The Song of the Gladiator

by Paul Doherty

  ‘I didn’t ask him for the details,’ Claudia confessed. ‘He was just so relieved, he couldn’t get away fast enough. You’ll keep it quiet?’

  Sallust raised his right hand.

  ‘Claudia, Claudia. If I told the police everything I knew, half of Rome would be arrested! Now, I’ve got news for you. You were correct. Spicerius was murdered. I don’t know how, but the bitch who poisoned him was certainly no friend.’

  Chapter 12

  ‘Crimine ab uno, disce omnia.’ (‘From one crime, learn about them all.’)

  Virgil, Aeneid, II

  You’re not Rome’s most skilled assassin, Claudia reflected, as she sat in the shade of the orchard trees and squinted across at Agrippina on the stone bench opposite. The morning was still cool; a breeze had sprung up the night before and brought in refreshing showers. Once Sallust had left, Claudia had spent the previous day feverishly preparing for this confrontation. Narcissus returned full of the news about how their supposed discovery of the Holy Sword had won him and Timothaeus the favour and generosity of the Empress. Each had been rewarded with a leather purse of coins and invited to join the Emperor in the imperial box for the coming games. Narcissus was so overjoyed Claudia had to secretly remind him that they had not really found the sword, and if the truth were known, the Empress’s mood would change violently. Claudia did not intend to be nasty; she needed Narcissus’s attention and cooperation. Due to her warning, the former slave recollected himself abruptly and became all serious and wary.

  ‘Do you think the Empress suspects anything? You don’t think she’ll challenge us later?’

  ‘She’ll never hear of it from me,’ Claudia whispered. ‘It’s best if you accept her reward, bask in her favour and keep your mouth firmly shut. I know Timothaeus will. Now look, Narcissus, one thing I’ve learned about you is that you have a natural talent for acting, and I have a job for you.’

  Narcissus’s mood soon lightened as Claudia told him what she had planned at her meeting with Agrippina. He proved to be an able pupil and had soon perfected the look he was to adopt and what he was to say. Valens was also drawn into the conspiracy. The old army doctor needed no prompting. He deeply mourned his friend and was only too eager to seek justice for Spicerius’s untimely death. They had all met here in the garden, and Valens had helped Narcissus, teaching him certain names and terms, how he was to act and sit. Claudia insisted on both of them becoming word perfect; her only worry was that Agrippina might recognise Narcissus and challenge the trap which would close around her. She had also brought Polybius into the plot. Her uncle was sworn to silence.

  ‘I don’t want you drinking,’ Claudia warned, ‘because once you open your mouth in the eating hall, half of Rome will know within the hour.’

  Polybius had promised, swearing by his cock that not a word would pass his lips.

  Claudia had worked long and hard trying to distract herself and not think of Murranus or his preparations for the combat which would take place the following day. Accordingly, she found it very difficult when Murranus, lithe and fit, his face shaved, looking positively boyish, had visited the tavern just after nightfall the previous evening. Claudia thought her heart would break at the sad look in his eyes, his quiet courage and confidence, which carefully masked his own fearful anticipation. He only stayed an hour, coming out here into the garden and embracing her fiercely and kissing her gently before slipping away.

  Claudia had sat and wept until Narcissus and Valens came out to comfort her, but the pain of Murranus’s farewell still made her heart ache, so she had no compassion, not a shred of kindness for the treacherous, murderous, spoilt bitch who’d wandered like a fly into her web. Agrippina had arrived mid-morning, black hair flouncing, mouth pouting, her blood-red jewellery clattering and clinking. She showed no guilt or fear, but rather smugness at being escorted by two oafs, followers of Dacius by the looks of them. Oceanus had kept this precious pair in the tavern whilst Claudia, chattering like a sparrow, had taken Agrippina out into the garden. Claudia’s visitor was now beginning to lose some of her calm poise, staring anxiously across to the porch where Polybius stood on guard against any intrusion.

