Murder in Hadrian's Villa Read online

  Returning to the palace they went through the ritual of the changing of the guard, and then Flaminius organised the patrols. This done, he retired to his office with Centurion Junius Italicus. They had sat down and he began to read the Night Watch report.

  ‘You don’t seem very curious about these,’ he remarked, indicating his bandaged wounds.

  ‘I’m sure the tribune came by them in the course of honour,’ Centurion Junius Italicus said without a twitch of his lips.

  Flaminius studied the man covertly as he pretended to read the rather dull report. Junius Italicus seemed oddly unsurprised by his wounds, but there was obviously more to his words than met the ear. Fear gripped him. Was Centurion Junius Italicus implicated in the conspiracy? Had he even been one of his attackers? No, that wasn’t likely. If anything he was more like the man who had been killed, not like the rat who ran.

  It wasn’t the centurion’s place to pass comment on his superior officer’s condition, but it seemed inhumanly virtuous to be so well bred about it.

  ‘Stay here,’ Flaminius said after reading the report. ‘I’ll check the patrols.’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ said Centurion Junius Italicus.

  Again Flaminius thought he detected an unidentifiable undercurrent of meaning to his words. Dismissing the mystery, Flaminius left the office and limped down the fresco painted corridors, passing through the high pillared marble halls to the palace library that he had visited the previous day.

  The room, with its frescos and busts and its walls lined with pigeon holes for scrolls, was quiet and almost deserted. But the figure stooped over a reading table to one side of the room, poring over an unrolled scroll, proved to be Suetonius Tranquillus. Flaminius coughed and the man looked up. There was a cloudy look in his eyes, and Suetonius Tranquillus didn’t seem to recognise his visitor at first.

  ‘Can I help you?’ the imperial secretary asked, regarding the intruder dubiously. Then his eyes cleared. ‘Tribune Flaminius, isn’t it? The hero of the hour, saviour of the emperor. We met at the Villa.’ He frowned. ‘Terrible to hear what happened there after my departure. It’s quite set ma’am against the place. Rome itself these days is such a place of smokes and stink that it comes as a relief to visit the Villa and walk in its gardens. There are some tolerably good libraries there, too, but nothing comparable with the palace.’

  ‘You must know a great deal about the history of this place,’ Flaminius said. ‘My knowledge of history ends with Caesar, I’m afraid. My tutor didn’t tell me much about what happened after he was murdered.’

  Suetonius Tranquillus pursed his lips. ‘The fellow showed good taste, in my opinion,’ he said. ‘The period has had few good historians. That provincial fellow Tacitus has written a little on the subject, of course, and I myself am working on a full history of Caesar and his successors, which you’re welcome to read when it’s completed.’ He paused. ‘In fact, since you’re so interested, I’ll let you read my recently completed second book, which should aid your understanding.’ He went to a pigeon hole and drew out a scroll which he took over to Flaminius, ignoring his protests that he didn’t want to cause the secretary any bother. ‘Augustus,’ Suetonius Tranquillus explained. ‘It’s an uncorrected proof, you understand, so there could be errors,’ he added, defensively. ‘As you surely know, it was in Augustus’ day began the age of iron that we live in today, this dark age.’

  Flaminius accepted the scroll gratefully and secreted it in his toga for later reading. He looked around the tranquil library in surprise. In the distance was a faint hubbub of noise from the Roman Forum, but here in the palace, all was hushed and quiet, nowhere more so than the library. He wondered what Suetonius Tranquillus would think of the place if he’d ever served on the frontier, but he kept his opinions to himself. Then again, last night’s little encounter had shown that even the city had its dangers.

  ‘You think it was better in the good old days, do you?’ Flaminius asked.

  ‘Oh, undoubtedly, young man,’ Suetonius Tranquillus murmured, surprised that anyone could think otherwise. He crossed over to a bust of Cicero and studied it thoughtfully. ‘In the days before Caesar, the Senate was in power, the Republic flourished. People were, in the main, virtuous and religious. Today, what do we see? Debauchery, vice, Greek manners eclipsing those of the old Romans… The emperors attained their position with the mob at their back, not through election like the consuls. My friends and I deplore these innovations.’

