The Londinium File

by Gavin Chappell

  As he ran, he heard the shouts of the Praetorians.

  ‘Somebody ran. Get after them…! What’s this? Another body? Murder!

  More shouts, running footsteps. They were on his tail.

  He dashed out into the main library just as the double doors burst open and in flooded more Praetorians. Alerted by the shouts of their comrades, they were glaring around the room. Flaminius skidded to a halt, and that was when they saw him.

  ‘Stop right there!’ shouted a burly centurion.

  Flaminius turned and ran back towards the smaller room, but the Praetorians who had first seen him stood blocking the door to the office. Veering to his right he shoved open another door. It led deeper into the building, into rooms he had not searched. He pelted through them, dragging tables and stools behind him to block the paths of his pursuers. Praetorians still at his heels, he burst out into the cold open air of a courtyard.

  Watching from the first floor of the Hostelry, Rhoda saw a familiar figure run out of a door at the back of the Latin Library. She gripped onto the marble window sill and bit her lip. The patrol she had seen had vanished into the colonnade, but now they or other Praetorians rushed out again in pursuit of Flaminius.

  She ground her teeth. That dolt had jeopardised the entire mission! Now the whole Villa would be alerted. What had he done to draw so much attention? She had known he would be a disaster to work with, she had argued with Probus on this. But somehow Probus knew just how to manipulate her…

  Flaminius ran across the courtyard, Praetorians close behind. He reached the palace and vanished under an archway. Rhoda watched as the Praetorians raced doggedly after him. Soon they would catch him, and his life would not be worth a bent copper piece. She shut her eyes wearily.

  Opening them again, she noticed a man watching from the far side of the courtyard. Even from here, she could see the scar on his face. He had been observing the Praetorians blundering after Flaminius. Now he began to move, but he was heading round the side of the palace, while the Praetorians were running inside it. He looked like he knew what he was doing. Scarface was an imperial agent. If the Praetorians didn’t catch Flaminius, Scarface surely would.

  The mission would have to be aborted. Flaminius, that fool, had loused it all up. Well, she wasn’t going to stay here to let herself be captured by Praetorians. She turned and walked back down the steps, reached the door to the outside, and peered out. Shouts still rang out from the direction of the palace, but the gardens ahead of her brooded dark and silent. It was not far to the perimeter wall.

  She slipped out of the door and sprinted across the lawn.

  Flaminius’ skin was slick with sweat, his face was burning, his head was pounding, his lungs were on fire. But running was his greatest skill. And so he ran, through palatial colonnades and peristyle courts. It was somewhere round here that he had rescued the emperor from the assassin’s blade. But there was no time left for reminiscences.

  It seemed that a general alarm had been called. The Guards barracks lay just to the south east of the palace, and armoured figures were rushing out of the building, spears in their hands. Flaminius watched from behind one of the pillars in a large open-air audience chamber. He had evaded those Guards who had followed him into the palace, but now others were coming up from the south.

  More ran into the audience chamber from the palace, and he inched his way deeper into the shadows. These were the ones who had been following him from the Library.

  The two groups met in the middle of the audience chamber.

  ‘What’s the alarm?’

  ‘Intruder in the grounds. He’s killed a slave now. Must have been the one who broke Lepidus’ neck and dumped him in the fish pond. He ran into the palace.’

  ‘Search the palace again,’ barked a tribune. ‘He must be hiding in there. He’s not come this way. If he resists arrest, cut him down.’

  The officer drew his short sword and led his men back into the palace. What should Flaminius do now? Minos had been murdered, the Moesia memorandum stolen, and the Villa was in uproar. Who knew what had happened to Rhoda. Flaminius would have to return to the tunnels, lie low, and come out when all was quiet again. Then and only then could he hope to learn who had killed the slave and taken the document.

  He slipped out from behind the Doric column and picked his way warily towards the Golden Square.

  As he went, he failed to notice the scar faced man watching him from behind another column. The man produced a scroll from beneath his tunic, studied it for a moment. Then looked up. He nodded, and hurried after the vanishing intruder.

