by Paul Doherty
Murranus woke an hour later to find the banquet prepared and himself the guest of honour. He struggled to his feet, stretching and yawning, and begged for a mug of clear water and would the musicians please not play so loud? In the end the banquet was a great success. Time and again Murranus was questioned, particularly about the agile leap, and only Oceanus could restrain him when he offered to repeat it. Sallust the Searcher came back from the Palatine, whispering to Claudia that tomorrow morning Gaius Tullius would bring Burrus and Timothaeus to the She-Asses tavern.
‘I told him it was important. Urgent business!’
‘Yes, yes, so it is,’ Claudia replied. ‘Come, Sallust,’ she thrust a goblet into his hands, ‘this is a time for celebration.’
The party lasted long into the night. Many of the guests fell asleep on their cushions. Claudia was careful what she ate and drank. She just sat and watched as Murranus was toasted and hailed as a champion. One question which did strike a chord with her was why the Emperor had shown mercy to Meleager. She had reflected on this time and again after she had left the arena, but of course, there was no one here close to the imperial family who could tell her; well, at least not until tomorrow. Eventually she kissed Murranus good night and went to her own chamber, where she lay on her bed half listening to the revelry from the garden, going over everything she had learned about those hideous murders at the Villa Pulchra. She had trapped Agrippina; now she wondered if she could do the same with the assassin. Time and again she had listed the evidence.
‘First Sisium, secondly fire in the sky, thirdly ropes, fourthly Capua, fifthly the silent walker, sixthly silence and stealth.’ She kept murmuring these words until she fell fast asleep.
She woke just after dawn, and peering through the shutters she could tell the day would be beautiful. She stripped, washed and dressed and raced down the stairs to the kitchen, where she had some bread and olives and a jug of rather weak ale. Oceanus was already up, beginning to clear the rubbish from the garden as well as rouse the various customers who had fallen asleep in the most surprising places. Simon the Stoic was found in the small vineyard, lying on the pebble path, as comfortable and relaxed as if it was a feather mattress. Petronius the Pimp and two of his girls were deep in the orchard, fast asleep, backs to a tree. Oceanus woke them all up with a dash of water to their faces and a vigorous shake on the shoulder.
‘Where’s Murranus?’ Claudia asked.
Oceanus pointed with his thumb. ‘Fast asleep in the Venus Chamber. Why?’
‘I’m expecting visitors,’ she confided.
‘Oh, no!’ the ex-gladiator groaned. ‘Polybius is already grumbling about you using his garden as a council chamber.’
‘Well, this is the last time. When my visitors arrive I want you to bring out jugs of wine, water, some fresh bread and sliced fruit. You’ll find them in the kitchen. Afterwards, go and rouse Uncle and Murranus; they must arm themselves.’
Oceanus grabbed her by the shoulders.
‘No, Oceanus, you listen. I want these visitors to come in unsuspecting. However, once you have served the food, you must fetch Polybius and Murranus. Polybius has a bow and a quiver of arrows somewhere. He must find these and be prepared to use them. Finally, nobody, and I mean nobody, comes out to this garden without my permission.’
Oceanus, surprised, faithfully promised that he would do what Claudia asked. She went round the garden just to make sure no other customers were sleeping off last night’s wine, before bringing out cushions so that her visitors could sit in the shade of the trees. The sun was now high, and noises echoed from the streets beyond. Poppaoe came out all a-bustle, asking Claudia what the matter was. Her niece kissed her on the cheeks, politely asked her to mind her own business and repeated what she had said to Oceanus. Then she returned to her own chamber and fetched a dagger and a walking stick, which she brought to the garden and hid under a pile of cushions. She sat there, legs crossed, a linen cloth over her knees as she collected daisies and began to tie them into a chain.
She was halfway through when her guests arrived. Burrus marched across the garden, cloaked and furred, armour clinking as if he was striding through some snowy forest in Germany. He roared a greeting to everyone, and was about to pick Claudia up to hug her when he saw the daisy chain, so he satisfied himself with a quick kiss to the brow. He wanted to discuss the fight with Murranus, but Claudia ordered him to sit down next to her. Timothaeus looked rather sheepish, biting his lip and scratching his unshaven cheek. Gaius Tullius was, however, calm and collected. He was dressed in a red-edged snow-white tunic, marching boots on his feet and a sword belt slung over one shoulder. He greeted Claudia with a friendly clasp of hands and stared round the garden, openly admiring it, before sitting down opposite her.
