The Sign of The Blood

by Laurence OBryan

  “Attend.” Her voice rang out, sharp, bleak.

  The other priestesses moaned in unison. Each of them faced outwards now, looking up at the sky. Out of where the sun sets, the region of darkness, a black hooded crow came swooping low over the city. At first it was only a pinprick against the gray shroud of clouds, only visible because a priestess pointed at it. Then, as it neared, it wheeled and turned and called to its brethren, dropped down and out of sight. The priestess put the snake back in the jar.

  Another bird, far up, hung poised in the air. One of the other priestesses pointed at it until it too disappeared, flying high over the city.

  The priestesses conferred. After much nodding and whispering, one of their number came forward and stood in front of Maxentius with her hands raised. She had three small circular blue marks on her left forearm, similar to the marks some centurions tattooed on their cheeks. She bowed.

  “The birds allow it.” She spoke in a soft, emotionless patrician accent. “The river of flame will consume us all.”

  Constantine had to strain forward to hear her.

  “A great man comes soon to power.” She looked at Maxentius. “But it will take an ending to create a beginning. This is the one truth.” She bowed, turned, and walked slowly away, with the other priestesses following in a line behind.

  The reading was as ambiguous as these things always were. Had there ever been a time when great men weren’t coming to power?

  But there was something about the way the reading had been done that made the hairs on the back of Constantine’s neck stand up. No matter what he thought of all these ceremonies, such readings as he had heard from these priestesses more often turned out to be true.

  Could he be the great man coming soon to power? That thought was interesting, though it might be no more than wishful thinking. But there was always the chance his father would reinstate him as his successor. Perhaps these priestesses knew about that. It was all very possible.

  Maxentius clapped his hands. Slaves rushed forward and assisted him to his feet. He staggered up, then pushed them away.

  “Come, Constantine, there is a feast being readied. I think we’ve all had enough of the augers for today.”

  They all followed Maxentius along a wide marble path and then through an open doorway in the main building. It led them into a large dining hall.

  Constantine felt tired. He'd rested little the night before, as their ship had been preparing to dock, and his mind turning over what was to come in Rome had shortened the little sleep he did get.

  Three low black-veined marble tables filled one end of the room. Each table was surrounded on three sides by long silk-shrouded couches. A statue of a bull ejecting water from its mouth stood in the center of the room. As he passed it he noticed splashes of red on the white marble near the statue's hooves. Blood.

  Constantine and Lucius were taken to the same table as Maxentius. Juliana again stood behind them. She looked nervous. She’d probably never served at such a meal before. Well, there was only one way to learn. Ornate platters of figs, cheese and olives were offered first. Sweet wine was served with them. Constantine raised his glass to his lips and moved some figs around his plate but didn't eat or drink. Nobody seemed to notice.

  He weighed up possible excuses for a quick departure, then became aware that everyone at his table had stopped talking. They were all staring down the room. He followed their gaze. A young woman, slender, tall, sashaying like a goddess, was coming toward them. She wore a billowing green silk robe split open to below the navel, exposing a shiny expanse of honey-colored skin. Thin gold chains kept the sides of her robe in place, but they seemed certain to slip and expose her even more at any moment.

  Something flashed at her belly button as she walked, and an innocent, wide-eyed smile added to her charm. She prostrated herself in front of Maxentius and her breasts were exposed to Constantine for a moment. Firm nipples glittered from a sprinkling of gold dust. When her head came back up her eyes flickered from right to left, as if flirting with every man in the room.

  “Aaah, Sybellina, my one and only angel. My beautiful. I'm so glad you decided to join us.” Maxentius rose a little, then flopped down again.

  “Please, come sit with us my beauty, and meet Constantine. He is also the son of an emperor, though that title seems to have less significance than it used to.” Maxentius made a space at his side. Without replying she lowered herself cautiously onto Maxentius’ couch. Then she lowered her gaze and draped an arm on Maxentius’ thigh, like a cat protecting its food.

