by Paul Doherty
'You wanted to talk to me?'
'It wasn't as we said,' Crispus mumbled between mouthfuls.
'What wasn't?'
'After the attack.' Secundus spoke up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 'Once the massacre was over, Stathylus wanted to enjoy himself. We hunted the war band down in the heather, killed those in the fort and slung their bodies out, burned every single one, a stack of corpses piled like bloody wheat sheaves, but the chieftain was different. We spent the next day, or rather Stathylus did, torturing him. We crucified him against the wall and cut his flesh.
At first the man was brave, he kept his mouth shut, but, of course, everyone has their limits, and by the late afternoon he was screaming with pain, begging to die. Every one of us was a hardened soldier; we've done things, Claudia, you wouldn't dream of, but even we grew tired of it. Stathylus eventually cut the Pict's throat and that was the end of the matter.'
'What was worse,' Crispus took a generous sip of the wine, 'was that Stathylus brought the Golden Maid to watch what he called the "fun". She fainted at least twice and was roused to watch again.'
'Why are you telling me this?' Claudia asked.
'We agreed,' Crispus replied, 'that whatever happened at the wall, on that night and the following day… well, I've heard the stories about the Furies of Hades pursuing their quarry.'
'And what are the Furies here?' Claudia had to pinch herself. Here she was sitting in the shade of a lovely evening, the shadows lengthening, the birdsong clear, butterflies floating, the noise of the crickets in the grass, with two men describing a nightmare which occurred years ago on some lonely heathland beneath that great brooding wall in the north of Britain. Something happened that day which, as Crispus said, had released a hatred that prowled like some vengeful ghost seeking its quarry.
'Are you sure that everyone was killed? I mean in that Pictish war band?'
'The chieftain had a son,' Crispus narrowed his eyes, 'a young boy probably no more than thirteen or fourteen summers. We learned that while we were torturing the father. Stathylus sent us out to search the heather; we found the boy's corpse, we recognised it by the torque round the neck and the arm bracelets. We dragged it back. The sight of it only increased the chieftain's humiliation and despair, as it did that of the Golden Maid.'
'Are you certain,' Claudia persisted, 'that everyone was killed? That no member of that war band survived to study and remember your appearance?'
'Mistress, most of the Picts were fully fledged warriors, mature men, and that was some eighteen years ago. They were killed, no slaves were taken.'
'Are you sure of that?' Claudia demanded harshly.
'Of course we are,' Sccundus declared. 'Stathylus was no fool. We abandoned the mile fort, burned our surplus supplies and rode south. Now remember, Crispus and I weren't party to the decision to abandon Postulus. After it was all over, both of us were left behind for a while when Stathylus and the rest rode south.'
'For how long?'
'About two days in all,' Crispus replied. 'We were each given a fresh mount and told to ensure there were no survivors, that no one came creeping back. I tell you, mistress, those were the loneliest two days of our lives, out there in that deserted fort, next to it a stack of corpses burned to nothing but charcoaled flesh. The smoke and stench from it still fouled the air. We saw nothing, we felt nothing, and yet…'
'And yet what?' Claudia asked.
'We didn't tell you this either. Eventually we rode southeast until we reached Colchester, where other troops were mustering. We reported for duty. By then of course Stathylus had told of his great victory and was being applauded by all. The camp was overflowing, so we took lodgings in the town near the ruins of the old Temple of Claudius. Oh, it must have been about two weeks after our arrival. One of our number, I forget his name now…' he looked at Secundus, who just shrugged, 'went missing…'
'Missing?' Claudia asked. 'What do you mean?'
'He was never seen alive again. His corpse was later found in a ditch outside the town-'
'Let me guess,' Claudia intervened. 'His throat had been cut, his belly slit, his testicles severed and placed in his right hand.'
Both men swallowed hard and nodded. Crispus refused to meet her eye.
'You see, mistress,' Secundus declared, 'all of Britain was on the move, refugees here and there, every tribe in the province trying to flee. It's possible…'
Claudia held up her hand, staring at a tangle of gorse. it is more than possible,' she conceded, 'that somebody did survive that massacre and followed Stathylus' troop south, seized his opportunity, killed a veteran, and disfigured corpse, but then what? Why not strike at the rest? Is there anything else?' she asked. 'Are you frightened of meeting General Aurelian?'
