“I agree, gentlemen. I don’t know why I believe so, but as I notated her words I sensed she was holding something back. It was in the tone in her voice. It was a feigned confidence. I have listened intently to many voices in my time and can often detect fraud.”
“What sort of thing, I wonder?” Suetonius asked. “We can’t judge a woman merely on the tone of her voice.”
Surisca again raised her hand to speak.
“Were you aware of the blood, Masters?” she asked.
“Blood? Blood!? What blood?” Clarus yelped.
“If I’m not mistaken, my lords, there were droplets of blood or something similar oozing from the amphora up on the wall niche. They were leaking through a fine crack in the clay lip and dripping down the timbers behind. Perhaps it was some other dark fluid such as wine or garam sauce?” she proposed.
“Did anyone else notice a fluid?” Suetonius asked. “I certainly didn’t, though I did notice a thin dark line running down the hull. You sense it was blood, was it? My eyes aren’t what they once were.”
“But what would a respectable Roman priestess companion of the Prefect Governor be doing with a jug of blood in her workshop?” Clarus asked. “Is the juice of life a component of her priestly pharmacopeia, or does she store the gore of her daily divination victims for sanctification? Theurgists are known to harvest and hoard many odd materials. But stored blood goes off very speedily. It gels and rots. It smells very badly very quickly, like an arena’s sands or a charnel house. It’s not a pleasing odor, I assure you.”
“But not if it was relatively fresh,” Suetonius said. “Yet the jar seemed to be enshrined in some way? It was being venerated by the Governor’s consort. It was being adored with a votive lamp and a talisman or two.”
“What did you make of her facial lesions?” Clarus asked his companions. “Surisca?” he invited again.
Clarus was warming to the courtesan’s opinions.
“The lesions? Are they a pox? A canker? Leprosy?” Clarus added. “Or some nightmare Egyptian affliction not worth contemplating?”
“I have never seen such abrasions before, my lord,” Surisca said, “except, perhaps, her abrasions are similar to the scars left by surgeons who try to scrape away a freed slave’s branding or owner’s tattoo.”
“Scrape away?” Clarus repeated.
“And what to make of the three rings? Or the beautiful stone on her right hand?” the Special Investigator put forward. “Three fine iron rings on consecutive fingers. Iron, not silver or gold. Is this a local Egyptian fashion, young lady?”
“I do not know of such a fashion, Master,” Surisca replied, “neither here in Egypt nor elsewhere in the East. Perhaps fine ladies wear such things at Rome, or they are tokens of her sacred vocation.”
Suetonius became darkly serious.
“The Lady Anna Perenna made two comments of interest to me. One was her observation about the deceased youth’s resolve. What could she mean by his resolve, I wonder? Resolve to do what? And separately, she spoke of the night of his death. She, without any advice from us, had concluded his death had occurred at night, not some other time of day. Is this a justifiable query?”
“She explained his resolve by suggesting the Bithynian was on a mission to regain his erastes’ favor in some way,” Clarus explained. “Yet I too sensed she was talking of some other purpose in the lad’s intentions. What could that be?”
“And her certitude of the night of his death?” Suetonius reminded.
“Well the options are only two aren’t they, daytime or night?” Clarus said.
“Further, she said the effects of Antinous’s death are yet to be seen. She implied the matter is not closed. What did she mean by this?” the Special Inspector advanced. “She also claimed Antinous had a new companion since his dismissal as Caesar’s eromenos. Yet who would dare be so unwise as to supplant Great Caesar so soon in this way?”
“No one else has mentioned this fact,” Clarus indicated. “Is she confabulating? Would the boy pursue a new conquest so soon after five years of fidelity to his erastes? By the useful principle of cui bono?, what benefit has this woman to gain from the young Favorite’s death, I wonder?”
The biographer’s eye was caught by the keeper of the jetty records at his duties. The officer was seated on a high stool at a lectern on the wharf protected by a trio of Alexandrian guardsmen. Suetonius beckoned the others to follow him to the clerk’s desk.
