the letters.'

  'Yes. That was odd too.' Perilla's brow furrowed. 'Why should Tiberius refuse to produce the official provincial correspondence?'

  'Private official correspondence. Personal to Governor and vice versa. Forget gripes about taxes or notifications of repairs to the public toilets. We're talking super-secret here. The stuff that goes out under the sphinx seal and back in the diplomatic bag.'

  'Then there's your answer. The emperor wouldn't want sensitive material bandied about in open court. And Piso would appreciate that.'

  'But the trial wasn't held in open court. It was held behind closed doors, broad-stripers only, no riff-raff allowed. And the Wart only had to give his word that none of the information in the letters was pertinent. He didn't do that. He just told the Senate they couldn't play. So what does that suggest?'

  'That some of it was pertinent, of course.'

  'Yeah. And the Wart knew it. And there's something even weirder than that.'

  'Really?' Perilla stifled a yawn.

  I thumped her lightly in the ribs. 'Come on, we're getting someplace! Don't quit on me now!'

  'I'm sorry, Marcus. It slipped out. Don't mind me, please, I'm only exhausted.'

 

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