  ‘Ah, your friends,’ said Flaminius. ‘Of course, the prefect is one of those friends. Although I thought you had fallen out with him while you were at the Villa. Does he share your views?’

  ‘Oh, we all do here,’ Suetonius Tranquillus murmured. ‘We all have the same views of the Republic, can’t stand the ghastly reality that is the present day. I’m something of an intellectual leader amongst those who surround the empress,’ he added boastfully.

  He frowned. ‘For your information, young man, I did have an argument with the prefect. I found out that something was going on behind my back that I didn’t like. But it’s nothing I should like to discuss here.’ He went to an amphora on a stand, glanced at Flaminius inquiringly and when the tribune nodded, poured glasses for both of them.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ said Flaminius, and Suetonius Tranquillus put them down on the table. ‘I hope matters between the two of you have improved.’ The tribune frowned. ‘It seems odd to me that the empress’ entourage should be so opposed to the modern age. Considering the emperor himself is responsible for the way things are.’

  Suetonius Tranquillus shrugged. ‘Hadrian is a fine fellow, of course,’ he said piously, raising his voice. ‘There is no one more loyal to him than I. I have known him since he was quite a young man, when a friendship with the senator Gaius Caecilius Pliny led to my employment as imperial archivist by Trajan. It provided me with an ideal opportunity to study the letters and documents of the last century or so. Invaluable for my histories. But the more I read the more I became persuaded that this age of emperors is a dreadful one. Emperor after emperor has expanded the empire until it can grow no further, and now Hadrian rushes about the borders plugging leaks in a wall that can hardly hold back the barbarian tide forever …’

  He trailed off and suddenly scribbled something in the margin of his scroll. ‘A wall… barbarian tide,’ he said to himself. ‘Dike wall? Floods… Plato’s fable of Atlantis…’

  While he was distracted, Flaminius took the precaution of swapping the two goblets of wine. He didn’t think the secretary was likely to be a murderer, but it paid to be cautious.

  Suetonius Tranquillus looked up again. ‘Apologies. My turn of phrase…it… I thought I’d note it down. A bit rough, that image, but with some work…’

  ‘So you became disillusioned with the present day?’ Flaminius asked patiently, taking a sip from his wine.

  ‘Oh, certainly, certainly,’ said Suetonius Tranquillus. ‘Who isn’t?’ He sipped at his own wine, but showed no ill effects.

  Flaminius had heard all sorts of doom-and-gloom prognostications from people Suetonius Tranquillus’ age. Probus, for example, was prone to predicting the immediate collapse of civilisation. Maybe it was because they were old, and their own deaths were not far away. As far as Flaminius could see, life went on. The empire endured. Nothing lasts forever, but he had more important things to worry about than civilisation’s decline.

  ‘You’re loyal to the emperor?’ he asked.

  Suetonius Tranquillus drew himself up. ‘Of course!’ he said, raising his voice again. ‘His imperial majesty is a personal friend of mine. And I am so grateful that you foiled that assassination attempt last year. I’m glad to be able to thank you.’ He shook Flaminius’ hand vigorously, and laughed. ‘I hope you’re not sounding me out for my loyalty, tribune,’ he added. ‘My antipathy towards the present day does not conceal a personal dislike of Hadrian. I think I mentioned earlier that I first met him when I was Trajan’s secretary. I think it was af
ter I returned from Bithynia, where I had served under Pliny, who was governor of that province.

  ‘The young Hadrian was a fine man, although’—he lowered his voice—‘unseemly rumours hung about him of… dissipated behaviour… and heavy debts.’ He paused. ‘I feel sorry for his wife, of course. He only married her for ambition’s sake, you know.’

  ‘She was Trajan’s niece, wasn’t she?’ Flaminius said.

  The imperial secretary nodded. ‘His marriage to her—and she was quite a young girl at the time—was purely to cement his relationship with the reigning emperor. They’ve never had a happy marriage; he spends so much time away from Rome. The Senate also criticises the emperor behind their hands for keeping away from Rome so much of the time, concerning himself with far flung provinces like Egypt, Britain or Mauretania. I too think that he should concern himself more with the city, or one day it will become an impoverished backwater in an obscure corner of its own empire. But I often think that the real reason he stays away from Rome is to keep away from his wife.’