  Flaminius entered the Square from the south. The canal where he had dumped Lepidus’ body stretched between him and the far side, where the entrance to the tunnel was located. He halted and listened. The palace building behind him rang with the sound of Praetorians searching for him. He hoped they would keep busy long enough for him to reach the tunnel entrance.

  What he would do after that, he was unsure. The chances of finding the murderer and the memorandum were low. Why had person or persons unknown killed Minos? And why take the memorandum, too? They must be part of the conspiracy. But how could they have known he was looking for the memorandum, or that a meeting had been arranged with Minos? It made no sense…

  As he crossed the garden he heard footsteps, and five Praetorians, each one holding a flaming torch, marched in from the northern corner. He ducked back behind a cedar and watched. They had halted and were talking, gesturing in the direction of the palace.

  Flaminius gathered that they were a regular patrol; they were debating whether they should continue their tour of the grounds or find out what the alarm was about. They seemed to come to no very quick decision. After a while they started searching the garden.

  Flaminius cursed. They were between him and his objective now. He looked about him. Maybe he could circle round, use the cover of the nymphaeum to get to the far colonnade, then sneak down it while the Praetorians were busy searching the garden. He certainly couldn’t stay where he was. They were still probing the bushes on the far side of the canal, but it seemed likely they would soon cross it and enter this sector of the garden.

  Ducking down, crawling on his hands and knees, he made his way across the garden, keeping the canal between himself and the Praetorians at all times. At last he reached the portico leading to the nymphaeum, rose to his feet, and slipped into the little temple.

  Inside all was cool and tranquil. A little fountain gurgled in the centre of an open space, and statues of women stood in niches—representing the nymph, he guessed. But he had no time to adopt a suitably reverential attitude. Going back to the doorway he looked out at the garden.

  Two of the Praetorians had crossed the canal by now and were searching the very area where he had been hiding. The rest were on the far side, between him and the colonnade. Something else Flaminius saw also made him pause.

  A dark figure was watching the scene from the far side, from the spot where Flaminius himself had entered the garden. Had he been followed? If so, why had they not raised the alarm?

  Troubled, he shook his head. He couldn’t stay here, he could see that much. Sooner or later, the Praetorians would turn their attention to the buildings.

  Slipping back outside he started making his way round the side of the garden. If he could keep to the shadows he would be able to circle round and get into the colonnade. From there he could access the room containing the entrance to the tunnel.

  If anyone saw him now, they would know at once that he was a fugitive. He darted from shadow to shadow, from pillar to statue to pillar again.

  At last he reached the northern corner, where an archway opened out into a corridor that led northwards. Here he halted, using the arch as cover. The searching Praetorians had all returned to this side of the canal, and their leader was addressing them. He waited impatiently, but they showed no signs of moving.

  They began searching the colonnade. Flaminius watched in dismay. They would reach
the archway in no time! There was only one thing for it. He turned and hurried down the passage.

  As he did so, he did not notice the scar-faced man, who had followed him round the garden, hurrying after him.

  The passageway ended at a T-junction. To the left it turned back on itself then came straight out into the open beside the amphitheatre. He would be too exposed out there with the Praetorians on the lookout. To the right the passage ended at a heavy door. He tried it but found it was locked.

  Bending down, he produced a small lock pick from his sandal—he had wheedled one out of Probus after his previous mission—and slid this into the lock. As he did, he thought he heard stealthy footsteps further down the passage. Breathing heavily he concentrated on moving the tumblers. They were stiff. No one had oiled this lock in some time. Very thoughtless of them… Ah! Now it began to move, with a creak and a groan… and the door swung open. A waft of expensive perfume met his nostrils.

  The footsteps were growing louder… Flaminius darted inside, and closed the door behind him. He looked around in the gloom for something to jam it shut when a voice from the darkness whispered querulously, ‘Who is that?’

  — 14—

  Flaminius whirled round as flint scraped on steel and a lamp flared up.

  ‘And who in Hades are you, sir?’

