by Peter Tonkin
The hand hesitated, just short of its target.
‘Don’t you want me to pleasure you?’ asked his almost invisible companion.
‘No. Leave me and get some sleep.’
‘Oh go on,’ said Felix cheerfully from the far side of the room they were sharing. ‘Let her pleasure you. Then she can pleasure me.’
‘I would rather pleasure Pollio’s eels.’
‘I thought,’ said Artemidorus, ‘that you ended up on the brink of the eel pool because you didn’t pleasure Pollio.’
‘He took his pleasures in strange ways,’ she answered. ‘And rarely with women.’
‘Either do it or desist,’ said Felix. ‘Especially if I’m not to be next after all. All this talk of pleasuring is going to keep me up all night!’
‘Go to bed,’ ordered Artemidorus and Voadicia’s cool hand was withdrawn as she settled back onto the straw mattress on the floor between the centurions’ truckle beds.
The spy lay staring at the invisible ceiling for a moment, thinking the incident through. It seemed to him that it proved two things pretty clearly – that Voadicia wasn’t going to fulfil Felix’ prediction and slit their throats as they slept after all, and that she had grown to trust him - if not Felix. And the end result of both trains of thought was that he should take his dagger back in the morning.
Unless of course all this talk of pleasuring was actually cover for the fact that she had been just about to cut something even more important to him than his throat.
He was still awake and considering matters when the door of the little room swung wide. The brightness of the corridor outside revealed three black figures, each armed with what looked like a sizeable club. He rolled sideways, reaching for the gladius he kept close at hand in place of the dagger. ‘Look out,’ he shouted as the strangers charged in.
There was a scream and in the confusion he thought it must have been Voadicia, until he saw that the leading shape was hunched over. He could just make out the woman on her knees in front of him, the dagger held in both of her hands and buried to the hilt deep in the pit of his stomach, more or less at the point she had reached on his own belly. Artemidorus registered this at the edge of his vision as he straightened, sword in hand. The second and third would-be robbers were caught behind their immobile and screaming leader, easy meat for the two soldiers. Artemidorus drove the point of his gladius beneath a half-raised club arm, between well-parted ribs and straight through a lung to his attacker’s heart. Felix must have done the same as both men slumped to their knees at once. There was a sucking, tearing sound as Voadicia ripped Artemidorus’ dagger out of her victim only to plunge it back in, higher up, as he too sank to his knees.
*
The noise disturbed the rest of the house. The host arrived with several slaves all carrying lamps whose wavering light revealed the slaughterhouse the tiny room had become. The corpses’ clubs told the beginning of a story that the blood-smeared blades concluded. Both Artemidorus and Felix had managed to keep clear of the men they had killed but Voadicia was soaked in blood, her tunic no longer loose enough to conceal the natural curves of her breasts.
‘We need another room,’ said Artemidorus. ‘And some water to clean my companion here.’
‘We have no other rooms,’ said the host, clearly dazed by what had just occurred. ‘The place is full.’
‘These three must have been in a room,’ said the blood-soaked woman, gesturing towards the corpses. ‘We can change places with them.’
The dead men’s room was slightly smaller than the one the two centurions and their androgynous slave had been given. The dead men’s effects were piled neatly at the ends of their beds. Oddly enough, whereas Artemidorus and Felix both had saddle-bags full supplies and documents of all sorts, the three attackers had apparently been travelling with nothing equivalent at all. Their saddle-bags contained nothing more than changes of clothing. Their only other possessions seemed to be swords and daggers that might have been better for them to have used rather than clubs. ‘We’ll hang onto these,’ said Artemidorus. ‘You never know when they might prove useful.’
