‘Who?’ Agrippina’s lips hardly moved.

‘Oh, you don’t know Sallust?’ Claudia moved her dagger from hand to hand. ‘You don’t know him but he knows you. He’s been watching you very carefully.’

‘I’m a free citizen, I can go where I wish. I’m not a slave or a tavern slut.’

‘I don’t deny that.’ Claudia smiled. ‘And you can sit and insult me to your heart’s content. When people see you, they just say, “That’s Agrippina.” What they would find more interesting is your knowledge of love potions.’ She dug into the wallet on her belt and drew out a piece of parchment. ‘You do recognise this?’ She held it up. ‘It’s in your hand. “Love conquers Agrippina. Love conquers Spicerius”?’

‘I gave it to him, there’s no crime in that!’

‘No, but there is in poisoning. You first tried it at the amphitheatre and you failed. You mixed the potion with Spicerius’s face paints and, only later, when no one was looking, poured some into the cup he had been drinking from in order to cast suspicion on Murranus or even Polybius. Murranus was meant to kill Spicerius but didn’t. The poison you used, or so physician Valens will tell you, wasn’t strong enough. It was meant to be absorbed through the skin; I don’t know how it works.’ Claudia waved a hand at Valens. ‘Perhaps you can explain to our friend.’

‘It’s true.’ Valens needed little prompting; his intense dislike of Agrippina was vibrant and passionate. ‘A physician,’ he kept his voice low, ‘removes all possible causes for a disease or infection. What he cannot remove is usually the true cause. I questioned Spicerius very closely about that day in the amphitheatre. He had eaten the night before and drank some water before he left for the arena. However, he insisted he felt hale and hearty until shortly before the fight.’

‘He drank the wine,’ Agrippina intervened.

Valens shook his head. ‘What Spicerius told me, and no one else, was that he felt the first, early symptoms before he drank the wine.’

‘You’re lying!’ Agrippina shouted.

Valens was, but he held her gaze. ‘What you did, you murdering bitch, is what Claudia has described. There are women in Rome who’ve actually poisoned themselves with their creams, powders and oils. Some of the paint they use to decorate their eyes contains belladonna, whilst their powders hold a deadly form of lead, even arsenic, which can eat away at their faces. You must have seen it yourself. Such noxious potions enter the body’s humours, rot the innards and pollute the blood. On the morning Spicerius was to fight Murranus, you visited him, bringing your face paints mixed with poison. Spicerius always liked to look his best. He claimed that if he painted himself liked a woman it often disconcerted his opponent. Do you remember that morning, Agrippina? His face was heavily painted. He felt the first symptoms when he arrived at the amphitheatre, but dismissed them as tension. He drank the wine and walked into the arena. Any physician will tell you that a mixture of wine, intense excitement, fear or pleasure, combined with physical activity, will send the blood racing. It was then the poison took effect. However, because it had not been absorbed totally through the skin,’ Valens leaned over his finger, only a few inches from Agrippina’s face, ‘and because of his splendid physique and fitness, Spicerius survived. He retched and he vomited, and that saved his life. Meanwhile, in the cavern beyond the Gate of Life, while everybody was distracted by the uproar caused by his condition, you went across and poured the same poison into Spicerius’s cup.

‘I don’t really think,’ Valens smiled grimly, ‘that you intended to kill him, just weaken him and allow Murranus to do the rest.’

Agrippina’s face was ashen and sweat-soaked.

‘You have no proof of this, you’re making it up.’

‘Spicerius didn’t.’ Valens smiled grimly. ‘He maintained he was in fine condition until he painted his face. He began to wonder, but he was so infatuated with you, he couldn’t believe his darling Agrippina wanted him dead. I advised him, as I had before, not to wear face paint; even the most innocent creams and oils can contain a noxious potion.’ Valens stamped his foot. ‘At first I thought it could have been an accident, but. .’ His voice trailed off. ‘I began to wonder. . Anyway,’ Valens clicked his tongue, ‘Spicerius became agitated, withdrawn, deeply troubled. He swore he never suspected Murranus and looked forward to a second fight. He also complained he was suffering from impotence. He was, wasn’t he? He told me how you had given him love potions; he truly believed they worked. There are drugs in Rome which can cure a man of such a malady, at least for a while. Isn’t that true, Narcissus?’

‘What you didn’t know, darling,’ Narcissus now took up the story, gripping Agrippina’s arm tightly, ‘was that my good friend Valens had sent his patient to me. I examined Spicerius most carefully, his groin, his anus. I could feel no growth or source of malignancy. I believe that on the day he died he went down to the gladiator school to meet Murranus. Before he arrived there he visited you, but he also visited me. He showed me that love potion: the piece of parchment and the two dried tablets it contained, baked hard like biscuits, though they’ll crumble when mixed with water or wine. I, of course, dismissed them as nonsense, but Spicerius was adamant. He said you had given him love potions before, mixed with wine, and he had suffered no ill effects. I took a little of that potion, sliced it off with my knife and placed it on a weighing scale. I meant to examine it, but,’ Narcissus shrugged elegantly, ‘you know how it is, darling, such a busy life! I didn’t think of it again until Valens told me how Spicerius died.’

‘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.