We went down one long corridor then around a corner. Eutrapelus was stationed close to the spies.

  The room he inhabited was a complete columbarium, walls lined with pigeon holes, every hole neatly packed with scrolls. One space had been left for a large map where provinces were annotated with abbreviated numbers and names for the legions deployed there. A table served for laying out scrolls, with baskets for carrying them elsewhere if they were requested. A small, high window let in limited natural light.

  Eutrapelus had the pale skin of one who laboured there by day and night, tending his records single-mindedly, as if they were a mushroom crop in a cellar or precious cheeses. Rubrius said he had refused assistants. There was only a small boy sitting on a stool, moving glass counters on a board as he played against himself. He looked up when we entered, then continued, as he was clearly allowed to. ‘The little slave is here to go out for bread rolls or fetch more ink,’ Rubrius told me, as he watched me take in the set-up.

  He introduced the record-keeper. Eutrapelus posed like an acrobat returning to ground level. ‘Fair lady, welcome to my lair!’ His mannered speech, the circus gesture plus a pretend leer were slightly askew from normal behaviour. This man, now elderly, lacked human contact. He had straggly strands of unwashed hair and smelt sour. I guessed he would continue there as long as they let him, reluctant to retire.

  ‘Thank you, Eutrapelus. I see you tend a great many scrolls!’

  ‘I hold the complete service record of every centurion, any man who may be a potential centurion, and each ex-centurion who could be called up to the reserves.’ Eutrapelus spoke with mild pride. He knew he was peculiar, but saw no reason to alter how he lived and worked. For him, living and working were the same.

  ‘So is this for the army or one of the secretariats?’

  A glance passed among my companions. Eutrapelus stated solemnly that keeping personnel records was one of the many tasks that burdened the Secretary of Petitions, Flavius Abascantus. He then added, in a hollow voice, that although Abascantus liked to boast he was the busiest man in the Empire, everyone knew that the busiest man, he who attended most closely to documentation, was the Emperor himself. Abascantus delegated.

  ‘So, on a day-to-day basis, you work to Claudius Philippus?’ I guessed drily. Eutrapelus nodded. Assessing the complex scope of his material, I asked, ‘Each legion has a hundred centurions?’

  ‘A common error. With a full complement, if they ever have one, there are actually fifty-nine. The first cohort is largest, divided into five centuriae, then there are nine further cohorts, each divided into six. So! Nine times six is fifty-four, plus five. Every legion should have fifty-nine centurions, and how many legions are there now?’ Eutrapelus asked Rubrius, testing him.

  ‘Twenty-eight?’ Rubrius volunteered good-naturedly. He appeared to be counting mentally.

  ‘Try again!’

  ‘Twenty-nine?’ I suggested, remembering what Justinus had said. ‘Domitian added the First Minervia.’

  Eutrapelus applauded. It went on too long. ‘So how many centurions am I keeping track of?’

  ‘I would need an abacus.’ I can do multiplication, but not at speed and under strangers’ scrutiny.

  ‘One thousand, seven hundred and eleven!’

  ‘Olympus!’

  ‘Every time an emperor creates a new legion, I have to scurry through my records to find fifty-nine sound optios – men whom serving centurions in other legions have chosen as their deputies. That causes ripples when I swoop in and pinch them. Maybe not quite fifty-nine, since I must make allowance for special requests from whoever takes command.’

  ‘Idiot nephews and sons of their favourite freedmen?’ I commiserated.

  ‘Quite! We manage. The needs of the army take precedence. Legates who make silly demands can always be jumped on if I go high enough for support. And, believe me, I do.’

  I wondered about the executed governors. Had I been brought into this because Eutrapelus had information about silly demands made by Lucullus and Cerialis?

  ‘Flavia Albia wishes to pick your brains.’ Rubrius used a solemn tone.

  ‘Karus and Italus?’ He knew already. The men had discussed my needs, agreeing on what I could or could not be told. Well, I rode with it. ‘Centurions are my pride and joy, but any man in a leading position has his record in my cache,’ Eutrapelus revealed, with a wink. ‘I know every post he has held, I can guess how often he scratches his fleas and, if it becomes relevant, I can predict his loyalties.’

