by Paul Doherty
The gates were thrown open and the Germans swaggered in. Helena declared she could not stand any more of their salutations.
‘Now’s the time to think and talk,’ she snapped. ‘Claudia, tend to me. Son, praise the boys. Tell them that you kiss and hug them individually, promise them fresh meats and deep-bowled cups of wine. Order Burrus to bring the prisoners to the council chamber.’
A short while later, Helena, sitting on a stool next to her son, Claudia crouching beside her, waited for the arrival of Burrus and his prisoners. Rufinus, Chrysis and Sylvester had also been invited to this splendid chamber with scenes from the history of Rome decorating the walls under its domed ceiling, the star-painted plaster reflected in the sheen of the pure marble floor beneath. The windows were unshuttered and, because the hypocaust was sealed for the summer, the chamber was warmed by dishes of glowing charcoal and lit by countless lamps which a slave was tending. Gaius and his officers stood guard at the door. They stepped aside as Burrus and his captives swept into the chamber.
The barbarians looked ferocious and sinister, with their tangled hair and beards, faces, arms and weapons still splattered with blood. They dragged three prisoners with them, young men, cut and dirty, stripped to their loincloths, hands bound behind them. These were forced to kneel and give their names and ranks. One was a simple soldier, the other two were officers, decurions, from the garrison at Athens.
Helena snapped at Burrus to deliver his report, warning him not to brag. The German obeyed, describing how the attackers had made a mistake in following the path. He had killed their stragglers, rolling the line up like a piece of string until launching an all-out assault, surrounding them and carrying out bloody slaughter. Some of the attackers had fled back to the beach, where the galley had been protected by a line of archers. Burrus did not wish to expose his men and retreated, watching from the sand hills as the galley with its crew drifted back out to sea.
‘But it was beached?’ Constantine demanded.
‘No, Excellency.’ Burrus shook his head. ‘They had already dragged it back into the water. It was too dangerous to attack.’
Helena turned to the prisoners, but they could tell her very little. They described how the galley had left the main battle fleet and lurked off the Italian coast until the captain had taken their ship in. They had been told what to attack and nothing more.
‘Kill them!’ Chrysis slurred. ‘Take them outside and crucify them.’
Helena raised her hand. She got up from her stool and crouched in front of the prisoners.
‘Are you Roman citizens?’ she asked.
The two officers nodded, but the soldier was a mere hireling.
Helena unpinned a paper-thin silver brooch from her gown. She whispered to her son, who smiled and nodded in agreement, then handed the brooch to Burrus.
‘Break it in two,’ she ordered. ‘Go on,’ she urged, ‘do as I say.’
The German took the brooch, snapped it and handed both pieces back to Helena. She crouched in front of one of the officers and placed half of the brooch on the ground before him.
‘You’re not going to die,’ she said. ‘You are all going to be washed and fed, given a fresh set of clothes, a hot meal and some soft straw for a bed. Tomorrow morning my mercenaries will take you down to the nearest port. You can take whatever ship you want back to Corinth or Piraeus, on one condition: you tell Licinius that the attack failed, and that I will root out the traitor. You will give him a gift, half of this silver brooch, and tell him, don’t forget this, that one day soon my son will come to claim that half of the brooch back.’
Chapter 8
‘Quod Dei Omen avertant.’ (‘May the Gods avert this Omen.’)
Cicero: Philippic, III.35
Claudia rose early next morning and went immediately to the small chancery room between the atrium and the peristyle garden. The storm had broken during the night, the flower beds and paving stones were saturated and the sky still looked greyish dull. Claudia reckoned it must be at least an hour before sunrise. Slaves were slowly mustering, beginning the routine of the day, tidying the gardens and clearing food from the triclinium. The villa had turned into an armed camp: sentries had been doubled, soldiers patrolled the colonnades, archers had been posted on rooftops and the upper storeys of buildings. Helena’s Germans had spent the hours of darkness roistering boisterously but were still able to patrol the gardens. They had set up camp around the gates and were now busy taunting the regular soldiers. Claudia could hear their shouts and guffaws of laughter even from the chancery room.
