Commodus Page 22

  Then the triumph had moved off, circling the Palatine and making for the colossal Flavian amphitheatre. There, it turned once more and began the climb of the Via Sacra through the forum and towards the Capitol, where it would terminate. Finally, when my legs had begun to tremble with the effort of standing still, the triumph reached us. I watched with a smile as my golden prince was lauded.

  First came the ranks of white, toga-clad senators leading the way like an army of swans, preening and proud. They were followed by musicians blasting a repetitive and almost military refrain as they went. I remember wondering how the rear ranks of the senators felt about having so many bronze horns blown right behind them. It must have been deafening. Then came the wagons with the spoils of war from Marcomannia. The representations of the conquered peoples were impressive, as were the trophies made of captured enemy weapons, armour and standards, but only a fool would believe those chests to be full of gold, especially given the meagre Praetorian escort they enjoyed. Besides, those of us who had been in Vindobona knew well that we paid money to end the war, rather than reaping it as a reward.

  Flautists came next, their more delicate melody largely drowned out by the blaring of the horns, the rumbling of the wagons and the cheering of the crowd, especially at a distance. They were followed by the white sacrificial oxen, then the great black aurochses brought back across the Danubius. A small group came next bearing banners and three golden crowns purported to be those of the Marcomanni, the Quadi and the Iazyges. I doubt any of their kings ever wore such a crown, and they certainly didn’t use banners like that, but the Roman crowd were largely unaware of such minor trickery and roared as they passed. Hundreds of downtrodden prisoners came next, eyes lowered as they stumbled, pelted with fruit, vegetables and far, far worse by the jeering crowds.

  Finally, the grand heart of the triumph passed. Twenty-four lictors bearing their fasces preceded the imperial chariot. I could see Commodus, tall, golden and impressive in his purple and gold toga, and I could almost make out the face of Saoterus, who rode alongside him, holding the victor’s wreath above the emperor’s head. Behind them would come the military contingent, which interested me not a jot, having spent years watching such a spectacle in the north and the east. Besides, my attention was distracted, then.

  Saoterus’ presence in the chariot was not universally approved of, you see. A slave standing behind the emperor and holding aloft the wreath, yes, was traditional. A freedman standing alongside the emperor was another thing entirely. It was almost a declaration of the relative importance of freedmen to this new emperor who shunned the senatorial advisors of his father.

  I could pick out the occasional barbed remark about the arrangement from the nobles among whom I stood, but one voice in particular I recognised, and it made me turn from the great spectacle and look along the walkway.

  ‘Disgraceful,’ sneered Lucilla from where she stood with her children and a few of her closer friends, surrounded by her own guards who kept the hoi polloi away.

  ‘Appalling,’ agreed Quadratus, drifting through the crowd to join her. The former empress’ guards let the man pass without question, I noted with interest.

  ‘How can my idiot brother allow such a thing? Has he no shame? Does he not realise how this looks to his fellow senators?’ she replied, icy and bitter.

  I peered around those self-same senators. I can imagine that Commodus did not overly care what they thought. He was his uncle’s nephew more than his father’s son. And as for ‘fellow senators’, had any emperor since Tiberius even attempted to maintain that ridiculous fiction of equality?

  Whatever else they had to say was lost beneath the arrival of the military in the wake of the imperial chariot. The tromp of thousands of nailed boots made conversation, and eavesdropping, difficult to say the least, though I watched those two engaged in some sort of private confab for a few moments, my suspicions continuing to get the better of me. It was only some preternatural sense that tore my attention from them, for I felt drawn to look the other way for some reason. I can only see God’s hand in that, for the walkway was crowded, and I’d heard nothing, yet I turned on instinct, my gaze piercing the mass like an arrow and thudding home into two more figures standing together in conversation, almost mirroring that from which I’d turned. Cleander and a man in the uniform of one of the most senior officers in the Praetorian Guard. What that could be about I had no idea, but, whatever it was, I felt certain it would not be good.

  A treacherous snake and a Praetorian officer on one side, a disaffected princess and an ambitious courtier on the other. Suddenly I felt a lot colder than the weather demanded.

  I did not enjoy the rest of the day as I’d hoped. There were fights in the arena and races in the circus. A celebrated theatrical troupe performed Plautus to great applause. I was present at them all and, without the disapproval of Mother hanging over me, I could have enjoyed them, but I did not. In fact, I spent most of the day spying out Cleander, Quadratus, Lucilla and that Praetorian officer, who were often in evidence around the celebrations. I did not witness them looking quite so conspiratorial for the rest of the afternoon and evening, even during the lavish meal held in the palace at the close of the day. In fairness, my attention at that banquet was more distracted by the figure of Bruttia Crispina lounging beside Commodus and smiling so sweetly that I hated her all the more. Just looking at her made me question again what might have happened in that brief, open and honest embrace Commodus and I had shared. Still, in my head, I could see the other four in their pairs, whispering and plotting. I was growing ever more convinced that there was real trouble afoot.

