by Paul Doherty
Claudia reread what she'd written. One word caught her attention: 'masks'. She underlined it. What if, she argued with herself, Theodore had not dragged the mask from one of the attacker's faces but recognised the actual masks? She felt a faint thrill of excitement. 'Of course,' she whispered, and glanced up at the window. Actors' masks were fairly expensive, especially those which covered the entire face and head. Had Theodore recognised those masks as belonging to a specific troupe or being sold in a certain shop? Claudia sprang to her feet, walked to the library door and went out to stand under the shade. She recalled her own days as an actress: one thing they were most careful about was the masks, — they were the tools to convey the drama. Had the masks been bought, or had the person who organised these abductions hired a troupe of actors to perpetrate the crimes? Again Claudia reflected on her own troupe. Many of them had a great deal to hide and could be hired not just to stage a drama but to do anything else a wealthy patron might desire. In fact, that was why Claudia herself had returned to Rome: her manager had become bankrupt and the other actors were being hired for activities she could not stomach.
Claudia glanced across the well-groomed lawn at a strutting peacock, its feathers all arrayed to catch the sun like some gorgeously bejewelled coat. 'Theodore was like that,' she murmured, 'all shadow and little substance, but in this case, what was the little substance?' Returning to the library, she smiled: the manuscript on the desk had been moved. Doubtless the old librarian had come across to see what she'd been writing. However, Claudia often wrote in her own script, intelligible to no one; sometimes she lost her temper with herself when even she couldn't decipher it, but not this time. She would remember the mask! She sat down, grasped the pen and continued to write.
Tertio. The death of the veterans. Three had been killed: one in his chamber, two in alleyways; the killer was undoubtedly a woman, a prostitute, a whore. Old soldiers were vulnerable; they would be wary, but a pretty woman was a different matter. Claudia could imagine the assassin snuggling close, the man putting his arms around her, leaving himself exposed to that swift dagger thrust to the belly. The shock and the pain probably forced him to his knees, then the killer would slip behind him, pulling back his head, cutting his throat before carrying out those heinous abominations upon his corpse. Claudia was certain that the murders were linked to what had happened in the north of Britain some eighteen years ago; that Pictish war band being massacred in the mile fort, the Golden Maid, the rivalry between Stathylus and Postulus. But what had happened now to summon ghosts from the past? What had Petilius seen? Why did he wish to meet his old general again? To tell him something confidential? Something secret? But why didn't he share this with his friends? Of course! Claudia glanced up. All those veterans were frightened. General Aurelian had put his finger on the heart of the problem. Postulus had been a Roman officer, maliciously murdered by his own men, — for such an abominable crime they deserved crucifixion or some other horrific death. Did Petilius see something, or someone, at that reunion and realise their secret might not be as carefully guarded and protected as he thought? Was that why he didn't share his information with his colleagues but wanted to see Aurelian? Claudia sat for a while studying what she'd written, reflecting on what she'd seen and heard. Her mind returned to the She Asses tavern, and she picked up the pen again.
Quatro. Sancta Fulgentia — where had that corpse come from? Claudia knew enough about the Christians and the great emphasis they laid on miracles. She'd heard stories of bodies found in the catacombs, especially young women who'd been killed and buried before the Edict of Milan, when Constantine had issued his Decree of Toleration for the Christians. Some of these tombs had now been opened, and according to popular rumour a few of the bodies within had not decomposed, a true sign of God's favour. Was this corpse one of these? Claudia concentrated on what she'd learned. The body had definitely been buried with Diocletian's coins on its eyelids; these dated the woman's death to about nine or ten years ago. It had been buried in a part of the garden, certainly not by Polybius, who hadn't owned the tavern then. Apuleius, a man of integrity, had guaranteed that the body was singular in aspect and appearance. Yet if Fulgentia had been a girl taken from a family outside the city, brought into Rome for questioning and murdered, why not bury her in the cemetery along the Via Appia where her corpse would never be found? Or, as had happened to so many, throw her into the Tiber or bury her beneath one of the many wastelands and commons in and around Rome?