‘Why didn’t they use them though?’ wondered Felix as he tried not to look at Voadicia standing naked and sponging herself with warm water from a ewer one of the house slaves had just brought in. She was languorously taking the opportunity of bathing as much of herself as she could reach, for she had by no means be clean to begin with. He felt unsettlingly like the hunter Actaeon spying on the bathing goddess Diana, soon to be turned into a stag by her magic and hunted to death by his own hounds. Before they had left their original room, all three of them had wiped their weapons on the driest sections of the blood-soaked bedding – but only water and a change of clothing could make Voadicia spotless again.
‘Perhaps they didn’t want it to look as though soldiers had done it,’ said Voadicia, apparently failing to notice Felix’ gaze.
‘But they were soldiers alright,’ said Artemidorus. ‘Legionary tunics, caligae boots. These are legionary issue gladii.’
‘The host didn’t seem to know them,’ said Felix. ‘But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t actually do so. There’s a good case to be made that he and they are working together, robbing rich-looking passers-by and him getting rid of the bodies for a cut of the profits. But that means there would probably be someone more senior in the legion who knows what’s going on as well. Certainly, the innkeeper was quick enough to say he’d be summoning someone in authority from the legionary camp beside Neapolis rather than a magistrate from the city or from Philippi. So that must mean he thought they were soldiers just as we did, whether he really knew them or not.’
‘And in any case I think I recognised them,’ said the young woman pensively. ‘The leader at least. He was there when Vedius Pollio was getting ready to feed me to the eels.’
‘Are you certain?’ demanded Artemidorus. ‘He didn’t look as though he was on Pollio’s level either militarily or socially.’
‘Almost. Not all of Pollio’s audience were equestrians or patricians.’
‘If he was one of Pollio’s crowd, that must have made him easier for you to kill,’ suggested Felix. ‘After what they were proposing to do to you.’
‘I only saw his face when the men came with the lamps and he was already dead by then,’ she shrugged.
‘If you’re right, Voadicia, then that probably makes them men from the twenty seventh legion. It’s the twenty seventh that Pollio’s associated with.’
There was a short silence broken only by the water-sounds that Voadicia made as she continued to wash the dirt and blood off her breasts and belly, then bent to rinse the mud and dust off her legs.
‘That does present a problem, though, doesn’t it?’ said Artemidorus, slowly. ‘Were Pollio’s recently deceased friends from the twenty seventh just rogue soldiers out to make a profit from the current relatively lawless situation in agreement with the host here as we’ve discussed - or have we actually been recognised?’ His tone darkened. ‘Did the praetorians see through our disguises and report us after all? Or could it have been someone we didn’t even notice in the towns and villages we went through along the way? Or even more recently, on our way back? Perhaps it was a mistake for us to get back into armour so quickly. Certainly, I’ve been seen fully armed by a wide range of people in Neapolis, both the city and the docks, not to mention in Philippi and along the roadways in between.’
‘Well, there’s nothing we can do about any of that now, is there?’ said Felix. ‘We’ll just have to stick to the plan, leave at dawn and be twice as careful and watchful both on the road and at our destination. Especially if you’re right and you have been recognised. Because the plan now takes us straight back into the lion’s den tomorrow afternoon: Neapolis – the city and the docks.’
iv
‘Maybe we should have waited for the praefectus or whoever they sent for to arrive, after all,’ said Felix, not for the first time, several hours and many miles after their de
parture from the mansione at dawn the next day.
‘No.’ Artemidorus shook his head. ‘It’s as I said. We might have got mixed up in an attempted robbery that went bad and ended in bloodshed but we’re important messengers commissioned to take letters from the two men who might become the rulers of the Republic to their nearest family members. Their importance reflects on us. If we had stayed there for whatever reason it would have looked suspicious.’
‘But who cares if the people running a mansione get suspicious?’ wondered Voadicia, breaking an unnatural silence that had been intensifying for some time. Not that their speed gave much opportunity for conversation – but she had said increasingly little even when they broke for a rest, which they had done every hour or so.