Oceanus came out with a jug and a tray of goblets. He looked enquiringly at Claudia, who thanked him and asked that Narcissus join them, to be dragged out of bed if necessary. She poured the wine. Narcissus came out yawning and scratching, gently burping and loudly apologising that he had eaten and drunk too much the night before. He made himself as comfortable as possible. Claudia caught the warning glance Timothaeus sent him.
‘Why are we here?’ Burrus slapped his thigh. ‘It’s good to see you, Claudia, but why are we here? Where’s Murranus? Everyone is talking about his heroic feat. What he achieved would be hard enough even for a German, a chieftain like myself.’
Claudia put down her daisy chain. ‘Gaius,’ she leaned across, ‘I need your sword belt.’
He pulled a face, but handed it across. Claudia immediately passed it to Burrus; Gaius made to object, but Claudia held out her hand.
‘Gaius, I want you to listen to what I have to say, because I’ve brought you here away from the court, be it the Palatine or the Villa Pulchra, to accuse you of murder. You are responsible for the deaths of Dionysius, Justin and Septimus.’
‘This is nonsense,’ Gaius breathed, eyes drifting to Burrus, who was now clutching his sword belt.
Narcissus and Timothaeus gasped; Burrus looked puzzled, though the cunning German knew enough about Claudia to sense that she would not make allegations unless she was certain. Claudia pointed across to the tavern.
‘My uncle and others are in there armed. Polybius,’ she lied, ‘is a very good archer, whilst Burrus, of course, will do his very best to prevent you escaping from this garden. You are a killer, Gaius, a pagan with a particular hatred for Christians, especially the Christian community of Capua. When I first met you I brought good wishes from Spicerius. You and he were boyhood friends; you chased each other through the fields near Sisium, a small village outside Capua. At the time you changed the subject very abruptly and never mentioned it again.
‘At the Villa Pulchra I’m certain you once said you knew nothing about Capua, its Christians or the persecution there. Of course, you were lying, I can prove that. My friend Sallust the Searcher made careful enquiries, not in Capua but amongst the farming community around that town. He came across evidence concerning Lucius and Octavia Quatis. They were a childless couple who took in an orphan boy, the only son of people who had worked for them. I believe the father was an overseer on their farm. The parents died of a fever; their son, little Gaius, was raised by this kind-hearted couple and treated as their own. People always remembered Gaius and, indeed, Spicerius, playing soldiers out in the fields and woods. Scarcely in his teens, the young boy joined the army, and that was the last the local community ever saw or heard of him. They believed he had been posted abroad. By the time he’d reached any senior rank, Diocletian had launched his ferocious persecution against the Christians and Capua was brought under the scrutiny of the Emperor’s agents. Capua was dangerous because its Christians were not only slaves or minor servants but important people who were beginning to control the schools and other institutions in the town. It was a time of terror, wasn’t it, Gaius?’
She paused. Timothaeus and Narcissus were now sitting closer together, as if for protection. Burrus had thrown Ga
ius’s sword belt well away, and one hand rested on the hilt of his own stabbing dagger. Gaius had paled; only a bead of sweat running down his cheek betrayed his agitation.
‘I was an orphan,’ he stammered, ‘but I never knew Capua, I . . .’
‘Don’t lie,’ Claudia replied softly. ‘You may have added to your name, but one thing about the Roman army, it does keep scrupulous records. Somewhere amongst those records I will find your real name, your age and where you come from.’
She paused again and sipped her wine. She looked Gaius up and down but could not detect any concealed weapon.
‘A time of terror,’ she repeated. ‘Christians from Capua and elsewhere were rounded up; it was a time for settling grudges and grievances. Dionysius and Septimus were Christian scholars who were terrorised into betraying other names. Lucius and Octavia were not Christians but somehow they got caught up in the persecution. They were only poor farmers with no one to help them, whilst their adopted son was possibly hundreds of miles away. We don’t know who betrayed them, or why; it may have been Dionysius or Septimus. I’m sure you’ve been through the records yourself, though men like Chrysis are only too willing to destroy anything about those days, when Christians were hunted like rats in a sewer.’
