by Peter Tonkin
‘In your dreams,’ said Puella.
‘You wouldn’t believe what goes on in my dreams,’ answered Ferrata cheerfully. ‘This lot for a start.’ He gestured at the walls where there were illustrations exemplifying all the possible – and some frankly impossible – sexual positions.
As they were assessing their surroundings, the curtain over an inner doorway parted and a statuesque woman entered. As Artemidorus suspected, given the quality of the house she was running, she was clean, carefully made-up, and fashionably coiffed, even this early in the day. Although she was approaching middle age, her dress was expensively stylish and her demeanour as decisive as that of any Roman matron. The air of command she exuded worthy of Fulvia or Servilia, her eyes almost worthy of Cleopatra. ‘Domina,’ said Gaipor. ‘These are the ones The Gaul told us to expect.’
‘There’s quite a few of them,’ she said uneasily. ‘More than I thought there would be.’
Why would a woman such as this seem to be unnerved by half a dozen men, two of whom must be familiar to her by reputation if by nothing else? wondered Artemidorus. But then he understood. Sospes and at least some of his vigiles would have been her guarantors of protection – at a price. But now both Sospes and chief vigile Gistin were as dead as The Gaul’s first two emissaries, things must look disturbingly uncertain to her. ‘We mean you no harm,’ he assured her. ‘We have come simply to inspect what you have been guarding.’ He opened his cloak. ‘We’re unarmed,’
‘Yes, you are,’ she agreed. ‘But only until you get your hands on what I have hidden in the cellarium.’
iii
Artemidorus, Quintus, Puella and Castus followed Suadela through a doorway leading down a staircase into the brothel’s cellar. She was flanked by two slaves carrying oil lamps. And that’s not all they were carrying. They were both armed to the teeth. Probably with samples of the weaponry they were here to inspect. There were three rooms opening off a short corridor. One on either side at the foot of the stairs. Both behind half-open doors which stood in mute evidence of the honesty of the occupants. Or of their fear of Suadela, Gaipor the janitor and the dangerous-looking slaves, he thought. Each room filled with the kinds of stores required by a busy establishment that housed, clothed, tended, and fed a range of occupants. And – on regular occasions at least he supposed – several guests. It was a decidedly elevated lupinarium – not quite a hospitium – but close enough.
And then there was the third entrance at the end of the corridor. A massive frame with huge hinges supporting a door that looked as though it could withstand a battering ram. Suadela pulled out an iron key and thrust it into a solid, modern-looking lock. Turned it and stood back. The muscular lamp-bearers heaved the heavy door open and followed the swing of it, stepping inwards side by side. Entranced, Quintus pushed forward, elbowing past even Suadela, as he focused on the treasure-trove. Artemidorus followed him, but lingered near the doorway – alert for the slightest movement that threatened to slam the door shut and trap them inside. His gaze raked over the equipment that lay carefully piled there. Armour made of overlapping metal hoops sewn onto stout leather lining. ‘The new segmented design,’ said Quintus, clearly impressed. ’It’s the latest thing. It’s heavier but much more protective than chain and scale mail or toughened hide.’ He lifted overlapping shoulder-sections. Leather baltaea skirts with studded frontpieces to offer protection from the waist to the knees. Greaves to protect shins. ‘These are only useful if you come out of line or lose your shield,’ he said. ‘Still, better safe than sorry.’
He turned to a pile of helmets also of the latest design, their distinctive coloured horsehair crests revealing all this had originally been destined for the legendary Martia legion. Decimated by Antony close by here; one centurion in ten beaten to death by his colleagues as Antony and Fulvia watched. As Enobarbus witnessed and reported. The Martia deserted the General in consequence and were serving with Octavianus now, bound for Bruttium, the far south of Italia and the waters off Sicilia.
‘Who in the name of all the gods paid for this?’ whispered Puella, awed.
‘Octavianus,’ answered Artemidorus.
