The Sign of The Blood

by Laurence OBryan

  “Without me they have nothing, my lord. I cannot be the one to give evidence.” Desperation flickered over Marcus’ face.

  “But without evidence, a witness, I can do nothing, Marcus. He can simply deny it all, provide some explanation.” Constantine shrugged. If Marcus wanted him to do something he would have to come with him.

  Marcus looked from Lucius to Sybellina as if for help.

  “Constantine is right,” she said, softly.

  Marcus licked his lips then looked down at the ground. His expression had changed, hardened. He nodded.

  Lucius and Sybellina said they would both come with him. For a moment Constantine thought they were competing. He'd seen people do that around him before, but never Lucius. Or perhaps he just hadn’t noticed him doing it before. Where would it all lead to? That was the question.

  “You can't have all the fun, my lord,” said Sybellina. “I've met this Martinianus. I'm sure you will get justice from him.” She smiled seductively.

  She is totally shameless.

  “Perhaps this is none of our business,” Lucius whispered as they mounted their horses.

  Constantine shook his head as if throwing off a fly.

  “Would you have me run from my responsibilities?”

  Lucius didn't answer.

  They were accompanied by Juliana and Tiny, even though it was only a short distance to the governor’s palace. Arriving without slaves would, he knew, have been simply an announcement of powerlessness.

  At the governor’s palace, a troop of guards in full armor stood in line by the gate. Constantine showed the bronze pass Galerius had given him. They were allowed inside, while someone went to announce his arrival. Tiny and some of the governor’s grooms took away their horses to be watered.

  Then they were ushered to an iron grill gate set deep in the red brick wall that bounded the cobbled courtyard. The gate creaked loudly when it opened. Beyond it, an official in an immaculate toga shifted from one foot to the other. His eyes widened, and he stared at Constantine for a moment. Then he bowed.

  “My Lord Constantine. You are most welcome, most welcome. The governor is finishing some urgent business. He asked me to escort you to his private garden. Please, if you will, my lord, follow me.” He bowed again, deeper this time.

  He took them down a path sentried by tall cedars, while his formal white toga flapped behind him. The scent of earth filled the air, as if the gardens were still being worked on. The path led down to a small pillared temple set in the bend of a wide and sunnily sparkling stream. A lemony odor spiced the air here.

  “The governor has the garden of an emperor,” said Sybellina.

  The temple was dedicated to Apollo, the god of light. In place of windows there were mosaics of Apollo as an archer, a prophet, a father and a doctor, all with circlets of gold about his head.

  A group of white marble benches were clustered in a semi-circle in front of the temple. Slave girls could be seen hurrying down the path toward them as they sat. When the girls arrived, they put pine kernels soaked in chrism to smolder in a nearby brazier and distributed jugs of clear Numentian wine in silvered goblets. It was mid-afternoon now, but the sun still felt warm in this idyllic spot.

  The slave girls went away, but returned with figs, walnuts, olives and cheeses on silver platters. Juliana stood behind Lucius, helping to serve. Constantine ate almost nothing and drank just enough to taste the wine. As time passed, he remembered how he hated being kept waiting.

  Some of the slave girls tried valiantly to distract him. They hovered, brushing up against him as they attempted to press more wine on him, or offer him some delicacy.

  “Do you not like any of these beautiful spiders, Constantine?” asked Sybellina.

  He shook his head. “I've had enough.” He hadn't come to Gaul for this.

  He stood, adjusted his tunic, turned to a slave nearby who looked as if he was monitoring things, and said in a loud voice, “I must see the governor straight away. Go and tell him that.”

  Shock flushed across the slave's face. Guests waited until they were called.

  The slave scurried away. Soon afterwards the official who'd brought them to the temple came racing down the path.

  “Good news,” he announced breathlessly. “The governor will see you, my lord. Your friends will wait here. I will escort you to him at once.” He sounded apologetic and bowed even lower than before when he’d finished.

