‘Yes,’ said Flaminius. ‘Medea could not provide me with an alibi. But just before the third watch, on my way to the assignation, I encountered a Praetorian patrol.’ He looked round at the gathered guards. ‘They may well be in here at the moment. Fabius Pollio and Appius Vibius.’
One of the guards stepped forward. He looked apprehensively at Septicius Clarus, then at Flaminius.
‘Appius Vibius is back at the barracks,’ he said, ‘but I can confirm that I encountered you in the gardens just before the third watch.’
A hubbub of conversation broke out. Ursus Servianus called for silence.
‘Now we have established an alibi for Tribune Flaminius,’ said the senator, ‘all we have to do is identify the real murderer…’
‘Thank you, brother in law,’ said the empress, speaking for the first time. ‘Since the tribune has established his innocence but we have yet to identify the murderer, I suggest that he himself investigates the murder.
Flaminius was taken aback.
‘Thank you for your confidence in me,’ he said.
The empress smiled sweetly. ‘We will give him six days,’ she told the court, ‘and if he has not found any evidence that points to another suspect, he will be put on trial again.’
‘Of course,’ said Septicius Clarus, ‘without any other suspects, the chances are that despite his convenient alibi he will be found guilty.’
Flaminius frowned. This was serious. The prefect seemed determined to pin the blame on him. He needed help. ‘I have no experience of murder investigation,’ he told the empress, ‘but there is a man in Rome who I believe could help me. May I send to Rome for assistance?’
The empress frowned. She looked at Ursus Servianus.
‘I don’t see there’s any harm in that,’ said the senator.
The empress looked meaningfully at Septicius Clarus, who rose, and barked out:
‘Court adjourned!’
—7—
‘You have a visitor,’ said Junius Italicus, ‘sir.’
After proving his alibi, Flaminius had returned to barracks where he had sent messengers to Rome to request Probus’ presence.
‘Send him in, centurion,’ he said, looking up from his desk at Junius Italicus, who stood in the doorway.
‘Sir!’ said the centurion smartly, and stepped aside. Flaminius brightened as a familiar short, solid figure bustled past Centurion Junius Italicus and entered the office. It was Probus, clad in ceremonial breastplate and with a crested helmet under his arm. He must have come as soon as he was called for.
‘Thank you, centurion,’ Flaminius said to Junius Italicus. ‘I’ll send for you if I need you.’ Junius Italicus snapped a sharp salute and marched from the room.
‘Tell me everything that has happened,’ Probus said, without wasting time with greetings. ‘Where were you at the time of your Chief Centurion’s death?’
Over the next few minutes Flaminius explained what had happened. Probus listened as if his life depended on it. Certainly Flaminius’ did. Together they went into the cell and Probus examined the room while Flaminius continued his story.
‘So,’ Probus said thoughtfully, ‘You were nowhere near when the centurion died.’ He had been studying the ciphered message while Flaminius spoke. Now he rose to his feet. ‘The walls have ears,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’
He led Flaminius outside.
‘But it was my… er… love philtre that was used to poison him,’ Flaminius pointed out as they came out into the park. The noontime sun beamed down on them, as if all was joyful.
‘Presumably it was slipped into his drink,’ Probus said as they strolled towards the palace. ‘And you’d been seen drinking with him earlier. But from what the witch Erichtho says, the poison couldn’t have been administered as early as that, so it must have been in a drink that the centurion poured himself when he had returned to his own quarters.
‘Since it was lying on its side beside him,’ the centurion added, ‘that means it had only been drunk shortly before it affected him. Someone must have slipped the poison into the beaker of wine. That surely means someone was with him when or shortly before he was killed; he wouldn’t have kept a beaker of wine hanging round until it turned to vinegar.’
Even as he spoke, Septicius Clarus strode from within the palace, white plumed helmet under one arm, burnished breastplate gleaming. He was flanked by several armoured Praetorians.
‘Centurion Probus!’ Septicius Clarus said with a nervous laugh. ‘Surely you’re not alone with the suspect. He’s killed once recently. He could kill again.’
