I had two questions for Philippus before anything else happened. First, I challenged him to explain how he had been using Paternus to supervise the scribe who had copied the Sibylline Books, the very agent who had ended up killing the third False Nero.

  Philippus admitted it was a disaster. ‘I checked my files. Paternus came to me with a recommendation; Eutrapelus held records that confirmed a good history. I never had any complaints about the man’s work; his exposure of the cheating scribe showed loyalty. However, I now see he was tainted. You may guess the source: he was originally suggested to me by Abascantus.’

  Paternus probably exposed the scribe after he had completed making notes for the traitor. From that point, Simon was doomed. The traitor probably hoped he would be executed in the Castra, and so silenced completely. They could have had no idea Simon had taken extra notes for his own religious purposes and that the Princeps Peregrinorum still possessed them. They certainly could not have realised that the Princeps had sent the man back to Alexandria, alive.

  Abascantus had presumably continued using Paternus for his own purposes, even after he was nominally assigned to Philippus. In the palace there were reporting lines, but all staff ultimately worked for the Emperor so they could be given instructions by anyone with the right seniority. Philippus now had to accept that Abascantus had adroitly placed a mole in his team. I left him to struggle with his discomfiture.

  ‘The other question is Squilla,’ I said. ‘As well as identifying your traitor, potentially she has learned of the groomed Nero. So, does Squilla know where this Nero is? Exposing that plot will make Ritellius a hero through her. I think she is holding out for more information to enhance his glory. It’s brave – but her timing is dangerous. She needs to leave. Philippus, before Trebianus was exiled to Neapolis, Ritellius had been pleading with him to rescue Squilla. It is urgent – she may hold real answers. We have to get her out now. So where are you on that?’

  ‘I have inherited the problem. Trebianus feared his volatile agent might do something ill-advised regarding Squilla. I need to find him, and keep him out of the way.’ Philippus sounded as if this was the kind of nonsense his section never held with. ‘From the meagre briefing material I was left, I gather that you, Flavia Albia, suggested Ritellius still visits his wife at her father’s house. My men Rubrius and Fuscus have been tasked to track him down. They will tell the wife that if she sees him she should pass on that Trebianus is away on assignment, so I am his new case officer. Then we have to hope she will give Ritellius up. If and when Rubrius and Fuscus make direct contact, they will take him into custody. I do not want a loose malcontent getting in our way.’

  I hoped Ritellius did not guess this intention. If so, he would be a loose malcontent who plunged down a secret bolthole.

  ‘And Squilla?’

  Philippus nodded. ‘She will be removed from the Parthia house. Corellius is keeping me informed about what happens there. I have entrusted the logistics to Rubrius; he is my bagman but also a good strategist.’

  ‘Soon,’ I urged. ‘If Dolazebol thinks she endangers the Nero plan, he won’t hesitate. Corellius believes he would kill her.’

  Philippus pursed his lips and put the tips of his fingers together as he did. This made him a good-looking, intelligent man who was considering a grim situation. ‘We have seen what measures these people will adopt. They murdered the False Nero; they eliminated Paternus. Control of Rome is such an extreme goal. Nothing will stand in their way.’

  The three of us talked through a clandestine search for the groomed Nero. I said that if I were the traitor I would keep him incognito at my own house. But no search could be conducted there. Assuming we meant Abascantus, his home was out of bounds.

  Philippus smiled. It would have been smug, though he was never that kind of man. ‘I can give orders that every room in the home of Abascantus and his wife Priscilla must be checked for suspicious occupants. Abascantus need never know.’

  ‘You have someone there!’ Managing not to gulp, I asked sweetly, ‘And do you ever suspect Abascantus has a spy of his own in your house?’

  ‘I live too simply,’ claimed Philippus, though he acknowledged the possibility. ‘I have one slave, who has been with me from birth. I find this easiest.’

  ‘No wife?’

  He never answered that.

  Tiberius muttered, with mock-gloom, ‘Living “simply” rules out marriage.’

  I did not bother to kick him. He took my hand and kissed it.

  We moved on. Since the chief plotter must be an imperial freedman (for the reasons we had once talked about: he had to have knowledge, influence and access to the Parthians), we must search his area of work, the imperial palace. Obscure corners in which to secrete people existed, and he would have access to them.

