The gardens were heavily guarded. Military boots tramped along neat gravelled paths as Praetorian guards patrolled. The sounds of festivity from the buildings in the middle of the villa grounds had died away now that they were on the lonely eastern fringes of the park. But even here, several spear carrying Praetorians marched down a gravelled path in an avenue of plane trees. Flaminius and his companions watched from the shrubbery as the men went past.
Drustica wriggled closer to Flaminius. ‘Can’t we make a dash for it across to that grove of trees across the lawn there?’ she asked him in a murmur.
Flaminius bit his lip. The Praetorian guards had their backs to them as they strode on. He nodded shortly, and started to push himself up. He halted, then abruptly lowered himself again.
‘What is it?’ Acco hissed.
Flaminius raised himself with his right arm and peered cautiously out at the Praetorians. They had been joined by another man, a man with a thick black beard and piggy eyes.
‘Marcus Placidus!’ Drustica muttered as she rose to see.
Flaminius pushed her back down and lay with his cheek to the soil, listening.
‘… last seen leaving Rome and heading this way,’ Marcus Placidus was saying. ‘They’re known fugitives, criminals, and the lad has been proscribed. If you see them, don’t hesitate to apprehend them. If they resist, kill them…’
‘But how did he get here?’ Teutorix hissed at Flaminius. ‘He was the one we met in Britain!’
Flaminius rolled over to gaze at him. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘He said he was an imperial courier, but he wore a lance-head brooch like me, so that makes him another commissar. The road system is designed to speed such people on their missions for the emperor. But it looks like his mission had been to follow us!’
‘This is not helping the emperor,’ Drustica told them sternly. ‘We must find him and warn him. For all we know, this Marcus Placidus is in league with the plotters.’
Flaminius shook his head. ‘I think he’s just over zealous,’ he said. ‘No doubt a good man in many respects. If only we’d had a chance to explain things to him before—’ Before you cut your way out of the waystation, he wanted to add. He saw her face fall, and shame coloured it. Before Flaminius could say any more, she rose and sprinted across the lawn towards the grove of trees.
Flaminius leapt up, staring in horror as Acco and Teutorix automatically followed her, jogging to keep up. He turned to see the Praetorians marching off, apparently oblivious, Marcus Placidus accompanying them.
‘Flaminius! Hurry!’
Drustica’s hiss drifted across the lawn. He turned to see her crouching in the cover of the grove, beside a statue of a faun. Acco and Teutorix lay on their bellies beside her, weapons gripped firmly in their hands. Drustica beckoned to Flaminius. Nerving himself, he dashed after her.
But the guards had been alerted by all the noise. As Flaminius ran, he heard shouts of alarm. Flinging a look to his right, he saw Marcus Placidus in the middle of the path, mouth open, as the Praetorians sprinted back the way they had come.
Flaminius reached the Carvettians, and flung himself down. ‘They know we’re here,’ he said bitterly. ‘What now?’
Drustica bared her teeth. ‘We could fight them off while you get to the emperor…’
He shook his head. The gravel of the path hissed and spat as the Praetorians ran up.
‘We’ve got to get moving,’ Flaminius said. He forced his way through the grove, his companions at his heels. Shouting, more Praetorian guards came to join the pursuit.
Panting desperately for breath, Flaminius and the Carvettians ran helter-skelter through an Arcadian idyll of groves and lawns, pools and fountains, statues and temples. Bursting out into one garden, they saw a slave trimming the grass. He rose, dumbfounded, dropped his sickle on the turf, and sprinted for a small red tiled temple, apparently still under construction. Entering its portico, he hauled open a hatch in the floor and vanished down it.
‘Flaminius!’ Drustica said, snatching up the sickle. ‘Find where that slave has gone. We might be able to escape the guards.’
‘What will you three do?’ Flaminius demanded, eyeing the sickle in her hand.
‘We’ll fight them off,’ she said determinedly. ‘Now get moving.’
Flanked by Acco and Teutorix, she turned to face the shrubbery on the far side of the lawn, from which even now came the clatter and crash of approaching Praetorian guards. Flaminius turned and ran after the slave.