  I raised a genteel eyebrow. ‘How high up do you go?’

  ‘How high do you want?’

  ‘Legionary command?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Nobody wants the wrong legate in charge in some unstable location.’ Any legate would probably have served as an officer before, but these men were not career soldiers; they were aristocrats on the course of honour. Hades! So Eutrapelus was even monitoring senatorials.

  I could imagine the reaction of the average senator if he was told all his appointments had been settled by a scribe. People wonder how the Roman Empire can be managed so successfully. As any scribe would tell you, this is how. Emperors may come and go, bringing more or less chaos, but the bureaucrats keep the wheels turning.

  Startled, I pushed further: ‘Governors of provinces?’

  This time Eutrapelus did not answer, merely spreading his hands as he gave me an arch smile.

  ‘The subtle bureaucratic art of the affirmative denial!’ I said.

  Rubrius chuckled. He had parked his backside, a fine one, against a wall of columbaria and was listening in with enjoyment. ‘Governors,’ he told me, ‘are chosen by the Senate or the Emperor. But Eutrapelus provides guidance.’

  ‘If I am asked,’ Eutrapelus corrected him, with a mock show of diffidence.

  ‘As you are!’

  ‘I like to be of use.’

  ‘Be of use to me, then,’ I encouraged him.

  We settled down for his lecture.

  First, Britain.

  Domitian had decided against unforced territorial expansion. Rome’s frontiers along the Rhine and Danube were volatile enough. He was always short of troops.

  As governor of Britain, Julius Agricola believed in further conquest. He sent people to sail around it to prove it was an island; then he wanted to bring that whole island under Roman control. He had marched his legions right into the wild north, defeating the Caledonians, then building a string of military installations, including one huge fort to control his new territory.

  Domitian contra-decided there was nothing for Rome in north Britain. He bled the British legions of troops for his own campaigns. Agricola was ordered to withdraw south and compelled to return to Rome.

  Gaius Sallustius Lucullus was then made governor, with a brief to enforce new policy. Agricola was said to have had an uneasy relationship with his officers, yet many now supported expansion, which they had carried out with him for years. Soldiers enjoy victories. When Lucullus arrived, they were disgruntled that their gains had been so soon given up.

  Caius Julius Karus was an equestrian, commanding an auxiliary detachment, the Second Cohort of Asturians.

  ‘He was on your “trusted” list, Eutrapelus? So his Asturians are based in Britain?’ I asked, in all innocence.

  ‘No, they are in Germany.’

  I raised my eyebrows. Then what was their commanding officer doing on his own in Britannia?

  Making himself useful. Karus secretly informed Domitian that Sallustius Lucullus had not only failed to purge disaffection among his officers and officials but had let them influence him.

  Whether Karus had been deliberately sent on detached duty to spy on this situation or whether he had taken it upon himself was not specified to me. But nobody needs an abacus to work out that sum.

  ‘If the four legions in Britain had refused to obey the Emperor, while those in Upper Germany were also in mutiny …’ I let my comment tail off. Rubrius and Eutrapelus smiled at each other again.

  ‘What I know,’ Eutrapelus enlightened me, ‘is that the governor’s foot guard, his personal protection squad, was suddenly shifted out of Britain on reassignment to the Danube. Julius Karus escorted them there himself.’

  ‘All the way? To ensure they went?’

  Eutrapelus gave a twist of the head in assent. ‘Their new posting was dressed up as “significant”, although it was inferior and they knew it.’

  ‘Another quaintness,’ Rubrius added, ‘involves an auxiliary cohort in Britain, now named the First Faithful Vardullorans – Coh I Fida Vardullorum – where Fida invariably refers to extreme loyalty in a crisis. They have all been awarded Roman citizenship.’

  ‘Every one?’

  ‘Batch validation. While in service.’

  ‘Unusual?’

  ‘Unheard of.’

  ‘So what honorific deeds had these Vardulloran boyos carried out?’

  ‘Cannot tell you, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But you know?’

  ‘Cannot tell you.’

