‘Why is an imperial slave working for you?’ Flaminius demanded. ‘Why should anyone work for you? Are you paying him? Because you’re certainly not paying me.’
‘I’m providing you with food and lodgings,’ said Probus. ‘No, I am not paying Minos. But he is aware that I will be able to speak in his favour and secure his liberty when the time comes. He wishes to return to Cilicia, where he entered slavery, and there I believe he hopes to make contact with a female of his former acquaintance.’
‘Is that how you manipulate all your agents?’ Flaminius frowned. ‘You’ve never offered anything like that to me.’
‘Should I need to?’ asked Probus. ‘Surely what motivates you is your sense of duty to Rome.’
Flaminius digested this but found it unpalatable. Putting it to one side for the moment, he said, ‘Getting into the Villa will be easy, but it’s miles away. How will I get there? Will you provide a horse, or do I have to walk all the way?’
‘Neither,’ said Probus. ‘You will be provided both with a means of transport and a skilled companion. They have stepped up security in the Villa since you foiled that assassination attempt several years ago. Getting in will not be easy. However, your companion is skilled in these matters, and knows how to gain access without attracting the attention of the Praetorians currently stationed there. You, on the other hand, know the Villa, and will be able to find your way to the Latin Library.’
‘Another civilian agent,’ Flaminius commented. ‘I suppose I’ll meet him. What is he, a professional thief? Who is living at the Villa right now? Not the emperor, he’s still in the imperial palace.’
‘Vibia Sabina is currently the main incumbent,’ Probus told him. ‘Hence the Praetorians. They are not guarding her so much as keeping her under house arrest.’
‘The empress?’ said Flaminius. ‘Is madam still doing the rounds?’
He remembered the events that had led Hadrian’s wife to being “removed from public life” as the emperor had put it: an affair with a Praetorian prefect was one thing, but sleeping with the chief librarian at the same time (literally at the same time? Flaminius didn’t know, but the two were good friends) was going a bit too far. And as for plotting to restore the Republic, well, that was too much even for the most patient of emperors.
Probus shook his head. ‘In fact Sabina has never been accorded the title of empress,’ he said, ‘although certain loose tongued people speak of her as such. She is not “doing the rounds”, as you so vulgarly put it. She is currently, unofficially, under lock and key, a captive, albeit one whose days are spent in luxury and dissipation. The Villa is effectively her prison, and it is well guarded.’
Flaminius sighed. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘So I’m breaking into a prison, am I?’
‘Entirely incidentally, yes,’ said Probus. ‘Not that it is the Villa’s sole use. Sometimes Sabina is moved to other golden cages, particularly when the emperor wishes to entertain his friends there. A great deal of building work has been carried out since you were last there, too. You will hardly recognise the place.’
‘And you’re certain that this document is the clue we need?’ Flaminius asked, and Probus nodded. ‘But you’re not willing to be more explicit?’ Wordlessly Probus shook his head. He was staring out across the pond again. ‘You don’t want to tell me who or what we’re up against, or why this memorandum will help us identify them?’
Probus looked irritably at Flaminius. ‘The less you know, the less you can betray under coercion,’ he said. ‘You’ve worked for the Commissary long enough to know that.’ He looked away.
‘But I no longer work for the Commissary, do I?’ When this did not evoke a response, Flaminius exhaled noisily. ‘Very well, I’ll do it. The Latin Library, on the calends of April? That’s two days from now. Plenty of time to get there and get inside and meet your man.’ He frowned. ‘But how will I know if he’s the right one? How will I identify him?’
‘He will identify himself,’ said Probus. ‘He wears an iron ring with a blank iron seal. But the seal is reversible, and on the other side it is silvered, and bears a tiny emblem of Feronia, goddess of freed slaves.’
‘Nicely symbolic,’ Flaminius commented. ‘But when do I start? When do I meet my companion? And who is he? Surely I need to know that much.’
Probus gave him an impatient look. ‘When you leave the Gardens,’ he said, ‘you will see a familiar looking litter borne by two familiar slaves. Get into the litter and your journey will have begun. As for your companion, you have already met her.’
