by Paul Doherty
'He was persuasive.' Secundus spoke up. 'He was very eloquent. He pointed out that Postulus had failed to be a good officer. If he was so drunk, we should leave him alone, trap the Picts, kill them and claim the glory. The rest of our story is true.'
'Is it?' Claudia asked. 'You are sure you butchered every single Pict?'
'According to Stathylus,' Secundus spoke up, 'we did.'
'What do you mean, according to Stathylus?'
Secundus gestured at Crispus. 'After the fight, we were sent out on a scouting mission. When we returned, the dead Picts lay heaped in a great pile outside the southern gate. They were drenched in oil and burned. There were no prisoners.'
'And the Golden Maid?' Murranus asked. 'What happened to her?'
'When we attacked the war band,' Crispus replied, 'the Golden Maid had been shackled in a wood. Stathylus made the stupid mistake of bringing her down to see the dead. She was truly beautiful,' he whispered. 'She had hair as gold as ripened corn, pale ivory skin.'
'Have you seen Cassia?' Claudia asked. 'The former courtesan? She's a close friend of Urbana, General Aurelian's wife.'
'Yes, I have.' Secundus half smiled. 'Beautiful.' 'Was she like that?' Claudia asked.
'A little,' Secundus conceded, 'but Cassia is not the Golden Maid. For a start she is too young; secondly she doesn't look like her. More importantly, I know what happened to the Golden Maid.'
'What?' Claudia asked.
'As I have said, Stathylus brought her down. She looked at the dead and cried. We celebrated. We found old Postulus hacked to bits, but of course we all kept quiet; technically we were guilty of mutiny. We burned his corpse as well. The reason we all agreed to it is that Stathylus had promised how, once we'd annihilated the Picts, we'd abandon the mile fort and march south to search out General Aurelian. Postulus had wanted to stay on the wall. Once he was dead, we'd won our great victory and were only too pleased to go.'
'What happened?' Murranus insisted.
'Well, as I've said, we celebrated. We had some wine and food. Stathylus lay with the Golden Maid. We heard her shrieks as he pleasured her. We'd camped outside the mile fort; next morning we found the Golden Maid had hanged herself from a beam inside.'
'Hanged herself?' Claudia asked.
'Shame.' Crispus spoke up. 'Because of her, her husband and his entire war band had been destroyed. She knew what would happen next. Stathylus would either sell her in the market or pass her on, so she'd taken a piece of rope and hanged herself.'
'You are sure she was dead?'
'I am certain. We burned her corpse and rode south, and that was the last time we ever saw that mile fort, the Picts or the Golden Maid. We became heroes, saviours, warriors. No one dared tell the truth. Strange,' Crispus mused. 'I always felt more guilty about Postulus than the Golden Maid.'
'I have asked this before,' Claudia said, 'but is it possible that someone from that Pictish war band survived?' Secundus shook his head.
'Impossible,' Crispus declared. 'We killed them all. Stathylus was insistent on that. He wanted to make sure that no one survived to describe how Postulus had been killed; that was very important. No Pict escaped, and as your friend said,' he pointed at Murranus, 'the battle took place at night. There was some torchlight, but even then our helmets and cloaks hid our faces. More importantly, it was eighteen years ago.'
'Have you searched?' Murranus asked. 'I mean, to see if there are Pictish slaves in Rome?'
'Of course there are,' Secundus sneered. 'Slaves from every tribe and country under the sun, but no one has ever approached us. Anyway, why now, after eighteen years?'
Claudia realised there were no further questions to be asked. She got to her feet, picked up her cloak and stared at the two veterans. 'We have to go. There is nothing we can really do at the moment, but I warn you of this, never be alone, never allow any woman to approach you. If you do that, you might survive!'
'Will you tell General Aurelian?' asked Crispus. 'I mean about Postulus?'
'I certainly think there's a need,' Claudia replied. 'Not immediately, but when I need him…'
'His blood is not on our hands,' Crispus declared stridently. 'We were not party to his death, that's why we kept the secret. Now Stathylus is dead, I don't mind if the truth comes out. We had no hand in Postulus' death.'
