Chapter XXIV

 

 

 

The rule of the many is free of the outrages to which kings are accustomed. – Herodotus

 

The months that follow Libo’s murder pass tediously for Lucian. Facts can be contained, rumours cannot. Where once licentious gaiety was the quintessence of life at court, all is now whispered caution. Libo bitten by a snake. Libo strangled by the Emperor in a fit of rage. Libo cursed by a soothsayer. The privileged world of the palace has become charged with danger. Whispers and half-truths are now a game in which only the most stout-hearted seek to be players. A kind of gloom settles in.

And why was he murdered? For Lucian the evidence, such as it is, points to Verus. The note is obvious enough, although perhaps too obvious for all that. As to motive, it is as clear as the method. Libo was an annoyance. History is littered with men of imperial lineage who find mere aggravation a more than sufficient cause to end the life of another, lesser human. Emperors hold life and death in their hands. In any case, if Verus is the culprit there is nothing to be done. Lucian’s instructions are clear. Pursue the assassin unless the evidence leads in an imperial direction. In that circumstance, drop the investigation.

Jovial companion that he was, Libo was well liked among the courtiers and courtesans. But Libo was also a threat to their pursuit of pleasure because he incessantly urged his prince to war. If Verus had acceded to Libo’s counsel, the courtiers could have been left without their sponsor, their drinking companion, their purveyor of privileges and gifts. Worse, they might have been compelled to accompany him to live in a soldier’s camp. No, there are few teary eyes at court for Libo’s passing.

As keen as he is to ferret out the secret, Lucian is preoccupied. His role at court has become more demanding. Verus insists on more and more theatricals and dance performances and has turned to Lucian to produce them. Among his favourites are the pantomimes, where a masked man clothed in silk and a cloak of rich fabric mimes familiar themes from Greek tragedy. Backed by a chorus of musicians playing pipes and strings, the actor moves to drumbeats of enticing, complex rhythms. Denied the right to speak or sing, the actor’s challenge is to present a range of emotions in a delicate interplay between hands and cloak, and expressive, and often erotic postures.

Lucian is working closely with one Apolaustus, a master of the genre. Today he is also directing a recent arrival at court, a Syrian actor named Maximinus. In keeping with his predilection for bestowing nicknames on his favourites, Verus has dubbed Maximinus "Paris". The resulting fit of pique caused Apolaustus to sequester himself in his apartments for two days.

"How are Paris and his little Trojans today?" Panthea enquires as she happens upon Lucian and his actors at work. She is accompanied this day by Thecla, a pair of handmaidens, and a small gaggle of the inexorable male admirers.

"We thrive, madam," Paris coos. "Loukianos is taking me through the last act of Heracles. We shall be ready to perform it within a few days, I think."

"I’m so pleased. Gaius Lucianus, when you arrived in Antioch you said you were giving up pantomime to join the philosophers and become an ascetic. You seem to have been corrupted by life at court. Are you no longer among those who argue that virtue consists in being uncomfortable?"

"My dear lady, you have me confused with Senator Laelianus. No doubt he’s out by the stables immersed in official flagellation. Come, let me show you." Lucian tells the musicians to take a break. With a sign to Thecla she runs interference permitting him to lead Panthea away from her acolytes. As they reach the sunshine of a nearby balcony, Lucian intercepts an attendant bearing a salver of wine. Panthea demurs.

"My lady," he speaks overly loud for the benefit of several passing acrobats. "I simply had to get you to myself. We seem to be everywhere together and yet exchange only trivialities." He adds in a quiet voice, "Hardly the way it should be between old friends, is it?"

Her smile is forced. "And you so quick and amusing."

"You look a sensation, as usual."

"Surely you are too kind." Adopting a sardonic tone, she looks him straight in the eyes. "Why have you lured me away from my attendants?"

"Should there be something?"

"Lucian, with you it’s always something."

She used the familiar form again, a good sign. The perpetual ache he feels in her presence fades momentarily. "I want to talk about Verus and Libo."

"Why?"

"Because things do not appear," he lingers over the choice of word, "seemly."

"Seemly?"

"How much do you know about it?"

"Libo’s death? A liver complaint, I was told."

"Who told you?"

"The Emperor himself."

Lucian hesitates. Contradicting emperors is tricky. "I believe he is protecting you. Can you keep what I am about to say strictly between us?"