She slipped in, closed the door and hastily collected a writing pallet, styli, strips of ready parchment, ink pots, a pumice stone and a sand shaker. She put these carefully into her leather scribe’s bag and went into the kitchen to beg a small jug of watered beer and a platter of yesterday’s bread, some hard cheese and ripe plums. Once she’d eaten, she returned to her own chamber, secured the door, cleared a corner and squatted down cross-legged, the writing tray across her lap. She positioned the ink pot on the floor, sharpened a stylus, soaked the tip and began to write down the problems confronting her.
Gladius Sanctus – The Holy Sword
Primo:
The sword hung on a chain above a broad circle of sand. The chain could only be moved away from the centre by someone with a long pole, spear or sword. They might still have to stand on the sand, which would be disturbed. The door was guarded by two Germans, the keys held by Timothaeus and Burrus.
Secundo:
On the day in question, Timothaeus entered the chamber. The sword had gone. Timothaeus fainted and was carried out. No one else was there. The Germans were terrified at what they regarded as a holy place. The cellar was searched carefully by Gaius Tullius. Nothing was found. Nothing was out of place, although the sand had been disturbed due to Timothaeus fainting. Now the steward was lifted out on a stretcher; he could scarcely have hidden the sword on him – that would have been noticed. If he had taken in a rod or hook, that too would have been observed. The only thing he carried was a lantern horn scarcely big enough to hide anything in. If the sword or implement was hidden in the cellar, Gaius Tullius would have found it in his search.
Tertio:
The door to the cellar had two locks, the keys held separately. From everything I observed and heard there was no evidence of any trickery here.
Quarto:
Narcissus was one of those who helped carry Timothaeus’s stretcher out of the cellar.
Claudia drew a line and made a second heading:
Dionysius
Then she nibbled the end of the stylus and stared at the wall. The philosopher’s death was the key to so much mystery; that and the burning of the House of Mourning. She dipped her stylus and began to write.
Primo:
Dionysius had gone to the orchard to think, to be alone. Or had he been invited there? He was sitting with his back to the tree when he was stunned by a blow to the head. Once weakened, he was apparently gagged and bound, dragged into the trees, pegged out like a lion skin, cut countless times and allowed to bleed to death.
Secundo:
Dionysius’s corpse was moved to the House of Mourning, joining that of an old beggar man. According to all the evidence, the cords and gag were removed but nothing remarkable was noticed.
Tertio:
Later that same day, after darkness, the House of Mourning was consumed by a ferocious fire. Did the killer burn the corpse to hide some mistake, some clue to his identity? Was it to start the beacon fire, or both? Such arson would have been easy to arrange. A cord leading to a cluster of oil skins which was lit whilst the perpetrator fled into the darkness. Yet would oil burn so fiercely as to create such an inferno?
Claudia remembered searching amongst the ruins. She had caught a certain sweetness but had put this down to some accident with the fire. Who was the arsonist? Gaius Tullius had been with her, but only the gods knew where everyone else was. Claudia paused. There was something about that
fire she had missed, something she couldn’t place. Recalling her suspicions about Narcissus, she sighed and returned to her task.
Quarto:
The motive behind Dionysius’s death. Was it the result of bad blood between the orthodox and Arian parties, or did it have its origins in the betrayals which took place some ten years ago when Diocletian launched his savage persecution of the Christian faith and singled out Capua for special attention? The orators now live lives of apparent probity but what about their past? Are they hiding secret sins? Are they frightened of old crimes catching them out? Or was Dionysius’s death the work of someone like Chrysis, a dyed-in-the wool pagan? He would love to turn this public debate into a bloody arena where the Christians could tear each other to pieces in front of the Emperor and bring their religion into public disrepute.