Claudia thanked both men, then she and Murranus went down the stairs and into the street. Darkness had now fallen. Shapes flittered across the mouth of an alleyway; strange sounds and cries filled the air. They walked down into the nearby square, where the mercenaries still lounged about; they'd fixed a cresset torch into the wall of a house and were sharing out a jug of wine. Across the square, a warlock dressed in a feathery black cloak was crooning above a bowl of fire; an old woman crouched next to him sprinkled some powder over the flame, making it leap and crackle. Voices shouted curses. Somewhere a child cried, followed by a woman's shrieking laugh. Claudia put her arm through Murranus' and drew him close. A whore came stumbling up clutching a lantern, which she raised. In the faded light her face looked repulsive: no forehead, a short podgy nose, nostrils dilated, mouth curled as she muttered a curse.
'What are you doing here?' she accused Claudia. Murranus pushed her aside, and immediately another figure lurched out of the darkness: a thickset man with an owlish, cunning face, huge slobbery mouth, fists ready to punch. He stopped, looked Murranus up and down and, grasping the woman by the hair, pulled her away. Claudia and Murranus walked on. The air reeked of the stale odours of cooking, fried fish, coarse bread and rancid meat-dripping. Musicians stood in a pool of light and with rebec and fife encouraged wild dancers, dark, shadowy figures, to whirl and turn. Claudia was relieved to approach the She Asses tavern. Murranus stopped just at the mouth of the alleyway leading down to it.
I've been thinking,' he murmured.
'Dangerous!' Claudia teased.
'No.' Murranus glanced down at her. 'We questioned those two veterans about that Pictish war band: has one survived, come to Rome, recognised his tormentors and decided to take revenge? However, there is another possibility: Postulus. Did someone close to him, a lover, a member of his family, discover he'd really been murdered by his own men?'
Claudia stood on tiptoe and kissed Murranus on the cheek. 'Yes, that is a possibility and one we must investigate.'
They continued down the alleyway into the square fronting the She Asses. Claudia glimpsed the two Vigiles, swords drawn, standing either side of the doorway.
'Oh no!' she moaned. 'Now what!' They hurried across. One of the Vigiles went to stop her then recognised her and stood back; he smiled at Murranus and waved them through the half-open door. Inside the eating room the captain of the Vigiles sat at a table with Poppaoe, Polybius and Apuleius; all three looked worried, whilst the captain appeared distinctly uncomfortable, as if something had happened that couldn't be bribed away.
'What's wrong?' Claudia walked towards them.
Polybius refused to hold her gaze.
'What's wrong, Uncle?'
'Tell her!' Poppaoe whispered, head down. 'You'd best tell her.'
'I won't just tell.' Polybius, much the worse for drink, staggered to his feet, swaying backward and forwards. 'Come with me.'
They climbed the stairs and went along the gallery to a guest chamber. Claudia's agitation deepened at the splinters of the wood lying outside. Something dreadful must have occurred. The door to the chamber had been forced, its bolts and clasps broken, shards of wood everywhere. Inside the small, narrow chamber, on a cot bed, sprawled the corpse of Theodore. One glance told her what had happened. The former actor looked ugly in death, his face podgy and white, mouth open, tongue sticking out, eyes popping.
'No!' Claudia groaned. 'Uncle, what happened?' She walked slowly across to the bed and felt the corpse's cheek, — it was cold, almost wax-like. She knelt down, pushing the corpse more securely on to the bed. Murranus helped her. She sniffed at the mouth and smelled nothing suspicious, but she could tell by the poppi
ng eyes, the rictus, the way the lips were forced back that Theodore had been poisoned. Death must have been fairly swift.
She got to her feet and turned round. Uncle Polybius stood in the doorway, one hand on the Vigiles' shoulder to steady himself.
'What you see is what we know,' Polybius pleaded. 'We were having such a marvellous celebration downstairs. The kitchen was doing a busy trade. Theodore left, saying he felt distinctly unwell, and came up here. I decided to invite him back down to keep an eye on him as you asked. So I came up, banged on the door, but he wouldn't answer. I got Oceanus to force it.' He gestured. 'It happened an hour ago, and now we've got trouble! I didn't ask him to come here, Claudia!'
'He's been poisoned.' Apuleius came up behind Uncle Polybius and forced his way through. 'Look around, Claudia.'
