Queen of the Night ar-4

by Paul Doherty

  'Did General Aurelian like her? I mean the Lady Cassia?'

  'Oh yes, very much.' Casca paused, choosing his words carefully. 'I've not met a man who was not attracted to her. She and Leartus? Well, they are more one person than two. Cassia is kind and gracious whilst Leartus is very courteous, a fountain of knowledge when it comes to medicine, perfumes and the different herbs that are grown. Anyway, Claudia, if you want to know more about General Aurelian, go to the library, his memoirs are there. Ask the librarian, he'll help.'

  'Oh, Casca?'

  The physician paused on the steps.

  'You dressed the corpses of those two veterans for burial?' 'Yes, yes, I did.' Casca grimaced.

  'As a physician,' Claudia rose to her feet and came down the steps, 'who or what would cause such abominations?'

  Casca tapped his forehead lightly. 'I've told you, Claudia, what happens here is a true mystery.' He came closer. 'But I tell you this, whoever killed those veterans truly, truly hated them!'

  Claudia watched him go, then made her way back into the villa. The old librarian was only too willing to help. He sat her down at the table under the window at the far end, asking if she had enough light. Claudia smiled up at him.

  'I have enough to read by,' she said. 'Is it possible for me to see the General's memoirs?'

  The librarian brought them across as if they were sacred objects from a temple. He laid the collection of scrolls, each carefully numbered, on the table.

  'The General wrote them clearly in his own hand,' he explained, 'to be copied out later by me.'

  Uninvited, he sat down on a stool at the side of the table and watched curiously as Claudia untied the scrolls. She'd seen the like before. General Aurclian was no different from any veteran officer describing his campaigns in Britain and elsewhere: his opinions about fortifications, troop movements, the defences of the Empire. Claudia moved to the last scroll, undid it and went through it carefully. The General had a neat, precise hand, marking each turn of events with a new paragraph and writing in the margin what each section was about. Again, he was full of all the woes of empire: the weakness caused by civil war, the need to strengthen the army, rebuild the navy, protect the Corn Fleet from Egypt, items that were discussed daily in the forum and elsewhere. There were sections about his family, notably Alexander; another about Christianity, which Aurelian tolerated with good-natured humour. Claudia could find nothing remarkable or significant. She rolled up the scroll and handed it back to the librarian.

  'What were you looking for?' the man asked.

  'Nothing,' Claudia replied absent-mindedly, 'nothing at all really.'

  The librarian moved away. Claudia sat, elbows on the table, staring down the library. She wondered when Burrus would return. She was about to leave when the door at the far end opened and a figure entered. She narrowed her eyes as she recognised the careful walk of Presbyter Sylvester.

  'Ah, Claudia,' he called out, 'I've been looking for you. Come, I've something to show you.'

  He led her out of the library, down a gallery and into a small garden, where he took her over to a flower-ringed arbour and made himself comfortable beside her.

  'You are well, Claudia?'

  'You know what's happening,' she replied. 'The Empress is angry. I've made no progress.'

  'But I have.' Sylvester picked up the leather satchel he'd been carrying, opened it and took out a dog-eared, yellowing manuscript which he placed in her lap. 'You may keep that.' He smiled, it's rather battered old copy of Celsus' De Medicina. Now,' Sylvester crossed his arms and continued conversationally, 'Celsus wasn't a physician but a keen observer of human beings. He was a contemporary of Plutarch; he lived about two hundred years ago. He has a marvellous appendix in his work about the death of Alexander the Great in Babylon. He quotes all the sources, Diodorus Siculus, Justin, Arrian and the rest…'

  'Presbyter Sylvester, what has this got to do-' 'Listen,' he replied, 'Alexander died at the height of summer in Babylon. Immediately fighting broke out amongst his leading commanders about who would succeed him. A real crisis developed. Alexander's corpse was left unattended for at least a week. When the Babylonian and Egyptian embalmers finally managed to reach it, they found it marvellously preserved.'

  Claudia felt a chill. This was not about the hideous crimes committed in this villa, but Uncle Polybius' Great Miracle.

