‘The legions will do as they’re told,’ Ursus Servianus growled.
‘And the Parthians?’ Flaminius asked. ‘Even now those barbarians are making trouble in the East, and they’re still powerful after Trajan defeated them; Hadrian retreated before them. Will you defeat them?’
‘I’ll drive them before me!’ Ursus Servianus bellowed. ‘I’ll drive them into the sunrise like Alexander drove Darius! I’ll…’ He broke off in a fit of coughing, and sat down weakly on another couch, clutching at his chest.
‘And this is the man who led your conspiracy,’ Flaminius said, gesturing to Septicius Clarus and the empress. ‘Here is the man who wants to cross from Europe to Asia, and who cannot even cross from one couch to another without losing his balance. He isn’t half the man Hadrian is.’
‘Trajan wanted him as his successor,’ the empress insisted, ‘not Hadrian. He despised Hadrian. You young fool, what do you know? You’re nothing but a tribune.’
Recovering from his coughing, Ursus Servianus rose and put his hand on her shoulder.
‘Don’t lower yourself, my dear,’ he wheezed. ‘You’re right, the lad knows nothing. I said we should kill him all along.’
‘But all our attempts to kill him have failed,’ Septicius Clarus said.
Ursus Servianus rounded on him. ‘It’s all over now. We’re ready, poised to take the emperor’s life when he arrives, to seize the Forum with the Guard, and for me to assume the purple as is my right. As should have happened when Trajan died.’
He glowered at Flaminius, and flung a hand in the tribune’s direction. ‘Kill him, prefect,’ he said.
Septicius Clarus brandished his sword. He advanced on Flaminius. Flaminius turned to run but Junius Italicus and the Praetorians were there. He turned back.
‘Sir,’ said Junius Italicus respectfully, addressing the prefect. ‘I think that would be unwise.’
Flaminius stared at him in disbelief. So did Septicius Clarus. ‘Who are you to advise me, centurion?’ the prefect demanded.
Junius Italicus lifted a hand for silence.
In the distance, they heard the blowing of horns and the far off thundering of hoofs. Even as they did so, marching feet were heard outside.
Armoured figures filed into the atrium. Flaminius recognised one of them as Probus. With him was a bearded man wearing a purple cloak.
—21—
Some time had passed. Flaminius sat in his office in the barracks of the Villa. Probus was on the other side of the desk, sitting back easily and grinning as if he had achieved something remarkable.
‘I suppose you think you’re clever,’ Flaminius said sourly. ‘By your own account, all you did was to petition the emperor when he entered the city. When he heard of murder in the Villa, robbery of pay, and mysterious midnight manoeuvres, he was bound to act.’
‘There was more to it than that,’ Probus said. ‘The captive Horse Guards took their time about coming clean, but in the end they told me everything they knew, which filled in the gaps left after I deciphered those notes we found in Septicius Clarus’ office. Not only that Septicius Clarus had put them up to making an attempted robbery on the wages train, but also that Cassius Nero was in collusion with the other conspirators, that he had ensured that our attempts to stop the robbery failed.’
‘And what did the emperor think of it all?’
Flaminius had only seen Hadrian for a few minutes when the emperor had entered the Villa with Probus at his side and a force of loyal Horse Guards at his back. Everyone else in the room had been led away for questioning with the exception of the empress, who Hadrian had taken into his own personal custody. Right now, Flaminius himself was waiting for a debriefing from the emperor.
Probus shook his head. ‘He wasn’t impressed, I have to say,’ he replied. ‘And he seemed annoyed that I had taken up the investigation without any consultation with his imperial self. I explained that there had been no time for that, what with his expedition to the North.’
Flaminius grunted. ‘I should think he’d have been even less impressed,’ he said, ‘if he’d got back to Rome to find a mutinous Guard, murderous assassins, and his old rival Ursus Servianus attempting to oust him.’
‘Exactly my point,’ Probus said, ‘although I chose to frame it a bit more diplomatically. His imperial majesty didn’t comment. Of course, at that point I had no idea that his wife was involved. You’d neglected to mention that, tribune.’