  Constantine looked at his companions. Marcus, who had sat down beside him, looked concerned.

  He followed the man through a side door in the main building and down a long corridor that echoed with waves of chatter from what must have been a large group of people somewhere ahead. They turned a corner and entered a wide high-ceilinged hall. It was crowded with people; provincial officials in smart togas, military officers in shiny breastplates, and locals in tunics of every color and style, all staring curiously at him. Then, as if on cue, everyone bowed. He grinned and shook his head, gesturing vigorously for everybody to rise. They did.

  The official led him toward the far end of the room where a crowd parted like wheat before a scythe as they approached. One man stood like a rock facing him. The man was tall and fat. His flesh oozed like a roll of dough from his toga. He rubbed his shiny bald head as Constantine approached. The man’s toga was edged with the wide purple brocade of a senior official.

  He was also one of the last to bow, his right hand tapping at his chest only lightly.

  “I am your humble governor of this your father’s most loyal province. Welcome to our simple villa. You must be tired after your long journey. My household is at your disposal, for whatever you desire.” He grinned. “Will you be travelling on soon, to Treveris? You must consider my stables your own, of course.”

  “Yes, very soon, governor. Good horses will be appreciated.” Constantine looked around. “Can we discuss something in private?”

  The governor led him through the crowd onto a wide, empty veranda with a view of the distant silvery sea. He looked concerned as he beckoned Constantine to a far corner. The sun dipped low, and the far-off hills had mist on them, like a purple shroud.

  “How can I help you, Constantine? I'm a good friend of your beloved father. I live only to help the imperial family, if I can.” He raised his eyebrows, face bulging for a moment like an overripe, slightly spoiled cherry.

  Constantine looked around. No one had followed them.

  “I have brought with me a Tribune. A man named Marcus,” he said, gesturing toward the garden.

  A look passed over the governor’s face as if he’d eaten something rotten.

  “He tells me you are holding a delegation from the town.”

  The governor jutted his chin forward so much his face looked misshapen.

  “Their families are in fear, ill-founded I’m sure, that their husbands and brothers are to be sold into slavery.” Constantine stepped closer to the governor.

  “Marcus tells me there is every prospect of a revolt because of all this. Can we not do something for these people, governor, something to disprove these wild stories?”

  “I have done nothing wrong. I informed your father of multiple threats to my person.” The governor looked disdainful now, as if bored.

  “Your father knows we have had many dangerous escaped slaves roaming this province for over a year. They have caused all manner of problems. Your father is aware of this. The group you speak of, they are connected with these rebels. I have evidence their daughters ran away to be with them.” He threw his hands up.

  “Every supporter of these rebels will be sold into slavery,” he continued. “We must stand firm. Any monies raised will help recover the unpaid taxes from the estates that were ravaged last year. It will set a good example. You know all about that from your father, I’m sure. We must rule with a firm hand, Constantine. Your father always agrees with me on these things.”

  “Does he?” said Constantine. The governor was as slippery as any he’d met.
Had he jumped into this too quickly?

  “It is our way. Even the great Dio attacked clemency.” The governor patted Constantine's shoulder.

  His tone was one of patient instruction now, as if he was working hard to teach some young boy the facts of life. For Constantine, the tone infuriated. Perhaps deliberately so.

  “I must enforce the tax gathering rigorously, my lord, or we’ll have no empire to govern.” He waved his hands higher in the air this time. Then he grinned, like a pig at the trough distracted momentarily, showing his small milky teeth.

  “But there are benefits to this little rebellion, my lord. The property of the rebels is forfeit to the empire. I am holding an auction today of all the confiscated properties.” He looked toward the high double doors.

  “The new owners must pay all the overdue taxes, of course. So, the state will benefit, twice.” His eyes bulged with glee. “I had set aside a villa near the port for your father, but now that you are here, one might be set aside for you as well.” He looked enquiringly at Constantine.