  I could not confront Commodus about that, though. While I knew what I knew, to accuse Cleander of misdeed without evidence would simply result in the emperor brushing aside my words and the snake himself becoming aware of my suspicions. So, I would have to wait and watch with him, see what transpired. And while Commodus might not particularly feel a familial closeness with his sister and cousin, still I would need some kind of proof before I told the emperor of my suspicions over Quadratus and Lucilla. At least, unlike the Cleander problem, I was in a better position to unpick the mystery of Quadratus.

  Over the following months I made it my sole task to keep track of the man who had lost interest in me. I noted everywhere he went over spring and early summer, and everyone to whom he spoke. I had been on good terms with the servants and slaves of Quadratus’ domus since the earliest days, given my sympathetic understanding of their position, but now I made it a goal to be close to them all. To have them owe me and feel safe and self-assured in confiding in me. Through them I learned much that I could not see with my own eyes. I learned many of the minutiae of the life of a household that often pass the owners by unseen.

  The master of our house began, over the next few months, to disappear on overnight jaunts that were always described as business trips. But I knew Quadratus. Quite apart from the fact that senators did not get their hands dirty with business directly, but rather owned land and estates, Quadratus was far too lazy and selfish to put himself out even for monetary gain.

  I got to know his driver, for he preferred to ride in a carriage over distances rather than sit in a saddle. The servant, an Iberian by the name of Alucio, confided in me readily that he often delivered his master to an estate close to Tibur, some twenty miles east of the city. He was never allowed to stay on the estate and was simply instructed with a time to return the next day and collect him.

  I had no idea what this place was or why Quadratus would spend so much time there, and it took some digging around to find out. A few hours in the tabularium on the Capitol provided a list of estates in the area, and with the help of two of the clerks who I flattered outrageously, I managed to narrow it down to perhaps three or four. Of those, when I checked ownership, the answer became abundantly clear, for one of them was an imperial villa, dating back to Hadrian, and had been left empty for some time. F
ollowing up on my suspicion, and with the aid of Saoterus, I was able to confirm that the villa was the current abode of Lucilla and Pompeianus. I could hardly imagine the efficient and loyal Pompeianus consorting with Quadratus, but for him to be spending so much time visiting Lucilla? That made a lot more sense, especially after recent events.

  I challenged Quadratus on it a few days later during an unseasonal time of torrential rain. It was late summer now, and his overnight visits had become more frequent.

  ‘Stock up the house with better wine,’ he ordered the staff that morning, ‘I shall return after noon tomorrow and I will be expecting guests thereafter.’

  I was present. I was always present now and had gradually changed my habits so that my presence seemed natural, rather than me hiding away in my rooms as had been my wont. As Quadratus made to leave, I cleared my throat.

  ‘Be careful, Marcus. I heard yesterday that several main roads have been flooded this week. Where are you bound?’

  He threw me a suspicious look, then announced in bored tones, ‘Ostia. A wine thing.’

  Idiot. Had he forgotten that only a moment earlier he had commanded his staff to stock up on wine? I tried not to shake my head or roll my eyes at his terrible lying, but to seem supportive and interested instead. ‘Might I join you? My favourite seamstress is making me a new stola, but the material I want is out of stock. They are apparently having import problems. Perhaps in person I can move things along. I would like to have it ready for Saturnalia.’

  His eyes darted about in a shifty manner and I could have laughed. The man was no conspirator. He was far too simple.

  ‘No,’ was his straight reply. No explanation or dissembling. He was gone moments later.

  As autumn passed and winter closed on us, I settled upon the next stage of my investigation. Though I was mistress to Quadratus, I was nominally still a client of Lucilla’s, inherited from Verus. She might have forgotten about it after all these years, but there was a tenuous link there. I spent some time over autumn amassing a small fund from moneys Quadratus threw at me to keep me busy and out of his affairs. When I announced to him that I intended to visit Lucilla, his eyes acquired a flash of panic.

  ‘Why?’ he said, tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

  ‘I still owe her. Or rather, I inherited a debt from Mother. I am in a position to pay off our debt and free myself entirely now. The time seems right. After all, one day I might need to marry.’

  This last would either disquiet or annoy him normally, but at this particular moment he had other worries than me fleeing his nest. ‘I will pay them for you,’ he said hurriedly.

  ‘Will you be visiting her?’ I asked innocently, and his brow started to bead with sweat.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then do not put yourself out.’ I smiled sweetly. ‘You are overcommitted with all your business interests. I shall visit her.’

  And that was that. He could not argue further without floundering and looking ever more the fool, so he simply shrugged irritably and stomped off. I had what I wanted: a reason to be away for at least a night and to visit the Tibur villa. I left the next morning. Quadratus let me use his carriage and favourite driver, probably assuming he could be certain of my movements that way, though the driver was my ally now, as were most of his staff.

  It was a cold day when I arrived at the villa. I noted a mansio in passing on the main road and smiled. Exactly what I needed. I made my visit to Lucilla short and businesslike. She had no real interest in seeing me and assumed a bored expression when I explained my purpose and offered her a good sum. She accepted, largely to get rid of me, I think, and I left again in the late afternoon. I explained to the driver that it was too late to think about heading back to Rome and we would stay the night at the mansio.

