Her back-up was a bossy madam in brighter yellow and green, shimmering with silk and twinkling with layers of gold chain. Philippus had said Civica’s brother had married a certain Lusia Paullina, an equestrian’s daughter. Among the senatorial class that was unusual. More than unusual. He was the only one I had ever heard of to do so.

  ‘You are Flavia Albia? You should be ashamed of yourself, harassing innocent people for that man.’ Lusia Paullina spoke her mind. At least it made a change from proud, pained silences.

  ‘For Philippus?’ I had coped with belligerent witnesses many times. Most were men with something to hide, but I could tackle women. I eased one of my ear-rings thoughtfully as I spoke. ‘You know the alternative: a Praetorian inquisitor. I shall treat you with more courtesy. Be grateful.’

  ‘I meant working for—’

  ‘Don’t!’ I cut in. ‘You need to be more cautious.’ If I let her disparage the Emperor, the next problem could be her reporting me for treason …

  I fetched out the standard tablet but this time kept it right on my knee, stylus ready. I sensed a tussle coming; this could be interesting.

  They had stage-managed the room, I thought. They were seated in wicker armchairs, perhaps used by the Empress Livia although they were battered. I had been left an X-frame stool. They are damned uncomfortable. Faustus had one. I had rarely seen him use it, even though he was formal as an aedile. In this house, now reduced to an unlived-in heritage site, there was of course no cushion.

  I smiled to myself. Someone had told them the trick of positioning a suspect between two interrogators so he cannot see both simultaneously; although the roles were reversed, they were trying to force that cliché on me. Dancing the dance ought to be my role, but I left the stool where it was. They had not twigged that I could always turn my back on one of them. I promptly did so on Lusia Paullina.

  ‘To start, I shall ask you the same questions I put to the widow of Sallustius Lucullus.’

  Lusia broke in loudly, from behind me. ‘My sister-in-law is too upset. I shall speak on her behalf.’

  ‘Very well.’ Patiently, I swung back around. ‘First: did she go out to Asia with her husband?’

  ‘My sister-in-law and I,’ Lusia Paullina claimed regally, ‘believe a wife should always accompany her husband on a posting. She shares the experience, shouldering the same burdens. She contributes socially and in private.’

  ‘Commendable,’ I returned mildly.

  ‘We, the Vettuleni, are from the Sabine territory. Family is so important!’

  Lusia Paullina was talking too much. All she had had to say to my first question was ‘Yes.’

  I pressed on: ‘Civica Cerialis will have had a province before Asia?’

  ‘Moesia.’ Lusia Paullina was primed with excess information to throw at me. ‘My husband served there first. Sextus had a very distinguished career. After governor of Judaea he was immediately made consul, then was sent to Moesia without any waiting period, which is rare. It is a frontier province with many sensitivities, which calls for a high degree of competence. Vespasian’s brother had served there previously, so he took a keen interest. Sextus governed Moesia for six years, again almost unprecedented. Caius had the honour of directly following his older brother.’

  ‘Sextus then preceded him in Asia?’ Using her husband’s first name was too informal, but as the brothers shared their last three names, I had no alternative.

  ‘No, we had Africa.’ Africa was the other big prize for notable senators, equally prestigious.

  I twisted back to look straight at Civica’s widow again. ‘I have to ask about correspondence. Did your husband communicate with Antonius Saturninus in Upper Germany? No? Was that too far away?’ She assented in silence. ‘I have asked the widow of Sallustius Lucullus about letters from her husband discussing the False Nero.’ I tried to imply that incriminating evidence might be in imperial possession, though I guessed these two disbelieved it. ‘If you were with your husband, there was no need for written correspondence.’ Not unless they had had a row and she had put out a note: Your toga is in the oven … ‘You could talk with him. You believed in sharing confidences, traditional marital closeness. So when you and he conversed in private, did Civica Cerialis give his opinions on these subjects?’

  ‘Nothing material!’ snapped Lusia Paullina from the sidelines.

  ‘Did he?’ I repeated for the widow. She exchanged a glance with her sister-in-law, then shook her head. She was not subservient to Lusia, but Lusia was supposed to do the talking.