  ‘Cobnuts,’ I replied, but I decided not to argue. ‘So Sallustius Lucullus was sympathetic to his officers’ mutterings. Britain was at risk of rebellion. A dangerous unit was shifted out, a loyal one rewarded. Am I correct?’ Neither man reacted. ‘Fidgeting Furies! Rubrius and Eutrapelus, stop messing around. Domitian was right, wasn’t he? He did not really execute Lucullus because of some misnamed spear. Lucullus was on the verge of defiance, in a province that has always been volatile. So he was culled.’

  Rubrius winced at my term, but then produced a smile that called me a wise woman.

  ‘This clears up another issue,’ I said. ‘Lucullus was killed in situ because he could not be brought home. The key route back to Rome from Britain is along the Rhine. You pass through Upper Germany, where Saturninus was busily plotting. The two men had to be kept apart. So Karus gave Lucullus the chop in Londinium.’

  ‘She is quite the strategist,’ said Eutrapelus to Rubrius.

  ‘Chop is a good word,’ Rubrius replied, as if adding it to his personal thesaurus.

  I had no truck with flattery. ‘Did Karus himself do the deed, as the widow believes?’

  Eutrapelus declined to say. Rubrius frankly guffawed. ‘Three gold crowns and a silver spear? You may assume he did!’

  ‘Yes, he’s become a walking jewel case. Are you envious?’ I teased. People who work in intelligence are never so honoured. When they are successful, their work stays invisible. Emperors forget. I summed up: ‘Lucullus may have backed Saturninus, but logically, he had no connection at all with the False Nero. His sin was strictly local. Some of his men were on the verge of mutiny – and he was being dragged along.’

  I had been asked to ascertain whether he had confessed to his wife. I doubted it. The lads are furious about Domitian’s policy and I’ve decided they are right … Never. Lucullus would not write this in a letter that had to be dictated to a scribe, carried by an imperial messenger and received by another slave before ever it reached his lady back in Italy. He would have known how many hands it would pass through, where the seal might be broken and the contents read and copied. The diplomatic satchel leaks like a sieve. If he had used his own courier it would have been no different.

  Code would not help. The best code-breakers in the Empire were right there on the Palatine, just waiting for a test of their skills.

  ‘The wife never knew,’ I said flatly. ‘He said nothing to her, so she has nothing to say to us. Perhaps Sallustius Lucullus really did mess about with javelins – but if so, he did it in a little out-house by himself. Even at home, the wife’s only clue to anything he got up to in his den would be that afterwards he came indoors hungry and morose.’

  Rubrius and Eutrapelus were staring.

  ‘The way men with hobbies do,’ I pointed out.

  For spies, they seemed rather short on understanding of human habits. If these men had hobbies, I dread to think what they were.

  10

  I became more businesslike. ‘That’s Karus and Britain. Now do Italus and Asia.’

  Lusia Paullina had provided the back-story. Although Italus was an equestrian, he was no slouch. Eutrapelus listed a history that included postings in four different auxiliary units, then promotion to legionary tribune. That level is normally senatorial.

  Minicius Italus had become a procurator. These positions are equestrian, but important. I had a relative, Flavius Hilaris, who had been procurator of the mines and procurator of finance in Britain. To us, Uncle Gaius ran Britannia.

  So Italus was not simply wandering through the Hellespont picking flowers: he controlled that significant part of Asia. Asia is a large, disparate province; Italus had serious responsibility − independence too. The governor might have descended in a visitation (or not, if he was lazy), but Italus himself had smooched the traders, collected the taxes, overseen the courts and stamped on disturbances. He had had a good complement of soldiers to support him.

  ‘Crucially,’ Rubrius explained, ‘when the imperial messenger was sent out, bearing Domitian’s death sentence, Italus in the Hellespont was his first drop-off. Italus was briefed, and raced for Ephesus.’

  ‘When Domitian originally appointed this Italus as a procurator, loyalty must have been a factor,’ I said. ‘He was another on your special trusted list, Eutrapelus? So the messenger gave him orders, with the necessary powers. Even life and death?’ This was abnormal for an equestrian.