Claudia picked up the daisy chain, balancing it in her hand. ‘An old man and an old woman,’ she continued, ‘innocent of any crime, dragged into Rome. And of course, the more they denied their crime, the worse it become. They were kindly people, weren’t they, Gaius? Had they allowed Christians to meet on their farm, or had they sheltered a Christian? Whatever, these poor people were murdered and their farm was confiscated by the State. It would take months for you to learn the news; you were, by then, an ambitious army officer, a trusted member of the staff corps in Constantine’s Army of the West. Diocletian abdicated and the civil war broke out, but you had not forgotten.’ Claudia broke the daisy chain. ‘You returned to Rome with the conquering army and you conducted a thorough search. You are a good soldier, you know how to plan an ambush. You don’t go riding into Sisium or Capua; rather, you search the records and listen to rumour and gossip. You’re not a Christian, are you, Gaius?’
‘I hate them, I always have,’ came the quiet reply. ‘It’s a sect of slaves and anarchists. Like many officers, I believe Constantine has made the wrong choice.’
‘Do you feel he’s betrayed you?’ Claudia asked. ‘Is that why you are also the traitor in the Emperor’s camp? Have you already sold your soul, sword and loyalty to Licinius’s agents? Are you so furious at the death of your foster parents, so incensed at the Christian faith that you have lost all trust in Constantine and his mother?’
Gaius gazed solemnly back.
‘You watched and you seethed,’ Claudia continued. ‘You learned as much as you could about the horrifying details of your foster parents’ cruel capture and death. What rubbed salt in the wound was what happened to the home where you played as a child, their farm. It had been confiscated by the State but Constantine restored it to the Christian sect. Insult upon insult, injury upon injury. You discovered that Lucius and Octavia had even been buried in the Christian catacombs, only their first names carved on the tomb. The catacombs are now deserted; it would not be difficult for a soldier like yourself to creep down, break open the tomb and remove their remains for what you’d call an honourable burial.’
‘I didn’t know this.’ Timothaeus spoke up. ‘Gaius, you always seemed so tolerant.’
‘Contemptuous is a more accurate description,’ Claudia interrupted. ‘You hated the Emperor and men like Sylvester; you were ready to support Licinius.’
‘But he’s a bodyguard,’ Burrus broke in. ‘He could have killed the Emperor whenever he so wished.’
‘Could he? With other soldiers standing about? What if Constantine is murdered but his family still survive, above all the Augusta? More importantly, Gaius Tullius wanted to live. He wanted to witness the return of a new pagan Emperor who would set his face, and raise his hand, against the Christian Church. Oh, I’m sure if a new persecution broke out, Gaius Tullius would prove to be the most zealous hunter of Christians.’ Claudia spoke evenly.
‘Do continue,’ Gaius snapped. ‘I’ll listen to you, little woman, then I’ll decide.’
‘You have no choice,’ Claudia replied. ‘This may not be a court of law, but can you imagine if it was? After all, you are a soldier; you will be tried in front of a military tribunal where the rule of law is not so scrupulously observed.’
Claudia stared across at the tavern. A shutter opened and closed, and she briefly glimpsed Murranus standing there. She turned back to Gaius Tallius, spreading her hands out.
‘Astrologers claim that sometimes the stars and planets move into a favourable conjunction. This is what happened with events at the Villa Pulchra. You knew the Emperor would be going there, not the precise day, but you could make an accurate guess about when he would arrive; after all, you are one of his staff officers. You gave that information to Licinius’s agents and the war galley was dispatched. All the enemy had to do was wait for the agreed signal. You would give that from the villa, and Licinius’s agents, hiding in the woods, would pass it on. You overlooked one thing: the wanderer in the woods, that inquisitive old man who knew the lie of the land like the back of his hand. He must have realised something was wrong and came to the villa to pester Timothaeus. You decided he was too dangerous, so you killed him!’
‘That’s not true!’ Gaius Tullius broke in.
‘Yes it is.’ Timothaeus spoke up again. ‘On the day that old man was found, you left the villa early; you said you were going for a ride.’