  I may have shown my irritation. ‘I find that hard to believe − especially when the False Nero came calling. That would have placed your husband in a serious dilemma. Surely he discussed his qualms with you.’

  No.

  Faced with a straight denial I was stuck. I had warned Philippus that this was all we could expect and now my task became impossible. I could not treat this woman as a suspect herself. Philippus had been clear: I was to find out whatever I could, yet give no cause for complaint. I realised why: Domitian had not sanctioned an inquiry. Only if I learned something significant would he be told. If I messed up, Philippus could come in for criticism, or worse. So could I.

  ‘Did the False Nero ever visit Ephesus?’ That was where the governor of Asia lived. I caught a flicker of anxiety as the widow admitted yes. She then insisted that the pretender was never admitted to the governor’s presence. ‘So where did he stay?’ An uncertain pause. ‘In the governor’s palace? Was he given hospitality? Accommodation? Food and drink?’

  She said no, though this was significant; she could have been covering up.

  ‘He pitched a tent in an orchard?’ Both women received this with a snort. I reproved them: ‘I am not being fa-cetious. Since the not-Nero came from a desert province, I assume he was familiar with tents. I want to know how this man was received.’

  ‘He was never received officially.’

  Presumably Domitian suspected otherwise. If he could prove it, the charge against Cerialis would have been stronger than the catch-all ‘conspiracy’.

  ‘The governor was horrified when the False Nero turned up in Asia,’ Lusia hastened to emphasise. ‘It put us in a terrible position.’

  That was undeniable: Caius was to die for it. To shake things up, I tried the question that had so disturbed Lucullus’ widow: how exactly was Civica Cerialis ‘executed’?

  This one’s reaction was even more extreme. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the two arms of her chair. She closed her eyes and began shaking her head, making desperate choking noises. The distress looked genuine.

  The sister-in-law leaped up. ‘Have some charity. There is no need to remind us!’

  I was shocked. ‘Oh, no! You mean his wife witnessed his death?’ Striding to the doors, which I flung open, I called to the maids, ‘Your mistress needs you. Come at once and attend to her. One of you, ask the custodian for a beaker of water – quickly!’

  While patting and mopping began in the anteroom, I jerked my head at Lusia Paullina. She joined me in the doorway, out of immediate earshot. She looked tense, standing with her arms tightly folded, a defensive posture. I asked quickly, ‘Were you in Asia too?’

  ‘I was,’ Lusia agreed. ‘My husband had passed away. She kindly invited me as her companion. I enjoy the east.’

  Lusia Paullina must have been good-looking when she was younger. She had a strong face, with dark eyes. There was an Oriental air to her beauty, while she pronounced Latin with a faint accent. This is true of so many people in Rome you tend not to remark on it. Although earlier she had spoken as one of the Vettuleni, she had married into the family. Had the noble Sextus Vettulenus picked her up, this attractive, feisty equestrian’s daughter, during one of his eastern postings? Was she an exotic travel memento?

  ‘You hail from those parts?’ I ventured.

  ‘My family comes from Egypt. I belong to the eastern network. I know everyone. Apollonia, Perge, Antioch … It has its uses.’

  The enmeshed aristocracy at the far end of the Mediterranean was both powerful and still discrete from us in the west. People out there owned extreme wealth and saw Rome as an upstart power.

  ‘I understand. I have been to Greece and Egypt.’ I saved her further elaboration. ‘So tell me quickly,’ I urged in a low voice, ‘was Caius expecting his fate?’

  ‘No.’ Lusia also kept her voice low. Members of the eastern network are easy with concealing a discussion. ‘An envoy turned up, out of the blue. He burst in with soldiers and immediately ordered them to put the governor to the sword.’

  That was Domitian’s way. ‘The governor was given no option of suicide?’

  ‘He had no recourse to law.’ Even I shook my head. Hands should never have been laid on the man. He ought to have been recalled to Rome and allowed to defend his actions, or whatever actions Domitian ascribed to him. ‘Caius had no time to compose himself. There was no point begging for mercy. He was dead on the floor before he had even finished asking what was going on.’

