Amidst all the uncertainties he knew only one thing. He had to find Petrus.
XVI
‘ARE YOU CERTAIN you possess the zeal your Emperor requires of you?’
The summons had come as a surprise and the atmosphere in the room was relentlessly hostile. Torquatus sat behind his desk, with Rodan, conspicuously armed and in the dark tunic of the Praetorian Guard, smirking over his shoulder.
Valerius stared at the two men. On the face of it he’d been called to the Palatine to explain his lack of progress, but he suspected there was another motive. ‘In an inquiry of this nature lack of zeal cannot be equated with lack of progress,’ he pointed out. ‘As I’m sure you are aware, prefect, it is a question of ensuring all the pieces are in place before you make your decisive move.’
Torquatus was unimpressed. ‘The future of the Empire is no game, Verrens,’ he snapped. ‘Perhaps the Emperor did not impress upon you enough the seriousness of your commission. It would take but a stroke of the stylus and you would be no more Hero of Rome.’
Valerius allowed himself a laugh. If Nero had wanted to get rid of him he wouldn’t be standing in front of Torquatus’s desk, he would be having a much more painful conversation in the torture chambers which existed somewhere beneath the hill. That thought reinforced his decision to keep what he’d discovered about Lucina Graecina and Cornelius Sulla to himself. There were things he needed to know before he handed them over to Torquatus’s tender mercies. He stared directly at Rodan.
‘I’m told you’ve been searching for Petrus for six months without any success. Is that why the Emperor asked for me? I’m sure your zeal cannot be questioned, prefect, but perhaps the competence of your investigators …’
Rodan let out a low growl, an attack dog confronted by a rival. Torquatus’s lips compressed into a thin smile. ‘So that is what you and Seneca talked of. I was curious. My spies in his household had grown careless. They have now been replaced. A word of warning. Do not put your faith in a man whose time has passed, Gaius Valerius Verrens. Seneca will be too busy saving himself to worry about you. However …’ His voice changed and it was like hearing a snake speak, sibilant and seductive, but with the fangs barely concealed. ‘If you were to give your undivided loyalty to a man whose time has come, you would not find him ungrateful. Do not look so surprised, young man. I am not blind. I have recognized your talents just as the Emperor has, but, like him, I require proof of your devotion.’
‘What proof?’
‘The followers of Christus are not the only threat to the Emperor. You are popular in the courts. People tell you things. Perhaps they are occasionally indiscreet?’
‘You want me to spy on my friends?’ Valerius struggled to keep a dangerous edge from his voice. ‘And what would be the reward for this service, apart, of course, from your gratitude?’
Torquatus smiled. ‘We talked of a legion, did we not? A single word from me to your Emperor would win Gaius Valerius Verrens the scarlet cloak of a legate. A year, perhaps eighteen months; a successful command in some profitable but not too arduous theatre of war. Then a place in the Senate. Why not? It is your birthright. You would have your seat before you were thirty and, with good fortune and the right friends, your consulship when you come of age for it.’
Valerius relaxed and returned the smile. Torquatus offered him everything his father had ever dreamed of, and more. The consulship? It was almost laughable. The only thing he hadn’t placed on the table was a promise to restore his right arm. How like this man to overplay his hand. If the offer had been genuine, a legionary command would have been bribe enough.
‘You are too generous,’ he said, hoping Torquatus was as immune to irony as he was to subtlety. ‘I will do what I can, but finding the Judaean is my first priority. I hope you won’t have cause to question my zeal again.’ He turned to leave.
A word from Torquatus stopped him. ‘Valerius?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are right not to be distracted from your investigation. The others can wait – for now. The Emperor is becoming impatient and my offer means nothing without progress in this matter of Petrus. I urge you not to take too much upon yourself. You may call on Rodan for what support you require. He has already begun to bring together evidence that may assist you.’
‘Evidence? What kind of evidence?’
Torquatus’s tone was almost kindly, but it sent a knife point running down Valerius’s spine. ‘Perhaps you should ask your father.’
