Flaminius had seen something under the bed. Wrinkling his nose at the smell of spilt wine and vomit, he crouched down, reached in and brought out a green phial. He recognised it at once although it was empty.
‘My love philtre,’ he said wryly.
‘So, no reason to suspect Erichtho,’ Probus concluded, ‘if the killer used poison stolen from your office. But who would have been able to steal it, and when?’
Flaminius rubbed his chin. ‘I noticed it was missing when I got back from drinking with Messalus,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t find it. But I did find Medea’s note.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Probus. ‘I think the first person we should talk to is that young lady.’
Flaminius sent one of the guards to the palace and he soon returned accompanied by the imperial handmaiden. Medea entered the place with a look of revulsion on her face.
‘You wanted to speak to me?’ she said.
‘That’s right,’ said Probus. ‘I…’
‘Could we talk somewhere else?’ She looked green.
‘Of course,’ said Flaminius. ‘We’ll go to my office.’ He caught a look from Probus. ‘After all, that location is significant to our inquiry,’ he added.
In his own office he offered his chair to Medea and sat down on a stool, pushing another one over to Probus. Probus sat on it gingerly. Medea looked from one to another.
‘Are you worried that I’ve betrayed your secret?’ she asked anxiously.
‘No!’ said Flaminius. ‘I wouldn’t suspect that of you. What secret, anyway? That Probus and I are working together? That I’m here undercover?’
‘Have you betrayed our secret?’ Probus asked in a forbidding tone.
Medea looked at him. She shook her head. ‘No, of course not. But why do you want to talk to me? Oh, you’ve infuriated the empress, by the way. She’s talking of leaving the Villa and returning to the Imperial Palace in Rome.’
‘Not until my investigation is over,’ Probus said firmly.
‘Your investigation?’ Medea asked. ‘Into Messalus’ death? Or into that senator’s?’
‘Both murders are connected,’ Probus told her.
‘Look, Medea, how about you let Centurion Probus ask the questions?’ Flaminius said. She gave him a look, then turned back to Probus.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘This assignation,’ Probus began. ‘This romantic little tryst with the tribune here, in the amphitheatre. What brought that into your mind?’
‘Oh, you’ll be interested to know that the lion has been captured and returned to its pen,’ she said in an aside to Flaminius.
‘Why did I choose the amphitheatre, centurion? Because I thought we could be alone there. It was so long since I had last seen Flaminius. I couldn’t show my affection for him with the empress and her handmaidens looking on, now could I?’
‘You’re saying it was indeed a love tryst?’
Medea shrugged. ‘Of course. We became lovers in Caledonia without my master learning about it. That is, until…’
Flaminius remembered. Probus had persuaded him to bring it about that he was discovered in Medea’s bed when her master, the governor of Britain, returned to camp. It gave Flaminius a reason to flee with information about the conspiracy against the emperor without the plotters becoming suspicious. It had been a little hard on Medea, however; she had been soundly whipped and later dismissed from Falco’s service.
‘…but that’s all in the past,’ she went on. ‘I landed on my feet like a cat. The empress is a kinder mistress than Falco was a master.’
Flaminius looked about the desk but he could see no sign of Medea’s message to him. He couldn’t quite remember the wording, but he was sure it had mentioned her having urgent information.
‘I thought you had something that could help with the investigation,’ he told her.
She looked at him. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘That is, I can’t think of anything. A lot’s happened since then. My mind’s awhirl. No, I think I just wanted to see you.’
‘How touching,’ said Probus sardonically. ‘The two lovers reunited. Shame about some fool releasing a lion. And then the nasty business with the chief centurion being poisoned. Speaking of which, when you put your note on the table here, did you happen to see a green phial?’
‘A green phial?’ Medea asked. She shook her head. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘Flaminius,’ Probus said. ‘Jog this young lady’s memory.’
Flaminius produced the green phial. Medea gazed at it, her face blank.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Perfume? A present for me?’ She took it. ‘It’s empty,’ she pointed out.