She tried to recall the events as they had happened. The corpse had been found by Venutus the Vine-dresser, who'd chosen the wrong part of the garden to work. He'd started in the poor light and Polybius, busy in the tavern making sure the ovens and stoves were fired, didn't notice. The corpse had been found in that chest, the coins pressed on the eyes and those faint marks on her throat and along her shoulders. It hadn't decomposed. Claudia closed her eyes. Polybius had naturally taken control and sent for someone skilled in medicine. Apuleius was the natural choice. He and his wife arrived. They declared Fulgentia was possibly a martyr and should be revered. No clinical explanation could be given for the preservation. The corpse was swathed in fresh linen, placed back in its coffin and taken down to the cool cellar. Polybius, never a man to miss a profit, then proclaimed the Great Miracle throughout the quarter. Men like Mercury the Messenger spread the news and the curious flocked in; they bought wine and food as well as paying to gape at the Great Miracle.
Claudia gritted her teeth. There was something wrong. Polybius was a rogue, but Claudia knew her uncle and Poppaoe would never stoop to any real wickedness. Mischief perhaps, evil no. And then there were the witnesses: Narcissus the Neat, Oceanus, and, above all, Apuleius. She paused as she heard the sound of women singing, straining her ears she caught the words.
'To the Lord of Light on the eastern horizon, Risen Lord, clothed in might, come Lord Jesus, come.'
'What is that?'
The librarian, dozing on his stool, lifted his head. 'Ah, that will be the Lady Urbana and the other Magdalena. They often meet here, in that part of the garden set aside for them.'
'Can I see?'
'Come with me.' The old librarian, huffing and puffing, got off his stool, came around his table and led Claudia out into the bright sunlight. After the smell of vellum, parchment, ink and sand, the garden smelled even more fragrant. The librarian, grumbling under his breath, led Claudia along a portico where beautiful medallions, attached by cords between the pillars, swung lazily in the breeze, each displaying the head of a god or goddess. On the lawns peacocks screeched, and from gilded cages a'brilliantly coloured flock of songbirds thrilled the heart and pleased the ear. A veritable paradise of dappled greens, shrubs from every part of the Empire embedded in the richest soil. They passed grottoes and statues, went through a cherry orchard and out on to another green lawn stretching up to a corner of the curtain wall. A group of women dressed in white gowns, stoles pulled up over their heads, knelt on marble slabs all facing what Claudia first thought was a rockery, a pile of earth in which polished stones had been set. On the top stood a wooden cross and next to that a small artificial cave. She immediately recognised the symbols: the crucifix of the Lord Jesus and the cave in which He lay buried for three days before He rose from the dead. The women, Urbana leading from the front, were still singing their hymn, a soft, melodious chant, rising and falling, exhorting Christ, the Lord of Time and Space, begging him to come again.
The librarian quickly retreated; Claudia heard a cough and turned to her right. Leartus stood beneath a tree, smiling at her. He raised his hand and then turned back, joining in the hymn as it reached its final doxology giving Glory to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. The singing tapered off. The women knelt, heads bowed to the ground. Urbana rose to her feet. She was about to address her companions when she glimpsed Claudia, smiled and softly clapped her hands.
'Sisters,' she said, 'we have a visitor.'
The rest of the ladies rose and turned to greet Claud
ia, faces smiling, pushing back the stoles from their heads. Claudia recognised some of the faces from the court; they all looked severe, no cosmetics or jewellery, no ornamentation, simple and pure in their dress. Urbana moved amongst them talking softly, and the group broke up, drifting away across the garden, whilst Urbana and Cassia took Claudia and Leartus over to a portico crowned with flowers and creeping ivy. Inside it was cool and refreshing.
Urbana sat down on a seat, leaning back against the wall, breathing out noisily.
'I'm glad you're here, Claudia. It gives us a respite from the heat and our duties.'
Leartus was watching Cassia's fingers make their symbols and signs.
'What is it?' Claudia asked.
'My lady,' Leartus replied, 'wonders what you're doing here. Would you like to become a Magdalena?'
'Who are the Magdalena?' Claudia teased back.
Urbana went to intervene, but Cassia held her hand up rather imperiously and continued her silent conversation with Leartus.