'We'll declare our innocence,' Crispus declared. 'Postulus' blood is not on our hands. Why, mistress, what do you think will happen?'
'The General will question you,' Claudia got to her feet, brushing the crumbs from her tunic, 'but I think he wants to keep you safe.'
'It was Stathylus' fault
'Don't worry.' Claudia stared into the darkening trees. She was lying! In her heart, she conceded that these two veterans were like beasts chosen for sacrifice. Some furious ghost from the past had marked them down for death. Only fortune, or mere chance, could save them from the vengeance haunting their every step.
Chapter 6
Canta bit vacuus cum latrone viator.
The foolish traveller will sing with a thief.
Juvenal, Satires
Claudia bade the two veterans farewell. She and her escort continued their journey into the city. Darkness was falling when they reached the She Asses and Claudia's stomach lurched as she entered the square and stared across. In the doorway clustered a group of German mercenaries. The Empress had decided to visit the Great Miracle! The German guards crowded around Claudia like snuffling bears, almost carrying her into the tavern, which had been emptied because of the imperial visit. Poppaoe was busy with a cloth wiping tables. Sorry, armed with a tamarisk twig broom, was sweeping the floor whilst Caligula the cat sprawled like an emperor on one of the benches. Burrus was in the kitchen, one hand on the hilt of his broadsword, the other holding a chicken leg which he was tearing to pieces, smearing his moustache and beard with grease. He still insisted on hugging and kissing Claudia, then gestured with his head indicating that the Empress was in the garden beyond.
'Your man,' he grunted, 'the warrior, where is he?'
'Murranus is at General Aurelian's villa. He has taken up his new duties.'
'Good.' Burrus bit at the chicken leg, glaring at her fiercely, eyes almost watering. 'He should stay there. To guard someone important is a great honour. The Empress has come to visit you, little one. She waits for you.'
Claudia stared into the captain's light blue eyes. Burrus blinked and glanced away, holding the chicken up as if inspecting it carefully.
'You know what I'm thinking, Burrus,' she warned. 'This is my uncle's tavern. Tell your lovely lads out there, nothing must disappear, promise?'
Burrus nodded and returned to the chicken leg. Claudia slipped by him, out through the kitchen and into the garden. At the far end, in Polybius' favourite spot, Helena sat enthroned in the tavern-keeper's great pride and joy, his large chair, its arms covered with gilded leather. Before her, Polybius, Apuleius and Narcissus knelt on the grass, — on a stool behind the Empress, half hidden in the shadows, sat Presbyter Sylvester, his saturnine face only faintly distinct in the flickering light from a lamp on the table beside the Empress. Helena sat like some priestess over her oracle, her head and face almost concealed by the hood of her silver-edged mantled robe. She glanced up as Claudia approached and indicated that the girl should kneel next to her uncle. Claudia, suppressing a sigh, obeyed and stared up at the Empress' face. Helena was not pleased; her eyes were hard, her lips thin, pressed tightly together. She stared at Claudia for a while, registering her displeasure at the deaths of Stathylus and Theodore.
'Augusta?' Claudia bowed.
'We have been talking about the Great Miracle,' Helena snapped. 'How God preserved the body of the virgin martyr Fulgentia.' She indicated the heavy leather pouches on the table beside her. i have decided, and your uncle has agreed, this is no place for such sacred remains.'
Claudia glanced quickly at her uncle. He seemed very pleased with the bargain, beaming from ear to ear. He turned quickly and winked mischievously at her.
'As you know,' Helena continued, staring up at the clear sky, the stars bright as jewels against their velvet background, 'my son has decided that certain palaces will be handed over to the Christian Way; they will become basilicas. Such basilicas will house the relics that I am searching for, sacred objects belonging to the Great Faith.' She paused, eyes half closed, as if listing for herself those miraculous finds for which she had ransacked the Empire.