  Flaminius laughed at this, but Suetonius Tranquillus looked at him sadly and said no more.

  ‘They’re not happy together?’ the tribune asked.

  Suetonius Tranquillus leaned forward. ‘I don’t believe his imperial majesty is interested in women at all,’ he hissed. He drew back a little, as if astounded by his own audacity. ‘Myself, I was very interested in women as a young man, but my own marriage was almost enough to put me off them forever. I slake my lusts without becoming involved. Women have little interest to me, either, but nor do boys.’ He pursed his lips and lowered his voice again. ‘I fear the emperor’s love of all things Greek extends as far as… Greek love. If you understand me, young man.’ He winked.

  Flaminius had heard much the same from Messalus. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps the empress felt neglected, with her husband keeping away from her and spending time with boys. But neglected enough to conspire against him? No, that was absurd.

  ‘How long have you known the prefect?’ he asked. Suetonius Tranquillus was gazing abstractedly into the distance.

  The secretary shook himself and looked round. ‘Oh, Septicius Clarus? We’ve know each other for many years. We argue now and then, over women usually, but we’re firm friends despite having little in common. I first met him in Bithynia, of course, working for Pliny.’

  Flaminius gathered that Suetonius Tranquillus hadn’t always been a stay-at-home bookworm. But Bithynia was in Asia Minor, on the Black Sea coast, a rather more civilised region of the empire than, say, Britain.

  ‘What was he doing there?’ Flaminius asked.

  ‘He was commanding a cohort of legionaries based in the province, as I recall,’ Suetonius Tranquillus murmured. ‘We were both friends of Pliny’s and we all had quite similar literary tastes. Bithynia was at peace when Pliny was there, although he had some trouble with the provincial elite; they were all Greeks, of course. The Greeks think they invented everything, and the Bithynians resented being governed by a mere Roman. They seemed to think paying taxes to Rome was unreasonable, but when Pliny made a few concessions to the notion that they were culturally superior, they seemed happy to pay, thus saving the province from bankruptcy. It seems the Greeks also invented vanity!

  ‘It also paid if one was be able to demonstrate that one was culturally equal to the Greeks. Pliny was as learned as any Greek, and so was I. Septicius Clarus also benefited from a classical education, although of course he was also a soldier. Pliny himself had been in the legions in his younger days. He tried to obtain the post of legionary tribune for me at one point, but I turned it down; I felt I lacked the authority for dealing with common legionaries. Septicius Clarus was very friendly in those days. I suppose he is these days as well, but he seems to have become more crabbed, more suspicious. More backward looking…’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Flaminius asked. ‘He certainly seems friendly and upright to me, although he has a tougher side to him.’ The man’s attitude had changed dramatically when Flaminius came under suspicion of murder.

  Suetonius Tranquillus shrugged. ‘Perhaps it is the pressure of work. He is Praetorian Prefect, after all. One of the highest administrative jobs in the empire, and like all the serious jobs available these days, one that the emperors have never entrusted to a senator.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Flaminius asked.

  Suetonius Tranquillus shrugged. ‘Every ambitious senator—and there’s no other kind—secretly fancies his chances as emperor. The legions would not accept an equestrian like you or I as emperor. So the emperors have always trusted persons of our lowlier rank in the most important positions. Other than governors of provinces and magistrates and so forth; those posts are always given to senators, for the look of it as much as anything. But even that has caused problems before. In the year of my birth, the long year, the Year of the Four Emperors[6], every senator who controlled enough legions made a grab for power. It was much like in the years of civil war that threw up Caesar and Pompey and finally Augustus. My own father fought under one of those warring emperors… But I digress. Where was I?’

  ‘Septicius Clarus,’ Flaminius prompted him.

  ‘Oh yes, fine fellow,’ Suetonius Tranquillus murmured vaguely. ‘We have our disagreements, of course, but perhaps it’s because we have so much in common.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘We have many tastes in common, it would appear.’

  ‘Literary tastes?’ Flaminius asked. ‘A longing for the old days?’