'You're not a Christian?' Leartus asked.
'I think you know that,' Claudia replied. 'I've learned something of your faith, what they call the Way, your Scriptures.'
'Well,' Leartus gestured at Urbana and Cassia, 'these are the Magdalena. Mary Magdalene was a woman in the Gospels possessed by seven demons which Jesus cast out. She later became one of his closest followers and followed his ministry throughout Galilee and Judaea. When the Lord Christ was crucified, she stayed in vigil beside his tomb. According to our Scriptures, she was one of the first to whom the Lord Jesus appeared after His resurrection. She was the Lord's ideal disciple. The ladies Urbana and Cassia have renounced their former lives, their wealth, their position, their status. They, like Mary Magdalene, have left the past behind them, and are dedicated solely to the Lord Jesus and spreading his name.'
'And what does that actually mean?' Claudia spoke directly to Cassia.
'It means,' Leartus intervened, speaking as he watched Cassia make her signs, 'that we must make the name of the Lord Jesus known in every corner of society, be it the hovels and filthy alleyways of the slums, or the palaces and villas of the great and mighty. The Magdalena participate in a range of good works, hospitals, and medical facilities, but above all they encourage those who walk the streets and sell their bodies to renounce such sin and turn to the Lord Jesus.'
'There is something else,' Urbana declared, smiling at Claudia. 'The Augusta searches the Empire for relics of the Divine Saviour, Our Lord Jesus. Well, we're no different. We have accepted the spirit of Mary Magdalene, we wish to minister to Christ in all His people. But,' she smiled thinly, 'we also wish to discover more about her. We know that she came from Bethany outside Jerusalem. After the Lord Jesus ascended into heaven, Mary Magdalene stayed in Judaea for a while, but due to the conflict with the Romans and the persecution of the Christian faith, she fled to Gaul. She landed at Marseilles, moving deep into the countryside there. We have this great dream, this ambition, this vision, to find her remains and bring them back here to Rome. We've heard rumours,' Urbana shrugged, 'that when she fled from Judaea, Mary Magdalene was joined by others of Jesus' disciples, Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea. Even more importantly, after she went to Gaul she married: a prophecy proclaims that her children will be the seed of a future line of glorious kings, but perhaps such tales are mere fairy stories. Anyway, this is what we are, Claudia. What business do you have with us?'
Claudia pointed at Cassia, who was staring intently at her.
'We are faced with many, many crimes, Domina,' Claudia used the formal title, 'and I am perplexed. Young men and women are abducted, veterans are murdered. I ask you, with no insult intended,' she spoke slowly and clearly, 'you must know people from your former life, you must listen to the rumours from the city: do you have any information which could help me?'
Urbana scowled at her. Cassia lowered her head, but those beautiful eyes came up and held Claudia's, and just for a while she stared coolly at her. Then she began to talk with her fingers, Leartus watching intently.
'My mistress,' the eunuch began, 'does not resent your insinuations but she knows nothing about what you say. The hostage-taking, the destruction of veterans, what is that to her?'
'Then let her tell me about her former life in Britain. She came from the same province where these men served.'
'That's ridiculous!' Urbana cut in. 'Cassia cannot remember much. Moreover, we come from the Iceni in the eastern part of that province. We had no dealings with Picts.'
'Where were you last night?' Claudia cut in quickly. 'After dark, when the curfew had been proclaimed and the horn sounded.'
Cassia turned to Urbana, smiled and shrugged. Urbana glowered at Claudia. 'Are you insinuating,' she said, 'that we have anything to do with the death of that veteran in some stinking alleyway?'
'I didn't say that, Domina,' Claudia replied tactfully. 'I simply asked where you were.'
Urbana sprang to her feet and, with an irate glance at Claudia, walked away. She returned with a grey-haired, solemn-faced man whom Claudia immediately recognised as one of the chamberlains.
'Tell the lady your name,' Urbana urged. 'What is your name?'
'Why, Domina,' the fellow stuttered a reply, 'my name is Dimisces. I am a chamberlain at your husband's villa.'
'Tell this lady,' Urbana flung her hand out at Claudia, 'where we were last night.'
