Murder in Hadrian's Villa

by Gavin Chappell

  ‘I just want to ask you a few questions about when you were at the Villa, and what you might have seen and heard. Anything could shed light on the centurion’s death.’

  ‘How thrilling,’ she commented, laying a hand on his chest. ‘You really are a most exciting young man, Gaius. You want to interrogate me! What fun! Will you torture me if I refuse to speak?’ She giggled, then paused, as if collecting her thoughts. ‘I was woken from my sleep by a slave to be told that one of the soldiers had been poisoned. I really didn’t think it was important enough to warrant waking me at such an hour, and after that long, slow journey from Rome, too. But Septicius Clarus persuaded me that I should make an appearance.’ She laughed. ‘He seemed to think that I would be incriminating myself if I didn’t.’

  ‘Where was Septicius Clarus?’ Flaminius asked. ‘Present in the palace?’

  ‘Yes, Gaius,’ she said. ‘Sleeping in… the room next to mine.’

  Why did she pause like that? He remembered what Probus had suggested was going on between the empress and the prefect.

  Idly she began to caress him through the thick wool of his toga, kneading his muscular body like a cat. ‘What else do you wish to know?’ she asked, meeting his eyes again.

  It was difficult to carry out an effective interrogation under these conditions. He kept wondering what would happen if someone found them.

  ‘What happened next?’

  She shrugged and pouted. ‘I put on suitable attire and accompanied the prefect to the Praetorian barracks. This was before you returned, with my handmaiden.’ She reached up and pinched him. ‘That was naughty,’ she added chidingly. ‘Arranging trysts with one of my girls. It was then that I could see you were the sort of unprincipled rogue I’d like to get to know better.’

  ‘But before I returned,’ he persisted. He didn’t want to explain the real reason Medea had arranged the meeting; after all, he still wasn’t quite sure himself. ‘What do you remember happening then? You went to the barracks. And then?’

  ‘We encountered Ursus Servianus first,’ she said, slipping a greedy, questing hand under his toga. ‘He was up already.’

  ‘Was he now?’ Flaminius said uncomfortably. ‘Tell me what you know about that particular senator, ma’am.’

  ‘Ursus Servianus?’ she asked with a start. ‘Surely he’s not under suspicion? He’s such an old bore!’

  ‘You seem to like him,’ he commented. ‘Inviting him to the Villa, going to his house in Rome…’

  ‘He’s family,’ she said with a laugh. ‘My sister in law’s husband. My husband thinks the world of him. I tolerate him, but he’s really a rather dull old man. I let him preside over the trial so he felt like he was doing something worthwhile. He’s rather washed up these days.’

  ‘I heard there was bad blood between him and the emperor,’ Flaminius commented.

  ‘Between my husband and Ursus Servianus?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Who told you that?’ She shook her head. ‘No, they’re good friends. I seem to remember some rivalry back in the days when Trajan was emperor. My husband was a very earnest junior officer back then, rather like someone else I can think of. Ursus Servianus was older, more staid, but just as eager for Trajan’s favour.

  ‘He married my husband’s sister Paulina, a woman much older than Hadrian and even duller than he is, so he has been connected with the family for a long time. When Nerva died and it was obvious that Trajan had the best chance opportunity to succeed him, Ursus Servianus and my husband competed to be the man to bring the news to him. Rather engaging, really! Men are such boys at heart, even if they’re as old as Ursus Servianus, who has been simply ancient as long as I can remember.’

  Was she trying to cover for something? This seemed to contradict what Suetonius Tranquillus had said, perhaps not in its basic facts, but she had a very different take on what had happened. She also seemed to be growing bored with the conversation, and more interested in exploring his body beneath his toga. He didn’t know how far he could take this.

  ‘So, you encountered Ursus Servianus,’ he said. ‘What did he say to you?’

  She looked up, her gaze a long way away. ‘He wanted to know what all the noise was about,’ she murmured. ‘We went to the barracks together, and the guards told us what had happened. Simply horrifying, that such a thing should go on under one’s own roof. Suetonius Tranquillus had only recently been reading to us out of his interminable book on the Caesars, about a Gaulish lady called Locusta who is said to have poisoned the Emperor Claudius, and several other people. I thought that kind of thing no longer went on, and yet there it was, under my own roof. Poisoning.’