  Her eyes were large, green and accentuated with glittering malachite in a wide arc extending beyond her upper eyelids. She seemed to be reveling in all the glances being cast her way but returned only his gaze. He wondered how many love amulets had been made in her honor. And how many protective amulets wives had given their husbands when she was around.

  “I'm honored to meet you, my lord.” Her bow was slight, as if she considered him less honorable than he thought he deserved. Her patrician tone had a jaded edge, as if she knew the answer to anything he might ask.

  “Tell me, my lord, are you a follower of Bacchus, like my one true friend, Maxentius?” Her pencil-thin eyebrows rose in anticipation, as if no answer he gave could be any more than a curiosity. She ran a hand through her hair. Brown curls cascaded in sheets of honey over her shoulders.

  “I am all for moderation,” said Constantine.

  She leaned forward. He felt the full force of her attention, her eyes wide, expression puzzled, but sympathetic. For a moment, he thought she’d signaled him to move closer, as if she wanted him to hear something. He shifted toward her. She responded with a movement of her lips, as if she wanted to smile at him, but had quickly stopped herself.

  She turned her attention to Maxentius, as if concerned she’d been ignoring him, though the friendly sideways glance she gave Constantine as she turned made it clear it was he she’d rather be talking to.

  He noticed small blue dot marks on her left forearm.

  “I must be totally straight with you, Constantine. We two are stuck with similar horses, as Cicero once said.” Maxentius leant toward Constantine.

  “You see, I asked my beautiful Sybellina to join us for a reason.” He took a gulp of his wine. As he did so, he placed a hand absent mindedly on Sybellina's bare forearm. She nudged it away, while staring coolly at Constantine. Maxentius' eyes had been following what she was doing. For a moment, he looked like a little boy deprived of a favorite plaything.

  Maxentius moved closer to him. “I’m glad Galerius released you. He thinks the vine of ambition has been cut, but you and I know the world may yet need us, don’t we, Constantine?” He took another draught of his wine.

  “You may be right,” said Constantine.

  “I am, and I must now make a small request.” He gestured, waving his hand in the air.

  “Will you permit my friend Sybellina to accompany you to Gaul? She is my messenger to your father. It will be simpler for all of us if she travels with you. It is an easy request to grant, is it not?” His gaze drifted to Sybellina, then back to Constantine.

  He shook his head. Although he felt curious about Sybellina, his instincts told him she’d be trouble. He’d spent too long waiting for this journey to need a spy with him.

  “Why don’t you send her on one of your ships, Maxentius. She will get there faster, I am sure, and my father will be keen to hear what she has to say. We would slow her down.”

  “I’m not a burden, my lord, am I?” Sybellina’s reply was like sweet water falling into a golden bowl. She bowed her head to him, lower this time, and again he caught a glimpse of gold dusted nipple. She was tempting, very tempting.

  A slight noise made him turn to see Juliana looking as downcast as he’d ever seen her. Had she not been taught that slaves were meant to be quiet?

  “You see, the invitation is for you to come with me, my lord,” Sybellina continued. “My lord Maxentius has a dozen galleys at th
e Portus, all of them bigger than the ship they tell me you arrived on. We are concerned for your security.” She emphasized the word security.

  “We will have the fastest of Rome’s ships to take us, a ship with proper protection against pirates. They have infested the coast of Gaul, you know.” She tossed her hair.

  “I'm sure it’s in your interest to take up this offer, my lord.” She paused, then continued in a slightly harder tone. “Is it not dishonorable for a guest to refuse his host? Maxentius wishes only to help you. Will you refuse him?” She sounded astonished.

  “How could I?” He was trapped. To refuse would be an insult that would allow Maxentius to take offence. And who knew what he might do then, what delays he might place in their path. If this was the price he would have to pay for Maxentius’ cooperation, so be it.

  It could have been worse. If what Sybellina said was true, Maxentius' ships would be ideal for the voyage to Gaul, and if he agreed, Maxentius would probably allow him to leave immediately. Anyway, perhaps it would be enjoyable. Who knew what might happen on a long journey with Sybellina? What should he be afraid of?