‘I wasn’t sure about it myself,’ Flaminius admitted. ‘The most we had to go on was the fact that Rufinus Crassus had been murdered, no doubt to stop him betraying his fellow conspirators; and that his murderer, Messalus, was also murdered just as he was on the brink of telling me the truth. I had no idea that the second murder had been carried out by…’
Probus had already heard about Medea. Gruffly, looking uncomfortable, he reached out and patted Flaminius on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, lad,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
Flaminius was a Roman, and Romans are stoic by nature, whether they subscribe to that school of philosophy or not. He inclined his head in acknowledgement of Probus’ words, heedless of the aching void within himself. Nothing comes from nothing, and the nothingness he felt within sprang from the nothingness that was Medea… or something like that. He had trouble thinking straight.
Philosophy would offer no consolation here. Medea’s death was bad enough, but the fact that he had given her the poison draught—the fact that she had intended the poison for him—the fact that she had hated him so much that the empress had been able to persuade her to attempt his murder…
He didn’t know what to say either.
‘Well, anyway,’ Probus went on, ‘the emperor’s not very happy about what’s been going on while he was away. He wants to speak to me about it, once he’s worked out what to do with the conspirators. Oh, and, er… I think he wants to speak to you, too.’
There was a knock on the door.
‘Come,’ Flaminius directed.
Junius Italicus poked his head round the door.
‘Emperor’s compliments,’ he said, saluting smartly, ‘and would Commissary Centurion Probus present himself for debriefing in the main atrium, please?’
Heavily, Probus lifted himself to his feet. He grimaced at Flaminius. ‘Looks like this is it,’ he said. He crossed to the door. ‘It’s alright, centurion,’ he told Junius Italicus, ‘I know the way.’
Junius Italicus stepped aside to let Probus pass. Then he glanced in at Flaminius, brooding at his desk.
‘Was there anything, sir?’ he asked.
Flaminius looked up. His eyes narrowed. ‘Take a seat, centurion,’ he directed.
Junius Italicus entered, and sat down smartly in the place Probus had just vacated.
‘You’ve been with the emperor?’ Flaminius asked.
The centurion nodded. ‘Yes sir.’
Flaminius pursed his lips. ‘What was he like? Angry?’
Junius Italicus shrugged. ‘He didn’t show any emotion, sir, you know what he’s like. I think it’s this Greek philosophy he studies.’
Flaminius leant back in his chair.
‘You could have told me you were also working for Probus,’ he said.
‘Yessir,’ said the centurion. ‘Except that would have been against orders. Orders were, not to make contact with any other agent at any point, but to keep an eye on you at all times. It was me, as I’m sure you guessed, who helped you fight off those ambushers in the alley.’
So Probus had known about the ambush. Ruefully, Flaminius rubbed at the bruise on his forehead. ‘You certainly did keep an eye on me,’ he said acidly, reminding himself to thank Probus for his choice of agent. ‘Right up to the end.’
‘Apologies, sir,’ Junius Italicus said, ‘but there wasn’t much I could do under the circumstances. I did my best to protect you, but when I was given an order by the Praetorian Prefect, I had to preserve my cover… Well, I did rescue you from his sword, sir. The Prefect wan
ted to kill you there and then. After I’d stunned you, I respectfully reminded him that the due process of law had to be seen to be adhered to.’
‘And do you think it will be?’ Flaminius asked. ‘Now, I mean? Everything I’ve heard about the emperor over the last few days suggests he’s the kind of tyrant Suetonius Tranquillus writes about, having inconvenient senators assassinated out of hand… I thought he was a good man. I thought the empire was a good place, a place worth fighting for. But now…?’
Junius Italicus laughed. When Flaminius scowled at him, his face returned to its usual wooden immobility. ‘With respect, sir, you’ve been misinformed. On the occasion to which you’re referring, his imperial majesty received word from the former prefect, Attianus, of potential plots by his rivals. Having only just succeeded Trajan, Hadrian sent a message telling Attianus to deal with them. Attianus interpreted this in the worst possible way, giving orders to Messalus and his fellow assassins to murder Nigrinus and the others. When Hadrian learnt what happened, he was horrified. He had Attianus dismissed on his return to Rome, although he kept the assassins on the payroll.’
