The Song of the Gladiator

by Paul Doherty

  ‘And?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘In your case, little one,’ Athanasius bent down, ‘you must ask the question: who spies on the spies?’

  The philosopher walked away.

  ‘Claudia?’

  She whirled round. Burrus and Gaius Tullius were standing at the entrance to the peristyle garden. The German was dressed in his shaggy fur cloak; Gaius had put on a leather breastplate, a sword belt wrapped round his waist, marching boots on his feet. He carried a helmet under his arm which displayed the imperial scarlet and black plume. He beckoned with his hand.

  ‘Claudia, the Augusta has asked me to seek you out.’

  She got to her feet and walked over.

  ‘We are to walk the track down to the coast. The Augusta was quite specific. You are to accompany us. She says you have sharp eyes and perhaps will see things we would miss.’

  ‘Not in a forest she won’t,’ Burrus grumbled.

  ‘Do you want to collect your cloak?’ The Captain ignored the German’s interruption. ‘Before we leave I want to show you something.’ And, spinning on his heel, Gaius Tullius marched away, leaving Claudia and Burrus no choice but to hurry on behind. They skirted the palace going across to the ruined House of Mourning. Gaius didn’t stop there but led them both into a clump of sycamore trees, a rather wild, untended part of the garden where the unruly brambles and gorse stretched up to the curtain wall. He pushed his way through these, Burrus behind opening a path for Claudia.

  At one point Claudia paused and squatted down to examine some bones, lamb and beef, with dried scraps of meat still clinging to them. Nearby, rolled up in a ball, was a soiled napkin and, under a thorn bush, an earthenware wine jug.

  ‘Someone’s been feasting.’

  Gaius came back to stand over her. ‘The servants are always stealing away to eat the food they’ve filched, but that’s not important. Come on . . .’

  They reached a small clearing just before the wall. Gaius pointed to the strong, reinforced Syrian bow lying on the ground, an empty quiver and, beside it, an earthenware pot blackened by fire.

  ‘I found these this morning,’ he explained, ‘or rather, my men and I did. We decided to search the grounds for anything suspicious. There was always the possibility that one of the attackers had broken through and might be hiding here.’

  Claudia went across and picked up the bow. The wood and cord were soaked, as were the quiver and the earthenware pot, which still reeked of pitch and fire.

  ‘This must have been here some time,’ she murmured. ‘What do you think, Gaius?’

  The Captain’s smooth-shaven face showed the strain of the previous night, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep.

  ‘I wish the Augusta had trusted us,’ he replied, as if talking to himself. ‘I mean no offence, Burrus.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘I suppose I’m trying to prove myself. I suspect the bow, the quiver and pot of fire were used by the traitor. The House of Mourning was not a beacon fire, but on the night it was destroyed, the traitor used the confusion to loose fire arrows into the air.’

  Claudia, squatting down, stared at the bow and the wall, then back in the direction they had come. What Gaius said made sense, but it still left the question of who had started the beacon fires.

  ‘Burrus!’ She beckoned the mercenary forward. ‘We will not be walking through the woods. No, no, Gaius,’ she held up her hand, ‘I will explain to the Augusta. I want you to send your best men into the woods, Burrus. I want them to stay away from where the battle took place. Tell them,’ she gestured with her hand, ‘to scour the area to the left of the path as you leave the villa.’

  ‘What are they looking for?’ Burrus asked.

  ‘Signs of encampment, perhaps two or three men living in the woods. They must have left a camp fire, dug a small latrine pit. They were probably soldiers, or perhaps even travelling tinkers or pedlars. If they did set up camp it would be fairly recent. Search for fire pits, scraps of clothing or food.’

  Burrus nodded and hurried off.

  ‘And me?’ Gaius grinned. ‘Do you have orders for me?’

  ‘Yes, Captain, in fact I do.’

  She paused as Athanasius’s voice drifted across the grass. ‘Septimus? Septimus?’

  ‘He’s been searching for him,’ Gaius groaned. ‘Knowing these philosophers, Septimus is probably sleeping it off somewhere.’

  ‘I want you to find Timothaeus,’ Claudia declared. ‘I want to talk with him about the wanderer in the woods.’

  ‘The old man who was found dead on the track outside the villa?’