'Why, Domina,' Dimisces replied, 'everybody knows you were here, you and the Lady Cassia, from before sunset until the early hours. The Magdalena were also with you. You prayed, then you retired.'
'Thank you.' Urbana dismissed the chamberlain with a flick of her fingers and turned on Claudia. 'So, what further questions do you have to ask?'
Claudia, discomfited, excused herself and went to say goodbye to Murranus. He was in the palaestra with young Alexander, teaching him the rudiments of fighting with the short sword and square shield. Murranus, dripping with sweat, followed Claudia out into the cool colonnade, held her close and kissed her on the brow before turning away. He paused in the doorway, looked over his shoulder and grinned.
'Well, at least I'm not entering the arena!'
Claudia held up her hand in salute and went to the stables, where two of General Aurelian's slaves were waiting with a gentle cob. They left the villa, going along the winding path through the gates and on to the trackway which would lead them down to the main thoroughfare. The day's heat was dying, and soothing evening breezes had sprung up. Above the grass on either side butterflies floated. A thrush started to sing its clear liquid song, the sky was scored red, the lowing of cattle echoed rather sombrely from behind the fringe of trees; above it the sound of a child laughing and screaming carried on the breeze. The cob plodded sturdily along, the two escorts walking ahead, chattering amongst themselves. Claudia half dozed. On the way to the villa, she'd found the countryside familiar. She remembered that, as a young girl, her father had taken her, Felix and their mother along here, out into the countryside, simply to get away from the stench and heat of the city. She recalled those days and how her life had changed. Her father and her mother had become Christians but they had never made her convert. Claudia started awake and blinked. That was one thing she would remember them for: loving, ever-present, but never forcing their beliefs upon her.
She wondered if one day she and Murranus would come here with their children and sit under the shade of the outstretched branches of an oak tree to picnic, to immerse themselves in the ordinary, everyday things of life. Sometimes, on an evening like this, with the sun sinking in the west, the birds singing, the breeze fanning the sweat from her skin, she resented what she had to do, how she lived, the dangers that threatened her. Yet on the other hand, she could not suppress that feeling of excitement, that tingling, that sharpening of the brain as she waited to encounter some threat, some danger, in order to resolve a problem. She found it fascinating to observe, record and study human conduct, to pick at the loose threads and pull them free so that a
whole tapestry of lies would collapse and reveal the truth behind. She often wondered if the attack and rape on her, coupled with the murder of her brother Felix, had unbalanced her wits, forced her soul to go in another direction. Nevertheless, she was now on that path, and she would journey along it as far as she could.
Claudia glanced up at the sky and wondered what would be awaiting her at the She Asses. Abruptly she heard a cry and reined in. The escorts had also stopped, shading their eyes and peering into the distance at the three figures, staffs in their hands, walking briskly towards them. One of the slaves carried a sword; he drew this from its scabbard but then his companion muttered something to him. The sword was put back and hands were raised in greeting as the retainers of General Aurelian recognised each other. Claudia, peering through the dust haze, realised that General Aurelian had been true to his word. The two veterans Crispus and Secundus had been summoned to the villa. They met where the trackway curved. At first the two veterans looked rather shamefaced, slightly apprehensive. Claudia greeted them and made to go on, but Crispus came up, grabbed the cob's halter and peered up at her.
'You told General Aurelian?'
Claudia stroked the neck of her cob and shrugged. 'I had no choice, he had to know.'
'We are innocent,' Crispus declared defiantly. 'We were not party to Postulus' killing.'
'I know,' Claudia replied, 'and so does General Aurelian.'
Secundus had a word with his escort and came over. 'We would like to talk to you,' he said. 'I mean, before we part.' He held up the leather bag he carried. 'We have some wine, it's ripe Campanian. General Aurelian sent it. We also bought some fresh bread from a bakery just near the city gate.'
Leaving General Aurelian's retainers to talk amongst themselves, Claudia and the two veterans settled in the shade of a tree overlooking a small pond covered in green slime. Dragonflies hovered above it and the dull buzz of bees hummed from the gorse which ringed the pool. They shared out the bread and passed round the wineskin. Claudia took two or three mouthfuls and handed it back.