  “I have a witness who claims many of these people are innocent.” Constantine had seen the same thing before. Officials who assumed everyone could be bought. This man’s type were the bane of the empire. How could his father permit all this?

  “You haven't been fooled by that traitor Marcus, have you?” The governor sounded amused, then angry. “You know he’s been supporting the rebels who want to overthrow the peace of this city?”

  “Why not let this man's testimony be publicly recorded, then a judgment be made?” said Constantine.

  If he agreed to a public hearing, the governor would have to prove his allegations. If he was making them up, he would be reluctant. He might even bend now and compromise.

  “But, of course Constantine, and as a first step let us have this witness brought before us.” He raised his hand. A shaven-headed official who’d been standing by the doors ran to him. The governor whispered something to the man. He went away in a great hurry.

  “Your father greatly appreciated my support in his early days, but please, let us wait for this witness to come. We will listen to what he has to say.” The governor sounded unperturbed.

  Both men gazed toward the sea, lost in their own thoughts. Then a commotion sounded from the garden they were overlooking, off to the side, loud exclamations, the slapping sound of someone running. A centurion in full armor ran up a side step onto the veranda.

  XXXI

  Off the coast of Leptis Magna, the southern shore of Mare Nostrum, 306 A.D.

  A soft breeze blew from the south over a perfect sea, creating a pattern of widely spaced ripples. Soon their ship could head north across the Mare Nostrum to Sicilia. The galley had first been spotted by the lookout. The Egyptian captain claimed he was well used to being boarded by Roman galleys operating out of Leptis Magna, searching for pirates, so no alarm cry went out when the galley, powered by three lines of rowers, headed toward them.

  Their sail came down, and they drifted as Helena and Hosius came out of the small cabin at the rear of the ship and waited with the captain.

  “Ready yourself for boarding,” shouted a bearded sailor toward them as the galley neared. Helena knew there was probably nothing to fear, but there was always a chance that a galley captain would try to extract some toll from her. Then all the oars left the water and stayed upright. The galley captain timed the slowdown in his ship’s pace so precisely, the galley drifted toward them at the moment they came closest together.

  A thick and hairy hemp line snaked through the air. One of the Egyptian crewmen used a hook to retrieve it from the water nearby. He secured it to a rusty iron ring on that side of the Egyptian vessel.

  “We have a passenger from the imperial family,” the captain shouted up.

  Heads appeared above them.

  “I hope they don’t delay us. I have business in Rome, captain.” Helena looked regal in the tunic she had put on before coming out on deck. It went down to below her knee, and was made of soft dark-blue wool, and the purple edging and pearls around its neckline made it clear the wearer was a patrician of the highest quality.

  Hosius stood quietly at her side. She could tell he had never seen a Roman war galley of this size before at such close quarters. He stared up at the line of shields above the oar ports, and the pennants that bristled above the shields.

  A cracking noise sounded from the galley above them. A part of the galley wall, up near the shields, swung open. Two men with black breastplates looked down at them.

  “Hold fast,” one of the men shouted. A rope ladder descended toward them. The crewman who had secured the line from the galley grabbed the ladder and, with the help of another crewman, held it lightly, letting it slip between their fingers as the men above descended and the ladder swayed in the air.

  It was obvious these men were used to boarding ships. They didn’t hesitate in their downward journey and a few feet from their objective they dropped with a clatter onto the deck.

  The captain saluted, banging his chest and then shooting his arm out. He walked toward the men, speaking quickly as he did so.

  “We are come from Alexandria. We have grain for Rome and two important passengers. Do not delay us.”

  The men pushed past him, ignoring the captain. Short swords dangled from the men’s belts. The dark greaves on their lower legs and their shoulder plates were angled to deflect sword blows. These men were not here to simply inspect.

  Helena stiffened. She took a step back, toward Hosius.

  “What do you want with us?” said Hosius as the men approached. Each had a grim expression on a sun-darkened face.

