by Paul Doherty
'What about him?' Claudia snapped. i know you have a great fear of Murranus returning to the arena, and you are right. Murranus is a champion, but every day he grows older; eventually he will enter the amphitheatre and meet someone younger, faster, swifter, more deadly. The mood of the mob is fickle. Today they will clap Murranus on the back, buy him a goblet of wine, women will offer themselves to him.' He shrugged. 'I apologise. I am not saying Murranus would accept, but that is the way of the world. One day Murranus will make a mistake. He'll lie sprawled on the sand, mortally wounded, begging for his life from the mob who, simply because they don't like the way he fought, would consign him to death.' 'The Empress would intervene.'
'The Empress is a politician, Claudia; she will do what the mob wants, you know that as well as I do.' 'So what are you saying?'
'The Church of Rome needs, how can I put it, protectors, bodyguards. My master, the other powerful bishops of this region, must have their own military escort. Murranus would be an ideal choice as a captain.' He smiled as Claudia relaxed. 'See, I'm not all threats and menaces. I am trying to help you.'
'But Murranus is not a Christian.'
'He is better than that. He's a man who can't be bought. He can be trusted. So, Claudia, if we remain allies, even better, friends, whatever authority I wield, whatever power the Church exercises, will be used on your behalf and that of Murranus.'
'And Polybius?'
'As I've said, Polybius is a different matter, he is following a very dangerous path. The Empress is devoted to her relics, the antiquities of the Christian past. If it came out that a tavern-keeper near the Flavian Gate had fooled her…' His words hung like a noose.
Claudia stretched out her hand; Sylvester clasped it. 'You have my word,' she promised. 'I will do what I can, and if
I discover the truth about Fulgentia,' she chewed her lip, 'you'll be the first to know. Oh, Presbyter, there is something else.' 'What?'
Claudia quickly described the murders of the veterans, their service in northern Britain, the savage desecration carried out on their corpses.
'I've heard something of this,' Sylvester murmured, 'but how can I help you? Such deaths have no connection with the Christian Church.'
Claudia laughed abruptly. 'Very little, Presbyter, but I need your assistance. Many followers of your way are slaves or servants, — I want you to make diligent enquiry for me amongst them. Are there any Picts in Rome? I need to talk to someone who knows their tongue, customs and culture.'
'Perhaps a survivor from that attack?'
'No, Presbyter, there were no survivors. Or at least I don't think so. I just need someone to describe for me the Pictish way of life, explain what could be happening here.'
Sylvester held up his hand. 'I will do all I can, Claudia.' He smiled. 'You know Sallust the Searcher and his family?'
Claudia grinned; she certainly knew Sallust!
'I'll employ him,' Sylvester declared, getting to his feet. 'He can find anything in Rome…'
A short while later, just as the water clock of the tavern she'd left indicated the seventh hour, a different Claudia entered the cemetery which stretched along the Appian Way. She had gone to a seller of perfumes and powders, cosmetics and paints for ladies, and bought herself a dye and some powder. Afterwards, she'd stopped at a secondhand clothes-seller and purchased a few rags, a pair of battered sandals for her feet and a polished walking cane. She'd sheltered in a tavern near the city gates and changed, dusting her hair and face, rubbing ash on to her hands and arms before putting on the smelly, tattered rags. She had perfected the walk, the slight stoop of an old crone, from her days as an actress.
Now she followed the winding path into the jungle of undergrowth, tombs, monuments and sarcophagi which stretched to the great heathland in the far distance where she could glimpse the arches of the Claudian Aqueduct. To her right rose the dust from the Appian Way, as farmers, merchants, traders and tinkers either left or made their way into the city. She could still hear the hum of conversation, the creak of wheels as she fought her way through the tangle. Eventually all sounds faded except for bees buzzing above the wild flowers and the occasional scuttle of some animal fleeing from her approach. Claudia was used to visiting the cemetery. In the past, she'd often met Sylvester in the catacombs to the north, though there was now little need for such subterfuge, — their recent meeting at the deserted Temple of Minerva proved Sylvester's growing confidence in being able to carry out his affairs when and where he liked. Claudia paused, resting on her staff, and closed her eyes. She must remember that. When she'd first begun her relationship with Sylvester, the Christian Church had only recently come out of the catacombs and Constantine's Edict of Milan had been fresh in everyone's minds. Since then, the Church had worked vigorously and swiftly to reinforce its authority as well as to gain patronage and favour at court.