  She shuddered delicately against him.

  ‘Erichtho was called. I remembered what you had spoken of, suggesting that Rufinus Crassus was poisoned, and how she had shown some expertise in the matter. You know, for a while I wondered if she hadn’t been at the back of it…’

  ‘Why was that?’

  She pursed her lips. ‘Simply because she knows so much about poison,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t think of any reason why she would kill a stodgy old centurion. She began examining the body and then you and my handmaiden appeared. And the plot thickened—or so it seemed.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Flaminius asked.

  She stroked his cheek. ‘Erichtho confirming that it was cantharadin poisoning… and mentioned the fact you came to her for cantharadin earlier in the day—though I must say,’ she added meaningfully, ‘you don’t seem to need it for the customary purpose—plus there was the fact that even Medea couldn’t provide you with an alibi. It seemed quite simple.’

  He took her chin in his hand and gazed into her eyes. ‘I don’t know what you’re suggesting,’ he murmured. ‘Are you saying you still think I murdered Centurion Messalus? And here you are, trying to seduce me!’

  She laughed. ‘Trying? Succeeding very well, I should say. You’re hardly spurning my advances.’

  ‘But do you really think I murdered Centurion Messalus?’ he persisted.

  She shook her head. ‘Gaius, two men have died in the Villa since it was built. A mystery hangs around both of them. You surely agree with me that it is not to my husband’s credit that these events should be made public knowledge any more than is necessary. You know full well that the senators despise my husband for the bloodbath that began his reign.’

  ‘But that’s in the past,’ Flaminius said. ‘These more recent deaths…’

  ‘…are not something to be bruited abroad,’ she told him firmly. ‘Very well, Rufinus Crassus’ death is known, but few speak of it today. The death of this centurion must not be shouted from the rooftops or people may remember the senator’s death, which still remains a mystery—but it occurred while he was in Praetorian custody. None of this is to my husband’s credit. I will not have his name dragged in the dirt. I do wish to know if you can learn who was responsible for both deaths. When you know, report to me, and we will see what action is to be taken. If it is to my husband’s discredit, then it is something a loyal citizen would be quick to suppress.’ Her eyes glinted with tears even as she caressed him. ‘I love my husband…’

  ‘Your husband…’ Flaminius interrupted, astonished by the hypocrisy of the woman.

  ‘My husband doesn’t understand me,’ she said quietly, with a sob. Flaminius’ eyes darted about, as if seeking some kind of escape. Tentatively, clumsily, he put his arms round her and she lay her head on his brawny shoulder.

  ‘My husband doesn’t love me,’ she added, her voice still tremulous. Flaminius had heard that one from married women before, and it never boded well. ‘He has no interest in women except as stepping stones in his career; he prefers young boys. It’s disgusting! Humiliating! I should hate him for it. And yet, I still love him. I have as long as I have known him. Can you imagine what it’s like to be in a loveless marriage with someone you have adored all your life?’

  She sobbed again, and he rubbed her shoulder encouragingly. As she wept, he tried to mentally compose
a new report to Probus.

  What he had learnt put a new perspective on things. This haughty woman, with her hypocrisy and barely veiled, unthinking contempt for people below her social station, with her little cabal of Republican fantasists, nevertheless loved the husband who neglected her. Flaminius had glimpsed a new aspect to her, had seen behind the public façade. He felt pity for the woman he saw baring her soul before him.

  But could he really do what she asked? If he uncovered the truth, and rooted out the conspiracy against her husband, he could hardly allow it to remain unknown. He had to make the emperor at least aware of what was happening behind his back.

  Or at least some of it. This little episode would have to remain under the rose.

  ‘I’m so lonely,’ she was sobbing. ‘So lonely and so… frustrated.’

  Abruptly she clamped her mouth to his and then they were kissing fiercely, hungrily. He felt a stirring in his groin. He wanted her, this woman twice his age. Her body was pressed against his. It was plumper than the girls he was accustomed to, her skin was rougher, but nonetheless she was filled with warmth and vitality. He slid his fingers into her primly coiffured hair. For a moment, Medea’s much younger features appeared in his mind’s eye.