  We arrived at the way station not long before dark and I used Quadratus’ name and my connections to secure a room. In an attempt to further grow the bond between the driver and I, I gave him plenty of money to get fat and drunk and left him to it. I had my own plans for the night. I spent an hour or so watching the staff and selecting my target, though the man was easy enough to decide upon. I saw him at the desk when a courier arrived, looking tired. The mansio’s owner assigned the rider a poor room, as was usually the case for those guests who were part of the imperial network and therefore subsidised. As soon as the owner went about his business, the other man at the desk made marks in a wax ledger on the desk, then a small hushed exchange occurred, a little money changed hands, and the courier was escorted to one of the best-quality rooms.

  Pliable and corrupt. Perfect.

  I caught the servant’s attention some time later in a quiet corner of the room when we were more or less alone.

  ‘You look like a man on paltry wages.’

  He flashed me an odd look, then shrugged and grunted.

  ‘Would you like to supplement them?’

  Now his ears pricked up. I was dressed well and signed in under a noble name. I was clearly trustworthy. Or at least, as trustworthy as nobles ever get, which is not saying a lot. ‘Go on,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You keep a track of the names of guests in that book?’

  ‘Yes. Got to keep the records straight.’

  ‘I understand. And I daresay you often exchange a few words with them as they arrive? You probably know where most visitors are bound, eh?’

  The man nodded, brow lowering.

  ‘Good.’ I produced a small purse of money. A pittance for someone living in a domus on the Caelian or in the palace itself, but a goodly amount for a poor mansio worker. His eyes lit up. ‘This is for you. Call it an advance payment for your help. All I ask is that you make a note of the names of anyone who passes through and is visiting the villa across the river. When you have such a name, send a message to me and I will dispatch payment in return. Is that something you think you can do?’

  The man nodded eagerly, eyes still on the purse.

  I told him that I had powerful friends and did not take well to being crossed or cheated, and then, finally content that the man was corrupt as a month-old body and entirely in my pay, I gave him my address for his missives.

  I returned home the next morning with a hungover driver.

  Over the next couple of months, I received a number of letters from my hired eyes in the mansio. Most of them were to be entirely expected, and one or two were almost certainly fabrications to earn extra cash, but I was generally able to dismiss those. His veracity was confirmed by the noting of repeated visits by Quadratus.

  Names that turned up and were of interest included Quadratus’ sister who, as far as I knew, had no connection with the princess, a prefect of the Praetorian Guard by the name of Paternus, and two notables by the name of Salvius Julianus and Didius Julianus. The arrival on the scene of the sour-faced Quintilii brothers I remembered from Athens came as something of a surprise.

  As the winter went on, Quadratus began to stay away for longer and longer and finally I decided that something was definitely amiss and was likely to surface rather soon. Biting my lip nervously, I went to the emperor.

  I found attaining an audience difficult. Despite our history, I had no official links to the court or the palace any more, and neither the a libellis, who dealt with such meetings, nor the Praetorians, who knew me well enough, were of a mind to admit me readily. It was only the happenstance passing of Eclectus on some palace business that secured me my meeting. I was shown into the imperial presence by faceless men and performed all the appropriate greetings and motions before the lackeys left.

  Commodus was seated on the grand chair at the heart of the room, a clerk to one side, Cleander to the other, two or three unknown slaves behind, and Praetorians by every door. Truly, the boy Commodus was now gone, grown into a strong emperor, bearded and golden like his beloved uncle. Rome lived in his very bearing. I felt my skin prickle at the sight and force
d myself to concentrate, to be proper.

  ‘Marcia,’ he said with a smile, ‘what a pleasant surprise. I was expecting a tedious delegation from Sardinia.’

  I smiled back, uncertain now how to go about this. In the old days I would have spoken to him quietly in a small room. That was seemingly not possible with an emperor.

  ‘I have . . . a private matter to discuss, Majesty.’

  Commodus, still smiling, lifted a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Alone?’

  I nodded, still uncertain. I could see the hatred emanating from Cleander like heatwaves.

  ‘But there are only a few slaves, Cleander here and the guards.’

  I nodded. ‘Still, Majesty . . .’

  He pursed his lips, then made shooing motions with his hands. ‘Out, Cleander. And the rest of you. Go. I will send for you shortly.’

  The slaves exited in blind obedience. Cleander left slowly, glaring daggers at me. The Praetorians did not move. I flicked my eyes at them meaningfully, and as the doors shut, leaving us alone with the soldiers, Commodus chuckled. ‘I would be lynched by my own prefect if I allowed you an audience without the guard present. Emperors have died in small meetings.’

  ‘Emperors have died at their hands,’ I reminded him meaningfully.

  Again, he laughed. ‘They stay, I’m afraid. But be assured that these men are the most loyal to be found in the empire. They are each personally vetted.’