  ‘Your messenger said,’ Agrippina turned on Claudia, ‘you had some very valuable property belonging to Spicerius.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what the messenger said.’ Claudia scratched her head and leaned closer. ‘Now, Agrippina, listen to me. I want you to keep that big mouth of yours shut. I don’t want to frighten you, but if you go across to the tavern my uncle will remind you that I have powerful friends at court. I work for the Agentes in Rebus – you know who they are, don’t you? The Doers of Things. Men and women who can bring the likes of you, a nasty pampered bitch, crashing down; their loyalty is to the Empress and no other.’

  Agrippina sat swallowing hard, her lips moving soundlessly. Claudia sensed she was cursing her own arrogance at coming here.

  ‘I could leave,’ Agrippina blustered, tapping her mullet-red sandals.

  ‘You can try.’ Claudia lifted her goblet and toasted her. ‘Do you know what I’ve been thinking, Agrippina? That you are not Rome’s most skilful assassin. You are, in fact, a blundering murderess who thought no one would see through her deceitful, nasty tricks.’

  Agrippina jumped to her feet, gathering up her robe.

  ‘Oh, sit down!’ Claudia drew her dagger, slicing the air so Agrippina stepped back hastily and sat down with a bump. She was trembling, glancing fearfully across at the tavern.

  ‘You’re an assassin.’ Claudia smiled sweetly. ‘You’re also a fool. You tried to kill Spicerius once and bungled it, hoping Murranus would finish the job. So you tried again, thinking you were ever so clever.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Agrippina gasped. ‘You have no proof.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got plenty of that.’ Claudia turned. ‘Uncle, you should ask our visitors to join us.’

  Polybius stepped aside as Valens, accompanied by Narcissus, left the tavern and strolled across the grass towards them. Claudia vowed to keep her face straight. She and Valens had done an excellent job. Narcissus had been transformed. His hair was clipped, his face oiled; his tunic and robe were the best, and no one could fail to admire the jewelled rings displaying the insignia of Aesculapius, as well as the polished walking stick embellished with the hawk wings and all-seeing eye of the Egyptian god Horus. Narcissus even walked like the learned physician he was pretending to be, his head slightly to one side as if weighed down by knowledge, his face twisted in a look of cynical superiority, his mouth pursed as if he was sucking on a plum and had discovered it was a prune.

  ‘I think you know Valens.’ Claudia waved her hand. ‘This is Narcissus, a specialist physician from the House of Life at the Temple of Isis in Alexandria. He’s an expert on the ailments men suffer from.’

  Valens nodded at Agrippina and squatted down next to Claudia. Narcissus, who seemed more interested in his fingernails than anything else, looked Agrippina up and down as if she was some unpleasant symptom, then flicked his fingers fastidiously for her to move up so that he could share the garden seat. He rested his cane between his knees and smiled at Claudia.

  ‘Darling.’ His drawl was so pronounced, Claudia had to tighten her mouth to hide the smile. ‘Darling, I’m so glad you’re not wearing face paint.’ He turned and wagged a finger at Agrippina’s nose. ‘And you, my darling, should be more careful. You have more paint on your face than I’ve seen on a villa wall. You never know what those creams and oils contain. I used to say the same to dear Spicerius; surely you noticed the golden boy had stopped wearing his face paint? But there again, darling, you know so little about medicine. I mean, that’s obvious.’ He fluttered his eyelids. ‘What on earth made you think that the juice of almonds would be a love potion, a cure for impotence, when in fact,’ Narcissus threw his head back and neighed with laughter, ‘well, to be honest, it is a cure, isn’t it? I mean, everything disappears.’ His face became serious. ‘Including li
fe itself.’

  Agrippina stared at him in horror.

  ‘What are you talking about? she shrieked. ‘You, you . . .’

  ‘Physician.’ Narcissus smiled. ‘I’m a physician; didn’t Spicerius ever tell you about me?’ Narcissus patted his groin. ‘Poor thing, he had problems down here; it’s a common enough complaint. Many soldiers, fighters and wrestlers complain how their manhood is drained. I mean, usually there’s nothing wrong with them.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘More a problem with the mind and heart than anything else. A disturbance of the humours.’ He sighed. ‘Dear Spicerius was so agitated! He lusted after you, darling, but he had dark thoughts.’

  ‘What is this?’ Agrippina made to rise, but Narcissus, edging closer, gripped her wrist.