‘It wasn’t them I was worried about,’ explained Artemidorus now. ‘It’s whoever arrived from the legion to look into the mess. The worst possible thing that could happen would have been if someone like Pollio turned up and started wondering why the Generals’ couriers were hanging about rather than getting on with their mission. If I was the praefactus in that situation, I’d take the messengers back to base to discuss things with the tribune or even the legate.’
‘And if you’re right about them being from the twenty seventh legion and needing someone senior in on the game to cover for them, then it might actually be Pollio who showed up to check on matters. Which would not only put us in the lions’ den,’ nodded Felix, ‘but push us straight into the lion’s mouth.’
‘Let’s hope that’s not where we’re headed now,’ said Artemidorus, reining his horse to a canter as the three of them approached the gate in the wall of Neapolis that welcomed the Via in from the east rather than the gate through which the Via’s northern branch left for Philippi. This was the logical gate to use given where they were coming from, and it was also by far the closest gate to the docks. And the speed with which they approached it had been logical too – for a section of the road they had galloped along had been lined with fire-damaged tents, some of them arranged in a semi-circle round a hole filled with sinister black water.
Just like the North Gate, however, the East Gate was manned by a guard contingent led by an optio. Easing his horse to a standstill, Artemidorus reached into the courier’s satchel and pulled out the documentation that would have taken him, as Marcus Caldus the courier, to Rome had he wanted it to. The Gaulish slave-boy in the cast-off tunic hardly got a second look, but the other centurion was able to produce paperwork under the seal of General Casca demanding that anyone reading it help the bearer in whatever mission he was engaged in.
‘Pass, sirs,’ said the optio. ‘You’ll need to report in as soon as you can. I’d suggest the harbourmaster’s office if what you’re carrying is destined for Rome. If you’re lucky you’ll find a tribune or even a legate there. And a ship in the harbour planning to head for Italy, of course.’
And so, with the centurions side by side and the slave riding just behind them, they trotted into the city and on down towards the docks.
‘We need to stable the horses,’ said Artemidorus. ‘And in any case, I don’t want to report in – especially not to anyone senior.’
‘Maybe get a room at a local hospitium to use as a base if we can’t get a ship anytime soon and need to lie low,’ suggested Felix.
‘That would at least be a distraction from our actual intentions,’ agreed Artemidorus.
‘And I’d rather explore the docks on foot anyway.’ Felix nodded. ‘I’ll be harder to spot that way.’
‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk very well,’ announced Voadicia. ‘I don’t think my legs will work.’ There was a tone in her voice the two men had not heard before – but their acquaintance with the young woman had been short. What was it? Wondered Artemidorus. Pain? Uncertainty? She sounded close to tears.
‘We’ll stop at the first hospitium we find and get you off that horse,’ he promised.
*
The first hospitium turned out to be the most convenient for it was not far from the dock gates. It had stables and was a short walk from the local baths. The two weary centurions slid down from their equally weary horses in the stable yard and handed them over to the stable slaves before they walked around stiff-legged, pounding their sore backs and numb buttocks. Then Artemidorus turned back to Voadicia who was still sitting, pale-faced astride her mount. Her slight figure was all-but lost in the spare tunic belonging to the smallest assailant. Like a solicitous father approaching an exhausted daughter, Artemidorus reached up and took her by the waist. She swung her leg over the two horns of the saddle-front and he slid her towards the ground. But as he did so, the tunic slipped upwards, revealing the long columns of her naked thighs. The skin on the outside of the columns was as white as Carrara marble but the inner curves were as red as porphyry. The higher the hem of the tunic rose, the deeper the red became. Artemidorus cursed himself for being so focussed on his mission that he forgot that the young woman needed much more care than she had received. She must have been in increasing agony all afternoon – and had responded to the intensifying discomfort only with silence.
The one thing he could think of that might help her was a bath - followed by a good sleep. And the tavern-keeper might well know of a medicus who could supply some herbs to ease the pain and assure her of the sleep. He slid his arm round her shoulders, holding her erect. ‘Felix,’ he said. ‘See to the horses then scout the docks. Voadicia is unwell, I’ll attend to her while you’re busy and I’ll leave a message with the tavern-keeper to tell you where we are when you return.’
