by Paul Doherty
Claudia felt her eyes grow heavy. She wasn’t the best of horse riders, yet the saddle was strong and the horse was gentle. For a while she dozed. She just hoped that Narcissus had a good memory as well as a sharp sense of direction.
‘I’m sure it was here.’ Narcissus shook her awake. They had reached a stretch of arable land to the left of the track, lying fallow as the season passed.
Claudia dismounted, leapt across the narrow ditch and walked into the field. At the far end, a hedgerow divided it from the next strip of land. The ground was hard and crusty underfoot. An occasional bird pecked at the soil.
‘I’m sure it was here,’ Narcissus repeated. ‘We’ve just passed a farmhouse. I remember staring at it. Shouldn’t we hobble your horse?’
‘Don’t worry about her,’ Claudia shouted over her shoulder. ‘She’s found some grass, so she’s content.’
They walked across the field, Claudia slipping on uneven soil, broken by little ridges and the occasional gap. At first she thought Narcissus was mistaken until the ground dipped slightly and they reached a circle of ash and scraps of burnt wood. Crouching down, Claudia dug her hands into the earth and lifted a mixture of soil and ash. The stench of oil was pungent. She rose, brushing her hands, and stared round. The field, with its broad, silent expanse, appeared more threatening. Anyone could be watching them from the trees.
‘It’s best if we go,’ she whispered, ‘and walk fast, Narcissus.’
Claudia almost ran back to the track, the sun beating down, sweat breaking out, her mouth turning strangely dry. When she reached the line of trees, she rested in the shade.
‘We came at a good time,’ she observed. ‘Everyone is sleeping.’
‘Shouldn’t we question the farmer?’
‘We would only arouse suspicion.’ Claudia pointed out across the field. ‘There’s no reason for that fire, none whatsoever. I expect the farmer had little to do with it. Imagine, at the dead of night, Narcissus! Someone piled brushwood and gorse along the edge of this field. Once darkness fell, they dragged it out, soaked it with oil and thrust in a torch. I wonder . . .’ and before Narcissus could stop her, Claudia ran back across the field, head down, shoulders hunched, as if fearful of some bowman hiding amongst the trees.
Narcissus caught up with her as she reached the burnt patch of earth and turned round in the direction from which they had come. Her view was partially blocked by the trees and the heat haze of summer. She strained her eyes and, moving backwards and forwards, glimpsed the rooftops of the Villa Pulchra.
‘At the dead of night,’ she whispered, ‘the blaze from the House of Mourning could be seen.’
‘They could also see our villa from other places,’ Narcissus agreed. ‘They wouldn’t have to stand just here.’
They hurried back, and Claudia mounted her horse, turning its head towards the Villa Pulchra.
‘Shouldn’t we see where the other fires were lit?’ Narcissus was enjoying his summer’s walk with this very kind but mysterious young woman.
‘I’ve seen enough!’ Claudia retorted. ‘I know what I have to do.’
They hastened back to the villa, washed their hands and faces and immediately went to the Augusta’s quarters. The entrances and doorways were protected by Burrus’s guards, most of them asleep. Narcissus grew nervous and began to shake. Claudia could even hear his teeth chatter. The chamberlain informed her that the Empress was sleeping and must not be disturbed, but Claudia insisted, and a short while later she and Narcissus were ushered into the Empress’s bedchamber. Helena had been lying on a couch on a dais beneath a window. She was dressed in a simple white tunic, her black hair falling loose around her shoulders. She now sat on an ornate padded stool, her feet bare, rubbing her cheeks and trying to stifle a yawn. Claudia noticed the scars on the Empress’s bare left arm, as well as how strong her wrists and ankles appeared.
‘When I was young, Claudia, I was an athlete,’ Helena declared, following Claudia’s gaze. ‘I also went on campaign with my dear late husband. On one occasion our tent was attacked.’ She rubbed the scars on her arm. ‘Anyway, you’ve roused me from my sleep, little mouse, so you must have brought me some tidbits. Who’s your companion?’
