Murder in Hadrian's Villa

by Gavin Chappell

  ‘You said them competed to bring the news of Nerva’s death to Trajan,’ said Flaminius.

  Suetonius Tranquillus nodded. ‘Hadrian won on that occasion, and he won out over all.’ The secretary shrugged. ‘That rivalry is ended now, of course. Though there was that business shortly after Hadrian’s accession…’

  ‘The Praetorians assassinating Hadrian’s rivals?’ Flaminius remembered what he had heard from Messalus shortly before the centurion’s death.

  Suetonius Tranquillus nodded. ‘Ursus Servianus must have counted his lucky stars that he didn’t also receive a visit from a Praetorian centurion, considering their previous history. Perhaps the emperor spared him because of his friendship with the empress.’

  ‘You really think that the emperor had those men murdered?’

  Suetonius Tranquillus nodded. ‘Undoubtedly,’ he said. ‘The senators killed included the Mauretanian Lusius Quietus, that dashing auxiliary cavalry commander, and several other men who had worked against Hadrian throughout Trajan’s reign. No emperor would stand for that once in power. No emperor would permit their survival. See how Tiberius treated Sejanus when he threatened to overshadow his master[7].’ He paused. ‘Maybe Claudius would have allowed it,’ he added, ‘but the man was a complete fool.’ He frowned at Flaminius. ‘Emperors aren’t elected like consuls or magistrates, you know; they seize power from those too weak to hold it, even if they do make feeble claims to have been nominated by their predecessor. The whole business is unconstitutional, like the worst kind of oriental despotism.’ He paused. ‘Of course, I’m an old man with my head in a book, dreaming of the past. Ignore my opinions, please.’

  ‘You clearly know a great deal about the imperial court,’ Flaminius told him, ‘both now and in the past. I’m not going to ignore you, I assure you. I find it all fascinating.’ He tapped the scroll the secretary had lent him.

  ‘Do you?’ Suetonius Tranquillus seemed astounded. ‘So few people find my studies of interest, particularly youngsters. It’s contrary to the spirit of the age to look back at what has been and gone. We’re heading towards something else, but who knows what? The end of the world, some people say. Obviously the empire doesn’t have long to survive, but what will take its place? A new Republic, perhaps?’

  Flaminius remembered the Caledonians he had encountered at the edges of the empire. He tried to imagine a world in which Rome was no longer there to keep them back. It augured a terrible future where barbarians strutted proudly about the ruins of Roman culture, chattering in their incomprehensible barbarian jargons as if they were the equals of the people they had subsumed. A dark, terrifying vision. Despite the warmth of the room, he shivered.

  ‘But surely I’m keeping you from your work,’ Suetonius Tranquillus murmured. ‘You must have so many responsibilities.’ He coughed, and indicated the scroll he had been reading, ‘And so, of course, do I.’

  Flaminius put down his wine glass and rose. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you. I must return to my duties.’ He limped towards the door.

  ‘I’ve enjoyed our little chat,’ Suetonius Tranquillus murmured as Flaminius opened it. The tribune looked back to see the man peering at his scroll again. Suetonius Tranquillus glanced up to favour him with a twinkle. Flaminius nodded respectfully, and left the library.

  As he made his way through the corridors of the Flavian House, he thought long and hard over what he had gleaned from the secretary. On joining the Commissary, while still a tribune in the Ninth Legion, he had discovered how much of the job involved sifting through information and learning to distinguish between the valuable and the worthless. What had he learnt today? Was any of it of value?

  He remembered the scroll Suetonius Tranquillus had lent him, and stopped off in an alcove to glance through its contents.

  There are many indications it began that the Octavian family was in days of old a distinguished one at Velitrae; for not only was a street in the most frequented part of town long ago called Octavian, but an altar was shown there besides, consecrated by an Octavius. This man was leader in a war with a neighbouring town, and when news of a sudden onset of the enemy was brought to him just as he chanced to be sacrificing to Mars, he snatched the inwards of the victim from the fire and offered them up half raw; and thus he went forth to battle, and returned victorious... [8]

  Flaminius sighed, and scanned through the rest for anything juicy. He began walking, keeping one eye on the scroll as he unrolled it, another on the deserted corridor.