‘Yes,’ said Probus. ‘Its contents were put to an unorthodox use. Ah, but it wasn’t perfume that it contained, rather a love philtre. But like all love it turned poisonous in the end.’
Medea made a face. Flaminius glared at Probus. There was nothing to be gained by frightening the girl.
‘Is there anything else you want to know?’ she asked. ‘The empress wanted to know how long you were proposing to take investigating the murder.’
‘Tell her imperial majesty that my investigation will take exactly as long as it takes. As long as she doesn’t leave the Villa there will be no problems.’
‘You can’t give orders to the empress.’ Flaminius beat Medea to it by a second.
‘No orders,’ Probus said. ‘Simply a request.’ He looked at Medea again. ‘You’ve been very helpful to the tribune. Tell me what you know about the imperial secretary.’
Medea shivered. ‘Suetonius Tranquillus? He’s a horror. Always pawing at the handmaidens whenever the empress isn’t looking. Lecherous old goat. And he says such nasty things about women. Do you think he murdered the chief centurion…? But he’s gone away. I think he’s at the Imperial Palace in Rome.’
‘I don’t think he murdered anyone,’ Probus said. ‘But it’s possible that he knows something that could be of use to the investigation. Why did he depart so suddenly?’
Medea shrugged. ‘He had an argument with the Praetorian Prefect,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what about, I only overheard part of it. Strange, those two are usually the firmest of friends. But I think it was over a woman. Don’t know who. I feel sorry for her, whoever she was, to have those two fighting over her.’ She added, ‘Septicius Clarus is quite nice, for an old boy, but Suetonius Tranquillus, yuck.’
‘Why didn’t you provide Flaminius with an alibi?’ Probus asked.
She looked surprised and a little ashamed. ‘I didn’t see him until after the third watch,’ she said, ‘so I couldn’t in all honesty provide him with an alibi. Messalus had been poisoned by the time I found Gaius running from that lion.’
‘Who else knew that you were meeting…Gaius?’ Probus asked.
Again she looked surprised. ‘No one, of course. It was a secret meeting. I slipped into his office after we got back from Rome to find no sign of him—I suppose he was drinking with, with the chief centurion. So I left a note.’ She frowned. ‘I suppose someone else might have come into the office and seen it!’ She darted a look at Flaminius. ‘You really should lock your door, Gaius. Anyone can get in.’
Flaminius nodded thoughtfully. ‘That could be it. I don’t know what I did with the note after I got it. I just hurried to the amphitheatre to meet you. Got there a bit early. Maybe someone read the note and then went to release the lion. Who, and why, I couldn’t say.’
‘You say you hurried to this lover’s tryst,’ said Probus.
‘Yes,’ said Flaminius, nodding. ‘They must have been quicker than I was. There was someone there, I know that much. I saw them.’
‘What did they look like?’ Probus asked.
Flaminius shook his head. ‘I couldn’t make them out. They were wearing white, I think. I thought it was Medea.’
‘Do you have any more questions?’ Medea asked. ‘Otherwise, I think I’d better get back and tell the empress what you said. Though I don’t t
hink she’ll take kindly to it.’
‘Very well, we’ll call for you if there’s anything else we want to know,’ said Probus. ‘You may go.’ He made a curt, dismissive gesture. Medea stared haughtily at him. With a quick smile at Flaminius, she turned and left.
Probus sat in silent thought for a while after she had gone.
‘A remarkable young woman,’ he said at last.
Flaminius was surprised. The last time he’d had anything to say about her he’d called her a whore. He felt a pang of jealousy. ‘She’s mine,’ he said half-jokingly.
Probus looked up. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to deprive you, lad. Each to their own.’
He rose. ‘I learnt a lot from that little chat.’ Flaminius wondered if the centurion was being sarcastic. He hadn’t heard anything himself that seemed new. ‘The mysterious disappearance of the note is very interesting. The fact that she was so insistent that the murder occurred before she reached you is also interesting.’
Flaminius narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Nothing—as yet,’ Probus said. ‘You know me. It will take more than a few words with your whore before I reach any conclusion.’