He rose. ‘May the gods go with you,’ he said solemnly, and departed without another word.
Flaminius went to the arch and peered out, following the short, squat figure as it hurried over the bridge and crossed the lawn beyond, vanishing into the trees. He was about to look away when another man appeared from behind the ilex on the far side of the pond. A tall, spare man wearing a hooded cloak despite the spring sunshine.
This sinister figure hurried after Probus.
Flaminius contemplated following them. Was this an enemy agent on Probus’ tail? Or was it a member of Probus’ civilian spy ring? He knew too little to be certain. But Probus could look after himself. Flaminius had his orders, and he had been in the legions long enough to know his duty.
He hurried over the bridge and crossed the lawn in the opposite direction. Now the scents and sights of the Gardens of Sallust did nothing to calm his jangling nerves. Every time he saw a trysting couple, or a slave girl accompanying her mistress’s children, he felt sure they were spying on him. Perhaps some of them were. But he reached the gates without further event, and without seeing any sign of Probus.
He mulled over the man’s words. The Tiburtine Villa was currently the prison of the emperor’s wife? He remembered the encounter he had had with Vibia Sabina while undercover in the Praetorians. Being married to a man like Hadrian, who had kept a string of catamites long before he met this Antinous, could hardly be much fun. No wonder she had dallied with soldiers and scholars alike. Not that it had been quite as simple as that. Vibia Sabina had been on the fringes of a conspiracy, a minor political matter with which she had also relieved her boredom. She had even gone as far as to attempt to seduce Flaminius. He wondered how many of her gaolers she had successfully seduced.
She represented an unexpected complication. But he would deal with her later, if he had to.
As he left the Gardens, he looked around for a waiting litter. Several of them stood in the street outside, held by patiently waiting slaves. Only one looked familiar. He strode right up to the rose pink litter, whisked aside the curtains, and stepped boldly inside.
‘Rhoda,’ he said to the woman who sat quietly within, ‘we meet again.’
But it was not Rhoda who looked up at him as he sat down on the cushions. This was someone else. Younger. Slimmer.
And much more pleasing to the eye.
— 10—
‘Oh!’ said Flaminius. ‘Terribly sorry... Wrong litter!’
As he began to climb back out again, a slim hand seized his wrist and gently pulled him down onto the cushions.
‘You’ve got the right one, you dolt,’ the girl said in a familiar voice. The husky tones of an older woman. A waft of rose perfume made him sneeze. He stared searchingly into her face. The eyes… they were familiar too. But nothing else was.
‘Rhoda?’ he croaked.
She gave him a grim look, then tapped peremptorily on the framework of the litter. At that signal, the litter was lifted and began to move with a gentle lurching motion as the two slaves carried them away. The young woman tugged the curtain down so they were concealed from outside and gazed at Flaminius. She broke out into a tinkling little laugh.
‘Good to see my skills of disguise are working,’ she said.
‘You really are Rhoda?’ he asked in wonder. She dipped her head quickly. ‘But…’ he added. ‘You’ve changed. I mean, you’re unrecognisable! And younger.’
‘This is the re
al me,’ she told him pertly. ‘The Rhoda you met before, she’s an ageing courtesan. She’s put on weight, there are crow’s feet appearing round her eyes. Her lush charms are appreciated chiefly by the older men she frequents. She can twist them round her little finger, and often does.’ Rhoda spread out the fingers of one be-ringed hand to indicate her opulent surroundings. ‘It provides all this,’ she added.
‘Men will pay you more if they think you’re twice your real age?’ Flaminius was astounded by the revelation.
She nodded. ‘Rich, influential men,’ she said. ‘What they lack in young men’s virility they make up for in other ways. Some cosmetics, histrionic skills… it all makes me irresistible. A slip of a thing like I am would not get so far in the trade. They take me more seriously as the Rhoda you met.’
‘You’re an old man’s courtesan,’ Flaminius said.
‘I’m a thief, dear,’ she contradicted him. ‘A thief with influence. That’s how I came to the attention of our mutual friend.’