Reaching the portico of the half constructed little temple, he found no sign of the hatch. The slave must have closed it behind him, and now all that remained was a mosaic floor. Shouts came from the lawn outside, followed by the ring of steel on steel. Flaminius scrabbled desperately at the floor, searching for the vanished hatchway.
He heard Drustica cry out.
Just as he was getting up to see what had happened to her, his hand brushed against a mosaic tile and the trapdoor sprang open. For a second Flaminius stared down at the dark shaft that descended into the depths beneath the half built temple. Then Drustica and Teutorix charged into the portico. Drustica was clutching at a bloody side, but in her hand was a Praetorian Guard’s sword, also bloody.
‘They’re coming,’ she warned. ‘They got Acco, cut him down.’ She stopped, staring at the trapdoor. ‘You’ve found it?’
‘Down here,’ Flaminius urged them. He looked back in horror. Was Acco dead?
‘You first, then Teutorix,’ Drustica said as the Praetorians flooded up the steps to the portico.
As he climbed through the trapdoor opening, Flaminius found a ladder of foot and handholds carved into the living rock. It was ice cold in the gloom of the shaft, the walls were streaked with moisture, and after the warm sunlight of the villa grounds, he found himself shivering as he descended into this unexpected underworld. Moments later, a scuffling sound echoed down the shaft followed by a gentle shower of grit as first Teutorix then Drustica climbed down after him. Angry shouts rang out, muffled, from above, and then Flaminius heard the Praetorian guards following them.
Panting, he reached the bottom. It opened out into a wide tunnel, wide enough that chariots could have gone down it. Its paved floor stretched off into the darkness. Some way ahead, the light of a lantern glimmered like a moving star. The slave, Flaminius guessed.
Teutorix and Drustica joined his side. ‘They’re coming down after us,’ Drustica reported. ‘Where are we?’
‘They killed Acco,’ Teutorix panted. ‘They killed Acco!’
‘It looks like tunnels,’ Flaminius panted. ‘Under the villa. Presumably for slaves to move about without intruding on the emperor and his guests. They lead in the direction of the main palace. But it’s pitch black. We’ll have to tread carefully.’
‘The soldiers are coming down the shaft,’ Teutorix reminded him.
‘This way,’ Flaminius said, and together they ran into the blackness.
Time and again as he ran, Flaminius stumbled on loose rocks. He couldn’t see where he was going and once he blundered straight into the rough rocky wall of the tunnel. The only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that the Praetorians pursued them. Drustica ran at his side, lithe as a cat. Teutorix sped after them like a ghost. The slave’s lamp was no longer visible ahead. It was as black as Tartarus down here.
Light and the sound of running footsteps came from behind them. Flaminius glanced back to see the great tunnel lit up by bobbing lights, lamps held by the pursuing Praetorian guards!
‘Hurry!’ Flaminius ran onwards, without a clue where he was going. The other two ran with him, pursued by fully armed Praetorians who had been ordered to kill them if they resisted.
They reached a junction in the tunnel. Flaminius saw that a smaller tunnel led off to the right, as the shadows danced in the light of the Praetorians’ lanterns. Drustica turned to him, her face ghastly in the shaky light.
‘Shall we go that way? We’ll be better able to defend our
selves there.’
Flaminius paused briefly, struggling to think. Which way should they go? How could they get to the emperor? The Praetorians’ boots banged relentlessly, remorselessly on the rock floor of the passage as their owners pursued them.
‘Yes, go this way,’ he said at last.
She was right, they would be better able to defend themselves if the guards caught up with them. But it was more important that they got to the emperor. By now he was lost, he had no idea as to where they were in relation to the villa. Wheezing for breath, he turned down the narrow tunnel followed by Drustica, her sword at the ready. Acco brought up the rear, clutching his spear.
The tunnel wound deeper and deeper into the rock and soon everything was utterly black again. Flaminius blundered onwards, hands outstretched. The Praetorian guards were still audible, still following them, but their lanterns did not reach this far. They must be falling behind.
Light appeared ahead of them, dancing red, the light of torches. The tunnel opened out into another. Down it scurried a knot of slaves, most of them carrying food, elaborate dishes weighed down with roast meat, fish, pies and jellies. Two bore flaming torches to light the way, and another couple carried bundles of neatly chopped firewood.