‘The boy’s not short of a sestertius or two,’ Quintus observed. ‘And I reckon he owes us after setting Felix and that bloody bastard Popilius Laenas on us.’
‘Laenas,’ echoed Suadela. ‘You know Laenas?’
That one question changed things considerably.
That a woman like this should use a tone like that when enquiring about someone who had been in Brundisium for only a few days spoke volumes. ‘Yes,’ Artemidorus answered. ‘We know him as an enemy. He killed the vigile Gistin and the praefectus Sospes, not to mention two of The Gaul’s men.’
‘He and that brute that travels with him hurt two of my women badly.’
‘We have a physician, Crinas, with us. I can ask him to examine them if you would like.’
‘No, thank you. We have a physician we can call on. But all of us are worried the two of them might return, especially now the praefactus and the chief vigile are dead.’
‘Don’t worry. We have him locked in the praefectus’ villa in a room only slightly less secure than this. We plan to release him when we leave. But he will be riding straight back to Rome. And, should you be concerned, we will almost certainly be leaving a squad of marines behind. And some legionaries from the VIIth to keep the peace until the Triumvir Mark Antony sends a new praefectus. We can order them to protect you and your establishment.’
‘They’ll probably take extra care to look after your girls as well,’ observed Castus, sounding very much like Ferrata, his voice oozing concern.
‘You’ll have to deal with Antony’s prefect when he arrives,’ said Puella. The two women exchanged a glance which told Artemidorus neither of them thought dealing with Antony’s man – or, indeed, almost any man – would be much of a problem. Apart from Laenas, apparently.
*
Beside the piles armour, helmets and armoured aprons, there stood rack upon rack of swords, gladii and spathae – short stabbing swords and long sharp-edged cavalry swords. A third rack of pugiones daggers. Their blades all shining like silver; their scabbards piled on the ground beneath them. Quintus took a gladius and tested first the point and then the edge. ‘If the blade can hold an edge this sharp for any length of time during combat,’ he said, ‘then it could become almost as effective as the point.’ He hefted the sword thoughtfully.
‘But that would only be important if the shield wall broke up and you were forced into open combat,’ said Puella. ‘And that’s where the leg armour would be useful too.’
Quintus nodded, grudging agreement with her assessment. But frowning as he did so. Artemidorus smiled. The old-fashioned triarius did not like the idea of legionary units breaking up and going into open combat like untrained barbarians. But he was experienced enough to know it sometimes happened – even in the best of legions. And that was where a gladius with a cutting edge equal to a cavalry spatha’s would come into its own. He tested the edge again. ‘You might well be able to inflict a serious wound with this. Lop off an arm, maybe…’
Then there were the pilae spears, robust wooden handles capped with thin metal shafts ending in gleaming, sharp points. ‘General Marius’ design,’ confirmed Quintus, happier to be dealing with good old-fashioned weaponry. ‘The metal shaft bends on impact so the spear can’t be pulled free – of shield, armour or flesh; and can’t be used again.’ Beside the pilae, a mound of square, curved scutae shields – the modern design taking over from the old oval ones. Hide over layered wood, with metal bosses and lightning bolts worthy of Jupiter himself. The one designed to sow fear – the other to smash faces. ‘Metal bound edges,’ Quintus observed approvingly. ‘No expense spared.’
‘This looks like impressive equipment,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Though, I note there are no bows or sling-shots. Does it go with what you’ve brought?’
‘Yes. I have bows and slings of all sorts anyway. We should take
it all, though,’ said Quintus. ‘We can use the armour. It’s better than the mail and toughened hide you’ve all been wearing. Almost up with my breast- and back-plates. The rest of the stuff is like some of what I’ve brought. But the quality is exceptional. What our contubernium can’t use we can pass onto Publius for his men.’
Artemidorus turned to Suadela. ‘I’ll make arrangements for my men to come and remove all of this,’ he said. ‘Is that going to be acceptable?’