  ‘Yes, yes, those of course,’ Suetonius Tranquillus admitted. ‘But I was thinking of…’ He shook his head. ‘No, that’s not something I should be talking to you, of all people! Most indiscreet of me, I apologise. I’m sure the empress wouldn’t like it either.’

  Flaminius was confused. He hoped the man arranged his writing rather better than he organised his thoughts. ‘How long have you known the empress?’ he asked. ‘You seem to be one of her favourites.’

  ‘One of her favourites,’ Suetonius Tranquillus echoed, emphasising the first word. ‘I’ve known her since she was young, even before she married that rising star, Hadrian. No emperor in those days, but the favourite, if you like, of Trajan. As I said, his marriage with ma’am made it clear that Hadrian would be the former emperor’s successor, although of course there were rivals in those days. It was Hadrian who brought Trajan of Sacred Memory the news of Nerva’s death, you know?’

  ‘Nerva?’ Flaminius’ poor knowledge of recent history was telling on him again. ‘Wasn’t he emperor?’

  ‘Briefly, yes,’ said Suetonius Tranquillus. ‘Nerva was declared emperor by the Senate after Domitian’s death. He had the potential to be the best emperor Rome has ever known, a paragon of Republican virtue. But he was an old man and looked soon to die. And die he did, shortly after—of natural causes, too, not the Praetorians… Oh! Sorry, just my little joke. I forgot who I was talking to...’ Flaminius shook his head and gave the secretary a tolerant smile. ‘Trajan of Sacred Memory had been nominated as his successor, but it was Hadrian who brought him the news,’ the secretary added, and frowned. ‘It was something of a race between our current emperor and his brother in law, Julius Ursus Servianus.’

  ‘Ursus Servianus,’ Flaminius mused. ‘Yes, I’ve met him. An old man himself.’

  ‘Who isn’t, these days?’ Suetonius Tranquillus murmured. ‘Present company excepted, obviously, young fellow. We were all young back then, of course. The empress was a maid of seventeen summers when she married Hadrian, and he was twenty four, in his prime. They had little in common and have never been close, despite being cousins.’

  ‘Cousins?’ Flaminius nodded his understanding.

  It seemed everyone in the imperial retinue was closely related, but this seemed closer than most. Growing up on his parents’ farm, he’d know a few local families where the parents were that closely related. Now he felt a certain relief that the emperor and empress had never had children.

  He grimaced. ‘You say that the emperor finds sati
sfaction with boys. But what of the empress? She must be very frustrated. Or does she find satisfaction elsewhere?’

  Suetonius Tranquillus bridled. Flaminius saw he had overstepped the mark.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re suggesting!’ he said, looking shocked. ‘The empress Vibia Sabina is chaste and maidenly, nothing at all like empresses of former days. She is the epitome of maidenly Republican modesty, a woman of taste and distinction who does not sully herself with the grubby notions that clearly fester in your brain, young man.’

  But somehow he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. Flaminius had a sudden vision of the matronly empress on her back, being serviced by entire cohorts of Praetorians.

  ‘My apologies,’ he told the secretary. ‘I’ve met her myself, and she is a fine woman, of course. Surely the emperor would never have married her otherwise.’

  Suetonius Tranquillus looked pensive.

  ‘As I said, Hadrian married her purely from ambition. He doesn’t appreciate her finer points, I’m sure, as I… as many do.’

  Feeling awkward, Flaminius decided to change the subject. ‘Tell me about Ursus Servianus,’ he said. ‘When you left he turned up at the Villa. I understand he’s the emperor’s brother in law. He looks a little elderly to be the empress’ brother.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ said Suetonius Tranquillus irritably. ‘He’s the husband of Paulina, the emperor’s elder sister. Also from Spain, he also found favour under Trajan. He was a friend of Pliny, so I’ve known him many years. Many expected him to be designated Trajan’s heir.’

  ‘But Hadrian was chosen instead?’

  Suetonius Tranquillus paused. ‘So we are led to believe,’ he murmured. ‘But Trajan of Sacred Memory kept delaying the nomination of his successor, as if he expected himself to live for ever. In the end he favoured the younger Hadrian over the ageing Ursus Servianus. It wasn’t the first time Ursus Servianus came second in the race.’