  A noise from the corridor outside made him break away with a guilty start; it cooled his passion like a bucket of water thrown at a dog on heat. Uncomfortably aware that his clothes smelt of her perfume, he tried to rise.

  ‘What is it?’ she said, peering at him.

  ‘I thought I heard someone…’ he said. ‘Outside.’

  She grabbed the folds of his toga and hauled him back down onto the couch. ‘Don’t be a fool,’ she said. ‘No one will dare to spy on us. I’m the empress of Rome!’

  ‘That’s just the point,’ Flaminius said, a little worried by her use of the word “spy.” ‘You’re the empress. I’m one of your husband’s guards.’

  ‘You can hardly think he’s going to burst in upon us,’ she said with a cracked laugh. ‘You’ve seen too many plays!’ He noticed the lines on her face, the crow’s feet that no amount of powder could conceal. ‘He’s off chasing boys in barbarian country, not hiding in the wardrobe.’

  ‘All the same,’ Flaminius said, ‘if we were discovered together, it would be bad news for both of us.’

  ‘You think my husband cares about being a cuckold?’ she said bitterly. ‘I would be faithful to him.’ She panted. ‘I love him. I’ll never stop loving him. But I have appetites that I must fulfil.’

  Flaminius felt a wet stickiness from his thigh. His wounds had broken out afresh, he realised. He got up and sat back on the stool, rearranging his toga, dabbling worriedly at the fresh blood. ‘I think this conversation needs to return to a professional footing.’

  ‘Hard to get, are we?’ she said archly. ‘Very well, you tease. I’ll play your game. Let’s have our … professional conversation. As long as we have time for a little recreation afterwards.’

  Flaminius couldn’t remember where he’d got to. Like a bad actor in a Plautus comedy, he needed prompting.

  ‘We were talking about Centurion Messalus’ murder. It wasn’t me who poisoned him. So who did? Who would benefit from his death?’

  She looked petulant now. ‘How should I know? I can’t tell you anything about such people. He must have had enemies. You said he did, before. I don’t know who his enemies were but you clearly do. So: who were his enemies? You say he killed people, not just in battle. Who? Surely you must consider his kin as suspects.’

  ‘He killed a senator called Nigrinus,’ he told her. ‘At the orders of the former Praetorian Prefect. And before he was killed, he…’

  ‘Well, there’s your answer!’ the empress told him. ‘His killers must surely have been Nigrinus’ family or friends. You should investigate them!’

  ‘I don’t think they had access to the Villa,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps not themselves,’ she said, ‘but an agent. A slave, perhaps, who was suborned by them! Speak with Erichtho. She might be able to shed light on who could have poisoned the centurion. Assuming it wasn’t her, after all… Certainly you ought to see her about those wounds. Hermogenes the imperial physician is away with my husband, you know.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I don’t know how you got them but they’re in danger of dripping on my mosaic. Really, Gaius, you can’t expect me to do your work for you, but I really think I’ve worked out what you should be doing. Now come back to the couch. You can investigate the Nigrini later. Keep a lonely woman company.’

  Unwillingly, he rose. ‘Your imperial majesty,’ he said formally. ‘I think…’

  She grabbed him by the hand but as she pulled him towards her, the doors opened. The empress glowered at the slave who entered, a small, weaselly looking man.

  ‘How dare you intrude!’ she cried.

  ‘My humble apologies, ma’am,’ the slave said, ‘but Prefect Septicius Clarus is outside and wishes to speak to you.’ His eyes widened, seeing how close the two stood. They grew even larger seeing that her hand was on his wrist.

  ‘I really must get my wounds seen to,’ Flaminius said.

  The empress pushed Flaminius away. ‘Very well, you may go,’ she told him. ‘Carry out the investigation with my blessing, and as I have instructed you. Remember to report to me first. I must decide what may be made public.’ Her face was cold, but Flaminius thought he detected alarm in her eyes.

  He saluted, glad of a chance to get out of an embarrassing situation. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I shall report to you as soon as there are any developments.’

