Macha lowered her hand and scowled. “How do they know the way?”
“We explored it after the discovery,” Viriatus replied.
She glanced to Shafer and back to Viriatus. “You could have been caught.”
“Aye, that’s true,” Viriatus answered with a shrug. “But we had to learn the way out if we were to help the Master escape in an emergency. I don’t know if he’s been down there, but I couldn’t take the chance and tell him of our discovery--he wouldn't like it.”
“If your men see Pollia, then what?” Macha asked.
“Once she’s arrived, my men will return. Then we’ll leave by the secret passage.”
Grateful as Macha was for the assistance of Shafer and Viriatus, she was still puzzled. “Why are you doing this for me?” she asked. “You’re putting your own lives at risk.”
“We believe in you and in your husband’s innocence,” Viriatus replied.
“But you are risking the Master’s wrath,” Macha said.
“We’ve been through much with you, Mistress,” Shafer said. “You are a brave woman, and you’ve been very kind to us.”
“You’ve treated us fairly,” Viriatus said. “I respect you for risking your life to find your son and free your husband. I hear he is a good soldier.”
Macha shook her head. What had she done to earn such gratitude and loyalty from these two? They deserved to be rewarded. “When this is all over,” she said, “I swear I will do everything in my power to see that both of you receive your freedom. If necessary, I will purchase you from the Senator and set you free.”
Shafer and Viriatus bowed their heads in silence.
“After we escape from here,” Macha said, “you’ll escort me only as far as the palace. I will enter by myself.”
“But Mistress,” Shafer protested.
Macha shook her head. “No, I don’t want any of you getting into trouble for disobeying your Master.”
“But he did not actually forbid us,” Shafer said, “only you did.”
“Nevertheless, as slaves assigned to me, it constitutes the same thing. I’m responsible for your actions and you would be punished. You will return home once I’m inside the palace. After that my personal safety will be in my hands and in those of the gods.”
Viriatus cleared his throat. “Mistress, I suggest you change your clothes while we are waiting.”
“Why?”
“The cave is cold, dank, and dirty. It opens into a sewer that we’ll follow to the river—you’ll get filthy.”
“Very well, but I’m taking these along,” she motioned to her stola and palla, “in a small bundle. I’ll change once we’re out of the cave.”
* * * * *
Macha and Shafer worried through three hours in the library until Viriatus' men returned and met with him, Macha, and Shafer. They reported Pollia had arrived at the palace under escort by way of the prisoner’s entrance.
“Mistress,” Viriatus said to Macha. “Before we enter the cave you should know, if you haven’t already guessed, this place is very dangerous.”
“I expected as much, but let's go."
“We must stay together. There are many side passages and deep pits. You’d never be found. These caves are full of thieves and murderers. They live down there by day and raid the city by night.”
“I’ll stay close.” Mother Goddess, Macha thought, Titus had warned me the caves were hiding places for bandits. I pray our son is not held in one of the caverns.
Macha, Shafer, Viriatus, and three retainers, an African and two big Germans, quietly trekked down the hallway to Bassus’ room. Macha wore a vivid blue, green, and yellow plaid tartan tunic and breeches. Leather sandals, tied with straps, fit snugly about her calves. She carried a small leather bag containing her other garments. The group entered Bassus’ bed cubicle.
Viriatus motioned to the African and one of the Germans to move the clothing cabinet away from the wall. As the slaves turned the portable closet, its squat metal legs scraped along the tiled floor and emitted a loud rasping sound. The slaves froze. The Spaniard glared at them and quickly stepped to the door. His eyes searched both directions of the hallway before he returned to the group. “Nothing. Let’s get out of here.”
Crawling through the small opening at the base of the wall Viriatus and the African led Macha, Shafer, and the two Germans. Once inside, Macha spotted a small circular pit in the floor, illuminated by Viriatus’ lantern.
“Down there,” the Spaniard said.
Grappling the swaying rope ladder, Macha descended into a cavern, large enough to allow her and the others to stand upright. She and the slaves carried enclosed olive oil lanterns as they followed the cold cramped passageway. The pulsating amber lights revealed naturally hollowed out walls of hard rock and moldy earth.