  It was a woman who spoke. Flaminius recognised her as she appeared in the lamplight. She was older than when he had last been in her presence, about fifty he guessed. She showed no sign of recognising him, but after all their acquaintance had been brief.

  When he had seen her down in the library courtyard, she had been clad in a green stola, her hair elaborately coiffured. Tonight her hair hung in disarray around her haughty, patrician face, drooped in her fierce eyes, and all that she wore was a silken nightgown, which she clutched about her with one hand. Her mouth was as pursed and disapproving as ever—perhaps understandably at surprising an intruder in her domain.

  She held the guttering lamp higher.

  ‘I asked you a question,’ said Sabina bravely. ‘Are you dumb as well as singularly lacking in manners?’ Her eyes focused on the short sword he wore at his belt. ‘A Praetorian? What has happened to my guards?’

  ‘They were called away.’ The men in the Golden Square must have been on sentry duty outside her quarters—her prison. ‘There was an intruder in the grounds and they went searching for him. I think they’re still looking.’

  ‘An intruder?’ Coolly she placed the oil lamp on a low table and studied him searchingly across the vestibule, her features composed, her body seemingly relaxed, and only a slight quiver of her bosom and a quaver in her voice revealing her fear. ‘It seems they were looking in the wrong place. Why have you forced your way into my prison? I should call them back and have you taken away.’

  Flaminius had a flash of inspiration. He knelt before her. ‘O Empress,’ he said, ‘I come to liberate you from your captivity!’

  She gazed down at him in silence, her mouth open in wonder.

  ‘To liberate me?’ she whispered. ‘How I have longed to be free!’ She looked sadly into the middle distance. ‘Oh, it has not been so terrible, not always. I have companions in my loneliness, slaves and handmaidens, and sometimes I even have visitors. Sometimes I am taken to other prisons, even to a villa in Baiae in the summer. But I have never seen my husband the emperor in all that time.’ She looked about her wildly. ‘They spy on me, you know,’ she hissed. ‘They watch me from the walls of my bedchamber.’

  ‘I know,’ said Flaminius. He rose again. ‘I saw them,’ he added, ‘when I was on my way here.’

  ‘The Villa is up in arms.’ Sabina directed him to a table on the far side of the chamber where he poured wine for them both. She reclined on a couch and he sat on a footstool, gazing up at her. ‘Is this your doing?’

  Flaminius shrugged. ‘I distracted them,’ he said, ‘I and a companion. Where Rhoda is now, I do not know. But here I am.’ He looked round the chamber. Rich wall hangings draped its sides, olibanum scented the air. It was opulent enough for a prison cell. He’d seen worse. He’d been in worse.

  ‘And we will escape?’ Sabina asked. ‘But where? And who sent you?’

  ‘If you don’t mind, my lady,’ said Flaminius, ‘I would rather not give you their names. Should anything go wrong, the less you know the better.’

  The fact was, he simply couldn’t think of a single Roman citizen who would want to free her from her prison. He was playing for time. If he could persuade her to shelter him, he could wait until the commotion died down outside then go looking for the lost memorandum. He was fairly certain that it was the scar-faced man who had killed Minos and taken the document. But as for where the imperial agent had gone, that was a mystery.

  Sabina examined him. She clasped her hands together. ‘Surely it’s Clarus,’ she said. ‘Did Septicius Clarus put you up to this?’ When he shook his head, her eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t mean… Suetonius? That tongue tied librarian?’ Again he shook his head. She pursed her lips. ‘Will you take me to them?’

  Flaminius was beginning to regret his story. ‘I will take you away from here,’ he told her. ‘You will be free to live as you wish.’ How could she be free anywhere in the empire? ‘You will be free,’ he added glibly, ‘in Parthia.’

  ‘Parthia?’ Her eyes were wide. ‘You will take me to the Parthian Empire?’

