Paul Doherty: The Song of the Gladiator

‘Agrippina,’ Claudia tapped the woman on the knee, ‘Agrippina, look at me.’ The murderess did so, her lower lip trembling, her right hand shaking so much the bangles and bracelets rattled.

‘You told your love to come here,’ Claudia exclaimed. ‘Not to eat too much or drink too much but to be waiting for you in the Venus Chamber; that he should rest and relax and, of course, mix the potion in his wine. He did so. When physician Valens examined Spicerius’s corpse, he found the index finger of Spicerius’s right hand very sticky, where he had mixed the powders with Uncle Polybius’s sweet white wine. Moreover,’ Claudia continued her deception, ‘because Narcissus had sliced a little bit off, one of the tablets had begun to crumble. We found traces of it on the sheet. Poor old Spicerius,’ Claudia sighed, ‘he sat there, full of sweet thoughts about Agrippina, her love note in one hand and his poisoned wine in the other.’

‘The juice of the almond is a deadly potion,’ Valens declared. ‘Death would have been swift, like an arrow to the heart.’

‘I didn’t do it!’

Claudia’s heart sank as she looked at Agrippina’s face. ‘Oh but you did,’ she replied quickly. ‘Narcissus still has part of that powder, Valens knows what he saw; there’s enough to put you on trial. Have you ever seen a woman burn to death? Just think, Agrippina, of Narcissus talking to the prosecutor, of Valens corroborating the evidence, of my uncle and others declaring that Spicerius truly believed Murranus was his friend. Then we’ll begin to search Rome. That’s why I hired Sallust. He’ll find out where you bought the poison.’

‘I didn’t buy it.’ Agrippina caught herself. She put her face in her hands and sobbed loudly. ‘I didn’t do it!’ she shrieked, so loudly that Polybius came out from the porch. Claudia waved him away.

‘I didn’t do it!’ Agrippina repeated. The tears rolled down her cheeks and mixed with the paint, turning her skin garish.

‘Of course you didn’t,’ Claudia soothed. ‘It was Dacius, wasn’t it? He bought the powder and claimed it was an aphrodisiac; he told you what to do. You didn’t really know, did you?’

Agrippina stepped into the trap.

‘No, I didn’t.’ She lifted her face. ‘I never knew anything about this. I came here expecting Spicerius to be waiting for me, as rampant as a stag. I wished him well.’

Claudia rose to her feet and re-sheathed her dagger. ‘But you did bring him the face paint?’

‘Yes, yes.’ Agrippina became deeper enmeshed in her own lies. ‘Yes, that’s it! I wanted something to make him fight better. Dacius gave me a powder. I mixed it with my face paints, but when I saw Spicerius collapse, I panicked and poured it into his cup. I didn’t intend Murranus to take the blame.’

‘And the same with the two tablets?’ Claudia asked. ‘Dacius’s cure for impotence?’

‘It’s as you said.’

Claudia hid her disgust at this treacherous woman lying to save her own life. Agrippina sprang to her feet. Narcissus went to restrain her, but Claudia nodded her head.

‘If you want to go, you had best go.’

Claudia stepped aside. Agrippina brushed by her, almost running across the grass and back into the tavern.

‘Are you going to let her go?’ Narcissus asked.

Claudia ran her finger round her mouth. ‘I don’t think we have to do anything. Inside that tavern are two Dacians. Agrippina has convicted not only herself, but the man who controls her. What do you think, Valens? She’ll go back and tell him we know everything. I don’t think Dacius will like what he hears.’

Claudia stared up at the sky. ‘I think Agrippina is about to spend her last day on earth.’

‘I agree.’ Valens clambered to his feet, brushing the grass from his robe. ‘But with your permission,’ he sighed, ‘I would like to help matters along. I know a friendly police commander. I think I’ll go and tell him what I’ve learnt.’

‘They won’t have enough evidence to arrest Dacius.’

‘Oh,’ Valens’s old face creased into a smile, ‘I think Dacius will be dealt with in a different way. Spicerius had many friends. They will take care of him as he will take care of Agrippina. I shall simply help things along. Your uncle’s talked about Mercury the messenger.’ Claudia grinned as she followed Valens’s line of thought. ‘I’m going to tell Polybius everything that’s happened out here. By the time Murranus steps into the arena tomorrow, most of Rome will know.’

The sun blazed in the noonday sky. The heat was so oppressive the imperial engineers had fully stretched the great awning which protected the crowds in the amphitheatre; others worked hard on the pumps which sprayed the crowds with cool scented water. Claudia sat at the back of the imperial box and gazed through half-open eyes at Constantine and his family. They were all there — the Emperor, the Augusta Helena, Rufinus, Chrysis, whilst Gaius Tullius stood behind the imperial throne resplendent in his dress armour. Wives, friends, clients and hangers-on milled around. Servants hurried about with jugs and goblets of cold drinks and silver platters piled high with iced fruits. Rufinus’s wife was laughing; more akin to neighing, Claudia thought, like a mare on heat. The woman was leaning over the Empress’s throne, eager to share some titbit of gossip. Scribes and clerks were busy with rolls of parchment as they brought documents to the Emperor and his mother to read, study and seal. The imperial box on its central podium in the Flavian amphitheatre was rich with the smell of ink, parchment, perfume, melting wax and, of course, the ever-pervasive stench of blood from the gore-drenched sand below.

The specially imported soft sand, which glowed like gold dust, was now being turned, raked and sifted, the blood cleaned away, the fragments of human flesh piled into buckets of brine to be taken to the animal dens in the caverns deep below the amphitheatre. The roars and cries of these savage, hungry penned beasts could be heard echoing along the grim tunnels. There were not so many of them now. Most of the tigers, panthers, lions and bears had been killed in the morning slaughter. The tens of thousands of spectators seated in the steep tiers of the amphitheatre were now using the break in this ritual of blood to buy spiced meats, crushed fruit and iced melon water from the traders and hucksters who, sweating over their produce, went up and down the steps shouting the prices. Claudia had always resolved never to buy from them; Polybius had told her dreadful tales of how the meat, bread and fruit were heavily spiced and crushed to remove all sign of mould and decay.

People moved around the various sections, though they never wandered far from their seat. The sections were divided by high walls to denote the different classes of the city. At the bottom, on either side of the imperial box, the spectators were garbed in white togas and expensive tunics which marked them out as senators, knights, high-ranking officials, merchants and bankers. Above this border of white, like a dark, dirty, seething wave, ranged the greens, blues, yellows and browns of the lesser sort. The wealthy were not harassed by the traders. They had brought their own parasols, awnings and gold-fringed shades, as well as hampers and baskets of rich meats, soft bread and delicious wine. The spectators ignored the bloody mess of the arena, gaping instead at the imperial box, decorated with its gorgeous drapes. They strained to catch sight of the Emperor and his mother, distant figures garbed in purple-edged clothes and crowned with silver-tinted laurel wreaths, surrounded by the majesty and pomp of empire. They stared at the guards in their dress armour and ornately plumed helmets, breast plates gleaming in the sun, and, either side of the box, the standard bearers carrying the eagles and feather-tailed insignia of the legions, their holders dressed in the skins of panther, bear, lion and wolf. Above all, they watched for the imperial trumpeters with their gold-edged horns; these would be lifted to bray for silence when the Emperor decided the games should recommence.