“My good fellow,” Suetonius sweetly addressed the officer, “you maintain a daily record of the comings and goings to The Alexandros on behalf of your master, the Prefect Governor, do you not?”
The Special Inspector equestrian adjusted the folds of his purple-striped toga with a generous flourish as he spoke, drawing attention to his status in the pecking order of Rome. The clerk was already cognizant of his status and rose abruptly from his seat to attention before his social superior.
“Yes, indeed we do, sir. We maintain daily records on behalf of His Excellency,” the trooper announced helpfully in the strongly Greek-inflected Latin of Alexandrians. “We register each of those who pass to and fro to the Governor’s barque through the day.”
“Each day, every day?” Suetonius probed.
“Yes, my lord, from midnight to midnight in three changes of watch,” the clerk explained.
“Do you still possess your records for the past few days, officer?” Suetonius continued in his best legalist voice.
“Indeed, sir, we retain three days at a time. After three days we dispatch the pages to the Governor’s staff for safe-keeping.”
“Do you still possess the traffic records for the day and night before last?” Suetonius enquired further.
“Yes, my lord, I do. This is the third day of the cycle.”
“What is your name and rank, Officer? And may I inspect your register?” the Special Inspector intoned as Strabon meaningfully waved the ivory scroll of commission with its imposing purple Imperial bulla tag in the direction of the clerk.
“Certainly, sir. Of course, sir. I am Danaos, a Tessararius clerk to the Alexandrine Fleet.”
“Tessararius Danaos, were you the officer recording this jetty’s traffic to The Alexandros on the day or night before last?”
“Only for my eight hour watch, sir. I supervised the evening watch two days ago, not the morning or afternoon watch,” the clerk-of-records explained.
Suetonius cast his eyes across the two sheets of coming-and-goings registered for the day. Running his finger down the list of names and titles his finger stopped abruptly at a single name. Further down the list he noted the same name twice more. He showed the sheet to Strabon as Clarus moved closer to observe.
Surisca, though not having reading skills, could nevertheless identify personal names on a page. She too glanced over the pages as Suetonius turned away from the officer’s hearing.
“Here, it’s Centurion Quintus Urbicus, our Praetorian. According to these sheets he arrived twice but departed only once on that day. His final arrival was quite late,” Suetonius whispered. “The priestess Perenna’s story of her bodyguard being witness to her presence that night is confirmed here.”
He turned to the clerk.
“May I see the register for yesterday, the day after these pages, Tessararius Danaos.”
The Alexandrian provided the further papers. Suetonius again ran his finger down the lists and came to a stop-place.
“Cent Quintus Urbicus. One arrival and then one departure, both in the middle of the day. It seems our centurion friend arrived at the Governor’s vessel on the day before last, but there is no record of his departure prior to his further arrival the next day,” he said. “This can’t be feasible, can it?”
Suetonius turned to the clerk.
“Officer Danaos, is your register of people travelling to and from The Alexandros always accurate? Is it possible you miss some arrivals or departures?” the biographer asked.
“Indeed not, my lord! Our careers as gu
ards to the Governor would be immediately struck out, and we’d receive a thorough beating for our negligence,” the clerk protested. Clarus intervened.
“Test the sheets’ veracity with another name. Try for Flavius Titianus. The Governor told us he slept at Hadrian’s dining marquee on the night of the celebration of The Isia with his paramour lass from Iberia, so surely his departure and return would be noted accordingly?” the senator suggested.
Strabon ran his finger down the first page of the first day once again as Surisca followed his finger closely.
“Here it is. “Excellency Prefect Gov departs with entourage of three.” They’re each listed by name. It is indicated at four hours after high sun. But there’s no record of his return to his vessel later that day, nor of his retinue’s return, until mid-morning the following day,” Strabon announced. “This register agrees with the Governor’s own words.”
Surisca, who had been looking across Strabon’s shoulder at the first day’s pages, pointed hesitantly to a name late in the list. Strabon looked more closely at the penmanship. He turned to the Alexandrian clerk. His eyes were alight.