Claudia and Narcissus knelt on the floor. Narcissus was trembling so much the Empress gave him a goblet of wine and told him to drink it quickly, before gesturing at Claudia to sit down. At first Helena looked sleepy-eyed, but the more Claudia spoke the more alert she became. Now and again the Empress would glance at Narcissus, who would nod in agreement. Claudia related exactly what Narcissus had told her, and described their journey to that lonely field and the remains of the beacon fire.
‘I agree,’ the Augusta declared as soon as Claudia had finished. ‘This is no coincidence.’ She walked over and patted Narcissus’s head as she would a dog. ‘You have done very well. You shall be freed.’
Narcissus immediately fainted, toppling to the floor with a crash. Claudia knelt down beside the prostrate man, pressing the back of her hand against the blood pulse, listening to his breathing. Then, opening his mouth, she poked in a finger to detect any obstruction.
‘He’s all right.’ Helena knelt smiling on his other side. ‘Come, Claudia, let’s make him comfortable.’
They turned Narcissus on his side, placing a blanket beneath his head and another over him.
‘Poor man,’ Helena declared. ‘He has drunk too much wine, followed by a long hot walk in the sun, and now his life has just been changed. He’ll sleep for a while, you look after him. I’ll give you some money for him, but that’ll have to wait. Come over here.’
Helena led her across to a table covered in scrolls. She searched amongst these and brought out a map of the Middle Sea depicting the main ports of Italy, Asia Minor and Greece.
‘During the recent games,’ the Empress explained, ‘I received reports from a spy that Licinius, Emperor of the Eastern Empire, had sent a battle group of warships, triremes and support vessels into the Bay of Corinth. He is also strengthening the garrisons of Greece. Now, of course, according to the protocol signed between us, Licinius has to inform us of such manoeuvres. He claims to be mustering his forces against a powerful pirate fleet which attacked some merchantmen.’
‘Are you fearing an invasion?’ Claudia asked.
‘No.’ Helena shook her head. ‘Licinius isn’t capable of that, though he’s steeped in treachery. I suspect he’s planning a surprise.’ She took out a local map, tracing the short distance between the Villa Pulchra and the Italian coast. ‘If you are correct, Claudia, and I think you are, a whole series of fires were lit in a direct line starting at the Villa Pulchra and ending just above the cliffs on the seashore. I know what you are going to say, little one: we should alert the Emperor, have troops moved into the area. But what’s wrong with that?’
‘We don’t know who the traitor is and we’ll only alarm him – or her.’
‘Precisely.’ Helena smiled. ‘I think it’s best if you leave that to me and my noble contingent of German heroes. Now, let’s get Narcissus removed.’
Helena summoned servants, who brought a stretcher. Claudia had the still prostrate corpse-embalmer taken back to her own chamber and placed on the bed. The chamberlain who escorted them there tapped her on the shoulder.
‘Leave him for a while,’ he whispered. ‘I shall sit with him. The Augusta wants words with you.’
By the time Claudia had returned to Helena’s bedchamber, the Empress had changed and was wrapping a purple shawl around her shoulders. Servants in the adjoining chamber were laying out robes, mirrors, combs and pots of perfume. Constantine had decreed that there would be another imperial banquet that night. Helena kicked the door closed with one sandalled foot and beckoned Claudia to sit next to her on a stool. The Empress pushed her face only a few inches from Claudia’s, studying her carefully.
‘I can be trusted,’ Claudia whispered.
‘I know you can, mouse. What worries me is who else can I trust? We have the busine
ss of the missing sword, the death of Dionysius, the destruction of the House of Mourning; now we have a traitor in our midst and it could be anyone. Narcissus has earned his freedom. What he saw were beacon lights, and I suspect they stretch down to the coast. Somewhere to the south, hiding from our searchers and lookouts, lurks a war trireme, its sail reefed, oars down, probably supported by supply ships and flying false colours. I suspect a cohort is to be landed and this villa attacked. If I alert the harbour masters and port commanders, this warship will simply vanish. If I tell my son, he’ll go back to Rome or send out a fleet, and the traitor will simply bide his time and strike again.’
‘But you are in danger.’