'Fulgentia's corpse will be one of these. Your uncle and his friends,' Helena indicated with her head, 'will be well paid for their labours. My guards will remove it tonight. Do you not agree, Presbyter?' She half turned, and the priest nodded slowly, eyes intent on Claudia, a half-smile on his face. 'Good,' Helena clapped her hands softly, as she always did when business was finished. 'Now take your money, Polybius, and go back into your tavern. Keep an eye on my lovely boys and give them a flagon of wine, but make sure they don't keep the cups.'
Polybius scrambled to his feet, seized the clinking pouches from the table and, followed by his two companions, raced across the grass back into the tavern.
'And Presbyter?'
Sylvester stepped forward.
'Go,' Helena murmured. 'Go into the tavern, arrange for the remains of the blessed Fulgentia to be taken in a litter back to the palace. We'll decide then what is to happen.'
Sylvester did not demur at being so courteously dismissed, but came towards Claudia, hands out, and raised her to her feet. 'Claudia, it's good to see you.' He clasped her hands and Claudia felt the piece of papyrus being pushed into her palm.
Helena watched Sylvester walk away, then pointed to one of the small stools.
'Claudia, bring it closer. Sit down. Let me hear about what's been happening.'
Claudia made herself comfortable and told the Empress what had occurred the previous night: her discussions with Stathylus, Crispus and Secundus, the macabre death of the decurion and her visit to General Aurelian. Helena heard her out, head down, listening intently, and when she'd finished she glanced up and winked at her.
'Stathylus' death was not your fault,' she murmured, 'but you are correct, his murder, as well as those of the others, is linked to something which happened a lifetime away. General Aurelian will be kind to Crispus and Secundus. They'll probably argue that Postulus wasn't loyal to him, my husband or my son. He is a good man, Aurelian, he'll look after them. Perhaps he'll learn more from them with a cup of wine. And Theodore, his death here, you think he was poisoned?'
'Undoubtedly so, Augusta.' Claudia tried to stifle a yawn. She paused, listening to the sounds of the tavern, the noise of laughter, of furniture being moved; Sylvester must be already ordering the removal of the corpse. Claudia was pleased about that; whatever Helena had said, Claudia still entertained the gravest suspicions about Fulgentia, her origin, her death and her uncle's participation in such a miraculous find. Yet she must keep her suspicions to herself. If Polybius had been involved in any mischief, if he had deceived the likes of the Augusta and Presbyter Sylvester, his punishment would be horrific.
'What are you thinking about, little mouse?'
Claudia smiled apologetically.
'Theodore, Augusta! He came here and joined in the celebrations. Uncle is a generous host; Theodore must have eaten and drunk, then retired to his chamber where he died.'
'So somebody here must have murdered him?'
'Not one of Polybius' people,' Claudia declared. 'The assassin must have slipped in and poisoned him. This is the area of the Flavian Gate and the She Asses tavern, where everybody knows everyone else, yet my uncle Polybius noticed nothing suspicious. We know that Theodore was murdered, but who was responsible, how and why remains a mystery'
'Not the why,' Helena retorted. 'Claudia, wake up, use your wits! Why should anyone kill a wandering actor except for what he saw at the Villa Carina? He must have seen something, Claudia.'
'But what?' Claudia protested. 'Theodore was an actor. He depicted himself as a hero but he wasn't. Undoubtedly he tried to protect Antonia and was knocked to the ground, but if he had seen anything, such criminals would have cut his throat without hesitation. He certainly learned something, but exactly what, Augusta, I truly don't know.'
'Have you discovered anything about Theodore's background?'
Claudia closed her eyes. She would love to go to sleep, but knew that Helena would think nothing of summoning her to the palace in the middle of the night if she did not tell her everything now. She tried to marshal her thoughts, remembering her walk back with Murranus and Theodore, the visit to the Temple of Hathor, how the actor had kept chattering about his past, where he'd been, whom he had met.
'He was from Egypt originally.' Claudia opened her eyes. 'From Memphis on the Nile. He was devoted to the Goddess Hathor, Lady of Drunkenness, the Lady of the White Walls. On our return here, we visited Hathor's temple. He spoke briefly to the High Priest Sesothenes…'
'Ah yes, I've heard of him.'
'Theodore wanted to give thanks for his deliverance; he asked Sesothenes to burn some incense, then left. I watched him all the time.'
