In the bedroom, I dropped to a stool by the bed and pulled off my boots.
“What are you going to do about stopping all this?” Eleyne asked in bitter voice. She removed the white palla covering her green night shift and sat on the goose-down bed.
“I’m taking every step necessary to ensure it doesn’t happen again,” I answered, barely able to keep my eyes open.
“Is that all?”
“I’ve started an investigation.”
Eleyne jabbed a finger at my chest. “Can’t you do more?”
“What happened to the Christians tonight was unconscionable. I hate it, but it’s not just your damn Christians that died. Good men—my men—were also lost. But you don’t mention them at all.” I threw my boot across the room. “I’ve done enough for one night—my mind has turned to mud, and I can’t think.”
Eleyne sat, her face sullen as if hurt by my rebuke.
I leaned over and placed a hand on hers. “Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that things are set into motion no one wanted. They’re taking on a direction and life of their own and will have to play out to the end. We’ll talk about it in the morning, when we’re both in a better mood.”
Eleyne nodded, but turned her back to me, slid under the blankets, and fell asleep.
*
About a week later I told Eleyne about what my investigation revealed.
Evening drew an ash-gray curtain across the sky, and rolling thunderheads snuffed out the dim afterglow of sunset. Heavy darkness draped Rome as lightning flashed silently in the distance.
I stood watching from the balcony of our house as thunderbolts rocked the earth. The first rains of October were approaching the city. Nearly a week had passed since the riots, and Eleyne wanted to talk once again about the attacks on the Christians. But I used the approaching storm as a moment’s distraction to collect my thoughts.
Strolling outside, Eleyne placed an arm about my waist and leaned her head on my shoulder. A sudden crackle and a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated everything. She tightened reflexively. In that instant, the hills of Rome were silhouetted against the horizon, and beyond black-purple clouds dragged in a slanted, gray curtain of rain.
A fresh, cool windswept before the storm, carrying the scent of rain. Angry clouds churned, and thunder rumbled, as if Jupiter and the gods raged upon Mount Olympus. Pelts of rain fell as we retreated into the bedroom just off the balcony to continue watching nature’s display.
“Marcellus,” Eleyne said, “I didn’t know about your men being killed. Their poor families . . . my heart goes out to them. But my friends are Christians, and I need to talk about them, too. I know you’re not telling me everything.”
“All right,” I said, “I’ll tell you what I can.” I sighed. No longer could I delay her questions.
Jagged bolts of lightning slashed to the earth, and rain plummeted from the sky, dancing upon the black striated marble of the balcony.
“Gallus is behind this,” I said.
She gasped and pulled away from me. “I might have guessed.”
“He instigated the whole tumult in collusion with Nero and Tigellinus. This is only a strong suspicion, but I’m positive it happened.”
Her shoulders slumped. “What lead you to believe this?”
“I was investigating why the Thirteenth Cohort was so slow in responding to the riot.”
“And were they?”
My chest tightened. “Unfortunately, they were. I found substantial evidence to prove their commander, Octavius Cuartio and ten of the mob’s leaders were on Tigellinus’s payroll. He ordered Quartio, who was a habitual drunk, to ignore the carnage until the last moment. Tigellinus despises the Christians and used the mob to rid the city of them.”
“Tigellinus is a monster!”
I nodded.
Eleyne stepped closer and touched my shoulder. “What else did you do?”
I grabbed her delicate hand and placed it to my lips for an instant before releasing her fingers. “I confronted Quartio with the evidence. In spite of his denials, I sacked him.”
“Why didn’t Tigellinus stop you?”
“He dared not interfere lest he give credibility to the charge implicating him in the carnage.”
“What about the mob leaders, were they arrested?”
“The ones that weren’t killed were either arrested or fled the city. Those captured were tortured and confessed that nameless intermediaries paid them to incite the populace. There is no doubt in my mind that Gallus played a major part in this catastrophe.”
Silence filled the room after I finished.