“Officer Danaos, can you read this name to us please,” the scribe enquired as he pointed to a name low down the list. The clerk checked the written entry and spoke aloud.
“Yes sir, it is the name of Lysias of Bithynia. Six hours after midday, around sunset. His travel authority was a personal invitation from Lady Anna Perenna. It was sighted by the watch officer and duly recorded,” the clerk announced.
“Lysias?” Clarus exclaimed. “What’s this about? What was Lysias doing here?”
“So, what time did he depart then?” Suetonius asked.
Strabon and Surisca trailed down the sheet, across to the second sheet, and then to the following day’s page without success.
“There is no record of his departure,” Strabon announced. Suetonius turned to the clerk.
“Tell me, fellow, how do you explain that you have two visitors in the sheets of the day before yesterday marked as arrivals to be ferried to The Alexandros, but no record of their return journey from the vessel?” the Special Inspector demanded. “Yet one of these two, Centurion Urbicus of the Alexandrian Praetorians, arrives again the following day without his prior departure from The Alexandros recorded?”
The officer stammered a mumbled reply.
“My lords, I don’t know,” he wavered. “The Watch has not troubled to compare the sheets. It seems the clerk at that Watch has been negligent. I am at a loss! It is not my fault! He will be punished for it, I’ll see to that!”
The officer was visibly shaken by the error and in fear of his superiors.
“Yet you were supervising one of these watches on both these two days?” Clarus intoned, the senatorial stripe running down his toga assuming a menacing magnitude in the clerk’s vision.
Suetonius interrupted with a more helpful question.
“Were you also the officer who recorded the arrival of Lysias of Bithynia two evenings ago?”
“Yes, my lord, I was.”
“Do you recall the occasion?”
“Indeed, my lord. Lysias of Bithynia is a fine young noble, well dressed, well built, and bearing fine weapons. I was impressed by his magnificence.”
“Was he in company?”
The clerk looked to his sheets to check.
“He was not personally accompanied, but he arrived at the same time as other officers of the Guards. All three were ferried to The Alexandros together.”
“And they were?”
“You have already noted Centurion Quintus Urbicus. The other was an officer of Caesar’s Horse Guard accompanying the centurion. They visit The Alexandros regularly.”
“Their arrival was recorded, but you have no record of their departure. Is it possible your visitors to the Governor’s barque can depart by some other means? By other river craft, another route, or some other means?” the Special Inspector asked.
“We retain a complete record, sir, of those who attend the Governor’s barque in any manner,” the clerk stammered. “Even the late night watch passes such comings and goings to the daytime shift for our records. We aim to protect His Excellency from stowaways who could well be assassins, brigands, thieves, or even seekers of favors.”
“What about in the dark of night? Could a visitor to The Alexandros slip away overboard without your clerk or guardsmen seeing it?”
The Alexandrian was stricken mute for a moment.
“I suppose such a thing is possible, sir. But the river is not safe to travel after dark even if the moon is high,” he offered. “The currents are dangerous. People drown.”
Suetonius resolved to make a deal with the officer.
“Tessararius Danaos, we will remain silent about your offence with these records if you give us with these pages. We will confiscate the pages for our own legal purposes. Be satisfied we are being gentle and won’t press charges,” Suetonius declared imperiously.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, my lords,” the clerk bowed profusely as he handed over the six pages of the register. Suetonius rolled the papyri carefully and handed them to Strabon.
“Keep these in a safe place. I will have to search my mind for what their omissions mean to our investigation,” he muttered. “Meanwhile, what was Lysias doing at The Alexandros with that mystic priestess? He did not mention this matter at his interview. Have we stumbled upon a romantic tryst or is Lysias, too, a seeker of the lady’s panaceas?”
A new voice intruded into the conversation. It called from the jetty’s end.
“As you say, gentlemen, just where is the Bithynian youth Lysias?” It was a deeply modulated, educated voice. The four turned to look towards its source.