‘Nonsense, Prefect,’ Probus replied equably. ‘The lad’s established his innocence, and now we will find out who really murdered the centurion.’
Septicius Clarus studied him for a moment. ‘Bring the tribune with you,’ he said at last. ‘The empress herself wishes to speak to you both.’
Probus stood before the empress.
‘And why exactly have you agreed to help the tribune investigate the murderer?’ she murmured.
Probus grinned without humour. ‘Because he is the only person in this place I’m sure didn’t murder Chief Centurion Messalus, your imperial majesty.’
Sabina looked down her nose at the commissary centurion. ‘Are you suggesting that I might have poisoned the First Spear?’
‘I can assure you,’ Septicius Clarus said, outraged, ‘that the empress was in her bedchamber during the second watch of the night.’
‘Can you now?’ said Probus. He raised his hands. ‘I am not pointing the finger of blame at anyone. Unlike some people, I am not willing to throw around accusations without establishing full proof.
‘With the current vogue for all things Greek, many people profess themselves to be stoics, perhaps, or epicureans. I, however, consider myself a sceptic. I do not believe in anything without undisputable evidence. Tribune Flaminius has been proposed as the murderer, but an alibi has been established. Therefore, he, of everyone present here last night, is innocent. Someone else present at the time put the poison into Messalus’ wine. I must ask you all to remain here while I and the tribune investigate the chief centurion’s quarters.’
‘Very well!’ said the empress. ‘Investigate.’
‘And so I shall,’ said Probus. ‘I must request that you all remain in the Villa during the investigation.’ Ignoring the expression on the empress’ face, Probus turned and beckoned to Flaminius, who followed him from the room
‘You’ve been doing some reading recently,’ the tribune commented as they departed the palace. ‘You’ve never mentioned being a sceptic before. Weren’t they the ones who lived in barrels?’
‘I was a sceptic before ever I read the works of Pyrrho or spoke to Sextius Empiricus,’ Probus replied. ‘And no, Pyrrho didn’t live in a barrel. That was Diogenes, who was a cynic. I’m not ready to drop out like Diogenes did, but a little bit of empiricism will go a long way in this investigation.’
‘We’ve got so little to go on, though,’ Flaminius objected. Probus was about to reply when it all came out in a rush, everything that had been going through his mind as he tried to sleep. ‘Some maniac set a lion on me last night. Who? And what did Medea want to talk to me about?’
They approached the barracks.
‘In time,’ said Probus, ‘we will question everyone who was present.’
‘What if they run away?’ Flaminius asked. ‘Can you keep them confined to the Villa?’
‘If they run away it will be a confession of their guilt,’ the centurion replied, ‘but I don’t think they will. I think the people responsible for Messalus’ death are also behind Rufinus Crassus’ murder. Find one and you’ll find the other. But we’ve only just scratched the surface. There is more to this than a simple poisoning.’
Two Praetorians were on guard at the door to the late chief centurion’s quarters. They came to attention as Flaminius and Probus approached but looked at the former uncertainly.
‘Jupiter’s balls! Who put yo
u on guard here?’ asked Probus, halting in front of them.
‘Sir, it was the Prefect, sir,’ said one guard. ‘No one is to go in or out.’ They crossed their spears over the entrance with a clash of steel.
‘You can let us in, soldier,’ said Flaminius wearily.
‘Sorry, sir, orders are orders,’ said the other.
Probus grunted. ‘Septicius Clarus was right to put guards on the centurion’s quarters,’ he said, ‘but he could have told us. You!’ He pointed at the first guard. ‘Run to the palace and obtain the prefect’s permission to let us in.’
The guard returned after about ten minutes.
‘The Prefect gives you leave to enter,’ he said. His comrade stepped back smartly from the door and allowed Probus to open it.
Flaminius reached over to brush a speck of dirt from the second Praetorian’s breastplate. ‘Good work, men,’ he said. ‘Carry on.’
He followed Probus into the room, gagging as his nostrils were met by a rank smell of spilt wine mingled with odours of urine and vomit. No one had opened a window since he had last been in here.
Probus stood in the centre of the room, looking around him. Flaminius followed his gaze.
