by K. M. Ashman
‘Oh my god,’ she said, ‘not another one?’
‘He’s still alive,’ said Brandon, ‘find a phone and call an ambulance, this is getting ridiculous.’
----
An hour later an ambulance disappeared into the shiny distance of the wet London streets, its blue light reflecting in the shop windows as it passed. India sat in the back of a police car, watching as teams of white clad technicians made their way through the police cordon toward the admin area. Brandon was talking to a man in a long black coat and after a few minutes, shook his hand before joining India in the back of the car. A police constable got in and started the engine.
‘Where are we going?’ asked India.
‘Home,’ said Brandon.
‘But why?’ she asked, ‘surely they want statements from us.’
‘It’s been sorted,’ he said ‘they’ll have to wait. We need to get you home, have a good night’s rest and start again in the morning. There’s a serial killer on the loose and we have work to do.’
Though she asked some questions, Brandon was strangely unforthcoming during the ride back to his house, spending most of the time on calls or sending e mails from his mobile. They stopped briefly to pick up a curry and within forty-five minutes, she was sitting facing Brandon across the wooden farmhouse table, her empty plate testament to how hungry she had actually been. She pushed a half empty lager can away from her to nestle between the empty foil takeaway containers.
‘I know it's traditional to drink lager with curry,’ she said, ‘but could I have a nice cup of tea?’
‘Aren’t you tired?’ he asked.
‘You have got to be kidding,’ she said, ‘do you really think I could sleep after the last few hours?’
‘Fair point,’ he said, ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘So what happens now?’ she asked.
‘We need to take stock,’ he said ‘and analyse what we know.’
‘We don’t have anything as far as I can see,’ she said, staring in frustration as he opened and closed several cupboard doors. ‘For heaven’s sake what are you looking for?’
‘Teapot.’
‘Teapot? Who makes tea in a teapot?’
‘Trust me,’ he said and ten minutes later, she was watching with fascination as he poured the tea through a strainer.
‘You’re a strange family,’ she said, ‘your mother carries a touch screen phone, yet you make tea with leaves.’
‘Fashion is fleeting,’ he said ‘but class is eternal. Some things just can’t be bettered, now, get your laughing gear around that.’ He passed over the tea and she sipped cautiously. ‘Nice?’
‘Okay, I suppose,’ she acknowledged.
‘Right, I know it’s been a tough day but I’ve gone over and over this and nothing makes sense. The police investigations are getting nowhere and the only thing that all the deaths have in common is this.’ He placed something on the table.
She picked up the necklace and looked at the familiar profile spinning slowly before her.
‘The Macedonian necklace,’ she said, ‘or at least a copy. Where did you get it from?’
‘The girl on the cross,’ he answered
She looked at him in horror.
‘You stole it from a dead body?’
‘It’s the only thing we have to go on,’ he said, ‘it was necessary.’
She stared at the coin, turning it over and over in her hand, searching for anything new.
‘Doesn’t help much,’ she said, ‘it’s exactly the same as the picture we saw earlier,’ and passed the coin back to Brandon.
Brandon held the coin in one hand while sipping his tea. Suddenly he stared closer at the coin, with his cup halfway to his mouth.
‘Hang on,’ he said, ‘pass me that magnifying glass, there’s writing on the edge of the coin.’
‘Where?’
‘Just get a pen,’ he said ‘and write this down. The first letter is U, then U again, the next letter is worn, I can’t make it out, then there’s a space followed by U again, the next is worn, then R and G. The next one is O then another space. I think the next one is M,’ he continued, ‘then O and R and the last one is missing.’
India wrote the letters down on the back of an envelope.
‘What have we got?’ he asked.
She held out the envelope for him to see. UU_ _U_RGO_MOR_
‘Mean anything?’ he asked.
‘Looks like Latin,’ she mumbled, ‘possibly an anagram.’
‘Let me see,’ he said and took the envelope from her. For the next few minutes, they tried the letters in different orders without any success until eventually Brandon sat back and stared at her.
‘Hang on,’ he said, ‘how stupid are we? We are looking to solve a problem that isn’t there. It’s not an anagram, the letters are in the right order, we have just started in the wrong place. Some letters may be missing but others depict spaces, let me see them again. There is a distinct gap between the O and the M but it’s not a missing letter, it’s the end of a word. Move the last three letters to the front.’
India made the changes. Already it made more sense. MOR_ UU_ _U_RGO. Brandon pored over the letters trying different letters with no luck.
‘T, S and I,’ said India quietly.
‘What?’ he asked looking up.
‘The missing letters,’ she repeated, ‘they are T and S and I.’
‘But there are four letters missing, not three.’
‘No, we have assumed the two centre gaps are both missing letters. We were wrong. One of them is a space, there are actually two words.’
He looked at the paper again and filled in the blanks.
‘Mortuus Uirgo,’ he read aloud.
‘The last U is actually a V,’ she said, ‘in Roman lettering the two are often depicted the same.’
‘Mortuus Virgo?’ he suggested.
‘Mortuus Virgo,’ confirmed India.