  ‘He was thought dependable. With his army record,’ shrugged Eutrapelus.

  ‘So now will his appointment be permanent?’ I asked. My father was an equestrian. You could put him in charge of a province and it would run like silk through a finger ring. Would Falco execute people to order? If they were sufficiently degenerate.

  ‘Oh, temporary.’ Eutrapelus was definite. ‘The next senatorial incumbent will go out early, hard luck for him. Italus now graces my potentials list for Egypt.’

  That was a significant reward. ‘Procurators of Egypt live like kings. I’ve seen it. If,’ I said slowly, ‘Domitian’s reward reflects the favour Italus did for him, I presume that in the Emperor’s mind Civica Cerialis needed to be snaffled urgently. Domitian was absolutely certain he had cuddled up to the False Nero?’

  ‘No proof.’ Rubrius was emphatic. He pursed his lips. Very nice lips, I noticed. ‘Our Master is an instinctive emperor.’

  I made no comment on that. ‘According to his womenfolk now, Cerialis did not wine and dine the man – sadly, it’s their word only. But if Domitian had facts, Philippus would not be belatedly prodding hostile widows. Either way, Cerialis is dead. His family won’t cause difficulties. They are going to live among the Sabine mule-breeders and be diligently rural. I’d say this incident is over. So why do you all need to carry on niggling about what Cerialis did or didn’t do?’

  ‘We want to put the False Nero problem properly to bed,’ said Rubrius.

  ‘I thought he was dead in a ditch?’

  Rubrius smiled gently, while both men indulged in another of their mystic silences.

  11

  There seemed nothing else the two would tell me, and there was no more I wanted to ask them. A slave fetched my fee from the main office; he was to bring it safely home for me. I parted company with the others, after leaving a message to Philippus that I would write my report shortly.

  I had been at the palace for so long that day, trawling through so much material, that once I emerged I felt transported out of real time. Up aloft on it, the Palatine always seemed remote. All the city lay bathed in bright sunlight but its sounds and smells were far below. Down there, thousands had been going about their business − their lives, their loves, their work, their woes − while I was absorbed in another world. My long afternoon had left me stiff and feeling slightly soiled.

  To exit the palace, I left through its shimmering public portico, which looms above the Forum. I wanted the opposite side. I knew there was a pathway down, somewhere beyond the Hut of Romulus (it’s a fake, renovated with new materials many, many times). I retraced my steps to the indulgently stretched properties of simple-living Augustus and Livia, below the enormous Luna marble Temple of Apollo – their personal shrine, complete with library. The temple, I remembered grimly, had been built where a lightning bolt had struck.

  For reasons of my own, I once more descended the short flight of steps that gave entrance to Livia’s house. I adopted the air of a visitor who had left something behind, though having seen me before, the boot-faced custodian let me in without a quibble. I was left to my own devices. I could have taken a chisel and carried off frescos on a handcart.

  All I did was steal their style. I went back into the side room, where I made sketches of the elegant floral swags, with sidebar notes of their muted grey-green coloration.

  I was conscious that I had my own house, with my new husband in it. These décor details were intended as a distraction for him.

  Trailed by the palace slave with my fee, I went down to the Circus Maximus on the ancient Stairway of Cacus. I trudged around the end of the stadium, then climbed up the dogleg road to the Aventine summit. I was walking automatically, consciousness switched off. I nearly found my feet taking me to my old apartment.

  At home, as I must learn to call it, my knock was answered by the master himself. Tiberius, in slippers and a plain tunic, waved me in. Ah, my beloved husband. A practical householder, thank goodness.

  I kissed him quickly. ‘I hope I am not to be hit with a ladle and “What time do you call this to come crawling home?” Where’s Dromo? You shouldn’t have to open the door.’

  Tiberius looked pale, but had come downstairs to take charge. It was clearly an effort, though he did not complain. I was glad to see him up and about. I handed him the fee money; cheered, he sent off the palace slave with a copper. Since we lacked an armoured chest in the atrium, Tiberius stowed the cash in an empty room for the time being, levering a plank across the doorway diagonally, as if there was work in progress. If anyone moved it, at least it would make a noise.