  ‘I wouldn’t leave, darling. You see, I’m your friend. You may need my help because these good people here think you poisoned Spicerius. You should really sit and listen to them, as I will before I make up my mind.’

  ‘I’ve had you followed,’ Claudia declared. ‘You often visit Dacius’s house. You’ve also been seen with his men. I suspect you’ve already opened your legs for Meleager. You’re a heartless whore, Agrippina, who likes the company of gladiators so as to get rid of your boredom. You have a nose for mischief; that’s how Dacius drew you into his plot. Dacius thinks he controls most of the gambling in Rome, the money lending, the high rates of interest, and every so often he likes to make a killing, doesn’t he, whether it’s a cock fight, a wrestling bout or two men fighting to the death in the arena. Dacius and Meleager . . .’ Claudia paused. ‘Dacius and Meleager,’ she repeated, ‘are friends. Dacius plotted that Meleager should be the champion, the Victor Ludorum. Meleager is a good fighter, perhaps one of the best. Dacius and his friends arranged . . . what would you call it? A double wager? Spicerius to lose, Murranus to win; Murranus to lose, Meleager to win. Can you imagine the profit, Agrippina? The money being moved, accumulating rapidly as it shifts from one bet to the other? I understand you could make millions, a veritable fortune. Am I expressing myself clearly? Anyway, that’s what Sallust the Searcher says.’

  ‘Who?’ Agrippina’s lips hardly moved.

  ‘Oh, you don’t know Sallust?’ Claudia moved her dagger from hand to hand. ‘You don’t know him but he knows you. He’s been watching you very carefully.’

  ‘I’m a free citizen, I can go where I wish. I’m not a slave or a tavern slut.’

  ‘I don’t deny that.’ Claudia smiled. ‘And you can sit and insult me to your heart’s content. When people see you, they just say, “That’s Agrippina.” What they would find more interesting is your knowledge of love potions.’ She dug into the wallet on her belt and drew out a piece of parchment. ‘You do recognise this?’ She held it up. ‘It’s in your hand. “Love conquers Agrippina. Love conquers Spicerius”?’

  ‘I gave it to him, there’s no crime in that!’

  ‘No, but there is in poisoning. You first tried it at the amphitheatre and you failed. You mixed the potion with Spicerius’s face paints and, only later, when no one was looking, poured some into the cup he had been drinking from in order to cast suspicion on Murranus or even Polybius. Murranus was meant to kill Spicerius but didn’t. The poison you used, or so physician Valens will tell you, wasn’t strong enough. It was meant to be absorbed through the skin; I don’t know how it works.’ Claudia waved a hand at Valens. ‘Perhaps you can explain to our friend.’

  ‘It’s true.’ Valens needed little prompting; his intense dislike of Agrippina was vibrant and passionate. ‘A physician,’ he kept his voice low, ‘removes all possible causes for a disease or infection. What he cannot remove is usually the true cause. I questioned Spicerius very closely about that day in the amphitheatre. He had eaten the night before and drank some water before he left for the arena. However, he insisted he felt hale and hearty until shortly before the fight.’

  ‘He drank the wine,’ Agrippina intervened.

  Valens shook his head. ‘What Spicerius told me, and no one else, was that he felt the first, early symptoms before he drank the wine.’

  ‘You’re lying!’ Agrippina shouted.

  Valens was, but he held her gaze. ‘What you did, you murdering bitch, is what Claudia has described. There are women in Rome who’ve actually poisoned themselves with their creams, powders and oils. Some of the paint they use to decorate their eyes contains belladonna, whilst their powders hold a deadly form of lead, even arsenic, which can eat away at their faces. You must have seen it yourself. Such noxious potions enter the body’s humours, rot the innards and pollute the blood. On the morning Spicerius was to fight Murranus, you visited him, bringing your face paints mixed with poison. Spicerius always liked to look his best. He claimed that if he painted himself liked a woman it often disconcerted his opponent. Do you remember that morning, Agrippina? His face was heavily painted. He felt the first symptoms when he arrived at the amphitheatre, but dismissed them as tension. He drank the wine and walked into the arena. Any physician will tell you that a mixture of wine, intense excitement, fear or pleasure, combined with physical activity, will send the blood racing. It was then the poison took effect. However, because it had not been absorbed totally through the skin,’ Valens leaned over his finger, only a few inches from Agrippina’s face, ‘and because of his splendid physique and fitness, Spicerius survived. He retched and he vomited, and that saved his life. Meanwhile, in the cavern beyond the Gate of Life, while everybody was distracted by the uproar caused by his condition, you went across and poured the same poison into Spicerius’s cup.