Claudia started from her reverie at the harsh cawing above her; glancing up, she glimpsed the buzzard circling above her. She continued on her way. She was now approaching the main part of the cemetery, walking slowly, using the stick to drive away the tangle of bramble, gorse, wild grass, and nettles which scored her ankles and made her gasp in pain. Yet she kept up the pretence, stopping every so often to look at the various funeral tombs, as the old do, as if still relishing their hold on life: a fresco of a man set in a wreath, a small cremation chest to mark his wife, the pitiful sarcophagus of a child, carved figures lamenting around the deathbed of a young girl, a dead woman portrayed as Venus triumphant, a married couple exchanging vows. Some of the stone was pure marble from the Sea of Marmara, other monuments were of rough stone hewn from a local quarry. Most of the tombs, sarcophagi and memorials were at least a hundred years old and slowly crumbling under the lashing rain, winter frosts and summer heat. The tomb of the tribune where Antonia was to be released lay on the far side of the cemetery, deep enough in this tangle of stone and bramble for the gang to free their hostage and escape unscathed. Now and again Claudia paused and looked up. Across the cemetery grew different trees, many in weird, grotesque shapes; any of these could house a lookout posted to spot approaching soldiers.
Claudia, aware of the oppressive, brooding silence, paused at a tomb of a young man, his likeness carved on the front in the form of the sleeping Endymion. She leaned against this and turned slowly in the manner of an old woman. She was certain she was being followed; just a coldness on the back of her neck, a slight agitation in her stomach. She listened intently, scrutinising the brambles and tangled gorse behind her for any sign of movement. Only silence, nothing but that buzzard still cawing noisily above her. Had it been disturbed, forced to flee whatever morsel it had been plucking at? Claudia sighed, her face and body now coated in sweat, then pushed on along the trackway. She entered a clearing and was about to cross it when four figures emerged from behind a chest tomb. She immediately recognised what they were: Inferni, dirty, dishevelled men dressed in rags but armed with wicked-looking knives and clubs. They blocked her path.
'Hello, old one.' The pig-faced leader stepped forward. 'What are you doing here? Haven't seen you before.'
Claudia leaned on the stick and peered at them, assessing their strength. She felt fear, but at the same time she could throw off her disguise and run faster than any of these. The one on the far left had a slight limp; the others looked fat, with the unhealthy colour and sagging cheeks of men who drank copiously of cheap posca and other foul wines.
'Well?' The leader edged forward.
Claudia stepped back.
'Come on, old lady, let's see who you really are. Let's have a look at your hands.' He made an obscene gesture with his groin. 'You can still work your wonder here.'
Claudia was about to turn and flee when Burrus and five of his companions slipped out of the undergrowth as if they'd come up from the very earth itself. Despite their size and bulk, they moved swiftly and deadly. The four Inferni didn't even have a chance to resist. For a short while the silence of the clearing was shattered by
grunts and moans as Burrus and his companions dispatched them. Claudia watched, horror-struck. Within a few heartbeats, all four men lay dead, their throats cut. Burrus and his companions squatted down, cleaning their swords and daggers on the long grass. The captain glanced up and winked at Claudia.
'We've been watching you, little one, ever since you left that tavern. We knew it was you.' He and his companions laughed softly and came crowding round this little woman whose bravery they admired.
Claudia put down the cane and wiped the sweat from her face.
'You've been following me?'
'Of course, little one. This is no different from our forests in Germany. An entire war band could move around here and not even disturb the birds on the branches.' Burrus crouched down and stared into her eyes. 'You're unharmed, little one. They were tracking you. You're not as old as you look.' He grinned and tweaked her cheek. 'Go on, we will be behind you.'
Claudia crouched down, gesturing at Burrus and the others to join her.
'Why are you here, to protect me or to hunt the kidnappers?'