  Without warning, both men pulled their swords. One held the tip toward Hosius. The other swung his sword around and turned, looking for any opposition to what they were about to do.

  A clattering noise sounded from further down the ship. More similarly clad men were dropping onto the deck. The captain’s hands were in the air now, as were the hands of every crewman. No one would resist.

  “What do you want from us?” Hosius’ voice sounded shrill as he repeated his question.

  In response, the man nearest him raised his sword, turned it, so the pommel faced Hosius, and with a practiced movement stepped closer and smashed the pommel into Hosius’ eye.

  His scream ripped through the air. It didn’t end as the man grabbed Helena and dragged her toward the rope ladder.

  Helena, almost overwhelmed by the suddenness, started struggling, slapping at the man dragging her. But then there were three men holding her and she was unable to move any more than twisting in their arms. Every muscle trembled now as the reality sunk in. But she did not scream.

  The captain and the crew still had their hands up high in the air.

  “Where are you taking me?” she said, her tone bitter and angry.

  Behind her, Hosius screamed. Other men from the galley were standing near the rope ladder. Without a word, they grabbed Helena. Her hands were tied above her head.

  As Helena was hoisted up to the deck of the galley, she looked back down. Hosius’ screams had become even more high pitched. She saw why. Her chest tightened, and she screamed. Hosius was pushing his eyeball back into its broken socket, while around it a mass of bubbling blood and broken white bone glistened.

  XXXII

  Massilia, 306 A.D.

  “Hail, governor,” said the centurion, breathlessly. “It's the Tribune Marcus. He's taken his life. We could do nothing.”

  Stunned, Constantine addressed the man.

  “Centurion, I’m the son of your emperor. Take me to the Tribune at once.” He felt angry, sickeningly foolish. He should have expected something like this, should have known that his involvement could make things worse.

  He felt powerless, exactly as he had when he’d first gone to the east and he’d learnt that his every movement would be restricted. But that wasn’t him anymore. He was free now, not a prisoner. Anger rose inside him fast.

  The gover
nor shook his head in a mockery of grief.

  Constantine wanted to strike him down, crush him. He balled his fists and wiped one across his mouth as if forcing it shut.

  The centurion led them to a trellised kitchen garden beyond the far corner of the building. Ahead, beside a wooden bench, not where he’d left him, lay Marcus face up, a slick puddle of blood staining all around him, a wide gash across his throat making the puddle bigger by the moment. A dagger lay across Marcus’ outstretched palm. Two slaves stood nearby, looking dumbstruck.

  Constantine bent down and placed his ear by Marcus' wide-open mouth. He pulled away after a few moments. No one ever cut their own throat. He remembered how close he’d been to taking his own life. It had never occurred to him to cut his throat. Marcus hadn’t killed himself. This governor had killed him. This evil son of a greedy half-mule whore.

  “It does look as if he took his own life,” the governor’s voice trilled. “That knife looks blood stained. This is better than continuing to tell a pack of lies. An honorable decision really, don't you think?”

  Constantine turned. The governor was standing right behind him. He looked pleased.

  He'd been manipulated from the moment he’d arrived. All that waiting, and for what? He would not be so naïve again.

  Someday, he’d be able to dispense justice as it should be done. That day, he’d avenge Marcus. He touched Marcus' cheek. “I swear it,” he whispered.

  “Constantine, please, come away. We'll have this rebel's body impaled on the road out of town. He tricked you, you can be sure of that. But I don't blame you, he’s of a most persuasive type. I even trusted him myself, once.” He rested a hand on Constantine's shoulder.

  “Suicide is ample proof of lying.” He squeezed Constantine's shoulder, then released him, turned and walked away.

  Constantine looked around. The governor’s guards were nowhere to be seen. He’d forgotten to call them after him, in his eagerness to gloat. The two slaves were staring at Constantine, as if they knew what had really happened, and were wondering if he was going to do anything about it. Tiny flies were already flitting around the blood at his feet.