  Again, Philippus produced a suggestion. Trusted staff would wander everywhere with note-tablets, as if they had instructions from the Superintendent of Works to spruce up the palace in advance of the Emperor returning. They would check Domitian’s new building, the old palaces that had been superseded, and remaining portions of Nero’s Golden House. Particular attention would be paid to underground rooms and hidden passages.

  ‘In the aedilate we have public slaves; they should be untouched by your traitor,’ Tiberius offered. ‘They are due to have time off to attend the Games. I can disappoint them and make them available to you.’ That was hard, but they were slaves. Tiberius then said, ‘If you can trust the acting commander of the Praetorians, he should have his men on high alert at the palace to report suspicious activity. Anyone carrying a harp should certainly be arrested!’

  Unmoved by the joke, Philippus replied sadly that he was not sure he could trust the Guards’ high command. The men most devoted to Domitian had gone with him to Pannonia. Those left here might be inexperienced, or doubtful, or any of them could have been suborned; anyone plotting to take over the Empire would need to woo the Praetorians heavily. But he would see.

  The last point we discussed was how to reach Domitian with our story before anyone else could intervene. Tiberius recommended Philippus to approach the Prefect of the City. This man, Rutilius Gallicus, was of consular rank and wide experience, a tough old adherent of Vespasian. As prefect, it would be his task to open the gates of the city to admit Domitian formally as he returned for his double triumph. So he had to know exactly when the Emperor was coming.

  My father had worked with Rutilius; Falco thought him a fusspot traditionalist who wrote terrible epic poetry. But he was straight; he was utterly loyal to the Flavians. The idea of a Nero imposter would fill him with horror. We could guess his distaste for the Parthians. As controller of Rome, Rutilius Gallicus was the highest-placed official we could call upon, the highest there was. He had access to significant resources. If Philippus could make a clandestine visit and persuade him of our theory, the prefect would help us.

  We agreed to reconvene as soon as searches had been carried out and a plan devised for Squilla. Philippus left me a runner to help us keep in contact.

  The first errand I gave the runner was to go to Perella’s house. I sent her a message, with a hint to look out for invisible ink, telling her there might be a new danger. A king with a long spear was coming from the east. The men who had stolen the job that should be hers were helpless. Had she any news for me?

  When the runner returned to our house, a hired chair containing Perella herself came with him.

  46

  Perella never even stepped into the house. I was summoned out to her. We spoke through the chair’s window curtains. Perhaps it was a precaution, so neighbours in our street would not see her. Perhaps she was just an old lady who could not walk far.

  ‘I saw that Momus for you. Still ghastly. Flavia Albia, you owe me a free holiday at Baiae for it!’ I blinked. Baiae is a notorious pleasure spa on the Bay of Neapolis. I believed its glorious baths and casinos accommodated long-haired professional gigolos who tended women of any age with their skilful scented hands, but Perella should only go there if she had no moral qualms and was feeling athletic. Waste of money otherwise.

  ‘Sorry, Perella, I have to consider your welfare. If your information is good, I might run to a nice little health hydro with doctors dispensing sleep therapy.’

  ‘Get lost!’ barked the creaky one. ‘I don’t need my dreams interpreted. I try not to have any.’

  With her murdering past, that seemed wise.

  ‘My mother knows a man in Alexandria who does serious purging.’

  ‘Respect to your wonderful mother, but she can keep him. Do you want my news or not?’

  ‘Enough gossip – I do.’

  ‘First,’ commanded Perella, peering out of the chair. I noticed her hair was scraped back extra severely. Even seated, she had sensible leather bags slung on her, their straps crossing over her bosom. They looked like the trappings of her old work, probably full of weaponry. ‘What was that mad message of yours I needed to hold by an oil lamp? Nobody does that these days, girl. It’s too old-fashioned and the letter-searchers know the dodge. I burned all the hairs off my arm.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘The modern way,’ Perella instructed, ‘is to carve your message on a giant mushroom – a man must have thought up that idiocy – or stick it up a mule’s bum. Still not secure: you’ll see most guards at checkpoints lifting up animals’ tails and poking. It isn’t to give them or the mules a thrill.’