Macha and her escort broke through a wall of choking cobwebs, while snaking their way through the shadowy underworld. They startled a cluster of hanging bats that took wing and flew past their faces. Later, an army of frightened, squealing, plague-infested rats scurried before them into the cave’s recesses.
Perspiration poured from Macha’s body. Her mouth dried from breathing stale air, making her thirsty. She took a gulp of water from the army canteen tied to the belt on her tunic.
The little entourage passed a side passage through which a howling wind swirled, startling Macha and the slaves. Reminding her of the god of wind, Aeolius, it screamed at them as if they had foolishly invaded its domain, a land of Stygian darkness. The wind seemed to laugh at their folly, sighing that they may never escape from the reaches of darkness. A shiver rippled along Macha’s back and arms. The group hurried onward.
When Viriatus led the party around the next bend, he nearly tripped over a sprawled rag-covered skeleton. In the lamplight Macha saw a rusty dagger sticking between its ribs. The Spaniard and the African retainer shoved the remains out of the pathway. The bones fell apart, crumpling into a jumbled pile. Bandits must have done this, Macha thought. Please Mother Goddess Anu, protect us─and my son!
Further on a fetid smell reminded Macha of a combination of sulfur and sour grapes. The sickening odor became all consuming. She gagged and covered her nose with her hand. As she moved further, a great underground sewer filled with a stream of reeking filth and garbage surged out of the darkness. The flowing sound echoed quietly through the vast cavern.
Across the turgid waterway dozens of blue flames peaked and ebbed, escaping from lignite and igneous rocks. Fires hissed and roared, lighting up both sides to reveal the enormity of the drainage pit. Macha had heard stories of escaping gases erupting from beneath the earth and the caves that riddled Rome’s underground, but this was her first encounter with the phenomenon.
The little group halted at its edge. “This is the great cistern of Rome, the Cloaca Maxima,” Viriatus explained.
“It smells like the world’s dung has been dumped here,” Shafer said.
“It has,” Viriatus said. “Along with many bodies, animal and human.”
“Good gods,” Macha said, “It’s so big you could sail a trireme down this disgusting place.”
“Someone did,” Viriatus replied. “You’ve probably heard the story. Marcus Agrippa, Caesar Augustus’ son-in-law, sailed a three-banked trireme down to the Tiber when he inspected this stink hole.”
Macha turned and noticed at the edge of the slimy water’s darkened recesses three or four small boats huddled next to the embankment. Their circular shapes reminded her of the cowhided coracles used by the people of her native Britannia. She pointed them out to Viriatus. “Those boats, what are they doing here?”
Viriatus turned to the African. “Did you and the others use these boats to return from the river?”
The African shook his head.
“Bandits!” Viriatus warned. “They’re close—get in!” he ordered with a motion of his head. Macha and the slaves ran along the bank and boarded, two to a boat. Macha and Shafer rode in the middle coracle and the two G
ermans followed behind. Using the small enclosed oars they moved into the middle of the slow-moving stream of sludge. Viriatus and the African led the way.
“They’ve got our boats!” A cry echoed from the shore. A rain of stones flew from the darkness and pummeled the little band as they paddled through the watery mess, pulling strongly. A searing pain went through Macha’s skull. Something struck the side of her head. More rocks pounded Macha and Shafer about the shoulders and back. For a second she nearly lapsed into unconsciousness. Quickly, she recovered, feeling a ringing sensation within her head. Mother Goddess, she prayed, get us out of here alive. She and Shafer slashed their oars through the water as they attempted to outrun the predators.
Three or four torches flew past the boats; one so close Macha felt the heat on her face.