They screamed at the sight of Flaminius. Yelling to each other they ran for the far end, some dropping their burdens as they went. He halted and stared after them in bewilderment. As the slaves departed, the illumination went with them.
In the dark, Drustica collided with his back.
‘Why have you stopped?’ she hissed. ‘The Praetorians are coming up behind us.’
He told her what he had seen. ‘They seem to have gone up a shaft.’
‘Taking food to the emperor and his guests,’ Drustica guessed. ‘The senators must be gathering somewhere above us. We’re almost there!’
The narrow tunnel resounded again with the clatter of the approaching Praetorian guards. As Acco joined them, Drustica added, ‘You have to go up there. Find the emperor and warn him before it’s too late.’
‘What about you two?’ Flaminius demanded.
‘We’ll stay here,’ she said, ‘and guard this end of the passageway. Those Praetorians won’t get past us. One warrior could guard this passage against a horde. Two, against all the legions of Rome.’
Flaminius was about to argue, but at the last moment he changed his mind. Accepting this act of self-sacrifice gratefully, he turned and hurried in the direction taken by the slaves.
As he made his way along the pitch black tunnel, he heard the clang of sword on sword again, echoing weirdly up the tunnel from behind him, magnified by the stone walls until it seemed to ring inside Flaminius’ own skull. He tripped and stumbled over something in the middle of the floor, hit the ground with a thump, forced himself up. It must have been one of the bundles of firewood the slaves had dropped.
He staggered on until he reached the shaft. Here he found a shaft of light filtering down, illuminating a flight of steps. Still the tunnel behind him rang with the noise of Drustica and Acco’s desperate fight with the Praetorian guards. Mind filled with misgivings, convinced that he would never see the Carvettians again, Flaminius ascended the staircase.
The steps opened out at last into a small storeroom. He hurried into another chamber that proved to be a large kitchen, but it was deserted, having been abandoned in a hurry, it seemed. Flaminius hurried through the far door and blundered out into a peristyle garden where a crowd of people was gathered.
For a moment he was dazzled, blinking in the sun, which was bright and hot after the cool darkness of his underworld sojourn. He saw several slaves were making themselves scarce in the surrounding colonnades. And a group of Praetorian guards was marching straight towards him.
Panting for breath, Flaminius scanned the murmuring crowd. Standing beside the fountain was a small group of figures including a bearded man of medium height. This man was dressed in a senatorial toga like the rest but Flaminius knew that this was the very person he had sworn to protect, the emperor himself, Hadrian.
He ran, ducking and weaving, across the gravel, leaping box hedges and sprinting over neatly trimmed turf, towards the emperor. Toga clad senators scrambled out of his way. The Praetorian guards closed in. Just as Flaminius reached the middle of the peristyle garden, where the emperor still stood calmly beside the fountain, a burly Praetorian tribune tackled him, bringing him crashing to the gravel.
Flaminius struggled, but the tribune pinioned him roughly, forcing his arms behind his back and his face down into the gravel. He could see next to nothing but the consternation from the gathered senators was still audible. Someone raced up, the gravel spraying from their sandals as they did so.
‘This is the man, your imperial majesty.’ With a sinking feeling, Flaminius recognised the grating, triumphant voice of Marcus Placidus. ‘This is the man I have been pursuing since he left Britain. I’ve followed him by the trail of his dead.’
Flaminius struggled to raise his head, to explain, but the tribune was too strong, and his mouth was filled with gravel.
‘The man who Senator Falco proscribed?’ The new voice was calm, authoritative, in control. ‘I’ve read the reports, of course. They say he was a member of the Commissary. If anything justifies the need for agents like you, it is this, that an agent should make a desperate attempt on me.’
‘Shall I kill him?’ grunted the tribune, his breath hot and wet on the back of Flaminius’ neck.
‘Not at all,’ said the calm voice. ‘We must have the wretch questioned. Who is he working for? Lift him up.’
Flaminius found himself hauled up into a kneeling position, his knees in the gravel. He spat out more gravel. Standing in front of him, looking grim, was the bearded man, the emperor himself.
