‘Here? In the palace?’
‘Out of sight, in one of the punishment cells to keep his presence a secret.’
Petrus wanted to tell his uncle then that there were no secrets in this building, which was as much a palace of gossip as it was the seat of imperial governance, but there was no point. He had felt a clutch at his heart on hearing that Flavius was alive and that it was he who had daubed a message on the walls; a moment when he saw the angel of death hovering over his body and it had taken all his guile to keep hidden from his uncle the terror that assailed him. Thankfully, having delivered his lightning bolt, Justinus seemed lost in thought, which gave Petrus time to control his breathing and begin to think matters through.
‘Who saw him?’ he demanded.
‘The two guards at the gate, and the man they sent with the message. All three have been spoken to and issued with dire warnings.’
‘The gaoler?’
‘Knows nothing, I took his keys without explanation.’
‘No one else?’
Justinus bridled slightly at that third peremptory query, in what, it seemed to him, was turning into an interrogation. ‘Are you aiming for the post of imperial inquisitor?’
‘Forgive me,’ Petrus responded, knowing it was necessary to be less aggressive. ‘If I feel the need to advise you I would not like to make an error through ignorance.’
‘He’s a fine-looking youth, Petrus,’ Justinus said wistfully, diverting his own anger and a potential point of dispute. ‘Even shabbily dressed you can see his father in him.’
‘Am I permitted to a how did he survive, how did he get here?’
‘No idea,’ came the sighed response. ‘But he is the son of Decimus, for certain.’
‘You are sure?’
‘He mentioned the letters, said they were safe.’
Those documents had been a concern Petrus had carried in silence, never mentioning it as a factor he and his uncle should be anxious about. That correspondence in the wrong hands could not do other than create difficulties, how much so being uncertain. Once Petrus was apprised of the death of Decimus, his elliptical enquiries directed at anyone who might know of the matter appeared fruitless.
They had produced nothing to indicate the scheme to curb the activities of Senuthius Vicinus had become known to anyone outside those already within the circle of knowledge, yet there was a residual disquiet that someone had found out something and acted upon it. That was in the past; Petrus knew he had now to deal with the present.
‘Fine-looking he might be, but his method of contacting you lacks a degree of subtlety.’
Justinus did not miss the tone of deep irony but he did think Petrus had missed an important additional cause for disquiet.
‘Not just me, everyone in the city can come and gaze upon his handiwork. Pentheus Vicinus already has and, according to those who observed his reaction, he nearly had an apoplexy.’
That being far from good news, indeed it had deep ramifications, there was a pause before Petrus responded. ‘What do you intend, Uncle?’
‘To bring him into the palace proper, to hear his tale and to do something to make amends for our failure to protect his family.’
‘Did we fail?’
‘Decimus is dead, is he not, and three of his boys with him? Flavius said they died bravely, but through treachery, which I find easier to believe than what we were told, which was a pack of lies.’
The fact that they were dead and that perfidy was involved only underlined to Petrus how naive his uncle was being. Could he not see the logical conclusion to be drawn from the words he had just employed? That somehow, someone, and he could only guess it to be Pentheus Vicinus, had got wind of what the comes excubitorum was up to. Not the detail, unless it was Anastasius who let slip their shared secret. They had done everything in their power to keep their intentions secure, yet enough had emerged to frustrate their intentions in a quite bloody fashion.
Someone would gossip about this Flavius, if not this day, then at some time very soon. How could Justinus keep him in the palace without the presence of a strange youth being remarked upon? If it were, Pentheus, an experienced courtier steeped in the arts of conspiracy, would deduce that it might be a threat to him. For a man who had already acted as he had that would be enough and there could only be one outcome.
How far would the senator go? Would he seek to undermine Justinus with the emperor, or would he reckon that, with his reputation for probity, such an attempt would only expose his intentions? It had ever been Petrus’s way to seek to put himself in the shoes of others and he did so now, knowing that for Pentheus to feel utterly secure the death of Flavius, identified or not, would ill suffice and for a very good reason: the senator was a man who lived well beyond his discernible means.
He owned several farms, it was true, and they produced abundant crops, but not enough to support the aims of a person who wanted to be a power at the imperial court, where the disbursement of gold was a necessity if you wished to avoid being seen as of no account. It was not hard to deduce where such monies came from.
Pentheus had to be in receipt of monies from his criminal cousin in Moesia and it was those that gave him the power to bribe, the funds to lavishly entertain and the means to present himself as a man of wealth. It return, he shielded the criminal activities that had been regularly reported by Decimus Belisarius.
He would act now as he had done previously, not out of family loyalty, but for personal necessity and the best way to protect what he would be desperate to hang on to was to close off all the avenues that might threaten him. One death might give him satisfaction; three, if they could be carried out discreetly, would seal off the problem completely.
‘I cannot dissuade you from the course you have set us upon, Uncle?’ Petrus asked, even if he knew the answer.
‘I gave my word.’
Petrus nearly broke his commandment then and spoke openly, to ask to be allowed to act as he saw fit to protect all three of them from what they might face. But it was bitten back; the less his uncle knew the better. Once made aware of his actions he would want to be consulted on every gambit and move which, if it did not kill off his intentions, would at the very least impose a check on the freedom Petrus needed to manoeuvre.
‘So be it.’
That got him a hard look. ‘I had expected you to object more than you have.’
‘There is no point, you have made a decision and I know, if you have given your word, you will hold to it. It is what makes you who you are.’
‘What do I say to the emperor?’
‘Nothing! In time perhaps, but not now.’
Justinus came for Flavius after the guards had been set for the night, having brought him a cloak to hide his grime-streaked and paint-spattered clothing, telling him he must abandon his spear. He then led him through seemingly endless silent corridors, lit by flaming sconces under which stood rigid-to-attention guards, who only moved to salute their commander as he hurried by. Officially Justinus had a suite of rooms, one of which was an unused bedchamber – he preferred his barren cell – and attached to that was a bathing chamber, now ready filled with hot water.
‘Take off your clothing and wash, Flavius, for you stink of the gutter. I have had an excubitor tunic laid out for you as well as suitable undergarments, and when you are clean and dressed, we can talk.’
The youngster divested himself of the cloak, which revealed the gold chain and medallion given to him that morning, immediately removed and returned.
‘I will await you in the other room.’
‘Which other room?’ Flavius asked, for they had passed through several.
‘Follow your nose.’
To divest himself of his clothes, in which he seemed to have been living for a lifetime, was bliss on its own; to then step down into a hot bath was akin to paradise, though he did question the smell of powerful unguents that had been added to the water. He would stink of them when finished and such perfumery was counted as unmanly in Dorostorum. Pleasure outweighed concern, for there was a sponge with which to wash, a pumice stone with which to scour his skin and the whole made him feel both alert and secure.