‘What’s our next move, then?’ Flaminius asked, ignoring the insult to Medea.
Probus produced the enciphered letter he had filched from the chief centurion’s quarters. He studied it quietly. Flaminius sat down behind his desk and searched fruitlessly for Medea’s note.
‘I think another visit to the cell is in order,’ Probus said. ‘I want to see if there are any other coded messages. It’s a variant on the Caesar cipher, certainly, but which one I’m not sure yet. Then I think I shall take a visit to the house of the Rufini Crassi.’
‘What do you expect to achieve by going there?’ Flaminius asked.
‘There have been two murders here, lad,’ Probus said, ‘and what we learn about the first will help us solve the second. Come with me.’
Flaminius suddenly felt very tired. He’d had very little sleep last night, but there had been plenty of running from lions and accusations of murder. The next he’d known he was back with Probus again, marching about the place investigating. It was all too taxing on the body and the brain. And the idea of riding to the Villa of the Rufini Crassi, wherever that was, was a bit too much. He had a strong urge to tell Probus he could carry out the investigation without him. Behind the curtain in the corner of the room was his pallet, and it was calling to him. Then he remembered what the empress had said. If they didn’t find out who really murdered Messalus, he would face another trial. And this time he didn’t think he’d get away so lightly.
Probus stood in the door, looking back at him. He lifted an eyebrow. With a manful effort, Flaminius rose and followed him from the room.
As they came out into the main corridor Flaminius saw a young Praetorian sprinting up towards them. ‘Sir, sir!’ he exclaimed. ‘Come quickly!’
—8—
‘What is it, soldier?’ Flaminius asked.
‘Sir, it’s the empress,’ the Praetorian said. ‘She demands your presence in the palace. You must come, sir.’
Flaminius and Probus exchanged glances, then followed the Praetorian outside. ‘Looks like someone is chafing at her confinement,’ said Probus.
‘Having been locked up recently, I understand,’ Flaminius confessed. ‘All the same, we don’t want whoever did this to run for it.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Probus, ‘I should think it would be quite illuminating.’
They strode through the main gates of the palace, and the Praetorian led them to the chamber where they had left the empress and her entourage. The empress glared at them from the couch where she lay, picking angrily at a bunch of grapes. Dinner had been served, and the others were also eating. Flaminius noticed Medea on one couch, but she didn’t seem to have any appetite.
‘How much longer do you intend to keep us here?’ the empress demanded of Probus, ignoring Flaminius. ‘I received your most insolent message from my handmaiden.’
‘With what authority do you keep ma’am a prisoner in her own palace?’ added Septicius Clarus, who stood beside the empress’ couch, clutching his plumed helmet.
‘My authority is vested in me by the emperor himself,’ Probus said, producing the lance-head brooch that marked him as a member of the Commissary. He lifted a hand in a conciliatory gesture. ‘It was necessary to keep you here,’ he said, ‘while I carried out my investigation…’
‘Then you’ve completed it, centurion?’ asked Septicius Clarus. ‘What conclusion have you reached?’
Probus picked up a chicken leg from a dish and casually began to gnaw at it. Sabina gave Septicius Clarus an astonished look. This was not the kind of behaviour she expected from soldiers.
Probus said round a mouthful of chicken, ‘No conclusion as yet, sir. With the aid of Tribune Flaminius I have examined the late chief centurion’s quarters, and interrogated your handmaiden.’ He indicated Medea, who looked up sullenly. ‘I shall be wishing to question everyone else who was present.’
‘This is intolerable,’ the empress burst out. ‘All for the sake of one dead centurion. Are we to be prisoners in a house that has seen murder committed? I wish to return at once to the palace in Rome, which contains happier memories. You say your authority comes direct from the emperor. Well, I shall have something to say to my husband when he returns from Britain, and we shall see if that authority extends to false imprisonment…’
‘Departure from the Villa will be deemed an admission of guilt,’ Probus told her, ‘and anyone doing so will be apprehended. In the meantime I shall pursue my enquiries elsewhere. Good day to you all.’