  Obediently I apologised again. ‘I thought you had to write it on a slave’s shaved head, but I didn’t have time to wait for the hair to grow back and hide the message … Thank you for teaching me.’

  ‘My pleasure. Come to me for lore. I can see you have potential. What’s the emergency?’

  Now we were past the small-talk, I saw no reason to hold back. ‘It’s this: a spare False Nero is being groomed to take over Rome.’

  Perella chortled. ‘Oh, simple as that, is it? Bombast and harp lessons? Operated by the cunning one you mentioned?’

  ‘Apparently. With Parthian collusion.’

  ‘Well, of course. What are those useless freedmen doing?’ Perella exploded with exasperation. ‘Venus and her golden girdle! I can’t leave them alone for a moment without the idle barmpots getting in a twist.’

  ‘I know,’ I murmured.

  ‘Bloody men!’

  ‘I know, I know … So what did Momus contribute?’ I ventured.

  ‘Speaking, as we were, of numskulls? That one is more of a steaming turd. Fresh laid. I shall need two hours in a tepidarium to dispel the stink of being in the same room. Not that I ever was: I value my health. I stayed outside the door.’

  I smiled as patiently as I could. Sometimes you have to accept being spun a long thread.

  ‘Being back in the palace gave me the creeps, I am not joking, Albia. The first thing that may be of interest,’ Perella finally deigned to say, ‘is that when I got there, Momus was with the fellow you mentioned, the Princeps of the Castra.’

  ‘Nearly-Nine-Gongs?’

  ‘Let’s call him Titus. There’s always a twerp called Titus.’ Yes, Perella really did know Falco and his sayings.

  I remembered how I had seen Titus heading up to the Palatine after he had claimed he wanted a haircut. So he had been off to confer with the smelly grub, Momus?

  All became clear when Perella said, ‘The Princeps was asking about a man that Momus had disposed of for him earlier this year. Sent to hard labour in Egypt, the mines or marble quarries.’ So much for his lovely lady persuading Titus to let the scribe Simon go home to be a scholar! ‘Titus, pure lunacy on legs that man, wanted to know the chances of getting back his prisoner. Momus replied, in his charming way, about as much as getting a Vestal Virgin pregnant with twins.’

  ‘I always think the one called Cornelia looks up for it,’ I riposted.

  ‘No, she’s too bright to be found out … Titus went all serious and threatened Momus, who didn’t care, but he admitted there was news of the scribe. On the quiet, once the prisoner came to Alexandria, he gave his guards the slip and made off into the silage like a dung beetle. Alexandria’s a big city, I hear.’

  ‘It is.’ I had been there. ‘Even supposing he stays there. His parents own a farm. Who knows where that may be? But sending out orders and returning him to Rome would take too long, Perella. He might never confess who his paymaster was, in any case.’ His paymaster tended to have prisoners killed before they could betray him. I thought sadly of the expendable third False Nero, whose death now seemed even more pointless and vindictive. ‘We can’t wait. We could have a hideous new Nero prancing on a tribunal in a huge purple cloak by the end of the week.’

  ‘Is he collecting up his city-burning arson kit?’

  ‘Nice big flames, just to prove it’s him,’ I agreed dourly. ‘Expect harping.’

  Perella winced. ‘I’m old enough to remember Nero’s compositions. Perhaps you have to be trained to appreciate talent … About returning the scribe – they gave up on that stupid idea. Momus, in his disgusting way, reminded Titus there wasn’t time to fuck a goat. We know that. They are men, they have to work it out slowly.’ She sounded like an aged auntie agreeing that a young niece’s parents were horrid to stop her seeing the over-sexed stable boy. ‘They only think with their willies. To see a problem coming would put too much strain on their jewel casket, wouldn’t it?’

  I nodded meekly, the expected answer. ‘So how did you hear this conversation?’

  ‘I stayed outside the door. Keyholes are not just made for turning keys in. The simplest methods are the best.’

  The thought that she merely bent over and eavesdropped genuinely amused me. ‘So what, then?’