  He does not strictly comply with orthography, that is to say the theoretical rules of spelling laid down by the grammarians, seeming to be rather of the mind of those who believe that we should spell exactly as we pronounce. Of course his frequent transposition or omission of syllables as well as of letters are slips common to all mankind. I should not have noted this, did it not seem to me surprising that some have written that he cashiered a consular governor, as an uncultivated and ignorant fellow, because he observed that he had written ixi for ipsi…[9]

  Flaminius was about to give up in disgust when he read the next line. His eyes widened in sudden fascination.

  He heard footsteps from behind him, and a voice say, ‘Sir?’

  Turning, he saw Centurion Junius Italicus approaching.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere, sir,’ said the centurion. ‘The empress wishes to speak with you.’ He frowned. ‘She seemed surprised when she heard that you were here at all.’ He indicated the bandage on Flaminius’ left arm. ‘She’ll want to know where you got that.’ He glanced at Flaminius and there was a knowing look in his eyes.

  ‘That’s enough, centurion,’ Flaminius told him uncomfortably. ‘She wants to speak to me, does she? Where will I find her?’

  ‘Her imperial majesty is currently in her bedchamber,’ Centurion Junius Italicus told him, ‘on the first floor. Do you know where it is?’

  ‘I know it,’ Flaminius told him. Rolling up the scroll and slipping it back into his toga, he hobbled off towards the flight of steps.

  What did the empress want with him? And why was she surprised to know that he was present in the palace? It wasn’t time for another cohort to take over this duty. His mind ran back to the fight in the alley the previous night. Had his attackers just been robbers? Or had they been sent by an unidentified enemy?

  Consumed by trepidation, he mounted the stairs.

  —13—

  He was shown into the empress’ chamber by two of his Praetorians, who stood on guard at the doors.

  The room was large, hung with drapes, dimly lit by lamps although it was still sunny outside, and the air hung heavy with scent. A mosaic floor showed a depiction of the Graces, while on the walls were frescoes depicting nymphs pursued by satyrs and gods. Daphne ran from Apollo on one side, while Paris assisted Helen in escaping from her husband’s house on another. In the corners stood statues of goddesses, eyes apparently averted from the goings on that covered the walls. If the empress shared Suetonius Tranquillus’ distaste for all things Greek, perhaps the emperor had been responsible for the décor. Or maybe not, Flaminius told himself, eyeing a statue of Priapus near the window.

  Looking relaxed and tranquil in their heavy woollen togas, the Praetorians announced him. ‘Tribune Gaius Flaminius Drusus !’

  The empress reclined on a couch on the far side, with her handmaidens clustered round her. Today she had her hair in a traditional tutullus hairstyle, and wore a stola of midnight blue. The girls were listening attentively as another handmaiden read one of the Amores of Ovid from a scroll. As Flaminius was announced, the girl reading from Ovid faltered and halted, and the empress sat up.

  ‘Welcome, tribune,’ she called, her voice echoing in the stillness. She turned to another of her companions. ‘Go, bring the tribune to my side.’

  As the girl approached, seemingly unwillingly, Flaminius saw that it was Medea.

  ‘Hello,’ he said to her in a friendly undertone.

  ‘Hello,’ she
said distantly. ‘The empress wishes to speak with you.’ She took his hand and led him across the chamber.

  ‘Any idea what about?’ he asked quietly as they traversed the mosaic floor.

  Medea darted her a glance. ‘She will tell you.’

  Unspeaking, she led him to where the empress lay. A girl provided a stool for the tribune to sit on. The empress clapped her hands.

  ‘Leave us,’ she instructed them. The girls flittered off, all except Medea, who hovered.

  ‘Your imperial majesty,’ she said. ‘You surely don’t want to be left alone!’

  ‘I surely do, young woman,’ the empress told her frostily. ‘Go with the others!’

  With one last look at Flaminius, Medea followed the others through a side door.

  Flaminius wondered what that look had meant. Something had come between him and Medea, and he didn’t know what it was.

  ‘Thank you for coming at my summons,’ the empress said, gazing at him as she propped up her head on her arm.