‘No, no.’ Helena’s face became flushed with excitement. ‘We are playing a game, Claudia, as dangerous as any your Murranus faces in the arena. At Nicomedia in the East, Licinius, our rival, sits and plots, or should I say, lounges and plots,’ Helena added drily. ‘He’s received information that his great rival Constantine has gone to his summer residence not far from the coast, and has decided to strike. I shall frustrate that and, at the same time, show my beloved son that Licinius has to be destroyed.’
‘You want war, don’t you?’ Claudia stared at this middle-aged woman. Once again the legions would march and the world echo with the clash of empires. ‘You want war,’ she repeated.
‘No, Claudia, I want peace. I want those who write history to talk of the great Pax Augusta, a time when the world slept, when the harvest grew and was collected, when people lived in peace.’ Helena leaned a little closer in a gust of fragrant perfume and sweet wine. ‘A new Empire, Claudia, with a new line of Emperors, a new state religion which binds everyone together. We will never have that whilst Licinius and his gang strut the East and look for an opening. That’s the way of the world,’ Helena added wearily. ‘Wars don’t begin,’ she stared round, ‘in the council chambers of kings and princes, but often in boudoirs like this where a single decision is made and the die is cast. Now, little one,’ she pressed a finger against Claudia’s lips, ‘keep these sealed. Tell no one, trust me, and make sure Narcissus enjoys his freedom.’
Claudia left the Empress’s quarters and walked back to her own chamber. She stopped at a window embrasure and looked out at the flowers. Their scent was heavy, and even the bees and butterflies seemed to be overcome by such a fragrant opiate, a warm, lazy place ablaze with colour. She stared at a bust of some long-forgotten Emperor gazing sightlessly from its plinth. She walked over and read its inscription, short and terse, giving glory to the ‘Divine Hadrian’. She studied the heavily bearded and moustached face, the sharp nose, the eyes carved as if the Emperor was looking upwards, a fashion sculptors had imitated from the many carvings and paintings of Alexander the Great.
‘I wonder,’ Claudia murmured, ‘if in a hundred years someone will stare at a bust of the Augusta?’
She recalled the Empress’s impassioned speech, and for a moment she was pricked by suspicion about the Augusta’s intentions. Was Helena merely a spectator in all that was happening? Or was she, once again, controlling events? Claudia dismissed this as unworthy. She remembered Narcissus and hurried back to her own chamber. The chamberlain announced that the embalmer was still asleep, so Claudia sent for the court leech, who came shuffling along with a phial of pungent oil. He half dragged Narcissus up, pushed the oil beneath his nose and gently slapped his face. Narcissus wakened with a shake of his head, eyes fluttering. The leech examined him carefully, telling him to open his mouth, feeling the blood pulse in his neck and dragging down the folds of skin beneath his eyes, all the time keeping up a commentary to himself.
‘Shall I bring some wine?’ Claudia asked.
‘Yes, yes, that’ll be very nice,’ the leech replied. When it arrived, the fellow promptly drank it, declared the patient was in better shape than he was and left. Narcissus pulled himself up.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he gasped, sinking back on the bed. ‘I truly don’t believe it.’
‘It’s true.’ Claudia smiled. ‘Your observations were most valuable; you are a free man, Narcissus.’
He stared at her, then burst into tears.
‘What shall I do? What shall I do?’ he wailed. ‘I cannot go back to Damascus. All my kith and kin are dead, those who survived will only think I’m a spy. I know nobody in Rome, I’ve got no money.’
‘Oh, shut up!’ Claudia was about to berate him when there was a knock on the door and an official entered, one of the Emperor’s pretty boys, with black curly hair and smooth face. He was garbed in a skimpy tunic which showed his long legs off to their best effect.
‘Claudia?’ He looked her up and down, glanced at Narcissus sprawled on the bed, and sniggered behind splayed fingers, the nails of which were painted a bright scarlet. Around his wrist was fastened the leather strap displaying the seal of an official nuntius, or messenger, of the Imperial Chancery. He handed over a scroll and a small leather pouch, which clinked as it fell into Claudia’s hand. ‘I think,’ he lisped, ‘this is for your friend,’ and he flounced out.