  Flaminius nodded. When telling a lie, he told himself, you might as well make it a big one. ‘King Arsaces has heard of your plight,’ he said, ‘and he sent me as his agent to bring you to him. You will live in honoured exile at his court. But wait,’ he added as she began to speak, ‘if there is to be any chance of your freedom, you must keep me concealed here. We can’t go until the alarm is over. Is there anywhere you can hide me?’

  Sabina reached out to clasp his hands. Her eyes were shining. ‘So young and strong,’ she murmured. ‘And you come to rescue me.’ She giggled girlishly. ‘It would be most improper of me to hide a young man in my quarters! If this got back to my husband, who knows what he would think?’ She scowled. ‘He already hates me. That’s why he keeps me here under house arrest.

  ‘I had my little flings, you see. A Praetorian prefect, an imperial secretary… They were both found out. But they were part of a plot, too. I was implicated, although I didn’t really know what was happening. There were others involved, too, some of my husband’s closest friends.’ She listed a few names, most of which were no surprise to Flaminius. One, however, came as quite a shock, and he had to school his face into immobility.

  She drew him close. ‘You have no idea what it is like to be married to a man such as he,’ she told him. ‘Even before he had me banished here, I hardly ever saw him. Now I never do. I have companions, yes, but only in the day. At night, my handmaidens sleep elsewhere, I am guarded, and I have no kind of companionship.’ She laughed bitterly, indicating the lamp she had lit. ‘I must even do the work of a slave…’

  She showed no signs of recognising in this desperate fugitive the Praetorian tribune she had tried to seduce in the House of Augustus several years ago. But she was delivering all the old lines. It must be a play she had acted out time and again. He had seen last night that she did not lack bedfellows.

  ‘My lady,’ he said, gazing deep into her eyes. ‘I only ask that you find me a hiding place where I can remain undetected while they search for me. Once things become quiet, we can make our escape. Until then, it will be hopeless. The Villa is in a state of uproar.’

  She sighed. ‘Another night or two will be no worse than all the desolate nights and days have been. With your companionship they will be less lonely.’ She gazed pensively into the distance. ‘I spent much of my childhood here. Oh, not in this building. It is new! But the Tiburtine Villa belonged to my family long before my husband received it as part of my dowry. And now he has the gall to make it my prison simply because I sought companionship in my solitude.’ She turned to consider him again. ‘It will be sad to l
eave here. But now that my childhood home has become my prison, I must think of other refuges. In Parthia I will find my happiness…’

  The door burst open. Flaminius turned to see a man, barely discernible in the guttering light of the lamp. A drawn sword glittered in his hand.

  Flaminius saw the scar that ran from eye to jaw.

  ‘My lady,’ said the imperial agent, quietly closing the door behind him. ‘Don’t listen to this man’s words. He is not an agent of the Parthian king. Instead he is a murderer and a thief and a treasure hunter.’

  Flaminius glanced at Sabina, who recoiled from him in sudden horror. ‘Is this true?’

  Flaminius could barely recognise himself in the man’s words. ‘I don’t know what he means. But let me tell you something, my lady—this man is a spy. It is he and another man who have been watching you from the tunnels beneath your quarters.’

  Sabina turned to the imperial agent. ‘Are you a spy?’ she said angrily. ‘Are you the man my husband has set to watch over my every moment?’

  The agent neither confirmed nor denied this. ‘Your companion here has a habit of breaking into imperial property. It is only a short while since a man of his description—minus that scruffy beard—entered the imperial palace in Rome in the guise of a slave, stole an important document, and assaulted the emperor’s favourite, his new catamite Antinous…’

  ‘Then there is some good in him,’ said Sabina in a bitter voice.

  ‘Enough, my lady,’ said the agent. ‘He is a thief. But his next move was easily predicted. The document he took contained intelligence concerning the fate of the gold of King Decebalus. We knew that his next move would be to secure a certain memorandum written in Moesia…’

  ‘And you knew that he would come here?’ Sabina had been listening intently.

  ‘He did not come here to rescue you,’ the agent said, nodding to Flaminius. ‘He is in search of the gold of a barbarian king! And like that self-same barbarian, he is willing to steal, murder and lie to attain it.’