Quinto:
Why kill Dionysius in such a gruesome fashion? A knife thrust, a garrotte string, a barbed arrow or a cup of poison would have been just as effective. What did the killer intend? Was the method chosen to inflict as much pain as possible? What could prompt such malice?
Sexto:
Finally, is there any connection between the theft of the sword and Dionysius’s death?
Claudia picked up a new stylus, drew a line and made a further entry:
The Traitor
Primo:
The assault on the villa last night was launched from a galley which came in from the sea to land a corps of assassins. The galley was signalled to by a series of beacon fires started here in the villa, which means the attack was planned, Licinius was given precise information about when and where the Emperor and his mother were staying, but that was common knowledge. Constantine’s love for the Villa Pulchra is well known. He published his intentions to come here. The galley must have stayed off the coast and waited for the signal that the Emperor had actually arrived.
Secundo:
Are Dionysius’s killer and the traitor the same person? Was the sword stolen to hand over to Licinius, who could use it to ridicule the Emperor’s mother? Had the arsonist always plotted to use the House of Mourning as a beacon light?
Claudia closed her eyes. Logic dictated a connection, she thought, but where was the evidence?
Tertio:
Was the attack the work of Licinius, Emperor in the East? Probably, yet as Chrysis illustrated at the supper party, there are those at court eager to seek a casus belli, a reason to go to war and make Constantine Imperator Orbis, Emperor of the World.
Claudia put the stylus down and leaned back, stretching out her legs to ease the cramp. She recalled the fierce discussion in the council chamber after the prisoners had been removed. Constantine had been furious that his mother had taken full responsibility for defending the villa. He had been supported by his officers, and even Rufinus had nodded in agreement. Helena, however, had remained calm and composed, arguing that the attack, by definition, was secret, composed of a modest force which, if surprised, could be defeated. The attackers would have had to move through woodland, during the dead of night. Such conditions were most favourable to her Germans. Finally, and on this point Helena would not concede, there was a traitor in the villa. If the attackers had been warned, they would have withdrawn and waited for another day. As it was, she had frustrated the attack and sent a powerful reply to Licinius. Sharp discussion had followed, but Helena had won the day.
Constantine then raised a question which had also concerned Claudia. If the House of Mourning had been fired by the traitor who had lit the other beacon lights, who was missing from the villa that night? Gaius Tullius went to check, returning sometime later, whilst Helena was still arguing with her son, to report that no one had left, although he could not be certain as most of the guards on picket duty had been massacred during the assault.
Claudia’s stylus skimmed across the piece of parchment. She sanded it and moved to a new piece. Outside she could hear voices and realised the villa was stirring. She got up and stretched, then crouched back into the corner, making herself comfortable. She picked up the writing tray and wrote the final heading.
Spicerius, Murranus, Meleager
Primo:
People are intrigued as to why Murranus didn’t close to kill his weakened opponent, but that is Murranus, the way he fights. Spicerius was poisoned, but the potion was not strong enough to kill him. Was the wine poisoned? Or was it some other method? Was Spicerius weakened so Murranus could kill him easily? Was the poisoning an act of personal vengeance against Spicerius, or even against Murranus? Or was it just the result of heavy betting? Yet why were these wagers being laid unless Murranus was going to win?
Claudia chewed on her lip. In a few days’ time Murranus would fight Spicerius, and if victorious face Meleager. She wrote down that fateful name and scored a line beneath it time and time again. She could feel a surge of emotion, not so much hot and angry, more cold and calculating. She felt like a swordsman studying an opponent, watching for his weakness, wondering where to strike. She threw the stylus down to distract herself, and tried to review what she had written, but she kept going back to that dreadful meeting. Had Meleager recognised her? Rufinus said he had been in the villa some time. Was it he who had attacked her? Drawn that crude painting on the wall?