‘Filling a brothel with soldiers?’ she said, her poise recovering now that her initial fears seemed to be put to rest. ‘It may go slowly but I think we can handle whatever comes up.’
‘I’m sure you can,’ said Artemidorus.
He accompanied Suadela back up to the atrium, ordering Kyros to follow – then to go and fetch Publius and a squad of his legionaries to empty the brothel’s cellar. But, as the secret agent lingered in the airy chamber with its erotic illustrations, Gaipor the massive janitor brought in the new head vigile Cessy. ‘Centurion,’ gasped the watchkeeper. ‘Thank the gods I’ve found you! The prisoners! They’ve managed to overpower and slaughter the legionaries you sent with their breakfast and the men I had guarding the prison cell. They’ve escaped!’
iv
Artemidorus’ strode to the head of the cellar steps. ‘Quintus,’ he bellowed. ‘I want you and the rest up here. Now.’
As he waited for his legionaries to obey, he swung round to face Suadela. ‘Centurion Publius’ legionaries will be here soon,’ he said. ‘Even if Laenas and Herrenius have any intention of disturbing you – which is very unlikely – Publius’ men will protect you. In the mean-time I have other responsibilities…’
Suadela rested her fingers lightly on his forearm. The hairs became erect at her touch. ‘Will you come back?’ she said softly. ‘Make sure we are all alright?’
‘I will,’ he promised, matching her tone without conscious thought. And turned to see Puella watching them, from the cellar doorway, her expression unreadable.
The rest of his little command arrived, and he led them out of the house at a dead run as Cessy lingered for a moment, passing on the details of Laenas’ escape to the worried woman. Fortunately, the whole of Brundisium overlooked the harbour so it was easy enough even for a stranger to make his way to the quayside without getting lost. The six of them pounded onto the stone jetty side by side. Slowing to a walk as it became clear that the guards at either end of both Galene’s and Aegeon’s gangplanks were still in place and on watch. Even so, Artemidorus ran aboard Aegeon, calling, ‘Messala! Messala are you aboard?’
Instead of Messala, the centurion Severus Manlius ran up onto the deck. Immediately behind him came another man. A stranger, but one that Artemidorus vaguely recognised. ‘He’s not here,’ said Severus. ‘He’s gone to the hospitium for jentaculum. Is everything alright?’
‘No,’ answered Artemidorus as he turned. ‘Laenas and Herrenius have escaped.’ Then he and the others were pounding back to Galene calling for Lucius – with precisely the same result.
A few moments later, Artemidorus found the two missing men in the hospitium’s atrium, eating their breakfast with Publius and some of his senior legionaries, unaware that anything was wrong. In a few terse phrases he informed them of Laenas’ escape and warned them to be especially vigilant. While he was doing this, Cessy caught up with him. ‘I suppose I’d better look at the cell,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Publius, send some men to double the guard on Laenas’ room in the taberna. That’s the most likely place they’ll head for.’
He paused, mind racing. He had foreseen Laenas’ escape as only the most remote possibility. But had he planned well enough for it, unlikely though it had seemed? Leaving so many of his ill-gotten gains in the room he and Herrenius shared was a potent temptation; neither man could be certain of what had been left there – but they must surely come to check.
Only time would tell. And the worst thing he could do in the circumstances was to stand here. Thinking. Planning. Doing nothing.
*
The praefectus’ cell was a mess. Bread and wine lay scattered, shards of terracotta plate and glass vessels liberally spattered with gouts of blood. The soldier who had brought breakfast lay face-down in the mess, just as the two guards lying outside gave mute testimony to a simple but effective escape, as successful as it was brutal. Artemidorus shook his head and turned as Publius ran in. ‘Whoever brought jentaculum failed to leave his pugio outside with the guards by the look of things,’ he said. ‘A tiny error, but enough.’
Publius’ gaze swept icily over the mess. ‘Where will they be?’ he grated.