She softens a little. "Lucian … how long have I known you?"

"Compose yourself then," he warns gently. "Libo was poisoned."

"I …"

"There’s more. I have it from reliable sources that you visited Libo the day he died. The poison was delivered on the tray that accompanied you. In fact, my lady, you may have been the last person to see him alive." Her expression is unreadable, but as a precaution he takes her by the forearm and leads her to a nearby bench. "Let us sit."

She sits, hands folded on her lap. "How is it you know these things?"

Lucian curses inwardly at the inevitable question. "I am well connected at court, madam."

"No, Lucian, I’m well connected at court. People don’t just volunteer this kind of information." With every word her voice a little stronger. "How do you know who I visit?"

"Calmly, my lady. You know I am your old friend and mean you no harm."

"I do know it. You haven’t answered my question."

He plays for time, downing the wine in his glass and gaining another. Claudius said never under any circumstances… "By chance, do you know Reginus Ferox?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what he does?"

"He’s Frumentarii."

"Exactly."

"He told you."

They sit silently for a moment, as realization grows on her face. "You trust these people? I have heard terrible things."

"The Frumentarii may be trusted in this case," he assures her.

"Lucian, I …"

"If I may say so my lady," he interrupts, "You seem much affected by these events. More than most, I fear. For your protection and for the protection of your lord, I would beg to know anything you can tell me."

"The protection of my lord?"

"Such matters are delicate, even dangerous, and can lead in many unexpected directions. I … the Frumentarii can help. I am confident Ferox is entirely loyal to your lord."

She takes the glass from his hand and drinks. "What do you want to know?"

"You went to talk to Libo."

"Yes."

"What about?"

She sighed. "We ... had an argument."

"What about?"

"What was it always about? I wanted him to leave Lucius alone about the war."

"What did Libo tell you?"

She hands him back the glass, stands and leans against the marble stonework running her hand through her hair. The old ache returns. "He was very charming. He said he would respect the Emperor’s wishes."

"You believed him?"

"No."

"Did you know Libo so well?" She says nothing. "Where did you get the tray, with the wine and fruit?"

"The servant brought it."

"At whose request?"

"Lucius requested it." Her expression changes from sadness to vexation. "What is this really about?"

"You were not friends though. Libo was a thorn in the side of your lord."

"It’s no secret. He was rude and insulting, especially when he was drunk!"

Lucian stands and moves close to her. "Truly, you were on opposing sides of an argument. Libo was pressing the Emperor into military action against Parthia while you were stroking the imperial nape and suggesting it might be a lovely day to walk in the gardens at Daphne."

"Parthia is not my affair. I do not concern myself in politics," she says hotly.

"Your situation here is really quite idyllic, is it not? The Emperor is far from the control of his brother and the Empress Faustina. The walks, the picnics, the wonderful life at court. And you, the Emperor’s consort! You at the swirling centre of it all. Quite a change from the old days back in Smyrna."

"We change. We grow. At least some of us do," she says acidly.

"Oh, I too have grown. Appearances to the contrary."

"Have you?" She crosses her arms and looked at him doubtfully. "We are happy here. Do you know what that is, to be truly happy?"

“Not for a long time." His eyes betray him again. Her expression hardens.

"Come Herodotus, let us not speak of history."

"Fine, we’ll stick to the present. Verus is betrothed to his niece."

"He does not love her."

"Love? Verus has no choice in the matter. How long can your idyll here last?"

"It can last as long as we want it to last! These are not your affairs,” she pokes him firmly in the shoulder with an index finger, “nor those of your Frumentarii friends. Do not concern yourself with them if you wish to remain on friendly terms with me."

"Panthea, I’m on your side."

"What side? If Libo was … poisoned, it’s not my affair. Why do you vex me with this?"

"Because my lady," he pauses to accentuate the point, "the poison that killed the Governor was brought to his room on a tray carried by one of your servants. You accompanied that tray, and it was probably less than an hour later that Libo died.”

"Lucian, I have some idea where this is headed. Let me warn you and your Frumentarii chums it is a very bad idea to throw baseless allegations in the direction of the Emperor’s consort."

"Threats?"

Her expression softens. "Truth." She looks at him hopefully. "These are none of your affairs. What do you care of them?"

"Libo was my friend."