  ‘I don’t really think,’ Valens smiled grimly, ‘that you intended to kill him, just weaken him and allow Murranus to do the rest.’

  Agrippina’s face was ashen and sweat-soaked.

  ‘You have no proof of this, you’re making it up.’

  ‘Spicerius didn’t.’ Valens smiled grimly. ‘He maintained he was in fine condition until he painted his face. He began to wonder, but he was so infatuated with you, he couldn’t believe his darling Agrippina wanted him dead. I advised him, as I had before, not to wear face paint; even the most innocent creams and oils can contain a noxious potion.’ Valens stamped his foot. ‘At first I thought it could have been an accident, but . . .’ His voice trailed off. ‘I began to wonder . . . Anyway,’ Valens clicked his tongue, ‘Spicerius became agitated, withdrawn, deeply troubled. He swore he never suspected Murranus and looked forward to a second fight. He also complained he was suffering from impotence. He was, wasn’t he? He told me how you had given him love potions; he truly believed they worked. There are drugs in Rome which can cure a man of such a malady, at least for a while. Isn’t that true, Narcissus?’

  ‘What you didn’t know, darling,’ Narcissus now took up the story, gripping Agrippina’s arm tightly, ‘was that my good friend Valens had sent his patient to me. I examined Spicerius most carefully, his groin, his anus. I could feel no growth or source of malignancy. I believe that on the day he died he went down to the gladiator school to meet Murranus. Before he arrived there he visited you, but he also visited me. He showed me that love potion: the piece of parchment and the two dried tablets it contained, baked hard like biscuits, though they’ll crumble when mixed with water or wine. I, of course, dismissed them as nonsense, but Spicerius was adamant. He said you had given him love potions before, mixed with wine, and he had suffered no ill effects. I took a little of that potion, sliced it off with my knife and placed it on a weighing scale. I meant to examine it, but,’ Narcissus shrugged elegantly, ‘you know how it is, darling, such a busy life! I didn’t think of it again until Valens told me how Spicerius died.’

  ‘Agrippina,’ Claudia tapped the woman on the knee, ‘Agrippina, look at me.’ The murderess did so, her lower lip trembling, her right hand shaking so much the bangles and bracelets rattled.

  ‘You told your love to come here,’ Claudia exclaimed. ‘Not to eat too much or drink too much but to be waiting for you in the Venus Chamber; that he should rest
and relax and, of course, mix the potion in his wine. He did so. When physician Valens examined Spicerius’s corpse, he found the index finger of Spicerius’s right hand very sticky, where he had mixed the powders with Uncle Polybius’s sweet white wine. Moreover,’ Claudia continued her deception, ‘because Narcissus had sliced a little bit off, one of the tablets had begun to crumble. We found traces of it on the sheet. Poor old Spicerius,’ Claudia sighed, ‘he sat there, full of sweet thoughts about Agrippina, her love note in one hand and his poisoned wine in the other.’

  ‘The juice of the almond is a deadly potion,’ Valens declared. ‘Death would have been swift, like an arrow to the heart.’

  ‘I didn’t do it!’

  Claudia’s heart sank as she looked at Agrippina’s face. ‘Oh but you did,’ she replied quickly. ‘Narcissus still has part of that powder, Valens knows what he saw; there’s enough to put you on trial. Have you ever seen a woman burn to death? Just think, Agrippina, of Narcissus talking to the prosecutor, of Valens corroborating the evidence, of my uncle and others declaring that Spicerius truly believed Murranus was his friend. Then we’ll begin to search Rome. That’s why I hired Sallust. He’ll find out where you bought the poison.’

  ‘I didn’t buy it.’ Agrippina caught herself. She put her face in her hands and sobbed loudly. ‘I didn’t do it!’ she shrieked, so loudly that Polybius came out from the porch. Claudia waved him away.