Claudia glimpsed the wine cup. It had rolled against the wall, a pool of wine around it. The stool next to the bed had also been knocked over as if Theodore had been lying on the bed and then become agitated, arms flailing, tipping over both the wine cup and the stool, trying to get himself up before collapsing back on to the bed.
'Do you know the cause?' Claudia asked.
Apuleius dug into the purse on his belt and handed the captain of the Vigiles a coin; the officer promptly disappeared. The apothecary and Polybius walked into the chamber, forcing the broken door shut behind them and placing the broken stool against it. For a while they helped Claudia and Murranus arrange Theodore's corpse along the bed, folding his hands over his stomach. Claudia had seen enough death that evening and, taking a coloured cloth from the wall, she covered the dead actor's face. She then sat on the floor, her back to the door, and stared up at her uncle.
'What caused this, what happened? I thought you'd look after him.'
'We did.' Polybius squatted down, sitting cross-legged like a schoolboy. 'We were enjoying ourselves. People were flocking in to see the Great Miracle. Apuleius was here. Theodore complained of a sensitive stomach. Anyway I could see he was beginning to sway, and I said perhaps it was time for a lie-down, take it easy for a while, so he came upstairs, and the rest you know.'
Claudia pointed at the corpse. 'Are you sure he was poisoned?'
'I think so.' Apuleius sat on the edge of the cot bed and stared sorrowfully at her. 'I don't know what noxious potion, some plant, but he has definitely been poisoned.' He gestured at the wine cup. 'I've checked that carefully, it's not to blame.'
'So that means somebody came into this tavern,' Claudia said slowly, 'and poisoned his wine or food.' She rose, picked up the wine cup, sniffed at it, ran her finger around it and tasted the faint dregs. 'Nothing but the best,' she muttered. She handed the cup to Apuleius, who scrutinised it again and pronounced the same conclusion.
'Ah well.' Claudia stared down at the corpse. 'What do we do now?'
'I'll get Narcissus the Neat to have a look at it.' Polybius clambered to his feet. 'Some of the lads owe me money, — they can take the corpse to the nearest death house.'
Claudia nodded, and Polybius opened the door for her. She went out on to the landing, down the stairs and into the moon-washed garden. She stood for a while, allowing the cool breeze to fan the heat of her face. Murranus came up behind her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. She turned, stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips.
'Sleep well,' she whispered and tweaked his ear. 'I've talked and listened enough for one evening — tomorrow it's General Aurelian's…'
Claudia and Murranus left just as dawn was breaking. They slipped out of the She Asses and along the dusty trackways leading to the Via Tusculana, which cut through the Severan Wall. Even though the sun had yet to rise, the city had come to life. At the top of the alleyway, Torquatus the Tonsor was busy preparing for business behind his stall under the gnarled sycamore tree, sharpening his razors on what he boasted was a special stone imported from Syria. He was full of chatter about magical stones, herbs and animals. He was already pontificating to a small group that had gathered. On any other occasion Claudia would have stayed to listen. Torquatus was fascinating, a born actor with an inexhaustible fund of stories, but General Aurelian, being an old soldier, would surely be an early riser, and it would be best to see him before the business of the day began.
The streets were filling with merchants as well as water-carriers, sweepers and rakers. The sewer men were out with their wheelbarrows emptying the latrines and cesspits, all shouting good-natured abuse at each other. The grimy cook-shops were open, the portable stoves and ovens being set up at judicious places to attract those who'd risen, as one notice brazenly proclaimed, 'with an empty stomach and a dry throat'. A funeral procession was gathering with professional mourners, priests and an Egyptian choir dressed in blue and scarlet head-dresses. A group of dancers from Spain, ejected from some tavern and desperate to earn money to buy from the water-carriers with their fresh supply, were offering to do a dance for anyone who'd pay them a couple of coins. Linen-clad, shaven-headed priests of some Babylonian god went by, guzzling wine, blowing horns, their long curled hair whirling in the breeze. Scholars, eyes swollen with sleep, staggered out for morning school whilst their mothers stood in the doorways of apartments and houses with brooms of green palms or twigs of tamarisk, heather and myrtle. Already the heralds were busy proclaiming what was on sale in the city, particularly the latest wigs, which could be found in a shop near the Temple of Hercules.