  ‘With his wife watching?’

  Lusia Paullina shuddered. ‘She flung herself upon him.’

  ‘Juno.’

  ‘Fell upon his body. I think, if she could have, she would have interposed herself between him and the soldiers. They were too quick. It was all over. I struggled to pull her off the corpse. She was covered with blood. Screaming uncontrollably. I feared the soldiers might attack her, too, unless she disengaged herself … She still has nightmares and relives it.’

  ‘You too?’ I commiserated.

  She did not want my sympathy. ‘The envoy then took command of the province.’ Lusia Paullina kept her control by telling a factual story in a hard voice. ‘I asked to see his commission. He had instructions signed by Domitian. He showed me without quibbling – he could see I was the person to deal with if he wanted things to happen quietly.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Italus!’ she spat. ‘Only an equestrian. He should never have been placed in charge. That aspect caused an outcry later, but to no avail.’ With an angry shake of her jewel-coloured skirts, she carried on: ‘He worked for the governor. He was a procurator in the province. Minicius Italus. The man had no concept of loyalty!’

  ‘Why did Domitian select him?’

  ‘Italus was in the Hellespont. For a messenger coming from Rome, he was the nearest official.’

  And Domitian trusted him. As an equestrian, Domitian had appointed him. Whenever the Emperor was ousting the old guard because of his suspicions, he tended to put in equestrians. They had no specific career structure; they would always be grateful.

  Installing a man from the middle rank to run Asia was an insult to the Senate – also to the important local aristocracy. It might have been a temporary move, to the Emperor it might have seemed the right choice, but it showed carelessness of sensitivities in the fabled eastern network. Domitian could have appointed any of the governor’s own senatorial staff – his finance officer, or a military legate. I supposed they came under suspicion along with him.

  Lusia Paullina confirmed it. ‘To a great degree a governor can choose his own staff. Italus immediately replaced them all.’

  I took a moment to imagine this woman, fighting to stay calm in a desperate situation, coping with the distraught widow and her traumatised household, working out how they must behave to ensure their safety, taking it upon herself to check that the intruder had proper credentials … Yes, the procurator would have been civil to her, perhaps even grateful for her presence.

  ‘We were allowed to hold a funeral. As soon as it ended, the ashes were scraped up and thrust at us in a wine tureen. Then we were put on a ship home. Before light, next morning.’ I could see why Italus wanted the women out of his hair. And if he had known of her connections in the region, he had needed to expel Lusia fast.

  ‘You came back to Italy?’

  ‘Italy is my marital home, of course. My husband’s home, my children’s home. We all live in Reate.’

  I nodded towards her sister-in-law. ‘You both have children?’

  ‘Yes.’

  All disgraced. All hoping for a change of regime one day, all wishing with hindsight that the Nero pretender had pulled off his claim, with them as supporters who would be rewarded. I took a chance and asked slyly, ‘So did Civica Cerialis really support the False Nero?’

  Lusia swept aside the suggestion. ‘No one did. The governors of Syria and Cappadocia-Galatia were his first resort. Valerius Patruinus and Candidus Marius Celsus. Two very sound men, both with eastern origins. Patruinus had been Celsus’ immediate predecessor in Cappadocia. He moved across to Syria without a break in service. Of course, Celsus is related to absolutely everyone and Patruinus is almost as highly connected, so they form a very tight clique. I know them, know them well.’ She would do. She knew everyone. She catalogued the high positions they had held almost as assiduously as a palace bureaucrat.

  ‘Did you know the pretender?’

  Lusia shot me a look. ‘Even if he had been a suitable person, that would have been unwise!’

  ‘I see.’ I saw she had not exactly answered my question.

  She needed to add something. ‘He was nothing. Village villain. Heaven knows where somebody found him.’

  ‘Ah! You saw him?’

  ‘I did not say that.’

  ‘Of course not. So. Those two governors in Syria and Cappadocia-Galatia would have been formidable backers for him. They must have had forty thousand soldiers between them, if you count auxiliaries.’ I was no military buff. Philippus had given me the figures.