  'Now the same sources,' Presbyter Sylvester continued, 'emphasise Alexander's deity by pointing to the fact that, despite the intense heat, corruption hadn't begun. The same authors also provide a detailed summary of Alexander's death at a private banquet some nine or ten days before. They list the symptoms: nausea, violent pain, stomach cramps and high fever. Celsus believes Alexander was poisoned. The great commander had just returned from fighting on the borders of India, where there is a potion, arsenic, which in small doses can also be used to treat stomach pains and even serve as an aphrodisiac. This intrigued me, Claudia, so I read Celsus, Plutarch and other commentators avidly. Arsenic is also a powerful poison, which comes in many forms and colours. Its effect is deadly, but it also slows down, and even stops, the process of decomposition and corruption. Certain symptoms become apparent. If the corpse isn't burned on a pyre, a yellowing of the skin ensues which could appear slightly golden; the corpse also exudes a powder, a thin coating of dust. So, Claudia,' he paused, 'the blessed Fulgentia, I believe, has a great deal in common with Alexander the Great. The Empress and her son have most generously bestowed certain buildings to serve as our churches in Rome. I was,' Sylvester smiled, 'or rather I am, preparing a sarcophagus for the Blessed Fulgentia. Helena regards her as a holy virgin martyr.'

  'But she isn't,' Claudia broke in, 'she is not a saint. It's trickery, isn't it?'

  'Yes, I am afraid it is. I've had that corpse stripped and washed. I removed the thin wax-like coating from her skin and-'

  'Apuleius,' Claudia muttered.

  'And,' Sylvester continued, 'as soon as I did, I began to detect a reddish powder between the fingers and toes and in the small of her back. In my view, Claudia, the Blessed Fulgentia is really a murder victim, poisoned by arsenic and buried in your uncle's garden.'

  'That doesn't mean Polybius is guilty.'

  'The Empress,' Sylvester whispered, 'will not care, and, in a strange way, neither will I.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Well,' Sylvester got to his feet, 'it doesn't really matter, Claudia. Sanctity is a matter best left to the good Lord. I don't really care, nor do I want you to think I am threatening you. I am not. Have no worries, your uncle will not be troubled. I will personally see to the burial of the Blessed Fulgentia.' He leaned down, his face close to hers. 'I have assured the Augusta that all is well. The snooper Ophelion? He has been reined in and given a fresh task to do.' Sylvester straightened up. 'There'll be no more awkward questions. What I want you to do, Claudia, is bring this business to a swift end. The Empress calls you her "little mouse". Some mouse,' he added wistfully, 'sharp-eyed and sharpteethed! Go scurrying about, Claudia. Helena wants to know who is responsible for these abductions and publicly punish them, to bolster the confidence of the senators and merchants, the powerful ones of Rome. She also wants the murder of those veterans resolved. Once all this is finished, she will return to more pressing matters.' He pointed at the manuscript. 'Read it.'

  Chapter 9

  Nobilitas sola est atque unica virtus.

  The one and only true nobility is virtue.

  Juvenal, Satires

  Claudia watched the Presbyter walk across the grass and glanced down at the manuscript. She trusted Sylvester. All he wanted was the Empress' attention. If she brought this bloody mayhem to an end, discovered the abductors, the murderers, and handed them over to imperial justice, Helena would be more susceptible to Sylvester's diplomacy. Meanwhile, Claudia chewed her lip, once she returned to the She Asses Uncle Polybius would have a great deal to explain! Claudia leaned back in the flower arbour and thumbed through the manuscript. At first she
attempted to read it quickly with a swift study of the appendix, but Celsus fascinated her with his clever, shrewd observations about medicine and potions, the different effects of certain powders. She returned to the beginning, read the prologue and carefully studied everything Celsus had written. The more she read, the more certain she became that Sylvester was correct. The Blessed Fulgentia had been murdered by a powerful poison called arsenic, but how, why, and to what extent her uncle and Apuleius were involved were matters she still had to resolve. Sylvester would protect her. She also thought about Theodore. Something pricked her memory, something she'd remembered.