‘The most likely is their room in the tablinum,’ answered Artemidorus. ‘I’ve left enough in there to slow them if they take the time to check it through. Otherwise, they’ll be at the stables stealing the fastest horses they can. They know that anyone who catches them in Brundisium after this will kill them without a second thought.’
‘Let’s go then.’ The centurion from the new VIIth turned impulsively.
‘You go on,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Take all the men you need. I’ll follow in a moment. There are aspects to this I still have to think through.’
‘You seem to have everything pretty well covered to me,’ Publius flung over his shoulder as he left.
‘No,’ answered Artemidorus quietly. ‘I’m not sure that I do.’
The next person to enter was Felix, who arrived almost as precipitately as Publius. He and Artemidorus looked silently at each other, then Artemidorus asked, ‘Where do you stand on this, Felix? They work for Octavianus the same as you do…’
‘Not quite,’ answered Felix easily. ‘They work for Maecenas and I work for Agrippa.’
‘There’s a difference?’
‘Like the difference between night and day.’ Felix took a deep breath. He glanced around the room and out into the corridor, satisfied himself that they were completely alone – that only the dead could hear him. ‘It’s as though young Caesar is two men in the same body. You must have seen it or suspected it yourself.’
Artemidorus remained silent. He had seen it all too clearly.
‘The cold, calculating, ambitious leader who has his eyes fixed firmly on power so that he can raise Rome to the place in the world he knows she deserves,’ Felix continued. ‘As though he wants to take a city made of mud and turn it into one made of marble. The builder. Agrippa.’ He took a deep breath, glancing around once more. ‘And then there’s the other side. The willful boy who lusts after more than simple political power, who wants to make everyone obey his every whim, gratify his every lust. Who enjoys dominating, hurting, humiliating, debasing those around him – like the women who come to him begging for their menfolks’ lives. The carnifex torturer. Maecenas.’
‘So Laenas as Maecenas’ man is the vicious torturer. While you, as Agrippa’s man, you are part of the builders, are you?’
‘Yes!’
‘Playing fair, looking out for friend and foe alike. You stand with Socrates – the measure of your actions is whether they are justificus righteous, correct or virtuous?’
‘Yes!’
‘Then how do you explain this?’ Artemidorus reached into his pouch and pulled out the golden fascinum Puella found at the site of the ambush that had killed Mercury and disfigured Ferrata. He lobbed the golden phallus at Felix who caught it easily, despite its weight. ‘Puella found it at the site of the ambush. The tribune Enobarbus told me you lost one like it.’
This was not the way he had planned to deal with the conundrum posed by the golden good-luck charm but there was no turning back now.
v
Felix examined the thing. ‘Not one like it,’ he said. ‘This one.’
‘And?’ Because he had moved outside anything he had planned or prepared, Artemidorus found that he was slipping dangerously out of control, his rage rising unmanageably.
‘I lost it. And I very much wanted to get it back – as I told your tribune Enobarbus. But it’s not mine,’
said Felix, meeting Artemidorus eye with his most honest and forthright expression.
‘Whose is it, then?’
‘You know the answer to that! Who loves gold more than anything – except notoriety? And hurting people, of course. Who has had a golden statue made of himself standing wearing a victor’s laurels with his foot resting on Cicero’s severed head?’
‘Laenas. But if it belongs to Laenas and was found where the trap that killed and maimed my men was sprung, how do you fit in?’
‘My men and I were there in the woods surrounding Cicero’s villa in Formia last Decembris. You know that. We saw another group of legionaries moving through the brush towards the Via Appia as you and your people came riding down it, but we made too much noise and disturbed them. As they melted into the shadows, one of them dropped this. I picked it up, hoping to use it later to identify them. But then we heard the attack on your crypteia and hurried towards the sound. We arrived in time to see your attackers vanish and you preparing to respond. And respond you did – with a hail of arrows and slingshots. We thought it better to retreat ourselves rather than to try and explain what we were doing there. And as we retreated, I too lost this. My proof…’