As the empress and her entourage broke into angry conversation, Probus led Flaminius from the room.
They returned to the barracks, going straight to the cell, which Probus inspected closely using a lantern. Flaminius joined him scanning the walls for further information. He learnt a lot about the alleged sexual proclivities of past centurions and the meagre artistic talent of former detainees, but nothing that could possibly be relevant. Apparently Probus found nothing either, but he took the trouble to note down the ciphered message that they assumed to be the work of Rufinus Crassus.
‘A wasted journey,’ Flaminius said as they left. ‘Before we set out, I’ve got a few administrative matters to get sorted, include setting patrols and promoting one of my centurions to the rank of First Spear. I’ll get that done and rejoin you in half an hour.’
‘I’ll meet you on the drive,’ Probus replied. ‘I suggest you promote Junius Italicus. Solely on grounds of seniority.’
Flaminius considered this as Probus marched off, a little unnerved that the commissary centurion knew so much about his cohort. He hurried back to his office. The administrative duties proved more complicated than he had expected, and he was at his desk for some time. Once he had completed them, he called Junius Italicus into the office.
‘Going entirely by your past record and your seniority to your comrades,’ he said, ‘I have decided to promote you to the rank of First Spear.’
‘Sir,’ said Centurion Junius Italicus, his beefy face betraying no emotion.
‘I do have some misgivings about this,’ Flaminius said frankly. ‘As you know, I clashed with your predecessor—so much so I am still suspected of his murder by some. Also, I don’t know you well enough to be sure I can trust you. Be sure that you don’t betray my trust, or I’ll…’
He paused, seeing Centurion Junius Italicus was paying close attention. Did he expect Flaminius to threaten to murder him?
‘Or I’ll have you demoted and sent to serve with the Sixth Legion in Britain!’ he finished.
‘Yessir,’ Centurion Junius Italicus said.
Flaminius frowned at him. ‘I’m going to leave you in charge tonight. You know your duties? The details are here.’ He handed his new chief centurion the duty roster. ‘That will be all,’ he added.
Centurion Junius Italicus saluted a
nd marched from the office.
Going down the drive he found Probus waiting impatiently. ‘Sorry,’ Flaminius said, ‘but I couldn’t leave without completing my duties.’
‘Of course,’ said Probus. ‘As it happens, it gave me a chance to have a look round the place. I found it very interesting. I had a word with that Marsian witch, too. She wasn’t too willing to talk while the empress was still on the premises, but said she would tell me more after she had gone.’
‘Interesting,’ said Flaminius. ‘It sounds like she knows more than she’s been letting on.’
They obtained horses from the nearby stables and rode off down the track that led to the Tiburtine Way.
‘I assume you know where we’re going,’ Flaminius called to his companion.
‘To the house of the Rufini Crassi,’ Probus told him.
‘Exactly,’ Flaminius replied. ‘But where is that to be found? Do you know?’
‘Their villa lies on the outskirts of the town of Praeneste,’ Probus told him.
The centurion led them at a gallop through the quiet town of Tibur and then south along a shepherd’s track over the hills. Flaminius was nervous, expecting bandits at any point, quite possibly of Erichtho’s tribe, but Probus insisted that there was no quicker route to Praeneste. To go by road would mean riding back to Rome and then up into the hills again along the Praenestine Way.
It was late in the afternoon when they reached the Villa of the Rufini Crassi, which was to be found in the foothills outside Praeneste, a great white walled edifice with a red tiled roof, surrounded by acres of olive groves and vineyards, approached by a flight of marble steps up a grassy hillside.
As they rode in from the track through the surrounding farmland, two slaves hurried out from the main portico to challenge them.
‘What business do you have here?’ asked the taller of the two, an elderly, stooped man with a cast in one eye.
Probus introduced them. ‘We are here to ask about the death of Rufinus Crassus.’ He showed them his lance-head brooch. ‘On the authority of the emperor himself.’
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