Everything was as it had been last night, except that Messalus’ body had been removed from the bed. He wondered where it had been taken. Had it been sent to the Praetorian camp for cremation? Bodies didn’t last long in Italy, even in winter, let alone spring.
Near the bed was a wall shelf on which stood an amphora in a stand. Beside the bed lay the beaker, and wine stained the floor. On the far side from the door was a single window, whose thick glass allowed light in but permitted no very clear view of the park beyond. On the opposite side from the bed was a desk and a chair. The desk was piled with wax tablets, reports presumably. Probus crossed to the desk and went through them. Producing one, he opened it. His eyes scanned it, then he beckoned Flaminius over.
Probus handed him the wax tablet. Flaminius tried to read it. He frowned.
“Uif xbhft usbjo mfbwft qpsuvt jeft pg bqsjm bu oppo. Xf buubdl ju bu njeojhiu po uif qpsuvt spbe…”
Flaminius gave up after a couple of lines. He had a headache coming on. ‘This is just like that graffiti,’ he breathed.
‘Exactly,’ said Probus. ‘Perhaps they all used the same cipher. It shouldn’t take me long to work it out, when I get the opportunity.’ He slipped the tablet into a belt pouch.
Next he went across to the bed and examined the footprints in the spilt wine. Frowning, he shook his head. ‘All standard military boots. No distinguishing features. Besides, they would have been made after the wine was spilt, by which time I’m sure our poisoner was long gone.’
He sighed and crossed over to the amphora, uncorked it and sniffed at it. His face brightened and he held it over to Flaminius. The tribune caught a whiff of something bitter beneath the oaky smell of the wine.
‘Cantharadin?’ he asked, looking up at Probus.
Probus shrugged. ‘From Erichtho’s description, yes,’ he said.
‘I don’t see that that tells us much,’ said Flaminius. ‘We already knew that he was poisoned. With cantharadin, too.’
‘But we didn’t know if the poison was slipped into his drink after he had poured it,’ Probus said, ‘or into his amphora beforehand. Now we know it was already in the amphora, so the poisoner wasn’t necessarily present at the time of the murder.’ A thought struck him. ‘I think we’d better keep quiet about this.’
‘Why?’ Flaminius asked.
‘Because you are no longer clear of suspicion,’ said Probus. ‘You could have slipped the poison into the wine at any point.’ He dipped a finger into the amphora. ‘Almost full,’ he added. He lifted it to his lips.
‘Probus!’ Flaminius cried out. ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’ He knew the centurion liked a drink but this was going too far. The man was a raving dipsomaniac!
‘Only a little sip,’ Probus said. ‘Not enough to kill.’ He sipped, then pulled it away with a disgusted expression. ‘Vinegar,’ he said. ‘It looks like it was opened before Messalus poured a beakerful. Someone must have slipped into his quarters before he got here.’
‘But who?’ Flaminius asked.
‘If I knew that…!’ Probus began angrily. He halted. ‘What do we think so far? The evidence indicates that Chief Centurion Messalus was the murderer of Rufinus Crassus. Why did he kill him?’
Flaminius shrugged. ‘To keep him quiet. Rufinus Crassus tried to assassinate the emperor, until I stopped him.’ Fondly he remembered a time not so long ago when he had been hero of the empire, not a murder suspect.
‘So Messalus murdered him, presumably with poison, since Erichtho noticed some cantharadin had gone missing at the same time, although we don’t have enough information to be certain. Possibly he strangled him, since that was his favourite means of execution. Some months later, you were promoted to the post of tribune of a Praetorian cohort and began your investigation. Just when you had found a clue, the man most likely to have murdered the senator was himself killed. To top that, you were accused of the murder, and were only cleared due to your having been seen at the right time to give you an alibi. Of course, we know that really you’re still not in the clear…’
Hurt, Flaminius said, ‘But I didn’t do it!’
Probus nodded. ‘I know that. But other people don’t know you as well as I do, and remember that if we don’t solve this little mystery soon, you’ll be put on trial again. And if they find evidence that annuls your alibi...’