  ‘Old Titus grunted his disappointment, with legionary phrases. He stormed out, so I laid into him sweetly with “Ooh, Princeps dear, you nearly knocked me flying!”’

  ‘Does he know you, Perella?’ If so, I was only half surprised.

  ‘He had no idea. That’s because I am a high-performance agent who should by rights be in control. He’s just a bloody great soldier.’

  ‘Nice physique!’ I mentioned.

  ‘Needs help with brain work, though. Off he went, all fired up with nothing. I tapped on the doorframe, then tackled Momus. And, in the gunked-up filthy sewers that Momus inhabits, your answer is yes. Some high-placed office-holder close to the Emperor has gone rotten.’

  ‘Sewer-rats ever say his name?’

  ‘They’re not stupid. But if they ever whisper a clue, it tends to be “Abascantus”. They all hate the golden boy. They would all like to see Abascantus toppled. I would, and come to that, I’d like to topple that rich-widow old wife who pushes him so shamelessly.’

  ‘Goodness, what has his wife done?’

  ‘You never heard? When the godlike Abascantus was promoted to Petitions, Priscilla flung herself flat on the ground in front of Domitian, drooling thanks.’

  I mimed throwing up, while I agreed this was seriously over the top.

  ‘Now listen to me, young woman.’ Perella leaned right out of the window. Clutching at the top of my tunic so my necklaces jangled, she drew me close. Amid the old-lady whiffs that hovered around her, I imagined I caught the lingering Momus miasma. ‘The word is: something big in the offing. They are all twitchy. They don’t know what it is, but Momus said to tell you that you had better bring in your father.’

  I broke free. I actually stamped my foot with fury. ‘Why, Perella, do people always keep asking for Falco? I do a good job. This is my mission!’

  ‘That’s right, my dear,’ replied the elderly dancer, with her knowing expression. She released her grip on me. ‘And you will do it right, we know. This rotter may think he is clever, he may seem untouchable, but you and I will spade up that nasty lump of compost and use him on our rose trees. We can ignore the other fools. Let them scamper around feeling busy. A man needs to be caught here. It’s woman’s work.’

  47

  After Perella had left I returned indoors, where Tiberius was talking to his clerk-of-works. Larcius must have been let in through the door in the wall. They nodded to each other as Larcius left again, then Tiberius came across to me.

  ‘Some fellow has been here pestering the men. Asking for work is usually an excuse to get into the yard to case it for theft-worthy materials and tools. After he had sent him off, Larcius went outside and noticed two other men lurking in a doorway.’

  Tiberius strode to our front doors, opened up a crack and exclaimed, ‘Yes, I see them! Love, our house is being watched. We are.’

  They must have seen Perella’s chair; I wondered if she had spotted them and that was why she stayed hidden. She could have told me!

  They would not have known who I was talking to and had not followed her.

  I stopped Tiberius going out to accost the men. ‘You can arrest them. But professionals won’t confess whom they work for. My father always says if you are under observation, leave them alone. At least that way you know who it is and where they are squatting. If you have to go out, just run them ragged.’

  Tiberius was torn. But after a moment he closed the doors tight and slowly came back across the atrium. ‘You’re right. If we scare them off, we may not spot any replacements.’

  ‘What’s your plan, aedile?’

  He looked like a man who had made a decision, possibly before this had happened. Checking that nothing from Perella required my immediate attention, he made a proposal. For the past few afternoons he had retired to bed, where he either dozed and had bad dreams or lay miserably fretting. Now he said he was ready to make an appearance at the Games. He wanted me to go with him.

  He sounded so apprehensive I disputed that he was ready. But this was marriage. He wants to go out. You don’t. You end up going.

  While we adorned ourselves in the necessary finery, Dromo was sent to borrow the big litter owned by Uncle Tullius. By the time it came, Tiberius was in his whitest tunic, over which I had helped arrange the enormous folds of his purple-bordered toga. I myself had jumped into the fine dress I had worn to go to the Parthia house, plus enough layers of necklaces and bangles to distract attention from my hair, which had a basic up-do, precariously pinned. For an aedile’s wife it was too hasty and ham-fisted. Still, I was with the magistrate who had been struck by lightning. No one would be looking at me.