‘A thief,’ Flaminius mused. It was what he’d been expecting, of course. ‘And you’ll be helping me get into the Villa?’
She placed a finger to his lips. ‘Not so loud,’ she said, jerking her head to indicate the world outside. They seemed to be making their way across a bridge over the river, but the sound of passing pedestrians and wheeled traffic was audible. ‘Anyone might hear. From now on, we talk of… the arena.’
Flaminius grunted. ‘And what an arena it’ll be.’
They halted soon after, and Rhoda ushered him outside. He stepped from the litter to find himself facing a four horse carriage.
During the ensuing journey, which took them straight across Rome and out the other side, on the Tiburtine Way with the Apennines a blue smudge on the horizon, Rhoda told him what had been planned.
‘We’ll reach the arena by dusk,’ she told him. ‘The meeting with your combatant is scheduled for the evening afterwards.’ Evidently she meant the slave, Minos, but it seemed that the code word she had chosen was ill omened. He wasn’t looking forward to any fighting on this trip. He didn’t want to draw attention to his presence. ‘Our mutual friend suggests we gain entrance to the arena at midnight, and establish a base camp as close to the location as possible.’
Flaminius looked uneasy. ‘Stay there for a whole day?’ he said. ‘We’ll risk being found.’
She looked mysterious. ‘I’ll make sure we’re not, sweetheart,’ she assured him. ‘Our mutual friend has not taken on the best thief in Rome for nothing.’
Flaminius studied her in silence as the carriage, driven by one of the litter bearers, rattled along the Tiburtine Way. Rhoda looked at least five years younger than him, and this was indeed supposedly her real age. He’d been full of brag and boastfulness at that age himself, though Probus had paid it little heed, focusing on his potential to be moulded as an agent rather than listening to his wild words. Flaminius couldn’t believe that this girl could be what she claimed to be. Was Probus falling into his dotage at last? It would explain a lot.
He leaned back against the seat and gazed out at the passing countryside.
As the sun began to descend over the rolling fields, they passed the entrance to the driveway that led up to the Tiburtine Villa. From his last visit Flaminius remembered the laurel avenue that flanked the drive. The broad strip of road was dusty and the shadows were long.
Up ahead, the roofs of Tibur were visible against the blue grey backdrop of the mountains. ‘Where are we going?’ Flaminius said in alarm as they continued along the road towards the town. ‘We’ve gone past the Villa.’
Rhoda gave a rich, vibrant chuckle and her eyes flared, catlike. ‘You don’t expect us to gallop straight up the emperor’s private drive, do you? We’ll pull off the road a quarter of a mile further on, then continue on foot.’
‘And the driver?’
‘He will go to Tibur and spend the time at an inn. He will be waiting for us tomorrow night.’
Not long after, both were crouched in the bushes off the road as the carriage rattled away in the direction of the nearby town. After a moment Rhoda rose and led Flaminius through the bushes, down a path alongside a field of lowing cattle, and into the gloom of a stand of trees. Soon they were facing a high wall.
‘Beyond this,’ Rhoda whispered, peering out from behind a tree, ‘lie the Villa grounds.’
Flaminius did not remember any comparable perimeter wall from his last visit. ‘Is it guarded?’
Rhoda held a finger to her lips and gestured to him for quiet. Flaminius caught the clink-clink of arms and armour, and then the crunch of booted feet on gravel. Rhoda, who was carrying a kitbag like the one Flaminius also bore, produced a short bow and a quiver.
Probus had said security had been stepped up. If the Villa was in use as a prison, even for such a distinguished captive, the patrols would be many and frequent even in the darkest midnight. His mind travelled back to his youth in the legions, and night patrol. How he had hated it, even on horseback. Not that the Italian night was as cold as it had been in Britain.
At a rustle of disturbed leaves, he looked up to see no sign of Rhoda. The girl had gone. Flaminius panicked. Had she abandoned him? Betrayed him? Probus had certainly better pick his agents with better care in the future, if there was a future. It was to be expected if they consorted with thieves. How could they hope to rely on such folk?