‘There’s also the fact that when I went to meet Medea,’ Flaminius said, ‘someone set a lion on me! It doesn’t make sense. If it hadn’t been for Medea, I would have been torn to pieces. I escaped by the skin of my teeth as it is. Why try to kill me that way and frame me for Messalus’ murder as well?’
Probus rubbed his chin. ‘It suggests that the people at the back of all this aren’t working in concert,’ he admitted. ‘Things will all become clearer when we find out who is responsible.
‘It must be someone present at the Villa now, and also present when Rufinus Crassus made his assassination attempt and was murdered for his failure. So who was present on both occasions? Anyone who was, would be the main suspect.’
Flaminius laughed hollowly. ‘The first person who I can think of who was there on both occasions,’ he said sardonically, ‘was me.’
‘Very well,’ said Probus. ‘Who’s present now who also has a reason to kill Messalus?’
Flaminius shrugged. ‘Who knew that Messalus was likely to confess to murdering Rufinus Crassus? Only Septicius Clarus. He heard the centurion about to tell me about it.’
Probus nodded. ‘And surely Septicius Clarus was present on the empress’ birthday, when Rufinus Crassus made his assassination attempt. So is he the murderer? Did he put poison in Messalus’ wine? You say he took an interest in your phial of cantharadin.’
Flaminius shook his head. ‘He went to the palace after that,’ he said, ‘and he was there when the guards went to get him. In his office. Or…’
‘Or what?’
‘He interrupted the guard. The guard was saying he was “in the emp…” Then he stopped.’
‘“The emp…”?’ Probus scowled. ‘The emperor’s study? The empress’ dining chamber? Any number of places in the palace could have a name beginning with emp...’
‘But why did Septicius Clarus deny it? Why did he correct it so clumsily to his own office?’
‘Suggests he has something to hide, certainly…’ Probus began. Flaminius interrupted him excitedly. ‘Remember I told you that I saw him with the empress.’
‘Naturally,’ said Probus, who didn’t care for being interrupted. ‘He’s the Praetorian Prefect. Since the emperor has seen fit to leave him behind, his first place is at his empress’ side.’
‘Yes…’ said Flaminius. ‘But it looked like their working relationship was getting a little unprofessional. The late First Spear suggested, rather impertinently,
that his imperial majesty neglected his wife for the beds of young boys…’
‘Everyone knows what direction Hadrian’s lusts lie,’ Probus said dismissively, to Flaminius’s surprise; the tribune hadn’t realised it was common knowledge. ‘She wouldn’t be the first neglected empress to find lovers elsewhere. But yes, you did mention it, and you also told me about the imperial secretary’s apparent jealousy. I was intending to drop in on Suetonius Tranquillus today, until I was called away to wet nurse you. It could be that Septicius Clarus is trying to cover up for being in bed with the empress when the murder occurred. It would certainly give him an alibi, although I’d be intrigued to see how willing he would be to admit it.’
‘So in that case, who else was in a position to murder Messalus, and had a good reason to?’ Flaminius said. ‘It’s someone connected with the plot against the emperor that we discovered. I thought we had seen the end of that particular conspiracy, but of course, we didn’t find out who was the mastermind.’ He frowned. ‘You said you thought you knew who was at the back of it…’
‘No one I would be willing to accuse without enough evidence,’ Probus said. ‘It’s possible that if we identify the murderer it will lead us back to the mastermind, but for the moment the less said the better. Who else is present?’
‘My cohort of Praetorians, the empress. The Praetorian Prefect. The emperor’s brother in law, Ursus Servianus. Imperial slaves...’
‘You know,’ Probus said thoughtfully, ‘we might be better able to find out more about the murder of Messalus if we learnt more about the man he murdered. Rufinus Crassus’ family spirited his body away very quickly—so much so that Erichtho had no real chance to examine it.’
‘Assuming she wasn’t already acquainted with it.’
‘That’s a point,’ Probus said. ‘The person best able to poison Messalus would be the Marsi woman. She said she was dragged from her bed after the murder was discovered, but what proof do we have that she really had been to bed? Perhaps she’d been sneaking about the barracks slipping poison into… What are you staring at?’
Murder in Hadrian's Villa Page 6