‘Do you think the Empress suspects anything? You don’t think she’ll challenge us later?’

‘She’ll never hear of it from me,’ Claudia whispered. ‘It’s best if you accept her reward, bask in her favour and keep your mouth firmly shut. I know Timothaeus will. Now look, Narcissus, one thing I’ve learned about you is that you have a natural talent for acting, and I have a job for you.’

Narcissus’s mood soon lightened as Claudia told him what she had planned at her meeting with Agrippina. He proved to be an able pupil and had soon perfected the look he was to adopt and what he was to say. Valens was also drawn into the conspiracy. The old army doctor needed no prompting. He deeply mourned his friend and was only too eager to seek justice for Spicerius’s untimely death. They had all met here in the garden, and Valens had helped Narcissus, teaching him certain names and terms, how he was to act and sit. Claudia insisted on both of them becoming word perfect; her only worry was that Agrippina might recognise Narcissus and challenge the trap which would close around her. She had also brought Polybius into the plot. Her uncle was sworn to silence.

‘I don’t want you drinking,’ Claudia warned, ‘because once you open your mouth in the eating hall, half of Rome will know within the hour.’

Polybius had promised, swearing by his cock that not a word would pass his lips.

Claudia had worked long and hard trying to distract herself and not think of Murranus or his preparations for the combat which would take place the following day. Accordingly, she found it very difficult when Murranus, lithe and fit, his face shaved, looking positively boyish, had visited the tavern just after nightfall the previous evening. Claudia thought her heart would break at the sad look in his eyes, his quiet courage and confidence, which carefully masked his own fearful anticipation. He only stayed an hour, coming out here into the garden and embracing her fiercely and kissing her gently before slipping away.

Claudia had sat and wept until Narcissus and Valens came out to comfort her, but the pain of Murranus’s farewell still made her heart ache, so she had no compassion, not a shred of kindness for the treacherous, murderous, spoilt bitch who’d wandered like a fly into her web. Agrippina had arrived mid-morning, black hair flouncing, mouth pouting, her blood-red jewellery clattering and clinking. She showed no guilt or fear, but rather smugness at being escorted by two oafs, followers of Dacius by the looks of them. Oceanus had kept this precious pair in the tavern whilst Claudia, chattering like a sparrow, had taken Agrippina out into the garden. Claudia’s visitor was now beginning to lose some of her calm poise, staring anxiously across to the porch where Polybius stood on guard against any intrusion.

‘Your messenger said,’ Agrippina turned on Claudia, ‘you had some very valuable property belonging to Spicerius.’

‘Yes, that’s what the messenger said.’ Claudia scratched her head and leaned closer. ‘Now, Agrippina, listen to me. I want you to keep that big mouth of yours shut. I don’t want to frighten you, but if you go across to the tavern my uncle will remind you that I have powerful friends at court. I work for the Agentes in Rebus — you know who they are, don’t you? The Doers of Things. Men and women who can bring the likes of you, a nasty pampered bitch, crashing down; their loyalty is to the Empress and no other.’

Agrippina sat swallowing hard, her lips moving soundlessly. Claudia sensed she was cursing her own arrogance at coming here.

‘I could leave,’ Agrippina blustered, tapping her mullet-red sandals.

‘You can try.’ Claudia lifted her goblet and toasted her. ‘Do you know what I’ve been thinking, Agrippina? That you are not Rome’s most skilful assassin. You are, in fact, a blundering murderess who thought no one would see through her deceitful, nasty tricks.’

Agrippina jumped to her feet, gathering up her robe.

‘Oh, sit down!’ Claudia drew her dagger, slicing the air so Agrippina stepped back hastily and sat down with a bump. She was trembling, glancing fearfully across at the tavern.

‘You’re an assassin.’ Claudia smiled sweetly. ‘You’re also a fool. You tried to kill Spicerius once and bungled it, hoping Murranus would finish the job. So you tried again, thinking you were ever so clever.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Agrippina gasped. ‘You have no proof.’

‘Oh, I’ve got plenty of that.’ Claudia turned. ‘Uncle, you should ask our visitors to join us.’