"Understand this then. I did not dislike Libo enough to kill him. Nor did Lucius. It is not possible."

"But you know something."

"This is going nowhere." She offers Lucian a curt bow and strides quickly to the familiar security of her circle. Interview at an end. He finishes his wine and returns to Apolaustus and Paris, who are caught up in a spirited argument. Before he can intervene, the former stalks off toward the gardens with Paris hard on his heels waving a manuscript like a threatening insect. As Panthea takes her followers in the opposite direction, Thecla hangs back and pulls Lucian aside. "We must speak." He motions toward the central staircase. "I’ll wait for you below." She nods, and bustles away with the entourage.

Alone now, Lucian stands feeling heavy and slightly tipsy for drinking too much wine too early. The local vintages mask their potency like liquid assassins. He resolves to head for the baths after he speaks to Thecla. Proceeding to the central atrium he pretends to examine the statuary. She arrives short of breath.

"I’ve little time, before she will expect me back. I have two messages." They withdraw the beneath the staircase. "You remember telling me that Libo had learned something important about family matters?"

"Yes."

She reaches down the front of her tunica and withdraws a pouch containing a scroll carefully bound in purple ribbon. Lucian loosens the ribbon and unrolls it. "This is from Marcus Aurelius! How did you get it?"

"Verus lets her see everything."

He turns his attention to the fragile papyrus.

 

Greetings, dearest Brother. I trust this letter finds you well and not overly weighed down by the great task Rome has set before you. I hear good news of the preparations of our army in Syria. I bid you make haste.

 

The matter of your marriage must also be addressed, to cement our position and uphold our responsibilities to our family. Your current state of affairs does not I am sure distract you from these responsibilities. Your betrothed will soon attain her fourteenth year, and the time is at hand. The Empress and I are prepared to come east as soon as may be arranged to participate in this happy event.

 

Therefore my Brother, prosecute this war with the utmost vigour that we may close the gates of Janus and turn our attention fully to this joyous event. Farewell.

 

Lucian hands the letter back to Thecla. "When did it arrive?"

"The week before Libo died."

"Surely this is Libo’s work. He threatened to write to Marcus."

"If Verus came to the same conclusion …"

"Possibly, but this confirms what I believe. Verus dithers because he prefers his vices and his courtesan to this marriage. A marriage here, and I’ve not the slightest doubt that the arrival of the elder brother would completely ruin the party."

"Can you blame him? Lucilla is a child he barely knows, and his love for Panthea is genuine. Did you know he shaved off his beautiful beard?"

Lucian raises his eyebrows. "I have not seen him for days."

"It’s true. At her request. It’s the talk of the palace. That, and Alexander."

"What of him?"

"Tittle-tattle about his growing influence over Verus, over the court, and over more than a few senators. My gossips also claim that the oracles of the god Glycon are very much the fashion in the Rome."

"Oracles …" Lucian sneers.

"Yes, oracles. Take it from one who knows the oracle business. People believe."

"Which people?"

"Senator Rutilianus, for one. Now married to Alexander’s daughter. I overheard Panthea talking about Rutilianus. She says Verus treats both he and Alexander with unusual respect. Alexander may be the Prophet but Rutilianus is the one promoting his cult among the powerful in the imperial capital."

"A snake god." Lucian sighs heavily, "My dear, it is our misfortune to be born into a world of credulity and humbug." He pokes his head out from under the stairwell and scans the statuary. "But you spoke of messages."

Her features darken. "I have been thinking of your friend."

"The Sarmatian?"

"Yes. More dreaming about him, ever since …"

"You did seem somewhat taken with him that night in Iconium. Handsome fellow for a savage."

"Lucian, I know you will find this difficult to understand—but try."

"Just for you then."

"You know the soothsayer performance I used to do? It’s not entirely an act. I do see things, sometimes …"

"Spirits?" he says disparagingly.

"Of a sort. I have that gift. When they are near a person they are like an aura that surrounds the body. In that guise they are harmless, but," she tugs hard on the shoulder of his tunic, "Pay attention! If they are dark they mean danger. We call them Manes, the souls of the dead."

"I hasten to point out my colleague was ill, not dead."

"The shadow belonged to another."

"And?"

"The Manes was dark, the darkest I’ve ever seen. And throughout that night it stood directly behind him."