  Once she'd finished, Claudia left the arbour and returned to the villa, finding her way back to the library. The librarian was about to lock up, claiming he was looking forward to his lunch of mushroom bread, lentils and barley soup. Nevertheless, he patiently heard Claudia out, then shook his head.

  'We have nothing in our library,' he said, 'about medicines, potions or plants, I assure you, mistress.' Claudia made to object.

  'You can search if you want,' the librarian declared. He handed her the key. i leave it to you.' 'Claudia, Claudia?'

  She turned. Burrus and four of his companions came hurrying across the lawn, their faces dirty and sweat-stained, hair and beards more unkempt than usual. Burrus unhitched his great shaggy cloak, let it fall to the ground and crouched down, peering up at her. i have news,' he gasped.

  The librarian slipped away. The Germans had found another wineskin and passed it to each other. Burrus took a mouthful, rinsed his tongue then spat it out.

  'I have two messages for you, Claudia.' He stared, blue eyes unsmiling. 'We have been down to the copse. We found no pit, no hole, nothing covered up, but we did find the marks of a cart; that is how they came here, and that's probably how the attackers removed their dead.'

  Claudia closed her eyes and beat her fist across her thigh. Of course, the attackers would use a covered cart, pretending to be farmers or merchants, leave the road and, under the cover of the trees, arm themselves and prepare. The same would happen afterwards: the dead would be loaded on to the cart, followed by the masks, armour and swords; in a short while they would be just another covered cart rattling along the busy thoroughfare into Rome.

  'And the second message?'

  'The Empress is not pleased.'

  'I know that!' Claudia snapped.

  'She has ordered you to return to Rome immediately to continue your investigation. You are to leave within the hour. You may take your farewell of Murranus, who will stay here. The Empress does not want any distraction for you in Rome.' Burrus delivered the message in clipped, short sentences, then he smiled. 'I am to accompany you. The Empress believes that I will protect you.'

  Claudia moved over and patted the huge barbarian on his head. 'I think you are being sent to spy on me, Burrus. To make sure I do what the Empress wants.'

  'If the Empress wants it,' Burrus whispered, 'that's how it must be, little one.'

  'How soon?'

  'We must be gone within the hour.'

  Later that day, Claudia sat in Polybius' orchard and watched her uncle, Narcissus, Apuleius and Oceanus finish what had proved to be a delicious meal served by the She Asses' new chef, Celades. Polybius had reluctantly employed the Pict, only to discover he was a real treasure, a skilled practitioner of the culinary arts. Claudia had returned to find the tavern doing a bustling trade, serving a range of cheap dishes cooked by Celades and advertised on a board by Polybius. The local stonemasons, carpenters, tinkers and traders had flocked into the tavern. Now darkness was falling. Claudia had insisted that Celades prepare a sumptuous meal so she could share some news with her uncle and friends. Celades had surpassed himself, serving up hare, hot and spicy, in a sauce stewed from cumin seed, brown ginger, bay leaves and olive oil, followed by ham cooked in a red wine and fennel juice. Poppaoe lit the lamps. Claudia watched her uncle finish off the last of what he called his 'Special Vintage'. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and grinned at her.

  'Well, Claudia, what news do you have for us?'

  Claudia looked over her shoulder. Poppaoe, Januaria and the rest were back in the tavern entertaining Burrus, who was telling frightening stories about the monsters, giants and trolls that prowled his northern forests. She turned back. Now was the time.

  'The young woman whose corpse was found here, she was certainly not a saint. Presbyter Sylvester has told me that.'

  In any other circumstances Claudia would have burst out laughing at the effect of her words. Polybius gaped. Apuleius put his face in his hands. Oceanus nervously thumbed the pickled ear hanging on the cord round his neck. Narcissus the Neat stretched out for his wine cup.

  'I don't want to hear any more lies,' Claudia declared. 'I will tell you exactly what Presbyter Sylvester and I have discovered. This morning he gave me a copy of Celsus' De Medicina.' She ignored Apuleius' loud groan. 'Now Celsus talks of many poisons. In fact he made me reflect on a number of things, but one of the subjects he mentions is arsenic, and he describes, in great detail, the death and embalmment of Alexander the Great at Babylon some six hundred years ago. Alexander's body was marvellously preserved, probably due to the arsenic which someone had used to poison him. I am sure the same thing happened to Fulgentia, or whatever her name was. So I want the truth, and I want it now!'