Polybius stepped aside as Valens, accompanied by Narcissus, left the tavern and strolled across the grass towards them. Claudia vowed to keep her face straight. She and Valens had done an excellent job. Narcissus had been transformed. His hair was clipped, his face oiled; his tunic and robe were the best, and no one could fail to admire the jewelled rings displaying the insignia of Aesculapius, as well as the polished walking stick embellished with the hawk wings and all-seeing eye of the Egyptian god Horus. Narcissus even walked like the learned physician he was pretending to be, his head slightly to one side as if weighed down by knowledge, his face twisted in a look of cynical superiority, his mouth pursed as if he was sucking on a plum and had discovered it was a prune.

‘I think you know Valens.’ Claudia waved her hand. ‘This is Narcissus, a specialist physician from the House of Life at the Temple of Isis in Alexandria. He’s an expert on the ailments men suffer from.’

Valens nodded at Agrippina and squatted down next to Claudia. Narcissus, who seemed more interested in his fingernails than anything else, looked Agrippina up and down as if she was some unpleasant symptom, then flicked his fingers fastidiously for her to move up so that he could share the garden seat. He rested his cane between his knees and smiled at Claudia.

‘Darling.’ His drawl was so pronounced, Claudia had to tighten her mouth to hide the smile. ‘Darling, I’m so glad you’re not wearing face paint.’ He turned and wagged a finger at Agrippina’s nose. ‘And you, my darling, should be more careful. You have more paint on your face than I’ve seen on a villa wall. You never know what those creams and oils contain. I used to say the same to dear Spicerius; surely you noticed the golden boy had stopped wearing his face paint? But there again, darling, you know so little about medicine. I mean, that’s obvious.’ He fluttered his eyelids. ‘What on earth made you think that the juice of almonds would be a love potion, a cure for impotence, when in fact,’ Narcissus threw his head back and neighed with laughter, ‘well, to be honest, it is a cure, isn’t it? I mean, everything disappears.’ His face became serious. ‘Including life itself.’

Agrippina stared at him in horror.

‘What are you talking about? she shrieked. ‘You, you. .’

‘Physician.’ Narcissus smiled. ‘I’m a physician; didn’t Spicerius ever tell you about me?’ Narcissus patted his groin. ‘Poor thing, he had problems down here; it’s a common enough complaint. Many soldiers, fighters and wrestlers complain how their manhood is drained. I mean, usually there’s nothing wrong with them.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘More a problem with the mind and heart than anything else. A disturbance of the humours.’ He sighed. ‘Dear Spicerius was so agitated! He lusted after you, darling, but he had dark thoughts.’

‘What is this?’ Agrippina made to rise, but Narcissus, edging closer, gripped her wrist.

‘I wouldn’t leave, darling. You see, I’m your friend. You may need my help because these good people here think you poisoned Spicerius. You should really sit and listen to them, as I will before I make up my mind.’

‘I’ve had you followed,’ Claudia declared. ‘You often visit Dacius’s house. You’ve also been seen with his men. I suspect you’ve already opened your legs for Meleager. You’re a heartless whore, Agrippina, who likes the company of gladiators so as to get rid of your boredom. You have a nose for mischief; that’s how Dacius drew you into his plot. Dacius thinks he controls most of the gambling in Rome, the money lending, the high rates of interest, and every so often he likes to make a killing, doesn’t he, whether it’s a cock fight, a wrestling bout or two men fighting to the death in the arena. Dacius and Meleager. .’ Claudia paused. ‘Dacius and Meleager,’ she repeated, ‘are friends. Dacius plotted that Meleager should be the champion, the Victor Ludorum. Meleager is a good fighter, perhaps one of the best. Dacius and his friends arranged. . what would you call it? A double wager? Spicerius to lose, Murranus to win; Murranus to lose, Meleager to win. Can you imagine the profit, Agrippina? The money being moved, accumulating rapidly as it shifts from one bet to the other? I understand you could make millions, a veritable fortune. Am I expressing myself clearly? Anyway, that’s what Sallust the Searcher says.’