  ‘When my empress calls…’ Flaminius said gallantly.

  ‘You may be aware,’ she went on, ignoring his reply, ‘that I have ensured that you will no longer be burdened with that odious commissary centurion. I have spoken to his superior.’

  ‘I heard something of the sort,’ said Flaminius quietly.

  ‘The impudence of the man!’ the empress said. ‘He really seemed to think he had the right to ask any questions of simply anyone while aiding you in your investigation into the murder! I don’t know why you asked for his aid, I really don’t, but it was an unwise choice. Who poisoned your centurion, and why, may never be known, unless you can find persuasive evidence. I believe that his body has been returned to his relatives and they have already cremated it, so there can be nothing to be gained from an examination of the body—there isn’t a body…’

  ‘Erichtho said that it showed all signs of cantharadin poisoning,’ Flaminius remarked.

  ‘Of course,’ said the empress. ‘And it was your cantharadin, wasn’t it?’ She gave him an indulgent twinkle. ‘I’ve spoken to my handmaiden, the Greek girl. She’s been reprimanded for attempting to seduce you. We can’t have such goings on among the staff!’

  That explained Medea’s recent coldness. This haughty bitch was at the back of it. ‘But surely you want justice to be done?’ he asked. ‘You were very quick to put me on trial…’

  ‘That was Septicius Clarus’ doing,’ the empress said soothingly, laying a hand on Flaminius’ arm. ‘At the time, I spoke out. Nothing was to be gained by linking the name of such a promising young Guards officer with the poisoning of his subordinate. Usually the prefect does everything I say. He’s a tough man on the surface, despite his learning and his sense of humour, but if you get to know him as intimately as I have done, you’ll see that he’s as soft as a new born chick beneath it all.’

  ‘I doubt I’ll have a chance to get to know him as well as all that,’ said Flaminius with a laugh. He wondered just how intimately the empress and the prefect did know each other.

  The empress laughed in return. ‘You’re really quite as witty as your superior,’ she said. She studied him keenly, her eyes bright. ‘Guards are so difficult to get to know as people. Such tough exteriors, like old leather. It took me a long time to get past Septicius Clarus’ public exterior, but it was an enjoyable experience.’ She gazed into his eyes. ‘I shall enjoy getting to know you too, tribune. Tribune Flaminius, isn’t it?’ She paused. ‘Or should I call you Gaius?’

  Flaminius swallowed. Just where was all this leading? ‘In fact, your superior and I have had a disagreement,’ she confessed. Her breath was sweetly scented. ‘He wasn’t pleased with me appointing you to investigate the murder.’

  ‘So you never thought I was the murderer?’ Flaminius asked.

  She shook her head vigorously. ‘Why would you poison your centurion? If he had offended you, surely you could have had him put to death.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s quite that easy,’ Flaminius told her with a grin. ‘Not for a man of my rank, anyway. Messalus would have had to have done something a bit more than offend me for me to be able to put him to death. What’s more, he’d have to do more than that me for me to want to murder him!’

  ‘Of course you didn’t murder him,’ she said. ‘But have your investigations produced any clue as to why anyone would want to murder him?’ She shuddered. ‘He seemed quite a lovely little man.’

  Flaminius couldn’t quite square this description with his memory of Messalus. ‘He had enemies,’ he told her.

  ‘Enemies?’ the empress asked. ‘Why would such an insignificant man have enemies? He was no more than a rank and file soldier.’

  ‘In fact,’ Flaminius went on, ‘he confessed to me that he was a murderer himself.’

  The empress sat up, her eyes wide with shock. ‘You mean he killed people?’

  ‘He was a soldier,’ Flaminius pointed out. ‘That sort of thing is part of the job.’

  ‘Oh!’ she replied, settling back. ‘I see. Is that all you meant? Killing barbarians, defending Rome, that sort of thing. I suppose you did some of that yourself, even if you are such a young man; I mean when you were off in Germany or wherever it was.’

  ‘Britain,’ said Flaminius. ‘Where the emperor is at the moment. But I didn’t just mean…’

  ‘Britain,’ the empress mused. ‘Is it really a dangerous place? Is my husband at risk of his life, do you think?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Flaminius reassured her. ‘Britain’s a dangerous place, yes, but if you’ve got three legions to defend you, and two cohorts of the Praetorian Guard, you’re hardly as badly off as you would be if you were alone against the barbarians.’