He turned to look at her, surprised at the look of concern at her face.
‘You know what it means, don’t you?’ he said.
She nodded grimly.
‘What is it?’
‘Dead Virgins,’ she said, ‘it’s not exactly correct according to our understanding of Latin but in essence, it means the Dead Virgins.’
----
Chapter 9
Rome 64 AD
Over the next few weeks, Rubria was summoned to Nero’s presence regularly and as time went on, his trust in her grew. She often left the palace confused at his random outbursts but overall she started to get a feel for the way the emperor’s mind worked. Every night she sat with the high priestess, relaying every detail of what had passed between them. Though she knew the priestess was looking for something specific, she was never told what. Finally, Rubria decided to broach the subject.
‘Holy Mother,’ she said, ‘forgive me but if I knew what concerns you, perhaps my visits would be more fruitful.’
‘Sweet child,’ said the high priestess holding her hand, ‘your innocence is your best defence. If I explained my concerns, then I fear your honesty would be your downfall and Nero would see through you, this would put you in great danger. All I can say is our task is given from the senate themselves and they fear Nero plans some grand gesture that may harm not only the city but the sanctity of our very temple.’
Rubria gasped and held her hand over her mouth.
‘Your role is simply to gain his trust,’ continued the high priestess, ‘and if you hear of anything that gives you concern, then relay it back to me. In the meantime, if you need to get a message to me, then you can trust the centurion posted as your guard. He and his family are devotees of the goddess and can be trusted completely.’
Rubria retired to her room and slept fitfully as she fretted about any harm coming to the temple of Vesta. First bell hadn’t even rung when she was awoken by the sister on vigil.
‘Rubria, the emperor has summoned you,’ she said gently.
She rose i
mmediately to bathe and after praying at her shrine, made her way to the courtyard where an escort was waiting. She recognised the centurion on duty.
‘Hello Dragus,’ she said, ‘an unwelcome hour, it has to be said.’
‘That it is, priestess,’ he said, ‘please, come this way, your litter awaits.’ They walked to the gates and once again, as had happened many times in the last few weeks, they made their way up the Palatine hill.
Dragus walked alongside her carriage.
‘Are you warm enough, priestess?’ he asked.
‘I am fine, thank you,’ she answered and after considering the Holy Mother’s words carefully, did something she would not have dared to do any another man except the emperor. She engaged him in conversation.
‘I’m sorry your rest has been disturbed,’ she said, ‘it is a strange business we find ourselves upon.’
‘It is no burden, priestess,’ he answered, ‘I am here to serve.’
‘How old are you?’ she asked.
‘Sorry?’
‘It’s just that you seem so young to be a centurion.’
‘I am thirty years old,’ he said ‘and have been promoted through the ranks.’
‘Have you seen active service?’
‘Indeed, I have only just returned from the battlefields of Britannia not three years since.’
‘Britannia,’ she said in admiration, ‘I have heard tell it is a place of evil and sorcery. Is it true they eat their children?’
‘I cannot say I ever witnessed the practise,’ he laughed, ‘but it is true they are indeed a strange people.’
‘So how are you back here?’
‘I suffered an injury at the final battle with their warrior queen, Boudicca.’
‘And they sent you back.’
‘For political purposes,’ he said, ‘I saved a legate during the battle and was brought back to receive the freedom of Rome.’
‘Was it exciting?’ she asked, ‘you know, fighting the Britons.’
For a moment he was quiet as he walked beside her litter.
‘Horrible, yes. Frightening and brutal, absolutely but exciting, no. Tens of thousands were slain. Children, old people and livestock, all slaughtered with no quarter. Their towns were burned to the ground and whole tribes were wiped from the face of the earth.’
‘Is it a strange place?’
‘It is cold, it is wet and yes I suppose it is strange but it is also a beautiful land. The ground is fertile and its forests abound with deer and boar. The waters run clear and sweet and the breeze is refreshing on the tired face. But more than this, it is a spiritual place.’
‘In what way?’
‘The very air whispers its secrets and it is said that though the lands are full of spirits, it is also a place of gods. The mist often lies like a heavy blanket and they worship in places that were old when Rome was still a village.’
----
Chapter 10
London 2010
‘Dead virgins,’ said Brandon again, ‘does it mean anything to you?’
‘I had forgotten,’ answered India.
‘Forgotten what?’
‘The man in the car park, Mr Jones, they were the last words he said. I couldn’t quite make them out then but now it seems so obvious. He said Mortuus Virgo.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘I don’t know, perhaps it is a reference to the dead girls.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said, ‘he could have said it in English but he used Latin. Why use a dead language? None of this makes sense. Two tortured girls, another missing, a technician who kills himself and a murdered man in a car park. The only thing they have in common is a link to this.’ He pushed the coin back into the middle of the table. ‘We are missing something here, India but everything comes back to the coin. Are you sure there is nothing more you can tell me about its history.’
‘Only what I’ve said so far,’ she said.