Ask your father. Valerius left the palace with the words still ringing in his ears. Torquatus was trying to keep him off balance, he understood that, but was there anything more? Politically, Lucius, despite painful experience, was still a babe in arms. His friendship and position as client to Seneca also made him vulnerable. The message was a threat, but how great a threat? Olivia, Petrus and now his father. How many more burdens must he carry?
He almost missed Felix among the crowd loitering on the steps of the Temple of Jupiter Stator. The Spaniard nodded to indicate that he was still being followed. As Valerius walked back towards the Clivus Scauri he struggled to work out his priorities. He had to find a way to reach Petrus. The boy had predicted that if Valerius sought the Judaean, Petrus would eventually come to him, but he couldn’t depend on that. He had two sources of leverage. Lucina and Cornelius Sulla. It was a question of who was most likely to provide the information he needed. And that was really no question at all.
* * *
The brothel stood at a crossroads in the valley between the Caelian and Esquiline hills. It was one of Rome’s more superior establishments, with a pair of muscular watchmen at the door to ensure that the social status of the customers matched the aspirations of its owner. The three men stood on the opposite side of the street. ‘He’s been in there for more than an hour. I don’t know where these young fellows get the strength,’ Marcus grumbled. Serpentius muttered something from the darkness that made the old gladiator laugh. ‘Oh, there’s always money for a good shag, Snake. And this Cornelius is obviously prepared to pay for the best.’
Valerius laughed with them, but he wondered why Cornelius Sulla, who had free access in Nero’s palace to the greatest and most degenerate brothel in Rome, had need to visit somewhere like this. True, it was of the better class, but with a word in the Emperor’s ear Cornelius could have any handsome boy, beautiful slave girl or even senator’s wife who took his fancy. The doorkeepers studied the three men suspiciously and Valerius could hardly blame them. Streets around brothels tended to be haunted by robbers and he still wore the cloak and hood he’d used to evade Torquatus’s followers. It had been deceptively simple. Serpentius had accused one of the watchers of attempting to steal his purse and as the others were drawn into the brawl, Valerius had slipped away to join Marcus.
When he wasn’t busy fawning over the Emperor, Cornelius spent a puzzling amount of time at the brothel, and it had been no surprise when he turned up this evening. Valerius sweated copiously beneath the heavy wool of his cloak, but he dared not remove it for fear of alerting his quarry. For once the rich smell of cooking overwhelmed the usual rancid street scents and his stomach warned him he hadn’t eaten since dawn. The smell came from a nearby bar where a few regulars had gathered to drink the sour wine and complain about their wives. The shouted conversations reminded him that he had only one more year of respectable bachelorhood left. But who would want a one-armed cripple? Strange that Fabia’s face should enter his mind. She would have begun her career in a place like this, and only a potent mix of beauty, intelligence and charm had won her way out. She was now more mistress than courtesan, although mistress to a dozen men who paid for the privilege. Most of these women would end their career on the streets, used up, ill-treated and available for the price of a cup of wine.
Could he marry Fabia? He smiled at the absurdity of the thought. In any case, a man didn’t marry for love, he married for wealth or patronage. He wondered what she would say if she knew he had linked her name wi
th the word love. Would it draw some saw-toothed jibe, or …
‘He’s here,’ Marcus hissed.
Valerius looked from under the hood to where Cornelius Sulla loitered by the door of the brothel, his golden hair shining in the lamplight. The aristocrat held a girl in his arms. Dark-haired, she was blessed with heavy-lipped, sensuous features and breasts that spilled from the front of her dress. Valerius watched as Cornelius attempted to cover her up in a way that was almost brotherly. The girl playfully knocked his hands away and bared herself all the more, dusky nipples peeping from the folds of material. There was nothing brotherly in the way they kissed, long and passionate, their hands searching each other, until they parted breathless, Cornelius grinning inanely.
‘Silly bastard’s in love with a tart,’ Marcus muttered. ‘Who would have believed it?’