A star twinkled through the trees. Red in colour. Was it Mars? But surely the war god’s planet was in the west tonight, not the south.
He turned to go. He’d tell Probus what had happened, suggest he used more reliable operatives in future. The entire mission was compromised.
He halted, as the night breeze brought a whiff of smoke to his nostrils. Looking back, he noticed a ruddy glow from beyond the wall. Some way away, something was burning.
He stiffened. Maybe this freak accident would provide him with the distraction he needed to get into the Villa without being seen. He could take shelter in the slave tunnels, maybe, or one of the less frequented garden temples, then move on to the Latin Library after the next sunset…
The leaves rustled again, and abruptly Rhoda was at his side. She wore no scent now, and seemed to blend into her environment like a shadow. Unstringing the bow she carried, she placed it in her kitbag.
‘Where did you go?’
Hearing his voice, she glanced up at him, eyes wide in the gloom. ‘To stage a distraction, my sweet,’ she said. ‘Surely that was the plan.’
The fire was raging now, and running footsteps and raised voices were audible.
‘You set fire to something?’ he asked. ‘How? How did you get over the wall without being seen?’
‘Why, I used a fire arrow,’ she said impatiently. ‘I didn’t cross the wall. We had better climb it while the guards are occupied. After that, you will have to guide us. Getting us in is my job. Once that’s done, my only other responsibility is to keep you out of trouble.’
She would have quite a job on her hands.
Flaminius went to the wall and shinned up it. Peering over the top, he saw a wide lawn that stretched away towards a stand of trees amongst which he could see tall buildings. The fire was blazing some distance to the right, and dark running figures were silhouetted against its glow.
He straddled the wall, turned, hung by his hands a moment, and dropped to the path below. There was a hiss of gravel beneath his sandaled feet. He looked up to see another dark shape, that of Rhoda, coming over the wall. She dropped down beside him.
‘Where to now?’ she hissed. ‘I’ve got you in, lover boy. Now we need somewhere to lie low until it’s time to meet our man.’
Flaminius indicated the trees and the buildings beyond. If she expected him to have an expert knowledge about the site, having last visited it three years ago, she would be disappointed.
‘There’s a lot of open ground between here and there,’ she said critically. The fire’s glow was diminishing now, as the dark figures surrounding it
seemed to have brought out some kind of squirter. Black smoke blotted out the stars.
Flaminius snatched her slim hand. ‘Hurry up, then,’ he said, and led her at a run across the well-tended lawn.
They reached the trees without being seen, and took cover in the undergrowth. A gravel path wound its way through the wood towards a domed building on the far side of another lawn. A statue of a faun stood proud on a plinth in the middle of the sward.
‘Where are we, lover boy?’ Rhoda whispered in his ear.
Flaminius cleared his throat. ‘Things have changed since I was last here,’ he said. ‘But I remember well that there is a small amphitheatre in this vicinity. Next to it is a large plaza called the Golden Square, surrounded by buildings, with a short canal in the middle of a garden. South west of it is the palace, with the Latin Library southwest again…’
‘Where can we hide?’ she interrupted him.
Flaminius looked uncomfortably at her. ‘That depends on which areas are the least frequented,’ he said. He looked to the western sky. Only a dim glow was visible. ‘Seems like they’ve got the fire under control,’ he added. ‘We’d better go to ground as soon as we can.’
‘But where?’ she murmured.
‘A tunnel is accessible from one of the porticos,’ Flaminius said. ‘It runs north east for a long way into Hadrian’s underworld.’
‘His underworld?’ she said with a dark shudder. ‘What’s that, honey?’
‘The Tiburtine Villa is a huge model of the world,’ said Flaminius. ‘Parts of it are named for imperial provinces, or places within them. Out of a sense of completeness, Hadrian included a Hades.’ He grinned at her in the gloom. ‘It’s a labyrinth of tunnels running under the Villa grounds, used by the slaves so they can get about without being seen.’
The Londinium File Page 8