Hadrian gazed down at Flaminius with distaste. ‘A valiant attempt at my assassination, by Hercules,’ he said urbanely. ‘But I’m afraid my guards are too efficient.’ The Praetorians had all gathered around Flaminius now, and were training swords on him. The senators fussed and clucked around Hadrian like hens. ‘Who put you up to this, boy? Tell me now, and spare yourself unnecessary pain.’
‘Watch out!’ Flaminius shouted suddenly. ‘To your left!’
Hadrian swung round. One of the senators, a young man with a fuzz of beard on his chin, had produced a dagger from beneath his toga. His face a desperate mask of anger, he thrust at the emperor. Deftly, Hadrian leapt to one side.
Shouting, the Praetorian guards rushed forward, abandoning their prisoner in their zeal to protect their emperor. The senator broke away, forced his way through the scrum of Praetorians. And fell, as Flaminius put out his leg to trip him. The senator scrambled up again, but Flaminius flung himself at him and dragged him struggling to the ground. It was his turn to pinion someone.
‘Thank you,’ the Emperor Hadrian said, looking down at them. ‘Release your captive into my men’s hands.’ He signalled to two Praetorian guards to bring the prisoner to him. ‘Rufinus Crassus, isn’t it?’ he asked the young man, disappointedly. The would-be assassin hung his head, saying nothing. ‘Who put you up to this? Or were you working on your own?’
The senator remained sullenly silent. Another senator approached, a cadaverous, clean shaven, older man. ‘Clearly a lone wolf, your imperial majesty,’ he said. ‘A fanatic. You’ll get nothing from him.’
‘That remains to be seen, Ursus Servianus,’ said the Emperor Hadrian. He clicked his fingers. ‘Take him to your barracks,’ he told the Praetorian tribune, ‘and see that he talks. We want to know the names of his accomplices, his motives, and so forth, by tomorrow morning.’
The Praetorian tribune saluted.
‘What about this one?’ he added, indicating Flaminius. The emperor turned to look.
‘Since this young man warned me of Rufinus Crassus’ assassination attempt,’ Hadrian said, ‘I don’t think we need to question him! Rather reward him for his dedication to duty.’
The senator who Hadrian had a
ddressed as Ursus Servianus turned away and spoke quietly to another man while the Praetorian guards dragged the struggling Rufinus Crassus from the garden. Marcus Placidus stepped forward.
‘Your imperial majesty,’ he began.
Before he could say any more, there was a consternation from the gathered senators. A ghastly figure appeared in the doorway of the building from which Flaminius had come. It seemed to be a blood-spattered Amazon, gory sword in hand, staring blinking into the bright sunlight. He could see no sign of Acco.
‘What is this?’ Hadrian said. ‘Is it an omen? Step forward, apparition.’
‘Drustica!’ Flaminius said as she stepped wearily into the peristyle garden. Hadrian glanced at him.
‘You know this virago?’
Flaminius nodded. ‘She is Drustica of the Carvetti. A British people, your imperial majesty. She and her fellow peregrines have been my faithful companions on the road as I came south to warn you of the plot against your life.’
‘You came all the way from the edge of the empire to warn me of a plot?’ the emperor asked in tones of disbelief. As Drustica approached Flaminius explained himself.
‘Gaius,’ the warrior woman broke in, ‘I fought off the soldiers. They killed Acco. He died with honour. Is the emperor safe?’
‘Your imperial majesty,’ Marcus Placidus said again. ‘May I inform you that this man’—he pointed accusingly at Flaminius—‘and this woman’—he indicated Drustica—‘have committed crimes without number on their journey here? By her own admission this barbarian woman and her accomplices have been fighting your guards…’
‘Peregrine,’ Flaminius said obstinately. ‘She is not a barbarian, Drustica is a peregrine.’
‘And a loyal subject of Rome, it seems,’ the emperor added. ‘There are so few about these days! Loyal subjects should be rewarded, not punished. Besides, had it not been for their intrusion, I think my Praetorian Guard would not have been so zealous as to enter this area fully armed. All charges are dropped.’
On Hadrian's Secret Service Page 21