  ‘Permit the prefect to enter,’ the empress told the slave.

  Flaminius marched over to the doors as the slave opened them again. They revealed Septicius Clarus, his normally jovial face twisted with suspicion.

  ‘What are you doing here, tribune?’ he demanded.

  ‘Her imperial majesty was debriefing me,’ Flaminius told him solemnly. ‘I must be going now.’

  Before he could enter the corridor, Septicius Clarus seized him and pulled him close. Flaminius gave him a startled look. The prefect sniffed at him, then glowered. ‘I smell perfume on you,’ he growled. ‘It’s the empress’ scent.’

  Flaminius started insolently back at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the prefect pushed past him and entered the chamber, slamming the doors behind him.

  Flaminius stood where he was for a moment, listening. Noticing the two Praetorians giving him curious, sidelong looks, he began to inspect them.

  As he was testing the blade of one man, he overheard a muted conversation between Septicius Clarus and the empress. He couldn’t make out the words, but the prefect sounded angry and hurt, while the empress seemed to be mollifying him. The argument reached a crescendo. Flaminius returned the sword to the man.

  ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘You may sheath it.’

  Now there was only silence from the chamber. Flaminius listened for a moment longer, then saluted the two men, spun round, and marched off.

  —14—

  On his way to the chambers where Erichtho kept her simples and her potions, he encountered Centurion Junius Italicus again, coming round an intersection.

  ‘Has the prefect briefed you on the manoeuvres tonight?’ the centurion inquired.

  Flaminius stared at him. ‘Manoeuvres? No! No he hasn’t. Odd, I’ve just seen him too.’ But Septicius Clarus had been in no mood for briefings. ‘That’s short notice. Where did you hear about this?’

  Centurion Junius Italicus fell into step with him. ‘I was speaking to one of the prefect’s aides,’ the centurion said. ‘The entire Guard will be out on manoeuvres, with only a few exceptions.’

  ‘I don’t know why no one’s told me,’ Flaminius said, ‘unless everyone’s being kept in the dark. A test, maybe? Or is my cohort the exception?’ He indicated his wounds. ‘I’m going to have to get these seen to. Find out for me, centurion, if you can.’

  ‘Sir!’ Centurion Junius Italicus saluted and stamped off.
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br />   Reaching the door to Erichtho’s chambers, Flaminius rapped on it. After a moment, it opened and he was met by a wall of scent, followed by the wizened features of Erichtho herself. She peered quizzically at him through her tangled hair.

  ‘How may I help you, Tribune Flaminius?’ she asked. ‘Do you require another love philtre?’

  ‘Very funny,’ said Flaminius bitterly. He showed her his oozing wounds. ‘I got these last night. The camp surgeon bound them for me, but they’ve opened up again. The empress suggested I called in on you, Erichtho, since the imperial physician is away with the emperor.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, her manner changing abruptly. ‘Come on in, tribune.’

  She led him into a medium sized chamber, with mosaic floor and frescoed walls. On a roughhewn table in the middle lay a variety of herbs, while several green glass phials were staked in a rack. More were kept in racks along the frescoed walls. The scent of perfume in the air made Flaminius sneeze and his eyes run.

  She directed him to sit down on a stool and examined the sword cut on his thigh. ‘How did you get this?’ she asked curiously, opening a jar of unguent.

  ‘In the course of my duties,’ Flaminius said.

  She raised her brows in mock surprise. ‘Are the barbarians even now at our gates?’ She dabbed at the wound with a wet cloth, then began to slather on the unguent. ‘I don’t know how else a Praetorian would come by such injuries within the sacred precincts of Rome.’

  Flaminius grinned a little. ‘Just robbers, I think,’ he told her. ‘Profane enough to bear arms within the city walls.’ He shifted slightly. The pommel of his concealed sword was digging into his armpit.

  ‘They chose the wrong man to rob, a Praetorian,’ Erichtho commented. ‘I assume their own wounds are more severe?’

  ‘Oh yes, you should have seen the one who got away,’ Flaminius said wryly. ‘Although… I had some help.’

  ‘Some help?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t know who he was. He ran off before I had a chance to thank him.’