Claudia suddenly found it difficult to breathe, as if someone was pressing on her chest. She got to her feet, rolled the pieces of parchment into a scroll and squeezed them into the square wallet on her belt. She left the chamber to walk the corridor. She passed one of the guards and paused, thinking about the oil lamp that had been thrown into her room. Who was allowed into the imperial quarters? A slave hurried by carrying two jugs of water; such individuals were let through without a second glance. Was that what her attacker had done? Pretended to be a servant or slave? She continued walking and found herself in the peristyle garden. The sun was beginning to rise, drying the paving stones, flooding that beautiful garden with light which glimmered in the pool and reflected on the marble pillars. The flowerbeds seemed to come to life in a dazzle of colour, the birdsong was clear from the bushes and shrubs around the garden. Claudia found a dry seat and sat down facing the rising sun. She half closed her eyes, drinking in the beauty.
‘Good morning, Claudia.’ She started as Athanasius, his face heavy with sleep, sat down beside her. ‘I’m sorry if I made you jump. I rose early. All this excitement from last night. What happened?’
Claudia told him about the attack, keeping the details as vague as possible. Athanasius, hitching his robe around his shoulders, listened with a half-smile as he realised she wouldn’t tell him much.
‘I’m searching for Septimus,’ he said when she had finished. ‘I haven’t seen him at all. I’m a little worried. Where could he be?’
Claudia kept silent; she really wanted to be alone.
‘Oh, sometimes he wanders off.’ Athanasius nudged her playfully. ‘He too likes to be alone. What a beautiful place. I remember the debate here and, afterwards, you talking to that slave.’
Claudia stiffened.
‘You know the one.’ Athanasius kept his voice level. ‘He is responsible for the House of Mourning. Last night, at the supper party, I tried to make friends with Justin and, to be fair, he tried to do the same. He said something very curious about that slave . . .’
‘Narcissus?’
‘Ah, yes, Narcissus. Justin believed he’d seen him before, in Capua, a slave of a rather large Christian family. The head of the house was a funeral manager. Justin was sure Narcissus worked for him.’
Claudia tried to suppress her shiver.
‘And there’s something else. The afternoon Dionysius died—’
‘Murdered,’ Claudia retorted, ‘Dionysius was murdered.’
‘Ah yes, so he was. Well, I went down to the House of Mourning. The windows on either side were shuttered whilst the door was locked from the inside. In the Christian tradition, it is a just and holy thing to pray for the dead. I wanted to kneel by Dionysius’s corpse and recite a fe
w prayers. I was surprised the door was locked, so I knocked and knocked until my knuckles turned sore. Eventually the door opened, and Narcissus stood there looking very guilty. He claimed to have fallen asleep. I told him to stand aside and went in. I glanced around, but there was nothing amiss. The old man lay wrapped in his sacking, Dionysius was stretched out on his slab like a piece of meat. Now there was something about that chamber . . . I have been to Egypt, Claudia, I visited the Necropolis on the West Bank of the Nile. I’ve been to their embalmers’ shops; that’s what it smelled like.’
‘Did you notice anything else?’
Athanasius closed his eyes. ‘A large chest in the far corner, nothing else. After I’d finished my prayers, I went out.’
‘Did you notice anything untoward? Please, Athanasius, think.’
‘Just the corpses. Dionysius looked dreadful, mouth gaping, eyes half open. He looked as if he’d been soaked in blood. One thing I did notice, the ropes and gag the killer had used were piled on the floor just beneath the slab. When Justin was trying to be friendly last night, I told him how I’d been to the House of Mourning to pay my respects, and how the fire had had nothing to do with me. Justin didn’t accept that; however, he did say that he too had gone down there to pray. This time the House of Mourning was locked from the outside and the slave Narcissus was sleeping under a sycamore tree, a beer jug next to him. Justin also demanded to see the corpse; Narcissus wasn’t very pleasant about it.’
Athanasius got to his feet.
‘Do you remember the poems of Juvenal?’ He smiled down at Claudia. ‘He once posed a question: who shall guard the guards?’