  “Your decision is the right one, my lord. Now, I must ready myself. I expect you wish to leave soon.” She glanced at his uneaten food, stood, bowed and left the room with the admiring glances of most of the men in the room on her.

  “So, Constantine.” Maxentius looked delighted. “Our little oracle priestess has persuaded you. She'd make a good man, wouldn't she?” He laughed.

  Everyone looked at him. The room filled with infectious laughter. Constantine's ears tingled. Some of that laughter was directed at him. He fought a sudden urge to push Maxentius from his couch and stab something into him.

  “Yes, you’re right. Now I must beg permission to head back to the Portus at once,” he said, as soon as the laughter died a little. He had to get away. If he stayed he'd only start a fight.

  Maxentius giggled madly, as if he’d remembered some private joke.

  “The evening is no time to travel through the city, Constantine. Stay, drink, we have girls for every taste, and boys too, of every age, though I can understand your need to get away. The physician who warned me against pursuing pleasure died under a priestess himself.” He winked and grinned lasciviously like a man possessed by a daemon.

  “We can be through the city before dark, Maxentius, but we must go now. I can assure you, your messenger will arrive safely.” He stood, bowed formally, and without waiting for a response, headed for the door.

  Lucius and Juliana followed him out through the palace. He heard them behind him but ignored them. Behind him a burst of music and raucous laughter rose up, then faded.

  One part of him, the careful part, hoped Sybellina might miss their hurried departure. But when they reached the stables she was already there, dressed in a long woolen cloak and calling to her mare, prancing around the stable yard. She must have known Maxentius’ plan. Tiny was ineffectually trying to calm the horse. Sybellina looked distraught, or she was playing at being defenseless.

  “Can the daughter of an oracle not soothe a horse?” asked Constantine. He took the reins from Tiny and began murmuring softly. The horse kicked dangerously, then, eyeing him as he whispered, it went quiet.

  “My freedom was the price of my mother’s,” said Sybellina, bowing. “I spent my childhood far from any stables. I learned to ride only recently.” She turned to Juliana, who was standing near the doorway into the stables.

  “What a beautiful slave you have,” she said, her voice pure sweetness. “Is she yours, my lord?” Her eyebrows rose.

  “She belongs to Lucius, not me,” Constantine said as he mounted. He knew what she was really asking. Was Juliana in his bed every night.

  The sun was sinking over red tiled roofs as they made their way back through the city. He decided to shorten their journey by cutting through the Subura, the seedy area below the Aventine Hill. It would be the quickest way to the southern outskirts. He did not want to pass through the city gates around the time they closed.

  The Subura had declined even further since he’d passed through it three years before. The number of stray dogs had shot up. They barked at the passing riders from alleyways, as if they rarely saw horses. Only a few late bread shops were open here. There were no rows of fine colonnades as in the better areas of the city. Few people lingered on these streets, but noisy tavernas hummed from behind closed doors. The cold wind was icier now, making the soft glow of light from the tavernas look very welcoming.

  Then they passed down a street whose appearance disturbed him. Most of the street level shops and apartment entrances had been broken into. Wooden doors lay busted open. A pitiful wreckage of furniture, pottery and emptied sacks had been thrown into the street.

  A few beggars were pawing through the items as they passed. Others were dragging away anything of value. Further along, a macabre sight greeted them, a burnt-out chariot with two blackened human corpses beside it. They rode on afterwards in silence.

  The sound of a mob is unmistakable.

  He’d heard that sound, that torrent of stampeding rage before, but still it took a moment to register. Then he looked around.

  Behind them, approaching at a run, came a gang of beggars, the bloodlust clear on their faces, cudgels and long knives in their hands.

  “Ride, ride for your lives,” he shouted.

  They were almost within the mob's grasp. It wouldn't be often this rabble got such easy pickings inside the Subura.