Claudia broke the seal, undid the scroll and read the opening words: ‘Helena Augusta, Beloved Mother . . .’ The usual phrases followed. Claudia handed it to Narcissus. ‘Your freedom,’ she declared, ‘and some coins to help you on your way.’
She grasped Narcissus’s hand; the man was still shaking, staring down at the scroll and bag of coins lying in his lap.
‘You can lodge with my uncle,’ she offered. ‘He owns a tavern near the Flavian Gate.’
Narcissus’s eyes welled up.
‘Oh, no,’ she protested, ‘don’t start crying again, you can do that later. Until we leave here you are to be my companion; there must be some small chamber nearby.’ Her smile widened. ‘You are already my friend and I want some help.’
Narcissus opened his mouth to wail, glimpsed Claudia’s determined look and forced a smile.
‘Whatever you say.’
Claudia brought him a fresh goblet of wine. The passageway outside was now busy with servants hurrying to and fro with platters of fruit and jugs of wine as the imperial guests roused themselves from their slumbers. She let Narcissus drain the cup.
‘Narcissus, never mind your good fortune. I want you to remember Dionysius’s corpse. You are an embalmer, you are skilled in scrutinising the dead; was there anything,’ Claudia searched for the words, ‘significant, exceptional about it?’
Narcissus scratched his nose and closed his eyes. ‘Nothing,’ he declared. ‘All I can remember is a corpse slit, gashed and drenched in blood. I did wonder whether, as Dionysius was an Arian, there were special burial rites, I mean different from the orthodox. Ah.’ Narcissus lifted a hand. ‘No, no, there was something! There were more cuts on the right side of the corpse than the left. Does that mean the killer was right-handed? And the blow to the head was on the right side as well. Isn’t it true, Claudia, that a killer will approach from the side he is used to; a left-handed man will attack me from the left . . . ?’
‘I don’t know,’ Claudia interrupted. ‘I never thought of that. I should ask Murranus, but there again, most people are right-handed. Anything else?’ she added.
‘Some of the wounds looked like crosses, you know, lines scored across each other. The body was put on a slab and I remember loosening the cords, but by then I’d had enough and left soon afterwards. By the way, who is Murranus?’
‘He’s a gladiator, a friend of mine. Listen, Narcissus, you deal with the human body,’ Claudia smiled, ‘the dead rather than the living; do you know anything about poisons and their effect?’
‘Oh yes.’ Narcissus’s tired face came to life. ‘Some poisons are very easy to hide. You’d think the victim died of a seizure or some internal wound, but the organs of a corpse never lie. When you take out a heart that’s black and shrivelled or a stomach which stinks like a sewer, you do wonder how that person truly died. Oh, indeed,’ he continued, ‘I’ve many a time embalmed a poor man whose organs had changed colour or
reeked like a camel pen, then watched the grieving widow and wondered what the truth really was. Why do you ask?’
Claudia described what had happened in the arena: how Spicerius had drunk the poisoned wine; how he had collapsed and the finger of suspicion had been pointed at her friend Murranus. She also told Narcissus what the army physician had said. Narcissus nodded in agreement.
‘Don’t forget, my dear,’ he waggled a finger in her face, ‘many poisons, in very small quantities, can actually do you good. They can clean the blood and purify the humours, purge the stomach of excess waste, even remove blemishes such as warts. Spicerius must ask himself, did he take a powder or a food containing such a substance? Not enough to kill him, but, I would say, midway between the beneficial properties of that substance and its most noxious—’
Narcissus was about to continue when the door suddenly opened. Claudia turned round. At first she thought it was some court official coming to summon her back to the Augusta. Taken by surprise, she could only watch, as in a dream, the oil lamp fall to the floor and smash, the oil spilling out, the flame from the wick racing across. For a few seconds she could merely gape in horror. Narcissus was no better, until the full enormity of what had happened hit him: that seeping oil, the flames growing hungrier as they caught hold of the linen drapes around the bed and licked greedily at the leg of a wooden stool.
Claudia jumped to her feet, and picking up her bag, cloak and hat, screamed at Narcissus to take the Empress’s scroll and pouch, then pushed him towards the window . . .