Soon, sheets of chilled rain lashed desperately, driving us to the warmth of our bed. We snuggled beneath the heavy quilts. Eleyne wore a woolen nightshift, while I was clad in a long tunic. She laid her head against my chest as I placed my arm around the back of her head. Despite heat from two braziers placed on iron tripods near the bed, the room remained chilly.
“Why can’t you protect the Christians?” Eleyne asked. The red glow of the brazier reflected in her ivory face.
I focused my eyes on hers, which I barely saw in the dim light. “Sabinus’s spies warned your friends before the rampage, but they refused to listen.”
“They’re too poor to flee.” Her lips tightened. “They don’t have anything, and there isn’t any place to go.”
“They can hide in the catacombs.”
“To be hunted like criminals?”
“It’s a matter of survival.”
Eleyne raised her head and shook it before lowering it back on my chest. “Our Lord taught us we can’t run away from our problems.”
How ironic. She repeated the same words John-Mark chided her with twelve long years ago, when I found her hiding in the catacombs after the riots in the naval arena. I stroked Eleyne’s freshly washed, jet hair. It was scented with rosemary. A few thin gray strands appeared at the temples. But at thirty-five, she was still a stunning woman.
“If they stay, their murders won’t solve anything,” I said.
Eleyne sighed. “Are you sure the information is true? Your spies have been wrong before.”
“Positive. I confirmed their sources.”
“What about our sons? What about you?”
My shoulders stiffened. So far, my sons hadn’t been endangered by the growing mob violence, but how much longer? I had seriously given thought to sending them to Hispania where they would come to no harm. “I am thinking about them, but don’t forget yourself.”
“Never mind me, I can take care of myself.”
I pulled my arm from underneath her head, raised up on my elbow, and stared at the outline of her pale face and jet hair in the flickering light of the smoky brazier. “Can you? Can you stand up to Tigellinus?”
“He wouldn’t dare arrest me.” She sniffed. “After all, I’m your wife. And Lord Sabinus wouldn’t tolerate it.”
“Oh? Wouldn’t he?”
“Of course not.”
I cupped my chin with a palmed hand on a raised elbow. “My dear, if Tigellinus can condemn to death senators at the raising of an eyebrow, he can have your pretty head as well. Neither Sabinus nor I could stop him. That’s how much influence he has with Nero.”
Although I could not see her eyes, I felt them glaring at me. “Why would Tigellinus arrest me?”
“Because as I explained before, you’re my wife and a Christian. And now, Gallus is involved.”
Eleyne shook her head. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“What better way at holding me accountable than by your imprisonment and perhaps the boys?”
“He wouldn’t—not our sons!” she said in a rush, then paused. “Do you really think he would?”
“He’s capable of doing anything, especially when there’s a fortune involved.”
“Gallus,” she exclaimed, bolting upright in the goose-feather bed. “It’s always Gallus. Can’t you do anything to stop him?”
“Short of murder, no.” A l
ow rumbling thunder rolled overhead.
“I don’t expect you to kill him. But there must be something!”
“So long as he is under Tigellinus’s protection, there is little I can do, except keep him under close surveillance.” I came to a decision. “That’s why I’m sending you and our sons back to Hispania.”
A whistle escaped through Eleyne’s nostrils. “Oh? When was that decided?”
“The moment I received news Gallus’s scheme had Nero’s blessing.”
“And if I refuse?”
I feared losing my patience. “You may not care about your life, but our sons are in danger, too.”
She reached over and laid her small alabaster hand on my arm, her fingers warm to the touch. “There are others in danger,” she said, “people that I have aided—what about them?”
“My concern is for you and the boys.”
“You should be as concerned for our slaves. What of Chulainn, Imogen, and their little daughter?”
“As much as I care for Chulainn and his family, they’re still slaves.”
“They’re equals in the eyes of God,” Eleyne retorted. “Regan is barely two, she has as much right to live as anyone else.”