'Both,' Burrus replied, squinting up at the sky. 'The Augusta thought that if any soldiers could get close, we were the ones. None of the fancy boys from the guards; they'd go blundering about like a child in water. We are different. There are more of us, at least two dozen out there heading towards that tomb.'
Claudia suppressed a chill of fear and pointed to the trees. 'You could be seen from there.'
'I doubt it,' Burrus declared. 'We'll be crawling on our bellies.'
Claudia was about to reply when one of the guards lifted his hand.
'Look, look!' he urged.
Claudia glanced to her right. Black smoke plumed against the blue sky, followed by flames darting greedily up. Such fires were common in summer along the dry heathland round the city, but this fire had started too quickly. Claudia followed Burrus as they hurried back through the tangled undergrowth, no longer bothering to conceal their progress, tripping over cracked pots, pieces of masonry, making their way round the tombs towards the fire. One of the German guards paused, sniffing the air like a lurcher, then Claudia smelled it, that horrid stench of burning flesh. They hurried on. The flames were dying but the foul smoke made them cough and splutter. They reached a small glade in front of a large tomb, and found a tangle of wood heaped around a burned corpse, its flesh bubbling. The smell was awful. Covering her nose with her tattered cloak, Claudia followed Burrus over and stared down.
'He has no head!' she proclaimed, and turned away as her stomach heaved.
The corpse, whoever it belonged to, was nothing more than blackened remains. Burrus grasped her by the shoulder and led her away from the smoke. He made her crouch down while he and one of his lieutenants went to inspect the gory remains more carefully; they turned the corpse over, muttered to each other and came back. it's definitely a man,' Burrus declared, cupping Claudia's chin in his hand. 'Not Antonia, perhaps a quarry of the Inferni, but why they took his head then burned the rest, I don't know…'
'Do you think-'
Claudia's question was cut off by a chilling scream. Burrus leapt to his feet and, with Claudia following, hastened down a narrow winding path into another clearing. A young woman sat with hands and feet bound, though she'd managed to remove the blindfold over her eyes and was staring in horror, shaking, trying to knock away the severed head nestling in her lap.
The Germans cut her bonds, pulling her to her feet. Burrus lifted the severed head, inspected it carefully and, taking one of his companion's cloaks, wrapped it up.
'Who is it?' Claudia asked.
'The Augusta's man, Chaerea,' Burrus replied, his voice thick and guttural. 'She sent him here. By the marks on the head and face, he was mauled by dogs before being decapitated.'
Chapter 7
Omnia Romae cum pretio.
Everything in Rome comes with a price.
Juvenal, Satires
Claudia groaned and turned back to the girl. She was plump and very pretty, but now her face was tear-streaked and dirty, her hair a tangled mess, the tunic she wore stained and frayed, her legs and arms cut and bruised. Claudia forced the young woman to kneel well away from the bloodstains and, cupping her face in her hands, stared at her. Antonia was about to start screaming again. Claudia smacked her gently on the cheek.
'You are safe,' she whispered. 'I am Claudia, — these are German guards sent by the Augusta. How long have you been here?'
Claudia could make no sense of what the young woman told her. Antonia was shocked, horrified, talking as if in her sleep about dark passageways, men who touched her, that severed head in her lap. In the end they took her back into the city, Burrus using his authority at the city gates to hire a litter. The young woman was carried up to the Palatine Palace, where Senator Carinus, together with the Augusta and other leading courtiers, were waiting to receive her. In an adjoining chamber Claudia quickly described what had happened. Helena cursed like a trooper at the fate of Chaerea and vowed vengeance on his killers, but snapped how that would just have to wait. Claudia told her about the attack by the Inferni, how Burrus had intervened, the fire, then finding Antonia.
'They must have seen you,' Helena declared, walking up and down.
Claudia sat still on the bench.
'They must have seen you and decided to take Chaerea's head and burn his corpse to distract you. What hour was it?'
'Shortly before the eighth,' Claudia replied wearily. 'I don't really know.'
'They must have guessed you were coming,' Helena repeated. 'Now we'll have to wait.'