‘How do you know all this?’ Flaminius asked.
Junius Italicus grinned. ‘I was one of them,’ he said. ‘It was me who killed Lusius Quietus.’
Flaminius was called for a quarter of an hour later. He found the Emperor Hadrian standing in the middle of the atrium, his visionary gaze on the middle distance. Praetorian Prefect Marcius Turbo was at his side, and two more Praetorians stood discreetly a few yards away.
Apprehensively, Flaminius saluted the most powerful man in the empire.
‘Hail Caesar,’ he said, and his voice cracked with nervousness.
‘Tribune Flaminius, isn’t it?’ said Hadrian, running elegant fingers through a heavy beard. ‘Yes, I remember you from last year. Good fellow. This is just an informal chat, there’s no need to stand on ceremony.’
The emperor wore a breastplate ornamented with elegant curlicues and flourishes that would make it distinctly impractical in the field. At his side hung a sword with an equally richly decorated hilt. He wore a short purple cloak and on his brow was a laurel wreath. These last accoutrements alone hinted that he ruled the greatest empire the world had ever seen.
‘Yes, your imperial majesty,’ said Flaminius.
Hadrian tutted and shook his head. ‘I told you, this is an informal chat. “Sir” will do quite well.’ He began walking through the garden.
‘I was speaking to your colleague earlier,’ he went on. Flaminius exchanged a glance with the Praetorians and hurried after the emperor.
Hadrian’s voice had the curious intonation of a Spaniard, and it seemed odd that a man of provincial birth should wield so much power. The Praetorians who accompanied him, however, were all of Italian stock; it was a compulsory prerequisite for the service.
‘I mean Centurion Probus, of course,’ the emperor added as Flaminius caught up. ‘You both have done sterling work, sterling work. You exceeded your authority, of course, but I’ll get to that presently. No, I’m grateful to you for rooting out this nest of traitors. To think that my wife…!’ He checked himself. ‘I understand that you have experienced losses of your own in your zealous attempts to guard my person.’
‘Losses, sir?’ Flaminius said. ‘Oh. Medea.’
‘And your chief centurion, Messalus,’ the emperor added with a nod. ‘It must have been a blow to lose a trusted comrade. Not to mention to be betrayed by someone who, I understand, was close to you.’ His face grew dark. ‘I too have experienced betrayal at the hands of a loved one.’ He shook his head. ‘Perhaps not as close as you were to this Greek dancing girl, in some ways, but you can’t remain married to someone for as long as I have been to Vibia—she was a child when I married her, and I little more than a youth—without developing some affection for her. Even if I have called her harridan in private moments.’
Flaminius was embarrassed.
Hadrian paused for a moment. ‘“Caesar’s wife,”’ he quoted, ‘“must be above suspicion.” I should have her put away. Any slighted husband of the era with which Vibia and her coterie are so obsessed would do more; put his wife to death, I’ve no doubt. But we don’t live in such righteous days. She’ll remain out of public life in future, and of course I’m dismissing Suetonius Tranquillus and Septicius Clarus from my service.’
He noticed Flaminius’ expression and started walking again. ‘You think it a mild judgement? This is a new empire that I rule; what matters most is unity. I have committed myself to shoring up the defences as I have been doing in Britain, and as I intend to do in the East, with the Parthians. I also intend to travel widely about this world of mine, a latter day Ulysses, and really get to know my people. I want my reign to be remembered as a happy one, of peace and prosperity. I do not want to be remembered for putting my wife to death, or my subordinates for that matter.’
Flaminius kept his opinions to himself. ‘What about Ursus Servianus?’ he asked.
Hadrian looked at him, as if in surprise. ‘Ah, yes, my seditious brother in law,’ he murmured. ‘Again, I intend to be merciful. He worked against me in the past, before I had the honour of succeeding to the purple, but I have spoken with him. Proscription, treason trials, all these things are matters of the past, the dark days of Domitian and Tiberius and Sulla. I already have an unearned reputation for seizing power unlawfully, and for murdering my rivals. I do not wish to give my enemies in the senate more reason to curse my name. They will find any excuse.’