Hearing a loud splash near her boat, Macha looked over the side. She spotted the bobbing head of one of the attackers swimming toward them in the filth. Aghast, she wondered how can anyone could be mad enough to immerse themselves in these scummy waters? She didn’t hesitate to grab the dagger from within her tunic. The bandit grabbed the edge and rocked the boat. Macha nearly fell out, her face inches from his scarred countenance, a mask of ooze and slime. She snagged the boat’s side with one hand and thrust the weapon deep into his eye and twisted until she heard a snap. He screamed and fell away, sinking beneath the putrid effluvium. The coracle rocked when he released his grip.
The boat rocked again and Shafer screamed. Macha turned as another assassin reached over and pulled on her slave’s side of the little craft. Instantly, Shafer reared back with her wooden oar. Holding it by the long thin handle, she lunged forward, smashed the narrow edge of the paddle’s wide section into the outlaw’s nose and shoved it back into his skull. He bellowed and dropped into the stygian water.
Macha turned her head toward Viriatus boat and saw him pound the face of another villain with his truncheon and shove him into the stream.
Behind her the Germans struggled with two other denizens. Their little vessel capsized and all fell into the waters still fighting. The four sank below and never surfaced.
What now? Macha wandered, appalled by the loss of these two brave slaves. Her eyes searched about expecting the onslaught to continue, but the attack ended as quickly as it had begun. How much longer must this go on? Macha wondered. How many more times will I be assaulted all because I want to free my husband and son? Gods, I hate doing this. She exhaled, knowing she had no choice.
The party made their escape. Macha’s clothing stank of the sewer. The stones that had missed her and Shafer had dropped into the stream but splashed its' disgusting contents on and ruined their clothing. Because she would have to get rid of her outfit anyway, Macha wiped her bloodied knife on her breeches.
The little group followed the great cistern to its outlet on the River Tiber near the Forum Boarium. Stopping at a darkened quay, Macha and Shafer stepped from the boat. Macha rinsed her hands, arms and face in a nearby fountain. In the recesses of a covered portico while Shafer stood guard, Macha changed into her stola and palla and put on a gold necklace and earrings. Try as she might, Macha could not rid herself of the smell of the Cloaca Maxima. She stuffed the smelly tartans into her carrying bag, returned to the edge of the wharf and tossed it into the river.
Cautiously, staying in the shadows, Macha and the slaves left the river front and made their way between the outer wall of the Circus Maximus and the forested gardens along the foot of Palatine Hill.
“The best way to get in without being seen is to go through the Temple of Cybele,” Macha whispered to Viriatus. “In the past it was the least guarded of all areas of the Palatine. There is a hidden passage in the back that goes into the House of Livia, the late Emperor Augustus’ wife.”
“Are you sure, Mistress?” the Spaniard asked.
“Yes, I’ve been through it before. Except for a few rooms used for storage, and office space for the Emperor’s clerical staff, the old Empress’ home hasn’t been used since her death.”
They arrived at the stairway at the foot of the incline leading up to the temple. Macha and Shafer hid in the nearby bushes, planted along the steps, while Viriatus and the African checked the area for guards. Within minutes he and the retainer returned. “No one about,” he said.
“Very well, I shall go alone from here. You, Shafer, and the African are to return to Bassus’ home.”
“Is that wise, Mistress?” the Spaniard asked. "You’ll be in grave danger. If you’re spotted by the Praetorians, they’ll arrest you for sure or worse.”
“I know, but now I must depend on myself and the gods to get pass the guards and confront Pollia. There is no other way.” Macha turned and went up the concrete stairs leading to the Temple of Cybele.
Would she reach Pollia without being arrested?
Chapter 37
A Delicious Traitor?
Macha's heart pounded as she entered the ancient Temple of Cybele, the Magna Mater. Although she had second thoughts about confronting Pollia, it had to be done. Taking a few deep breaths she steeled herself and resolved to continue. The interior of the little temple was so dark, cold, and musty it was impossible to see without the use of her covered lantern. Guided only by the shadowy lamplight, Macha quietly stepped to the back of the temple. She shivered and pulled the shroud tighter about her shoulders, sweeping a hand across her nose to erase the reek of the Great Cistern.