Eventually, someone called the girl inside and Cornelius was joined by two men who had been hidden in the shadows. One, burly and muscle-bound, with a rolling walk that hinted at more time spent on a horse than on foot, glared towards Valerius and whispered something to the young knight. Cornelius threw them a dismissive glance and shook his head. Valerius gave the three men time to move off before he followed, keeping pace a few yards behind. He knew they were aware of his presence, but that was how he wanted it. After about a hundred paces they stopped and the two bodyguards drew a pair of lethal-looking cudgels and moved protectively in front of the younger man. Valerius allowed his hood to fall back and Cornelius stiffened as he recognized his follower in the flickering torchlight.
‘What do you want?’ he demanded.
Valerius lifted the seal on its gold chain so all three could see it. ‘This is imperial business.’ He directed the words at the senior of the two guards. ‘Your master will be safe with me. Walk on for twenty paces and he will join you in a few moments.’
The men looked at each other, then to Cornelius, who stared at the seal as if hypnotized.
‘Twenty paces,’ Valerius repeated. ‘In the Emperor’s name.’
Cornelius nodded. One guard’s jaw came up as if he was about to argue, but the second man pulled his sleeve and they walked reluctantly away. When they were alone, Valerius directed Cornelius towards the shadows at the side of the street, but the younger man shrugged off his hand and glared furiously at him. Valerius decided he’d seen friendlier cobras.
‘What do you want?’ Cornelius demanded again. His eyes betrayed no concern because he was Nero’s favourite and he intended to make Valerius pay for this insult. For his part, Valerius stared into the handsome face and knew the boy’s arrogance made any attempt at compromise pointless.
‘Two days ago, you met in secret with the lady Lucina Graecina …’
‘You lie,’ Cornelius hissed, but Valerius ignored him.
‘… in the Horti Sallustiani. The lady was unaccompanied. You were unaccompanied. The lady reached the gardens first and waited fifteen minutes for your arrival. You spoke with the lady for approximately two minutes before leaving by the same concealed door by which you entered.’ Cornelius’s face shone like a pale orb in the torchlight. His flesh took on the look of aged parchment and fear replaced the anger in his eyes. ‘I want to know the reason for the meeting and what was said.’ Valerius raised his left hand with the imperial seal. ‘In the Emperor’s name.’
‘I … It’s not true.’
‘The mother of a man the Emperor ordered killed meets in secret with a member of the Emperor’s court?’
‘She …’
‘She may survive, because she is Lucina Graecina, but what will happen to the Emperor’s favourite, Cornelius Sulla? Nero is not known for his mercy, or his forgiveness. A single word from me, Cornelius, and you will be a dead man. Why did you meet her?’
‘I cannot tell. Do what you must.’ The boy’s voice shook, but his tone betrayed a defiance that made Valerius almost like him. He wished there could be another way.
‘Whether it is true or not, he will believe you betrayed him. Have you seen a traitor die, Cornelius? Citizenship will not save you. No merciful opening of the veins for you. It will be the cross or the fire. A slow death and a painful one. Could you bear it?’
‘I cannot tell … please!’ A tear ran across the fine down of his cheek.
‘What was said?’ Valerius kept his voice hard.
Cornelius bit his lips as if it was the only way he could stay silent.
‘You may be willing to die, Cornelius, but is she?’ The boy’s eyes flashed white as he realized ‘she’ didn’t mean Lucina. ‘They will make you watch her die. They will remove her beauty a little at a time for your pain and Nero’s pleasure. Do not make me do it, Cornelius. Tell me and you will both live. On my honour.’
XVII
LUCINA GRAECINA WAITED alone in the centre of the garden. Where was he?
She hated unpunctuality. Bad enough that she must wait until he was certain they were alone, but to be kept here for … She took a deep breath and willed herself to be calm. What was it Petrus had said? ‘Impatience is like anger. Any negative emotion impairs our ability to do God’s work.’
She smiled, and the narrow, pinched face was transformed. They were doing God’s work. She looked towards the trees growing a few feet from the garden walls and the flowers in their beds beside the beaten earth of the path. Every colour and every shape unique. All God’s work.