  ‘The same,’ Claudia replied.

  As Gaius strode off, Claudia went back to re-examine the bow and quiver and the small pot used to carry fire. She was now genuinely puzzled and intrigued why Narcissus would lie. He had told her he had left the House of Mourning, filled his stomach, drunk too much and gone to sleep it off some distance away. She now believed he was lying and wondered why. But there again, she reflected grimly, she had a number of questions for her new-found friend.

  A short while later Gaius came marching back, Timothaeus hastening beside him. The steward looked rather ill and unkempt, his face unshaven, his tunic stained.

  ‘Sit down on the grass.’

  ‘It’s wet,’ Timothaeus declared. ‘Haven’t you forgotten, Claudia, it rained last night?’

  She shrugged and sat on a marble seat, inviting Gaius to join them.

  ‘The wanderer in the woods,’ she began. ‘The old man found dead near the villa shortly before the Emperor arrived.’

  ‘That’s right,’ the steward agreed, blinking wearily. ‘Don’t you remember, Gaius, I came and saw you about him. The old man was a nuisance.’ Timothaeus turned back to Claudia. ‘He wandered the woods and often came to the villa to beg for scraps. He was well known to the farmers around here, though there aren’t many of these left now,’ he added mournfully. ‘I understand our attackers slaughtered everyone who couldn’t flee. We should have crucified those prisoners.’ His fingers flew to his lips. ‘Crucified!’ he muttered. ‘I’m a Christian, I shouldn’t have said that, should I?’

  ‘Tell me about the wanderer in the woods,’ Claudia insisted.

  ‘One of the guards found the old man on the track.’ Timothaeus tapped the left side of his face. ‘He had bruises all along here. Sometimes he was drunk, I thought he’d had a fall or fit. Isn’t that right, Gaius?’

  The Captain agreed. ‘At any other time,’ he drawled, ‘we would have tossed such a corpse into the undergrowth, but I felt sorry for him. The villa has a burial pit just beyond the eastern wall. I had the corpse taken to the House of Mourning and wrapped in a shroud. Timothaeus here,’ he added sardonically, ‘as a Christian, claimed it was a pious act to bury the dead, say a prayer and pour a libation over the grave.’

  ‘Are you a Christian,’ Claudia asked Gaius, ‘or any of your family?’

  ‘Go through the records, Claudia. I didn’t take part in the persecution, but my family are no friends of the Christians. Nevertheless,’ Gaius patted Timothaeus on the shoulder, ‘some I like. Timothaeus is a good fellow. Anyway, my man declared what he had found, and Timothaeus asked for my help. I had the wanderer brought in; his body was dirty, the head all bloodied.’

  ‘Could he have been murdered?’ Claudia asked.

  Gaius made a face. ‘Possibly. But who would want to kill an old man? All I can remember is that he stank worse than a dog pit. The Emperor arrived in the early afternoon, just after we found the body.’ Gaius moved his head from side to side. ‘It was taken to the death house and then the fun began: Dionysius’s murder.’

  ‘Timothaeus, you said . . .’ Claudia paused; she wanted to be precise as possible, ‘you claimed the wanderer in the woods was a nuisance?’

  ‘Well, he had been for the last few days before he died. Mistress, I don’t know whether he had a fall or was attacked. I had his body taken up because I felt guilty. The old fellow kept knocking at the gate saying he wished to see the Emp
eror. I told him to bugger off.’ Timothaeus looked wistfully at her. ‘Perhaps I should have been kinder? We didn’t really look at his corpse, did we, Gaius? The soldiers wrapped him in a shroud, no more than a piece of sacking, put it on a stretcher and brought it in.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’ Gaius asked.

  Claudia stared at the ruined House of Mourning.

  ‘What sort of people were taken there?’

  ‘Now and again,’ Timothaeus replied, ‘the occasional guest dies. Anybody with family, well, we hold the corpse until kith and kin come and claim it. As for the rest,’ he rubbed his eyes, ‘usually servants, household slaves. They are put there and later buried or burnt.’ He got to his feet. ‘Now, mistress, I have duties, and so does Gaius.’

  They both drifted away. Claudia got to her feet and walked over to the sycamore tree where the Emperor had sheltered on the night of the fire. She walked back to examine the remains of the meal strewn on the hard-packed earth. She also noticed how, here and there, the ground had been dug up, but now it was baked hard.