Hidden in the recesses, behind the statue of Cybele, was a steep stair-lined passageway leading to the House of Livia. Water seeped from the ceiling and trickled onto the slimy surface of the worn steps. Cautiously, Macha treaded the slippery way with only the flickering illumination from the lamp to guide her into the old empress’ home. Macha prayed no guards were on patrol as she moved through the vast labyrinth. Now she wished she had brought along Viriatus for protection.
Fatigue played havoc with Macha’s imagination, more apprehensive than she had realized, as she concentrated to stay alert. The sound of her shoes scraping on the tiled mosaic floor echoed off the cavernous walls and ceilings. She placed her feet more quietly. The light from the lantern bounced from pillar to wall in a macabre sort of dance. Statues and murals, illuminated in grotesque fashion, appeared as distorted images from the afterlife. Only Hel, the sinister German Goddess of the Underworld, was needed to complete the picture and lead the dead into the bowels of the earth.
Passing bed-cubicles converted to offices, Macha hurried along a maze of vaulted rooms. A staircase at the far end, bordered by a set of statues from mythology, led below. Taking the stair well, she passed the marble-lined latrine at its base.
Macha and Titus had used this passageway on an earlier visit to the palace. Stepping between the pillars of a colonnaded peristyle, Macha walked beside the impluvium, a low platform pool surrounded by semi-circular niches and channels. She entered another dark passage, the opening to the Crypto Porticus. Built by the mad Emperor, Caligula, to connect with the other parts of the palace complex, the twisting underground gallery was composed of many rooms. People of nobility, who were suspected of treason, had been incarcerated there in the past. Macha was certain Pollia would be detained in one of its apartments. She scanned the cavernous corridor in both directions, empty and silent. A few hanging oil lamps provided shadow-encased light.
Removing her shoes, Macha crept bare-footed along the cold inlaid marble floor. Each step felt like icy daggers shooting down her spine. Every few moments she stopped to listen before moving on. She hadn’t gone far when she saw two torches set in casemates, one on each side of a door. Light emanated from the room. Pollia is confined there, Macha thought, and must be still awake. She hoped Pollia was searched for weapons. She wiped her sweaty hands on her gown.
The shadowy light illuminated a pair of Praetorians standing guard, clad in crimson tunics and cloaks and armed with polished javelins, who eyed her suspiciously, their nostrils flared at her stench as she approached.
Desperate to ques
tion Pollia before Bassus returned to start his own interrogation, she must first remove the Praetorians, who would be guarding Pollia's room. Because they might be honest, Macha had no choice but to cut to the quick. She had come too far to turn back.
“Who are you? What do you want?” The taller of the two guards asked gruffly.
“I’ve come to visit Lady Pollia. She’s my friend,” Macha answered.
“At this time of night? No visitors are allowed to see the prisoner.” He scowled and shoved his javelin across her pathway. "You stink."
Macha eyes darted from him to the shorter sentry and back. “I know you’re under orders, but it’s important that I see her.”
“That’s your problem,” the short one snarled.
Despite the rebuff, Macha gave the soldiers her brightest smile. “Look, I’m sure you could find it in your hearts to let me in. Even if you searched me, you’ll find no weapons.” She lied and prayed the bluff worked.
The tall guard’s eyes scanned Macha’s body as if she wore no clothes. She stiffened her spine to prevent a shudder.
“I wouldn’t mind searching you anyway, even if you do smell. I might find something better,” he said.
“I’m not asking you to leave your posts,” Macha replied ignoring his remark. “All you have to do is step into the next room. From there you can see everything.”
“I already like what I see.” He took a step forward but as quickly backed away. He grunted, “What shithole did you crawl out of?”
“I slipped and fell into the gutter,” she answered, the first thing that came to her mind.
“With more than a dozen customers, I’ll bet.” The sentry grinned. “Then again, a little stench never stopped me, and you’re a good looker.” He raised a hand toward her shoulder.
Horrified, Macha backed away, her knees quaking. How could I have been so foolish to have tried this approach? Macha thought. I should have known.
“Leave her alone, Taurus!” growled the other guard. “Centurion Macro warned you about toying with women while on duty.”
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