by Paul Doherty
‘You have no real proof.’ Gaius Tullius wiped sweaty hands on his tunic.
‘Don’t I?’ Claudia retorted. ‘There is a logic to what I’ve said. We can search the army records. We can establish a strong link between you and Capua. We can prove that, as an officer, you could go anywhere in that villa, and you did: you kindly brought me that scroll you found in Dionysius’s chamber, anything to deepen the confusion and sharpen the rivalry between your enemies. Above all, we can keep you prisoner here while your own chamber and possessions are ransacked . . .’
Gaius Tullius closed his eyes and turned away, a sign that he was conceding defeat.
‘We’ll find something,’ Claudia insisted, ‘which connects you with Licinius, which will prove you to be the traitor.’
‘I am no traitor.’ Gaius stared up to the sky. ‘At least not to Rome, but to the fools who wear the purple.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It is as you say, a coming together of events.’ He made himself comfortable on the grass, talking softly as if to himself. ‘I couldn’t believe my good fortune. The attack on the villa was planned. Constantine and his bitch of a mother did not deserve my loyalty, or to wear the purple which men like me had won in the heat of battle. I later learnt about the orators coming. Oh yes, I had been through Chrysis’s records. They were all weaklings who couldn’t even support their own faith; men like Septimus had betrayed the only two people I really loved. I felt like a fox in a barnyard. It was just a matter of seeking every opportunity, creating chaos, and if the attack had been successful, don’t worry, little mouse, I would have ensured they all died.’ He gestured back at the tavern. ‘Is Murranus watching me? Shall I tell you something? When he brought Meleager down, I advised the Emperor to spare him. Do you know why?’
‘Yes, yes, I think I do.’ Claudia half smiled. ‘The Holy Sword had been found, the attack on the villa beaten off; you are sharp-eyed, Gaius, and calm. You saw how I fled from the triclinium the night I met Meleager. You claimed you knew all about me. I suspect you were one of the few people in that room who realised I’d met the man who raped me and killed my brother. Meleager was also a gladiator; what did he call himself? The Marvel of a Million Cities.’ Claudia used her fingers to emphasise her points. ‘Meleager fought in cities in the East. He could be cast as a supporter of Licinius. Secondly, he had good reason to fear me, hence your attack on me at the villa; Meleager could be blamed. Thirdly, Meleager was linked to Capua; he may well have been a torturer when the Christians were persecuted, so he could be viewed as a man who had a motive for silencing the likes of Dionysius and Septimus. Finally, he was at the villa when all the murders took place and the attack was launched. Were you going to use him as your cat’s paw, a scapegoat for the murders? You are a powerful officer, Gaius, it could be so easily done.’
Gaius lowered his head and laughed softly. ‘One favour.’ He raised his head. ‘Not on the cross! I don’t want to die nailed to a piece of wood.’ He gestured at Burrus. ‘You have your men outside; not far away lies a stretch of wasteland.’ He glanced at Claudia, begging her with his eyes. ‘I’m a soldier, I deserve a better death.’
Claudia glanced at Timothaeus, who nodded imperceptibly.
‘Let him fall on his sword.’ Burrus rose to his feet, gesturing at Gaius Tullius to stand. ‘I’ll take your Murranus with me; he can be the official witness.’
Gaius Tullius was now brushing the grass from his tunic, slowly, as if preparing to go for a stroll. ‘Well, mistress?’ He glanced at Claudia.
‘Go!’ Claudia nodded at the tavern. ‘Take Murranus with you, let it be done quickly.’
Gaius’s hands went to the small purse on his belt. He undid the cord and threw the pouch at Narcissus. ‘Take care of my body.’ Then, spinning on his heel, he allowed Burrus to guide him by the arm across to the tavern.
Claudia sat and listened. She heard Polybius exclaim. Murranus came out and lifted his hand; Claudia nodded back.
‘I didn’t think . . .’ Narcissus began.
‘Hush now,’ Claudia whispered. She rose to her feet and walked down to the vine trellis to stare at the ripening grapes. She plucked one, squeezing it between her fingers, watching the purple juice drip. She closed her eyes. Somewhere close by, on a piece of wasteland, Gaius Tullius would be kneeling, grasping the hilt of his sword, ready to thrust it deep between his own ribs. She recalled his handsome, boyish face. ‘So much blood,’ she whispered. She opened her eyes and stared at the trellis again. Yet she also felt relieved. Meleager was dead. She’d experienced justice for herself and Felix. Now she could reflect on that, open her heart to Murranus and close that door against the horde of ghosts from her past.
‘Mistress?’ Claudia turned round. Narcissus stood staring sorrowfully at her. ‘Will our lives change?’
‘Of course they will.’ Claudia smiled. ‘Haven’t you learned that yet? Our lives are always changing! Now come.’ She grasped him by the arm. ‘I think it’s time we both had words with Uncle!’