‘So it’s forgiveness all round?’ Flaminius demanded. ‘Sir,’ he added, with a scowl.
Hadrian halted and looked back at him. ‘Ah, well,’ he said delicately. ‘For the conspirators? Yes, although their careers will be at an end, and they will be banished from public life until I feel they have learnt their lessons. Except Ursus Servianus, of course. He will not be banished. His name will never be connected with this plot.
‘He doesn’t believe this naïve nostalgic claptrap about a return to the Republic! Rome’s empire is too large to be run by a senate, and he knows it. It needs a single man, an ambitious man; one who knows how to be ruthless when necessary. It’s a heavy burden for any man, but someone must do it, someone able. Despite his age, in the empire as it stands I can think of no man better suited to succeed me.’
Flaminius was shocked. Then good luck to you, Rome, he thought. Good luck! If the seditious Julius Ursus Servianus made the best successor for Hadrian, the city would need all the luck it could muster.
‘However,’ the emperor added, ‘there’s another matter to which I wish to turn my attention.
‘The Commissary began to concern itself with matters of internal security during the days of Domitian,’ he went on, ‘that suspicious tyrant who trusted no one. After the conspiracy that resulted in his death, ironically giving justification for his suspicions, the Commissary continued to follow Domitian’s guidelines, providing the emperors who succeeded him with reports on the loyalty of important figures in the empire. In short, they were spies.
‘This is regrettable. I would prefer to rule an empire that does not require spies. However, some elements of society, many of them in the highest positions, are intractable. Since they are prone to plots and conspiracies themselves, they cannot believe that their emperor is not the same. As a result, they need to be watched; their plots require counterplots. So it is necessary to employ spies such as yourself, although personally I find it distasteful.’
He began to walk again, continuing his circuit of the atrium. Frowning, Flaminius hurried to keep up with him as his sandals clicked neatly through the gravel.
‘However,’ the emperor continued, speaking like a marketplace philosopher formulating a syllogism that he knew would earn him a standing ovation, ‘it is imperative that such spies learn not to get above themselves. They must be trustworthy and obedient—devoted to the empire, and to myself as its absolute leader—incorruptible, unlike your former Chief—but at the same time,
not overenthusiastic mavericks like Centurion Julius Probus. You know and I know what devastation has resulted previously from your colleague’s machinations[21]. This cannot be allowed to continue.’
‘Probus is a good man.’ Flaminius surprised himself by leaping to his comrade’s defence.
Hadrian sighed. ‘A good man, indeed, but I think it a mistake for him to be allowed such latitude. He needs something to give him a sense of discipline.’
‘I see,’ said Flaminius.
It sounded like Probus was going to be kept on. But what about Flaminius himself? Would he remain in Rome? There was nothing left for him here, now that Medea was dead.
‘And as for you,’ Hadrian went on, in answer to his unspoken question, ‘your recent brushes with military law have made it inappropriate for you to continue as a Praetorian officer. It isn’t good for discipline, you know, for a cohort to be commanded by a man who has been arrested on three separate occasions within a few days.’
‘But…’ Flaminius began. Hadrian raised a hand, and nodded slightly.
‘Those arrests resulted from the scheming of the plotters, I agree. However, it’s the look of the thing. There’s also the fact that the man you chose as chief centurion after Messalus is also a commissary officer. Your cohort will return to camp, while you will be publically dismissed from the Praetorians and provided with work more fitting for your devious nature. The relief cohort is on its way already.’
‘This is my reward for serving you?’ Flaminius asked, but Hadrian wasn’t listening; he had turned to Prefect Marcius Turbo.
‘See that the tribune is escorted from the Villa,’ he told him. The prefect saluted. Abruptly Hadrian strode from the atrium, followed by the two guards.
Marcius Turbo strolled up to Flaminius, a cold smile on his face.
‘Where am I to go?’ Flaminius asked.
‘You’re dismissed the service,’ said Marcius Turbo, ‘but the emperor promised suitable work would be found for you. You’re a talented fellow, evidently, but not the sort an emperor feels comfortable with serving in his Guard. Be grateful! At least your career isn’t at an end, unlike my erstwhile colleague.’
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