'The Temple of Hathor,' Helena scoffed, 'a derelict place, full of dirty abominations, the usual rubbish of secret rites and rituals. Anything else?'
Claudia shook her head.
'Then get a good night's sleep, Claudia. Tomorrow, at the ninth hour, Antonia is to be released in the cemetery along the Appian Way. I want you to be there. Do not put yourself in danger, but watch, see what you can discover. Come close, little mouse.'
Claudia moved the stool, and Helena leaned forward.
'All those who have been kidnapped,' Helena whispered, 'have been released there. I've reflected on what you said, Claudia. The cemetery itself is a forest of stones, bushes and trees; beneath it lie the catacombs now deserted by the Christians.'
Claudia moved her hand slowly and pushed the piece of papyrus Sylvester had handed her into the small pocket of her tunic. Helena was so engrossed she never noticed.
'Now, as you know, Claudia, you are one amongst many of my retainers; another is Cassius Chaerea. Chaerea is a very useful man, a Christian who was seized during the persecution, interrogated and condemned to the mines in Sicily, where he worked for at least ten years. He is a great survivor, a farmer by birth; he learned how to survive in the galleries and tunnels of the mines outside Syracuse. I have shown him a map of the catacombs beneath the Via Appia, the best I could get. Presbyter Sylvester gave it to me. Chaerea and I studied that map most closely. He agrees with me,' Helena continued, 'that the catacombs would be the natural hiding place of these kidnappers; they could conceal their victims anywhere in its chambers, galleries, passageways and tunnels. There are so many entrances, not even dogs could search them out.' Helena gathered her stole about her shoulders. 'Chaerea has certain gifts, a legacy from his long service in the mines. He can see his way in the dark. He has no fear of confined or constricted places. He can thread his way through the most elaborate maze. He also has a sharp sense of smell, an animal instinct for danger. He should be busy now,' she murmured. 'The kidnappers may believe that a search would be made during the day, but Chaerea will slip in under darkness, and perhaps he can find something.' The Empress rose to her feet, pushing her hand towards Claudia so she could kiss the ring on her finger. 'Whatever happens,' she leaned down, one hand pressing hard on Claudia's shoulder, 'be in that cemetery tomorrow, long before the named hour…'
Chaerea the former slave would have disagreed with his imperial mistress in one respect: his senses were truly sharp, but the memori
es of the mines of Syracuse always came flooding back when he went hunting. Chaerea was very proud of his past. He had survived the mines, their murky, ill-lit galleries reeking of salt, where death could seize you in many ways: suffocation, hunger, thirst, a fall of rock, the sheer fatigue of hacking away, the cruelty of overseers or the savagery of your companions, who'd kill for a mouthful of stale bread or a cup of bitter water. A hideous time! The memories came surging back now as Chaerea slipped down the narrow, pebble-strewn gully beneath the tomb of the tribune Larcntius, who had seen service in Dacia a hundred years earlier. The sharp shale cut at Chaerea's legs but he reached the bottom softly. Oh yes, this did remind him of the mines! The blackness wrapped round him like a shroud; hot, foul air, the constant sense of menace, of lurking danger.
Chaerea squatted for a while, preparing himself. A small, wiry man, sharp eyes above sunken cheeks, his fingers were like claws, the muscles on his legs hard as whipcord. He had prepared himself well for this. He had studied and memorised the trackways beneath the ground. He had made an offering to the white Christ. The small sack he carried contained a lamp, some rope and a dagger. Chaerea was used to such adventures. Helena had often used him in the catacombs to search for precious objects and relics, but this was different. The Empress had warned him about that, and Chaerea was no fool. He knew about the kidnappings in Rome and realised that the cemetery was the kingdom of the Inferni, those men and women, driven from society, who lurked there to prey upon the vulnerable, anyone weak or stupid enough to enter. Chaerea had been promised a lavish reward, enough money to arrange a feast for himself and his friends and hire those plump young courtesans who could delight him so much. He had his heart set on that. His years beneath the ground in Sicily had made him wonder about the power of Christ, and when he had been released, he'd determined to enjoy himself as much as possible. He closed his eyes, calming his breathing, recalling the Empress' instructions. He was not here to free anybody, but simply to discover, search out and report back.