Claudia was refused permission to leave the palace but had to kick her heels in either the imperial gardens or one of the small refectories adjoining the kitchens. Slaves brought food and wine but she had little appetite. She learned from a chamberlain that the Lady Antonia had been stripped, bathed, anointed and perfumed, given a sip of drugged wine and put to sleep.
Later that day, Senator Carinus, one arm round his daughter, who now looked much refreshed, joined Claudia and the Augusta in a small enclosed garden. They sat in a flowered arbour. Carinus was eager to leave, but Helena was insistent that Antonia answer Claudia's questions. At first the young woman found it difficult to speak. She shook her head and blinked. Now and again she would lapse into silence or stare at her father as if recognising him for the first time. Claudia recognised the symptoms of shock, of sleep deprivation. She spoke softly, gently, pointing out that she needed Antonia's help, and at last the young woman, fortified by a cup of white Falernian, answered her questions, though she could give very little information. She had been taken from her father's garden, blindfolded, gagged, bound hand and foot and carried somewhere. It was always dark and cold. She was given food, something to drink and a slop bucket to serve as a latrine. She talked about one man fondling her and of him being killed; about her own terrors and fears. Helena intervened. Did Antonia know anything about the death of Chaerea, whose severed head had been placed in her lap? Antonia shook her head.
'There was some commotion last night,' she said, 'but they gave me some drugged wine. I woke once. Men were shouting and dogs howling, that is all I remember. This morning they came and told me that if I behaved I was to be freed. My father had paid the ransom. I was pulled to my feet and taken along tunnels. Some were narrow, others broad; now and again the stones scored my arms and feet, then I was out into the fresh air. It smelled so good, the sun was on my face. I was pushed ever so gently and taken to where you found me.' She gestured at Claudia, i was told to count to ten eight times, and only then was I to lift the blindfold. I was terrified, I don't know if I counted or not. I smelled the smoke, that hideous stench. Something was put in my lap. I could feel the wetness through my tunic' She stopped, fingers to her mouth. 'I thought it was a wineskin, something to drink or eat. I lifted my wrists and forced the blindfold off, and saw those dead eyes staring up at me, the gaping mouth.' Antonia staggered to her feet and ran off to retch and vomit behind a bush.
/> 'I think she has said enough.' Senator Carinus leaned forward. 'Augusta, Claudia, I must take my child home.'
'In a short while,' Claudia murmured. 'There are other questions I must ask.' She got up, went over to Antonia and patted her gently on the shoulder. 'You've been very brave,' she whispered. 'It's all over now, but there are a few more questions I must ask. You know Theodore is dead?'
Antonia nodded, wiping her mouth.
'Come.' Claudia slipped her arm through Antonia's, but instead of returning to Senator Carinus, they walked across the lawns. 'Look around, Antonia: the plants, the roses, the flowers; see that peacock over there with its tail extended in such beautiful colours. Stare up at the sky. Don't you feel the evening breeze? It's all yours again.'
'Theodore,' Antonia asked. 'Was he killed defending me?'
'No, no.' Claudia swiftly described what had happened. Antonia began to cry again and Claudia hugged her close. 'I want to avenge his death as well. Tell me, Antonia, did Theodore remove the mask of one of your attackers?'
'No, no, he didn't!' Antonia replied. 'He leapt forward but was knocked down. By then I was seized and they were thrusting a gag into my mouth while the blindfold came down across my eyes, but no mask was taken off. Why do you ask?'
'Theodore claimed differently.' Claudia half smiled. 'He said that he removed one of the kidnapper's masks. That may be why he was murdered, because he recognised somebody'
'Well he didn't!' Antonia snapped. 'That was Theodore! He was forever telling stories, always telling lies.'
'What other lies did he tell you?' Claudia asked.
'Oh, where he'd been, where he came from.'
'Let me ask you another question.' They paused under the outstretched branches of a sycamore tree; above them songbirds in gilded cages sang hauntingly as if grieving over their imprisonment. 'Is there anything Theodore did not lie about, anything constant in his life, family or friends?' Claudia made the young woman sit down on a bench fitted against the trunk of a tree, and squatted before her. 'Please, Antonia, was there anything constant?'