  ‘Absolutely. But they both spurned him. Caius knew that, of course; there was constant correspondence. So he had decided that the problem would go away naturally. As it did. He was correct. He ignored all overtures. The pretender fled to Parthia.’

  ‘Before Italus came?’

  Lusia considered. ‘Around the same time. After the murder, I believe Italus dispersed the rebels. Using his troops from the Hellespont.’

  Was there, I wondered, any chance that, just before he was killed, Civica Cerialis had actually helped the pretender escape? I did not ask because Lusia was so certain Cerialis had had no idea that trouble from Rome was coming; he would not have known he needed to get rid of the False Nero fast.

  ‘So the Nero took refuge with the Parthians, who always welcome a chance to cause embarrassment, even if they don’t openly attack Rome … There must have been chaos in Asia!’

  Lusia huffed. ‘So my friends there tell me.’

  Her sister-in-law’s maids had finished fussing. Their mistress sat up straight again, formally clasping her hands in her lap. Clearly, she did not want to talk to me; I could see no point in forcing her.

  As a matter of common sense, I absolved Civica Cerialis of support for the Saturninus revolt in Germany. He was killed well before it; there were no links between Germany and Asia, not like those between Germany and Britannia. So, I agreed with Uncle Quintus: Civica’s crime was failure to respond strongly enough to the False Nero.

  Even if he had encouraged the pretender, these women would never allow me to prove it. Lusia Paullina had a grip on the situation. She understood what they must say; she had schooled the widow. I bet they would never vary their story, not even under torture.

  So Civica Cerialis died for indecision. It was hard luck. Historically, commanders who are guilty of weakness end up with honours, not punishment. Well, that’s the cynical view.

  Lusia Paullina now took it upon herself to conclude the meeting: ‘We have nothing helpful for you. We shall return to Reate and live there quietly with our children, awaiting better times. My husband and my brother-in-law did not have a consular father, but nothing can diminish the reputations they both earned. Believe me, Flavia Albia, one day they will have consular sons.’

  I told her quietly that I carried no brief for the current regime. If she was right in her prophecy, I hoped she and her sister-in-law would live to see their sons flourish as they deserved.

  When the women left the salon, the governor’s widow declined to look at me. She went ahead, sheltered by a phalanx of protective staff.

  Only then did Lusia Paullina condescend to volunteer something to me. We were intelligent women with equestrian fathers, who both had colourful early backgrounds. As a consul’s wife she looked down on me; even so, I liked her.

  ‘Don’t waste effort harassing true friends of Rome,’ she muttered. ‘Attend to the real danger. You should be looking at Parthia!’

  9

  With her parting comment, Lusia Paullina gave me a curt nod. I hoped she acknowledged that I possessed integrity so my report to Philippus would be fair. Despite that, she did not warm to me, for I was in no position to guarantee those who had commissioned me.

  Seeing no sign of Fuscus, my dour escort, I set off alone, able to walk at my own pace, thinking over what I had heard. I crossed back over the Palatine to revisit Rubrius.

  ‘Fuscus said you were on your way!’ was my greeting. Fuscus must have seen me looking for him, yet he had nipped ahead. Perhaps he was practising manoeuvres in the field. Or had he listened to my interview at the keyhole and gone to report on me?

  ‘Well, Rubrius, I’m glad he didn’t wait around. I always like to stop at Romulus’s Place of Augury and survey the birds, in case any new lovers are prophesied for me.’

  Rubrius pretended to look shy. ‘So how did it go?’

  ‘As badly as I expected!’ Crisply, I advised him that, as well as Julius Karus in Britain, I now wanted the facts on Minicius Italus, the man from the Hellespont.

  ‘Yes, I thought you might. I have arranged to confer with Eutrapelus.’

  ‘And he is?’

  ‘You will see!’

  Eutrapelus was in charge of records. These were records that I had realised must exist, though I had never expected them to be nursed with such care, or indeed kept here. Held in the palace, they could be produced at short notice not only for senior people with an interest in military personnel but on occasions – under Domitian, on many occasions – for the Emperor himself to pore over.