  ‘And that was you?’ she asked. ‘Did you first become a hero by fighting barbarians? Before’—her eyes narrowed—‘before you rescued my husband.’

  ‘I suppose you could describe me like that,’ he said.

  The empress shivered. ‘I’ve never really met a barbarian,’ she said, ‘apart from the Imperial Horse Guards. And I don’t really know them. They’re big and handsome and blond, but none of them really speak much Latin, and what they do is with such an appalling accent…’ She paused. ‘And this is what Centurion Messalus did? You think that made him enemies?’

  Flaminius pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘He had… other duties,’ he told her.

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘No I don’t. What did he do to make enemies? Who were his enemies? Maybe it was them who murdered him!’

  ‘Now that’s a good question,’ Flaminius said.

  ‘Well?’ she said. ‘I thought you were supposed to be investigating.’

  ‘I haven’t really fond out very much,’ he said.

  ‘No idea who killed the centurion?’ she asked.

  ‘The investigation is ongoing,’ he said solemnly.

  As if by accident she ran her fingers up his arm. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’m glad that odious commissary centurion is no longer involved. And I’m glad the investigation is being carried out by someone I can trust.’

  The implications sank in. Flaminius felt excited, not to say aroused. Was the most powerful woman in the empire that impressed by him? He gazed into her eyes. She was old enough to be his mother, but there was something undeniably attractive about this woman. They say power is an aphrodisiac. If it could be bottled, the world would need cantharadin no longer. His eyes fell on the statue of Priapus and he felt a certain sympathy for the god’s perennial condition.

  She drew him close. ‘Sit with me,’ she murmured. ‘I want to get to know my investigator. All I have heard is that you’re a hero, and they’re ten a denarius in the Guard.’

  ‘I don’t think I ought to, your imperial majesty,’ he said awkwardly. ‘What would your husband think?’

  She looked bitter. ‘I’m sure he’s happy with his catamites.’ She gave a tinkling laugh. ‘So formal, Gaius! We’re friends now. You’ll address me as “ma’am.”’ Her vo
ice hardened. ‘That is an order, tribune.’

  She was clearly accustomed to getting her own way. A little uncomfortably, he placed himself on the couch beside her, afraid he might be about to commit lèse majesté. If he had the measure of this woman, what she wanted could hardly count as loyalty to the emperor. He had sworn a vow. And yet…

  ‘What’s to know?’ he asked, a little hoarsely.

  Her thigh was soft yet firm against her own, his nostrils were filled with her scent—the world was. It was intoxicating, as if her skin exhaled the strongest vintage of wine. He had problems thinking.

  ‘Where are you from?’ she began. ‘How did you come to join the legions? You must be Italian born to qualify for the Praetorians. Not like me. I was born in Spain, though of Roman stock.’

  ‘Oh!’ he said. ‘Yes, my family has lived in Latium for generations. We own a small farm in the hills. Somehow we’ve kept a hold of it, despite mounting debts. But our life is very boring, not like your own.’

  ‘A pastoral idyll,’ she romanced with a quiet smile. ‘A life of stern Republican virtue.’

  ‘Hardly,’ said Flaminius with a laugh. ‘Deadly dull. I couldn’t wait to get away—although life in the legions wasn’t much of an improvement.’

  ‘You wish to live the high life?’ she asked. ‘Luxury saps the spirit. I should know that.’ She gestured round the room. ‘No, the clean hard life of the smallholding farmer is far superior.’

  You should try it some time, Flaminius thought, but he kept his opinions to himself. This woman was a fool. Why had the emperor wanted to marry her? Oh, of course, the secretary had just told him; for the succession. And it seemed that the empress, fool that she was, held the keys to power for Flaminius as well. He’d have to keep her sweet.

  ‘Since I’m investigating the murder,’ he said, ‘perhaps I should ask you a few questions.’

  ‘I?’ She looked incredulous. ‘I know nothing of poison and murder. I suggest you talk to Erichtho. I will call her presently.’