  Almost as one, they kicked their mounts into action. Only Juliana hesitated, staring back at the crowd as her horse ambled forward. Sybellina, who was near her, kicked her horse up beside Juliana’s and grabbed the reins out of her hand. She pulled the surprised animal along as she kicked her own to go faster. Juliana looked startled for a moment, then leant forward and clutched her horse's neck.

  They clattered down the rapidly darkening street, Constantine and Lucius urging them on, turning constantly to check no one had fallen back.

  Soon the noise of the mob grew distant behind them. Constantine turned a corner, slowed, and looked back. His breath was coming fast and thick. No one had been lost. And the mob had disappeared, as if it had never existed. They cantered past a blackened guard house and out onto a wide avenue with people coming and going. Torches were burning outside tavernas. The city gates would be closing soon.

  “Never race through the city. 'Tis an unhealthy sport,” shouted a watchman from a window. Then he laughed, and the sound echoed after them.

  They were out of the Subura.

  The mob wouldn't dare follow them. But they didn’t stop until they reached the city gate.

  Thankfully the gate was still open and late travelers were streaming in and out, but the traders beside the gate were packing up and scavengers could be seen lurking in small groups.

  Sybellina turned to Constantine and grinned, as if she’d been enjoying her ride. Lucius was talking to Juliana. She nodded, staring down at the cobbles. Tiny patted his horse. Its head was also down.

  The knowledge of how close they’d all been to death sent a shiver through him. It had been some time since he’d felt so threatened. That was not the way he wanted to die, fighting desperate, half-starved Romans. Why had nothing been done about the Subura? He shook his head. Nicomedia was a safer city than this.

  He waved at Lucius to come forward.

  “Change of plan,” he said. “We’ll stay in a tavern near here. Try one of those.” He pointed down a side street with a string of well-lit tavernas on it. “You make the booking. If they guess who I am, they’ll double the rate.”

  Lucius nodded, kicked his horse forward.

  The following morning, Constantine woke with a thumping headache. A battered jug stood by his bed. He poured some water into a wooden goblet and drank. Then he filled it again and drank some more.

  Despite his headache, he felt good. He’d got away from Maxentius quickly. A fast departure for Gaul was all he could have hoped for.


  And now the easiest part of their journey loomed. And for the first time, their destination felt near. Yes, he'd have to be careful about Sybellina, she was more than she seemed, but that might not be too unpleasant a task, exposing her secrets.

  Aside from that his only other concern, one that annoyed him more every time he thought about it, was the role he would be given when he reached Gaul. Were the long ago promises his mother had made really going to stand up, now he was about to call them in?

  Her promises had always eased his childhood fears. Over time he’d felt increasingly confident that her predictions of glory for her only son would come true. He’d seen blades miss him in battle, had felt spears and arrows fly by his head, and each time they did, each time he escaped some near-death experience, he’d hoped she was right, that he was being saved for greatness.

  As he dressed, he hummed an old pleb tune his mother had taught him. He couldn't remember many of the words, but he knew the feeling of optimism the tune evoked.

  “Their traps are sprung,

  Their spells are broken,

  I have come to take what is mine.”

  A province, maybe two, waiting for him beyond these thinly plastered walls. His time approached. He could feel it.

  “You’re right. Maxentius probably does takes advantage of these riots,” said Lucius, after the serving girl had gone to fetch more bread.

  Lucius had been waiting for him in the taverna's courtyard. The place had no other guests up yet, so they were being well looked after.

  Beyond the roofed area of the taverna’s inner courtyard, a bright blue sky held all the promise of an early spring. A pair of sparrows sang from a cherry tree in the center of the courtyard, and boughs gemmed with buds arched over the trellised side of the eating area.

  “I bet this lady knows,” said Lucius, looking over Constantine's shoulder.

  Constantine turned, and saw Sybellina approaching in a red woolen tunic that extended to her wrists and knees. The wool looked soft and had gold embroidered oak leaves on the shoulders, and on its edges, thin leather strips. On her feet were riding sandals.