  Polybius recovered his wits and opened his mouth, but Claudia looked at him warningly.

  'You deserve the truth,' Apuleius began, raising his hands, gesturing at his companions to remain silent, 'and I will tell you the truth. The name of that young woman was Fulvia and she killed herself. Let me give you the details. Years ago my wife and I were sheltering Christians fleeing from the persecutions of Diocletian and Maxentius. Now we all know what happened: families broke up, people wandered the roads, entire families disappeared, children would return home to find parents gone, parents would return to find sons and daughters taken up in the middle of the night. Fulvia was a refugee, an exile from Tarentum. She was passed on by various local Christian churches until she reached Rome.' He sighed. 'To cut a long story short, four years ago we took Fulvia in. She may have proclaimed herself a Christian but she was a thoroughgoing nuisance. She was hysterical, hot-tempered, bitter and constantly critical; her real vocation was to be an actress or a dancer. Everything was a drama for Fulvia. She used to threaten my wife and me with going to the authorities, denouncing Christianity, becoming an apostate. At other times she threatened to kill herself.' Apuleius drew in a deep breath before continuing.

  'Now I am an apothecary, a physician. One day I had a confrontation with her, and she became hysterical, screaming and shouting at me. She threatened that she would take some powders, kill herself, and I would be to blame. Of course, I didn't believe her. That same night, in the early hours, I heard sounds from downstairs. I came down. I have a special chamber where I keep potions under lock and key. Fulvia had managed to break in and open one of the coffers. She thought she'd taken some relatively innocuous powder; in fact, she'd mixed too much arsenic with her wine and there was nothing I could do to save her. She eventually slipped into a coma, then death. The marks on her neck and shoulders are due to when I tried to make her vomit or to dilute the poison she'd taken with salted water, even some milk. But as you know,' he smiled bleakly at Claudia, 'if you've read

  Celsus, the antidotes for powerful poisons are fairly futile. Fulvia died. I knew what would happen. Already I was under suspicion of being a leading Christian in the local community. If Fulvia's corpse was found in my shop, the Vigiles would come, then the soldiers. I had Christian manuscripts, sacred vessels concealed there. I couldn't afford to risk anything. So I came to my old friend Polybius, who had just taken over the She Asses, and told him what had happened. At the dead of night I moved the corpse here. We washed and cleaned it. I anointed it with a wax-like substance to close the pores of the skin, sealing the powder within, and wrapped the corpse in linen.'

  'Arsenic gives off a powder,'
Claudia declared. 'I saw traces of it when I first viewed the corpse.'

  'True,' Apuleius conceded. 'I told people that was from the wood; it's the one effect of arsenic which is difficult to conceal. We thought no one would notice. I also had some denarii from Diocletian's reign. I thought I'd put them over the eyes — this would help date her death to years earlier.'

  'And then what?' Claudia asked.

  'I went to a local embalmer and bought the coffin. I carved the Christian symbols on it. We put Fulvia in it and buried her out here in the garden. We always intended to move her. The rest you know. The morning Venutus discovered her, Polybius naturally panicked and so did I. I was truly astonished at how well the corpse had been preserved.' Apuleius gestured at Oceanus and Narcissus. 'We took them into our confidence and they swore to help us.

  Anyway/ he sighed, 'we took her out, washed her, resealed the skin and cleaned the inside of the coffer. We then peddled the story that it might be a Great Miracle, the work of God. On reflection,' he added ruefully, 'it was. If Fulvia's corpse had been discovered the night she'd died, my wife and I, well, we could have been crucified or sent to the amphitheatre.'

  'You still could be,' Claudia declared. 'They would certainly accuse you of murdering her, of hiding her body, and you, Oceanus, Polybius and Narcissus, would be cast as accomplices.' She pointed at Narcissus. 'The story about the old porter in the gatehouse?'

  'A story,' he mumbled. 'He'd remember anything if you gave him a coin for a cup of wine.'