The day's heat was beginning to make itself felt, and by the time they reached the city gate, Claudia's lips and throat were bone dry. She and Murranus stopped at an ale booth to refresh themselves and wipe away the dust with cracked cups of fruit juice. They remained silent, not talking until they were out into the countryside, following the via as it cut through fields of ripening corn. After taking directions from a farmer, they left the road, going along a trackway which wound past cypress, plane and pine trees. On either side meadows and harvest land stretched up to the main gate of Aurelian's villa. Here the porter carefully inspected the seal Claudia carried bearing the imprint of the Empress and, on the reverse, an instruction ordering everyone on their allegiance to help its bearer with her enquiries. The gates were promptly swung open, and Claudia and Murranus entered another world, of pebbled paths, lawns, orchards, small copses of trees, fountains, pools of purity, all carefully laid out on either side of the path which swept up to the atrium of the magnificent villa.
At the house, servants greeted them with bowls of perfumed water so they could wash their hands and faces. Afterwards they were taken through the atrium, a splendid affair with a small lake beneath an opening in the roof, then down a porticoed walk to the inner chambers. Claudia was aware of beautiful stone walls decorated with paintings and frescos in yellow amber, bronze, Damascene copper; pillars of Phrygian marble, doors and lintels inset with malachite and tortoiseshell, ceilings sparkling with gold and precious objects. Everything was cool, fresh and sweet-smelling.
For a while they had to sit in a chamber with a wood-laced ceiling of Lebanese cedar; on the walls beautiful paintings celebrated the triumphs of Ceres, Goddess of Spring. Claudia tapped Murranus on the thigh and put her finger to her lips as a warning to remain silent. She knew that many of these villas, built specially for their owners, often had secret eyelets or gaps where people could eavesdrop on any conversation taking place. Claudia leaned back against the cool marbled wall and closed her eyes. The previous night's sleep had not been good, her mind still tortured by images of Stathylus lying in that filthy alleyway and Theodore sprawled out on the bed, his face twisted in agony. She wanted to be by herself just to make sense of the chaos in her mind, but this meeting was important and she had to prepare herself. She half listened to the sounds of the villa coming to life: servants hurrying by along the corridors and passageways, the distant sound of a flute, the cries of serving girls, the neigh of horses from the stables. A chamberlain brought some bread, grapes and watered wine. Claudia and Murranus ate hungrily, and still they waited. Eventually, after what seeme
d to be an eternity, an arrogant freedman curtly ordered them to follow him.
He led them deep into the house, to what he called the Chamber of Mysteries, a beautiful room with mosaics on the wall celebrating the life of Dionysius and his travels across the world. General Aurelian was waiting for them almost enthroned on a blue and gold stool. His wife Urbana sat on his right with Cassia next to her, and to his left was a young man with close-cropped auburn hair and a smiling face, clad in a light green tunic belted firmly around the waist. Aurelian looked what he was, a former general, a soldier, a tough, wiry man, white hair straggling down a furrowed face like that of a hunting falcon, a sharp-beaked nose above thin, bloodless lips, and eyes that never seemed to blink. He looked much older than Claudia had expected, and she reckoned that Urbana must be twenty or thirty years his junior.
The General welcomed them in clipped tones and asked if they'd eaten. He hardly bothered to wait for their reply but immediately introduced his son Alexander, muttered that they had already met his lady wife Urbana and the Lady Cassia, whom he dismissed with a flick of his eyes, then turned back smiling to his son. Claudia learned a great deal in those few seconds. The relationship between the General and his good wife was, perhaps, not what it should be, whilst Cassia was good-naturedly tolerated. The General's attention was solely on Alexander, a pleasant-mannered, happy-faced, gentle-eyed boy who gazed adoringly at Murranus and had to be restrained by his father from a spate of questions about the arena and the gladiator's great triumphs there. Instead the General, as if barking orders to his tribunes, listed Murranus' duties.
'Do you understand?' he ended, leaning forward. 'Do you fully understand what I ask?'
'Yes, sir,' Murranus replied. 'I am to be your son's shadow.'
The General's severe face broke into a faint smile. He jabbed his finger at Murranus. 'I like you, man, that's the answer I wanted. Where he goes, you follow, and you're always armed. You've brought your war belt?'