‘Then tell me the rest of your story. Perhaps there is something in the past that can help.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Start where you left off, the Noah thing. It may be desperate but it seems to me that this is the only clue we have to go on at the moment, no matter how obscure.’
‘Okay,’ she said, ‘but I don’t know where this is going.’ She took a deep breath before continuing. ‘Okay, just to review, the Black Sea basin was an enormous fertile valley containing a fresh water lake surrounded by a prosperous people. Isis was long dead but her memory had become almost a religion and they were thriving.’
‘Yes, yes you’ve covered this already. What about Noah?’
She glared at his impatience before continuing.
‘What you have to remember is the world was emerging from the Greater Dryas period.’ She noticed the unspoken question written all over his face. ‘Sorry,’ she explained, ‘the Greater Dryas was the name we call last ice age. Anyway, for tens of thousands of years sea levels had been far, far lower than they are now. Climatic conditions meant that much of the water evaporating from the seas was being deposited over the poles as snow and the ice sheets were miles thick in places, locking in much of the water. The fresh water lake in the Black Sea basin was hundreds of feet lower than the Mediterranean but it didn’t matter as there was a natural dam of land over twenty miles wide keeping them apart. As the climate warmed up the ice started to melt and the sea levels rose until eventually, over a period of time, the Mediterranean along with the Aegean and subsequently the sea of Marmara must have reached the same level as the land dividing it from the basin.’ She paused to sip her tea.
‘And?’ asked Brandon.
‘What happened next is historical fact,’ she continued, ‘though we don’t know the actual details, the sea of Marmara overflowed into the Black sea, flooding the basin and forming the saltwater sea as we know it now.’
‘What, just like that?’
‘You have to remember, Brandon, the climate must have been all over the place. Who knows what factor was the final straw. All we can do is imagine the series of events. There was probably already a valley running most of the way between the Marmara and the Black sea basin where the Bosporus now stands. All it needed was a catastrophic event of some sort to open the way for the sea to make the breach.’
‘Like an earthquake?’ he asked.
‘Possibly, the area lies near a fault and suffers badly from earthquakes but more probably it was a deluge of rain.’
‘You reckon a rainstorm can wash away that amount of land.’
‘Don’t underestimate the power of water, Brandon,’ she said, ‘a couple of years ago, one night of rain caused a village to be washed away not far from here in Cornwall. Every year, millions of square miles of the Amazon forest are flooded by the river. For heaven’s sake look at what has just happened in Pakistan, areas bigger than Great Britain lay under several feet of water for months, causing thousands of deaths and affecting tens of millions. Rain is one of the most devastating yet underestimated forces of nature on the planet. All it would have taken is for a downfall of rain to wash away just a small amount of soil to start a leak and the natural pressures of the sea would do the rest. Imagine a small trickle, turning into a rivulet and then a river, each second, the water washing more and more soil away until it eventually became a self-feeding monster and the weight of the immense sea unstoppable. As it found its way to the Black Sea basin, it would have turned into a huge waterfall, pouring into the valley below. Scientists reckon that at its peak it would have been a torrent over ten times the size of Niagara as it is today. The noise would have been heard over a hundred miles away and the population of the basin must have been in awe at the sudden emergence of this waterfall from nowhere.’
‘And this actually happened?’
‘It did, approximately seven thousand years ago. Scientists have proved the Black sea was once a freshwater lake and the Bosporus was formed by the breakdown of land between Asia and Europe. Now assuming th
at this coincided with a prolonged rainstorm, all of a sudden the great flood referred to in the bible, which by the way, was written almost three thousand years later, takes on a certain familiarity, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Forty days and forty nights,’ suggested Brandon, quoting the Biblical reference.
‘Exactly,’ answered India. ‘The thing is, this was a disaster of huge proportions. Don’t forget hundreds of thousands if not millions of people would have relied on the lake for food and water and all of a sudden, over a period of only a few weeks, this resource would have been taken from them. The level of the lake would have risen hundreds of feet flooding tens of thousands of square miles of land, wiping out crops and villages almost overnight. The seawater would have overwhelmed the lake and as the salinity rose, every living thing within its fresh waters would have died. Fish, mussels, shrimp, plants, everything would have died within weeks. Food would have been wiped out and drinking water disappeared for anyone not living near a stream. Who knows how many shore based animals would have died as well as humans, possibly tens of thousands dead and rotting throughout the whole basin. The smell must have been horrendous and disease would have been rife.’
‘I suppose there must have been some who managed to save themselves on boats,’ suggested Brandon.
‘No doubt and throw in a prolonged period of rain and some animals and you have the basis of the Noah story. It’s not for me to debate the origins of the bible stories but allowing for exaggeration over the millennia, it is very possible.’
‘So did everyone die?’
‘No, on the contrary, it would seem that the majority survived but they were dispersed by the flood. We don’t think many went east as there were already other established societies that way and they wouldn’t have looked kindly on a sudden influx of hundreds of thousands of refugees. The climate was far colder to the north and modern day Turkey was already populated so many migrated westward into the Aegean and Mediterranean, forming new societies and taking their beliefs with them.’
‘Isis?’