Felix hesitated for a heartbeat, his aristocratic dignitas bruised by his friend’s abrupt orders. But then he saw the look on Artemidorus’ face and – more importantly – the look on Voadicia’s. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Just wait there a moment while I get a couple of slaves to bring your saddlebag and armoury and I get my pass with General Casca’s seal, then we’re off our separate ways.’
Artemidorus supported the near-fainting woman into the hospitium followed by two slaves so laden with saddle-bags and assorted weaponry that they did turn a few heads. The covered atrium was bustling but by no means as busy as the mansione on the Via they stayed at last night. He was able to secure a room with three beds. It was clear that the place served excellent food – but his hunger was something of relatively little importance at the moment. ‘We need a room for three for tonight at least. Have a slave guard the door after our stuff has been put in there. And could you summon a medicus to tend my young friend here? Saddle-sores. We will be in the bath-house when he arrives.’
‘There is a cavalry camp not far from the East Gate,’ said the host. ‘I will send to see if their medicus has anything to help.’
Artemidorus sat Voadicia at a table and ordered her a cup of water while the slaves conducted him to their room. He left everything there, including the weapons, the saddlebags, the document wallet and the purse from round his neck – trusting the largest slave to stand at the door and guard it all. He returned to the atrium and led Voadicia through the busy streets to the municipal bath house. They both stripped, left their clothes with a bath-house slave and went through into the bath-rooms themselves.
The frigidarium would be far too cold and the caldarium too hot for her tender skin to bear, thought Artemidorus, so he led her to the tepidarium where the water in the pool was a little above blood-heat. Despite the fact that it was a later hour than usual to be bathing, the place was busy. Artemidorus looked around at the bodies reclining in the gently-steaming water. Fortunately, the city permitted mixed bathing so Voadicia did not stand out particularly – except that her pale skin was still stained by mud and blood as well as being dark red from her knees to her groin, front and back. But there was room for the guilt-stricken soldier and the exhausted woman to lounge side-by-side, covered in hot water up to their shoulders. He closed his eyes as he relaxed so he remained unaware that he and Voadicia were the subject of the frowning scrutiny by more than one of their bath
-mates.
X - The Crypteia
i
Voadicia drifted off to sleep as the warmth of the water relaxed her and Artemidorus was finding it hard to get his eyes to open again when a slave came through to inform him that the medicus from the cavalry camp had arrived at the hospitium. Voadicia managed to stand and dry herself, some of her stiffness eased by the warm water. They put their tunics back on and returned to their accommodation in search of the doctor. He was a stick-thin, stooped old man whose balding head was crowned with wisps of white hair. He wore a satchel that was much larger than the one Artemidorus carried. When the three of them reached the room Artemidorus dismissed the guard-slave and they entered. The old man first produced a small altar with a tiny shrine and an equally tiny amphora, all of which he placed on one bed while Voadicia lay on another. He spoke gently in elegant, Athenian-accented Latin as he worked. ‘My name is Diocles. I have been a physician to legionary equites for longer than I care to remember. I am associated with the twenty seventh legion at the moment. I lost count long ago of how many I have treated for the ailment as described to me by your messenger.’ Then with hands that were surprisingly large and gentle, he pulled up the hem of Voadicia’s tunic. He stopped mid-thigh. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘This will be painful, but rest assured, young man, I have seen and cured much worse. First, we must sacrifice to Poseidon, God of horses and to Apollo, God of healing. And I also like to sacrifice to Asclepius, Apollo’s son who inherited his father’s medicinal powers.’ He turned to the little altar and sprinkled it with wine from the amphora while whispering a prayer.
Then he turned back to his patient and reached into his satchel once more. He took out another small amphora. ‘You must drink this,’ he said. ‘It is made from willow-bark and will dull the pain.’