  ‘Claudia!’

  She got to her feet, brushing off the dust, and peeped around a bush. Narcissus was walking up and down, arms flailing. ‘Claudia!’

  ‘Just the person!’ she whispered. She stepped from behind the bush and tiptoed quietly up to Narcissus, pushing him hard on the shoulder. He whirled round.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you, Claudia.’

  ‘And I’ve been looking for you!’ She smiled back. ‘Come, sit and talk with me!’ She patted his arm. ‘I thought I was a good actress but, Narcissus, your acting ability is equal to mine.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he spluttered. ‘Claudia, now is not the time for teasing. I want to know where I’m going to live. How long are you staying at the villa?’

  ‘Never mind that.’ Claudia gestured to the garden seat. ‘I want to talk to you about the wanderer in the woods. No, Narcissus, don’t start trembling or crying. You knew the old man?’

  ‘Of course,’ he muttered, avoiding her gaze. ‘Everyone knew him. But I’m frightened. Claudia, what happened last night?’

  ‘You know what happened, Narcissus: the villa was attacked. The beacon lights? You were the one who saw them, weren’t you?’ She noticed how flushed he’d become. ‘The wanderer in the woods, do you think he was murdered?’ She grabbed his wrist and dug her nails in. ‘Don’t lie, Narcissus. You examined his corpse, as you examine all the bodies taken into the House of Mourning. Some of those you don’t dare to touch, but as for others, don’t you practise your embalming skills on them?’

  Narcissus refused to reply.

  ‘Do you know something?’ Claudia continued blithely. ‘I think you’ve been telling me lies about a lot of things.’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘Oh, don’t start acting. You’re an embalmer from Syria who became involved in a revolt and were sold into slavery. Yes?’

  Narcissus nodded.

  ‘You were dispatched to Italy and . . .’

  ‘I came here.’

  Claudia slapped his face. ‘I’ll slap you again if you lie. I liked you, Narcissus, but I don’t really know who you are. You’ve been at this villa some time, haven’t you? You know people like Timothaeus. You also know me, and you owe me a great deal, so let’s have the truth.’

  ‘I arrived in Italy,’ Narcissus began slowly. ‘I was put up for sale in Tarentum.’

  ‘Capua,’ Claudia interrupted. ‘Don’t forget Capua, Narcissus.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ he continued hastily. ‘I was sold to a farmer who regarded me as next to useless, so I ended up on the slave block, where I was bought by a Christian family.’

  ‘Ah,’ Claudia smiled, ‘and you’re a Christian, aren’t you, Narcissus? I’m sure you are a convert.’ She patted his arm. ‘You made a mistake. You actually wondered if there was a different funeral rite for the Arians as opposed to the orthodox. Strange, I thought, how come a pagan slave, a man immersed in the burial rites of Egypt, is so knowledgeable about orthodox Christians and Arians? Who knows,’ she peered at him round-eyed, ‘you may have made other slips.’ Claudia was pleased; she wasn’t ready to confront Narcissus on everything, but her remark had truly frightened him. ‘You were saying?’ she urged.

  ‘My new master was a funeral manager. He was kindly, with a large family, boys and girls. They lived in a villa on the edge of the town, a lovely place, mistress, gardens and orchards, olive groves and a vineyard. He made his own wine; it tasted very good. I was so happy. What my master wanted, I wanted. I accepted the White Christ. I would believe anything my master did. I was often used by him as a messenger, as a trusted confidant. He admired my embalming skills. He used to laugh, slap me on the shoulder and claim I made the most grotesque corpse kissable. On the Sabbath day, just before the evening meal, his villa became the meeting place for Christians. Their priests, who received what they call the laying on of hands, would come to celebrate the Agape, the Eucharist, what they term the love feast: the breaking of bread and the drinking of wine. They believe it’s the Body and Blood of Christ.

  ‘Now, my master was very wealthy. He was patron of the oratory school in the town; he liked nothing better than to invite speakers to his villa for the Agape. After the ceremony was over we would have supper out under the stars, the night air sweet with the perfume of hyacinth. The speakers would entertain us debating some topic or other. On other occasions my master would take his entire household down to the school to watch the orators declaim.’ Narcissus put his face in his hands. ‘An idyllic time! Virgil would have sung about it in his poetry.’