“What does Chulainn’s daughter have to do with this?” I asked.
“You mean you haven’t heard?”
I shook my head.
“Regan is dying.”
I studied her in silence. “Chulainn mentioned last week that Regan was sick but didn’t seem too concerned.”
“It wasn’t serious then, now it is. She’s wasting away. She can’t keep any food down, and she burns with fever.”
“Has Soranus seen her?”
“Yes, and there is nothing he can do,” Eleyne replied. She turned away. “And neither can I—my prayers have been futile.”
I pulled Eleyne close to me. “I’m sorry.” I had thought Regan was suffering from just another childhood illness. Children always seem to be coming down with something. Unfortunately, any fever could be fatal. It was common knowledge that only half of all children survived to age five. My duties, especially the investigation of the fire, had consumed all my thoughts and energy. Household affairs I left to Eleyne, the customary role of a Roman matron.
“Then you’ve done all you can do and must leave,” I said. “As much as I value Chulainn and his family, your life is far more valuable to me.”
She pulled away from me. “No child, especially Imogen’s, should die,” Eleyne said in an angry voice. “To me, Regan is like the daughter I lost.”
“What else can you do for her?”
There was a long pause only interrupted by the muffled sound of distant thunder. “We have one last hope,” she answered. “And I promise no matter whether she’s cured or dies, I will leave Rome when it’s finished.”
“What does it involve?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“I must take Regan to see Paul. He’s back in Rome and speaks tomorrow night at our services.”
I sat up in bed. “Is he mad? He couldn’t have returned from Greece at a worse time.”
“What difference does it make? He’s Regan’s last hope.”
“Tigellinus’s spies are everywhere—they won’t let Paul out of their sight.”
My thoughts turned to the Christian leader. He had gathered a sizable following for the dead Jew during his previous stay in Rome. When he left the city, he reportedly journeyed to Greece or Asia Minor. I feared his return at this perilous time would once more put his life and those of the Christian community in jeopardy.
“If he attends the meeting,” I continued, snapping out of my thoughts, “your chances of being arrested are multiplied tenfold! Stay home!”
“No, Marcellus,” Eleyne answered firmly. “I’ll return to Hispania, but you won’t deny me this chance to save little Regan. After all, Paul cured me, and he may be able to do the same for her. I must take that chance.”
I could forcibly lock Eleyne in her room, but if the child died she would never forgive me. I was stymied by her determination.
“All right,” I said. “Needless to say, Chulainn goes along for protection. The streets aren’t safe after the sun sets.”
Despite the risks to Eleyne, I was gambling that my concerns for her safety were an overreaction on my part.
*
The storm ended the following evening. I would arrange for passage on the next ship to Malaca out of Ostia the following day. Eleyne and the boys would be packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Chulainn and Imogen’s daughter had reached a crisis. She would either be healed or dead. Departure could come none too soon. With each passing day the seas grew worse. Soon the sailing season would end until the following spring.
Eleyne had left earlier for the meeting carrying a bundled up Regan and escorted by an anxious Chulainn. The boys, who had always liked and respected Chulainn, had been concerned about his daughter, and had initially waited up with me. Soon they grew bored and sleepy and went to bed.
When the hour grew late, and Eleyne failed to return with the child and Chulainn, I sent Porus to fetch them.
He didn’t return until three hours later, well past midnight, fresh scratches on his wrinkled face and patches of mud streaking his newly made woolen cloak.
“Master,” Porus gasped. “Terrible news. The mistress and Chulainn and his daughter were arrested.”
My heart shot up into my throat. I barely breathed and took several deep breaths before asking, “Where?”
“In the catacombs, by the Praetorians.”
“How long ago?” I asked, trying to keep my wits about me.
“Nearly two hours, sir,” Porus’s voice waivered. He seemed on the verge of collapse.
“Where did they take them?”
“Latumiae Prison.”