Standing in tall silhouette against the glare of the midday sun at the far end of the wharf was Caesar’s onetime Master of the Hunt, Salvius Julianus. Aged about thirty and garbed in a summer-weight chiton suited to the Egyptian climate topped by a broad-brim sunhat, Julianus’s tall, gangly silhouette made a striking outline against the blaze. Marcus, a young equerry, stood nearby.
“Did I hear the name of Lysias of Bithynia being bandied about?” the silhouette called back.
“By Jupiter! It’s the Quaestor, Salvius Julianus. Welcome to our company, senator!” Clarus called aloud gleefully. “We are due to visit your person shortly.”
“In fact, Septicius Clarus,” Julianus said, “Secretary Vestinus told me I was due to visit you an hour ago at your chambers. I did so and waited, eventually to be told your team had ventured elsewhere. One of the staff reported you were interviewing the Prefect Governor at The Alexandros. So I’ve wandered here to locate you.”
Julianus spoke in the clipped Latin of the legal world. Both his roles as Hadrian’s leader of the hunt and as the educated investigator of the arcane complexities of Roman Law demanded skill in prosecuting a chase. Yet unlike those of Hadrian’s retinue who travelled everywhere in the company a flock of clients, stewards, and assorted hangers-on, Julianus was accompanied only by his solitary equerry.
Both were armed as a precaution, however, except when in the presence of Caesar. The imperial encampment was relatively secure against undesirables, nevertheless only slaves moved around without protection. At a time when unknown intruders had been circulating within the camp and causing affray, Julianus walked unafraid.
“The afternoon heat is debilitating. You must be thirsty and hungry?” he commiserated. “I suggest we retire to my apartments at the Companion’s stables. They’re just at the top of the rise nearby. It will be cooler and private, if you don’t mind the smell of horseflesh. Besides I have something very special to show you,” the affable Roman suggested. “In fact, two somethings.”
“Two somethings? What would they be, Senator?” Suetonius asked.
“You’ll see soon. They will be useful to you.”
CHAPTER 24
At first it sounded like a flight of birds fluttering high in the incandescent sky of a blazing
African afternoon. But it was not birds fluttering. It was the first indication of an impending assault.
Julianus and Clarus were sufficiently experienced in war to immediately recognize the fluttering for what it was. It was neither birds in flight nor benign. They immediately peered skywards. A shimmering shower of arrows was flowingly rising, curving, and turning to descend. It was arcing earthwards towards the group.
“We’re under attack!” Julianus cried. “Get to cover immediately!”
Suetonius, Clarus, Strabon, and Surisca found themselves in an entirely unexpected theater of danger. An attack? On them?! By who? Why?
With a series of whispering zippps, a shower of thin-shafted arrows feathered the baked earth around the group. One shaft transfixed Strabon’s basket of wax tablets and papyrus rolls. Strabon groaned a scholar’s grimace as he tugged the offending dart from his precious kit and cast it aside.
Suddenly Julianus’s equerry emitted a sharp cry as another arrow struck his open-laced boot.
A second wave of arrows rose similarly leisurely into the sky from behind a nearby marquee as the group of six scrambled clumsily up an earthen grade to the safety of the Companions’ compound. The first shower may have been the archer’s range markers, the second a more accurate positioning of the deadly shafts.
“Get to the horse yard!” Julianus shouted as he leaped to his equerry’s assistance. The missile had pierced the side of the young man’s foot but not pinioned it to the earth. The pain was not yet sufficient to disable him, but Julianus grasped him around the torso and heaved the two of them up the slope. They toppled into and under the cover of the horse compound’s palm-strewn trellis vaulting.
Suetonius had the presence of mind to scurry to Surisca’s defense, though the nimble eighteen year-old made a speedier advance to refuge than her chivalrous sixty year-old defender.
The group tumbled under the cover of the palm fronds in a flurry of toga wools, linens, and Damascene silk. A dozen stable-hands ran to their attention. The compound’s trellis cover offered dappled shade to forty horses with their attendant grooms.
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