  ‘And?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘Oh, I met everyone there. The school of oratory at Capua was famous; even Chrysis came, to improve his speaking and public presentation. He considered himself a new Cicero. He loved to quote the Pro Milone or the Contra Catilinam and other speeches of the great orator. I’m not too sure,’ Narcissus screwed his eyes up, ‘I think Chrysis had to leave, some scandal about paying fees, or in his case, not paying them.’

  ‘And Gaius Tullius?’

  Narcissus shook his head. ‘I’ve talked to him. He spent most of his time in Gaul or Britain. He is a pagan through and through and can’t see what all the fuss is about. I never met him until I came here.’

  ‘And the steward Timothaeus?’

  ‘He never came, but I understand he had a brother there.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He disappeared during the persecution. Timothaeus doesn’t know whether he fled, was arrested or killed.’ Narcissus shrugged. ‘No one knows! The rest of the speakers were there, Athanasius, Dionysius and the rest. They were young then, learning the art of public speaking, being trained to deliver a speech with a pebble in their mouth or recite without notes. Looking back, they were all puffed up as barnyard cocks. Justin regarded himself as the new Demosthenes.’

  ‘You’re an educated man, Narcissus, you know all the names.’

  ‘My master was a great scholar. He educated me, he let me read his library.’

  ‘Then it all ended?’

  ‘Yes, it all ended,’ Narcissus declared wearily. ‘I loved that family, mistress. My master promised me my freedom, planned to have me as a business partner. We could have cornered the trade in that town. You should have seen his warehouses. He had the best funeral paraphernalia: masks, fans, caskets, even his own group of musicians. Diocletian ended all that. He issued his edict, Christianity was once again proscribed, its scriptures and symbols banned.’ Narcissus began to cry, sobbing quietly. Claudia noticed his fists clenched in balls, the veins in his arms standing out like tight cords. This man, she reflected, could kill. And what about Timothaeus? He had had a brother in Capua who apparently disappeared. Chrysis? He was a different matter. He was always known for his sticky fingers, reluctant to pay his debts.

  As Narcissus sobbed, he reminded Claudia of a child, his tears being those of anger rather than sorrow.

  ‘My master’s family
,’ he wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, ‘were denounced. The soldiers came in the dead of night, they found a copy of the Christian scriptures, the Chi and Rho and the icthus sign, the fish, the letters of which, as you know, stand for “Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour of the World”. I was there shivering in the dark when the soldiers pushed this symbol into my master’s face asking him to renounce it. He refused, as did his family. They were all taken up, bound and tied, pushed out of the door and into a cart. I was ignored; you see, I was a slave, I didn’t exist. I was left like a ghost in that empty house. I stayed there for about four days. People came asking what had happened. I couldn’t believe it! I saw it in their eyes: I was the traitor, I had betrayed my master. So I fled, and hid out in the countryside.’

  ‘How did you survive?’

  ‘I knew about the Christian community, names and places. Once I was in hiding, fleeing for my life, I was accepted as one of them, but I faced many dangers. I could be branded as a traitor by the Christians or a runaway slave by the authorities. If I was captured I could expect the cross or end up facing some great bear in the arena. One of the farmers I sheltered with told me how the authorities had now made a tally of my master’s possessions. I was on it but missing. They wanted me.’ Narcissus held his hands up. ‘Mistress, I swear I never betrayed them, but I knew if I was captured I would be tortured. I lurked out in the countryside,’ he blew his cheeks out, ‘oh, two or three years, then I was passed north and given shelter in the catacombs. I looked after the graves of the dead. The years passed quickly. I came to the attention of the presbyter Sylvester and confessed my whole story to him.’

  ‘I’m sure you did.’ Claudia smiled thinly. ‘And Sylvester arranged for you to come here?’

  ‘Yes, mistress, because of Constantine’s Edict of Toleration. Our new Emperor made it very clear: runaway slaves had to recognise their status and surrender to the authorities. Sylvester explained he could do nothing for me but soften the blow. He would arrange a good post; sure enough, I was presented to Chrysis and dispatched here.’