‘You were busy plotting,’ Claudia continued, shifting on the grass, staring back at the tavern window. ‘You were planning not only to betray your Emperor, but to seize a splendid opportunity for revenge. The Christians were coming to the Villa Pulchra, the orators from Capua, at least two of whom you suspected of being turncoats. Those orators are lonely men, much given to brooding; they like to be by themselves. You didn’t really care who died as long as you inflicted revenge and depicted these Christians to their Emperor as being as murderous, quarrelsome and vindictive as the rest of his subjects.’
‘You walk softly,’ Burrus interrupted. ‘That is how you killed Dionysius . . .’
Gaius Tullius dismissed him with a contemptuous flick of his hand.
‘You killed them,’ Claudia accused him. ‘You caught them on their own, like rabbits in a snare. Dionysius you stunned, then cut to death. Next came Septimus, and finally Justin. You must have been pleased to use Dionysius’s corpse, and that of the wanderer, as part of your beacon light.’
‘I was with you when the House of Mourning caught fire . . .’
‘Of course you were.’ Claudia smiled. ‘But you also knew Narcissus was fast asleep. It is easy to take a length of old rope, grease it with oil, strike a tinder and watch the flame burn fiercely but slowly away, giving you sufficient time to be with a witness when the conflagration broke out. The House of Mourning was neglected, Narcissus had drunk deep; it posed little problem.’
‘Why did you burn it?’ Narcissus asked crossly.
‘As I’ve said, it was the beacon light,’ Claudia accused. ‘The agreed signal for the assault on the villa to be launched. You also wanted to conceal your own handiwork, just in case you’d made a mistake: the way you tied those ropes around Dionysius, perhaps, or that I might examine the corpse of that old man and wonder if he were a murder victim too. You really didn’t care. If the attack had been successful, Licinius’s men would have taken you away, ostensibly as a captive, though one who would later change sides.’
Gaius Tullius made to rise, but Burrus’s hand went to his war belt and the soldier slumped back down. Some colour had returned to his face, but his darting glances and the way he kept wetting his lips betrayed his agitation.
‘You enjoyed killing them,’ Claudia continued. ‘You did your best to confuse me by pretending that Justin had b
een murdered by someone not used to drawing a bow, just as you tried to frighten me with that painting on the wall, or by coming into the cellar, your face hidden behind a mask, an old cloak about you. When I wouldn’t be cowed, you threw that lamp into my chamber. Gaius Tullius had every right to be in the imperial quarters; it was easy enough to conceal a lamp under your cloak and, when the passageway was empty, open a door and throw it in. The rest of the villa was sleeping; you thought I’d be doing the same.’ Claudia leaned over and touched Narcissus’s hand. ‘But, the gods be thanked, I was talking to my new-found friend!’
‘When the Holy Sword disappeared,’ Timothaeus pointed his finger, ‘you enjoyed the confusion.’
‘That helped his plan,’ Claudia agreed. ‘The Emperor was tired, the Augusta worried about the coming debate, the orators from Capua were at each other’s throats, the Holy Sword had disappeared; such confusion helps to distract people. When I found out about the beacon lights, you decided to deepen the confusion further by supposedly discovering that bow, and the fire arrows.’ Claudia leaned closer. ‘You did find them, don’t you remember, near the wall?’
The accused stared sullenly back.
‘You hoped the burning of the House of Mourning would be seen as an accident or as caused by someone loosing fire arrows into the air. However, on that night,’ Claudia nodded at Narcissus, ‘our sharp-eyed former slave here was sitting on top of a hill brooding about his future. He saw no fire arrows. More importantly, once the court left the Villa Pulchra, I returned and organised a search of the woods.’
‘Yes, yes, I heard about that,’ Timothaeus broke in.
‘I told the servants to search for any weapon of war.’ Claudia smiled. ‘Now, Gaius, if you loose an arrow up into the sky, the flame eventually dies, but part of the feathered shaft remains. Yet nobody found anything. The quiver you supposedly discovered was fairly empty; it would take at least four or five arrows to attract the attention of Licinius’s agents.’ She pointed her finger at him. ‘That’s when I began to suspect you.’