“Get my horse and your mule and send a slave to Prefect Sabinus with the news. You can fill in the details on the way.”
“But sir, I saw . . . ,” he mumbled a reply as he hurried away.
As we traveled to the prison, Porus rode beside me and related the story. “I used the cover of a moonless night to sneak out of the city. I hiked along the Appian Way and kept to the shadows that surrounded the tombs lining the road. Three times I avoided patrols of the Watch, ducking behind those pretentious monuments.” He paused and sighed. The hooves of our mounts, striking the tufa stone pavement, echoed off the walls of the surrounding buildings.
“Go on,” I said.
He swallowed and cleared his throat. “I left the highway and moved toward a grove of poplars. You know the place, sir, the hidden entry leading to the underground gallery where we worship.”
I nodded.
A couple of shadowy figures stepped out of a dark alley into our path, startling the animals to a halt. Both pulled knives from their tunics and waved them in front of us.
Robbers!
I pulled out my sword. “Don’t stop,” I said. “Trample them!”
Porus and I kicked our mounts forward. I swung my weapon down toward one bandit, but he and his partner jumped to one side before I could strike him. The two fled down the alley on the opposite side of the street.
I looked back to make certain they didn’t have second thoughts, sheathed my weapon, and then asked Porus to continue with his tale.
He nodded. “I looked about before I approached and stopped about two hundred feet from the brush-covered entrance. My eyes strained to pierce the darkness. It was like ink, but was impossible to see more than a few feet. Then I heard metal clanking on metal—sounds of armor and dived into a nearby thicket. I was afraid I’d made too much noise and wanted to flee. Somehow, I managed to remain silent.” He licked his lips and glanced toward me.
“Don’t stop now, continue.”
“I saw no sign of movement. After a few minutes, I recognized the silhouettes of two Praetorians patrolling near the entrance carrying javelins. I concluded the other guards had fanned out and surrounded the cave. I was too late to help
mistress Eleyne and Chulainn. It was impossible to flee, I had no choice except to stay hidden.”
My stomach churned, knowing what fate must have befallen on Eleyne and the rest.
“It seemed like hours,” Porus continued, “but I’m certain no more than a few minutes passed, when I heard women screaming, followed by curses from the Praetorians. At least a hundred troops herded the Christians out of the cave with clubs and javelins.
“In the light from the soldiers’ torches, I caught a glimpse of the mistress’s face—she was terrified. The guards shoved her and the other Christians past the bushes where I hid. Chulainn seemed very shaken, walked by her side. Still he attempted to soothe her fears as she held Regan in her arms.”
Shit! I wanted to shout and many other profanities but kept my anger under control. Why did I let her go there?
“I kept to the shadows at a safe distance,” Porus continued, “and followed the Praetorians. They drove between two and three hundred Christians to prison.”
When Porus and I arrived at Latumiae, I headed for the office of the tribune in charge of the prison and demanded the release of my wife and servant.
“My orders are to release no one, including your wife,” the haughty tribune said.
At one time, Latumiae had been under the jurisdiction of the city prefect, but the Emperor Claudius transferred the prison to the jurisdiction of the Praetorian prefect. No longer did Sabinus or I have authority within its confines.
I attempted to force my way past the tribune’s office, but two burly Praetorian guardsmen blocked my way with crossed lances. I stormed out of the lockup.
Outraged and frustrated, I rode to Sabinus’s home. It was now more than an hour after midnight, and his chief steward turned me away at the door. “Lord Sabinus is not here, sir, and I don’t know when he will return.”
“Didn’t my slave relay the message about my wife and the child?”
“Yes, sir, and I shall see that Lord Sabinus gets it as soon as he returns.”
“Where did he go?”
“He didn’t say.”
I found the steward’s conduct puzzling. Even in Sabinus’s absence, I was welcomed at his home—day or night. Something sinister had occurred. Sabinus seldom stayed out this late. Had Tigellinus arrested him on a trumped-up charge—the same fate of other senators?
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