Another ten minutes passed and she retained her inner harmony apart from a single glance at the corner from where she knew he would come. She had been dying until they found her – or had she found them? – shrivelling inside like the desiccated occupant of a hundred-year-old tomb, her mind devoured by rage and thoughts and images of revenge against that man: the man who had defiled and then destroyed her son. Five years locked away in the self-sought oblivion of mourning and never a moment’s joy. Then she had met him, and he had reopened her eyes to life.
‘Lady?’
The wrong voice. She whirled, and speared the intruder with needle-tipped darts of contempt. ‘This is a private garden. Please leave at once.’ She turned away, her back reinforcing the message of her eyes, but her heart thundered so she wondered it did not break free from her breast. What could have happened? The secret way was known only to a few, not to this well-set young man with the stern features.
‘Cornelius is not coming. He was to bring me, but he has disappeared, along with the girl.’
She felt her heart flutter. Girl? What girl? She must not faint. She put all her strength into her voice. ‘I know of no Cornelius. I will not ask you to leave again.’
‘Perhaps you would like to call your servants. I’m sure they would be interested in what I have to say.’
‘More interested than I,’ she huffed, and turned for the gate.
‘I don’t want you. I wish to talk to Petrus,’ Valerius persisted.
Almost without realizing it she halted. ‘More names. More mysteries.’
‘You are familiar with mysteries, I understand, my lady Lucina.’
‘But not with riddles, young man. You waste my time and yours.’
He shook his head. ‘You are a follower of the Judaean mystic called Christus. You have taken part in rituals conducted by the man I seek. You keep certain religious objects in your home, which I will find if I use this authority to enter it.’ He held up the seal and she caught the glint of gold in the corner of her eye, enough to make a guess at its identity. ‘All this I had from Cornelius, along with the fact that he had lost contact with Petrus and today you were to reveal where he could reach him.’
She turned and her eyes narrowed dangerously, a she-cat cornered by hounds. ‘If you have harmed him you will be damned for all eternity, as will your master.’
Valerius allowed himself a smile. ‘So, you admit your complicity, if not your guilt. You mistake me, lady. I will keep Cornelius from harm if I can find him, and I admit to no master but myself.’
‘You have his seal and you carry his stink. I freely admit both my c
omplicity and my guilt. Death holds no fears for me, young man, whatever horrors the act of dying comprises. I will go to the afterlife willingly in the knowledge that I shall be content for all eternity in the company of those I love. Do what you will.’
She walked away and he couldn’t help admiring her. She had fought him to a standstill and when he had placed the point of his sword at her breast she had disarmed him as easily as if he had been a child. But he had one more question. ‘What does MCVII mean?’
She stopped abruptly and turned to face him. Her eyes settled on the artificial wooden hand. ‘What is your name, young man?’
‘I am Gaius Valerius Verrens.’
‘Then you must ask your father.’
Valerius spent the night tormented by irrational fears and tortured by dreams of wild beasts closing in from the darkness. He woke dry-mouthed and with an unaccustomed feeling of helplessness. When he set off for Fidenae, he left Marcus with instructions to concentrate on the hunt for Cornelius Sulla. Cornelius had taken the girl from the brothel and vanished the morning after Valerius had questioned him. They’d searched his usual haunts without success and unless he had hidden away on the Palatine, where Marcus and his men could not go, it seemed that he had either taken refuge among the alleys of the Subura or left Rome altogether.
But Valerius had concerns of his own. He rode out of the city before dawn taking what precautions he could, though he knew there was no guarantee that he’d lost Rodan’s watchers. His mind was bowstring tight. Ask your father. The same loaded suggestion from two entirely different and equally dangerous sources. What did his father know about the Christus cult and plots against Caesar? Lucius had never been politically astute, but he was no fool either. Apart from two or three letters which had probably never reached the Emperor, there was little likelihood that Nero even knew his name. But Torquatus did and it seemed Torquatus would use any lever to increase his hold on Valerius. Ask your father. He felt dread hovering over him like a thundercloud.
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