The Orpheus Trail

by Maureen Duffy

  The house was lonely without Caesar. Every few days I went to see him in his comfortable prison, climbing the steps to the row of cages, stepping into the obligatory tray of evil-smelling disinfectant and opening his individual meshed door, under the supervision of Jane or Alice who ran the cattery. Sometimes he would come out to see me with a little cry of recognition; at others he would stay sullenly inside the wire hut with its cushioned ledge, bowls of food and water and litter tray. Those days I knew I was being punished. I couldn’t even explain to him or his minders why his incarceration was necessary since I was clearly around and not on a world cruise or away at an archival conference.

  Then Hilary rang. ‘There’s a place called the Roman Bath. I think people once thought it was something to do with Mithraic rites. Now it’s generally accepted that it’s neither Roman nor a bath but some sort of Tudor water tank with a spring under it.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Surrey Street, I think. In a little alleyway, leading down to the Embankment and the Thames.’

  ‘Where does the bull slaying come in?’

  ‘It seems to have been part of the initiation rite for young boys. Symbolically they went down to the underworld, rather the same idea as going under in Christian baptism. The real Temple of Mithras is by the Walbrook, the stream under Victoria Street but there’s nothing left except the outlines of walls. You’ve seen all the artefacts they found in our display here. You remember…’

  ‘The singing head. But wasn’t that Orpheus? He’s in the list I found at the back of the notebook.’

  ‘The two were very closely linked.’

  ‘Like on the coin from the amulet.’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘You know I’m leaving next week.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Write my memoirs. No, honestly I don’t know. I don’t seem to have the will to start sending off my CV and filling in forms. Something will turn up, I suppose.’

  Hildreth rang the next morning while I was on my second piece of toast. ‘Any luck, Alex?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘I was going to ring you. We might be on to something. I found a list at the back of that book. It seems to refer to the scenes. They’re all listed except the first, the fire. I suspect that was what gave them, or Stalbridge himself, the idea for the rest. But there’s a fourth. It looks as if they were intending to stage at least one more. Suppose they are? Hilary thinks she knows where and what it might be.’

  ‘Go on.’ His voice, which had been rather flat, lifted.

  ‘The last entry says “bull slaying”. It’s a long shot but she thinks it might refer to some kind of initiation ceremony. And she thinks she might know where it could be.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Apparently there’s something called the Roman Bath in Surrey Street that was once thought to be connected to Mithras, the god who went in for bull slaying. I know it all sounds very hypothetical…’

  ‘It’s all we’ve got. We’ll check it out. I only hope you’re both right. The lack of progress is beginning to get to our chief.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Suss it out and then stake it out, twenty-four seven. It’ll have to be done carefully. We don’t want to frighten them off. This could be our best chance yet.’

  ‘But you don’t know when. It could be anytime or never.’

  ‘That’s why the stakeout. They’ll need to set something up if they’re going to film. But my guess is it’ll be soon.’

  ‘You know I’m leaving at the end of the week.’

  ‘I’ve got your home number. You’re not thinking of going away, are you? I’d like you to stick around until this phase at least is over. You’re my good-luck talisman, Alex. We’ll sort this in the end.’

  Once again I could feel myself being swept up by his energy and confidence. ‘No. I’ve no plans to go anywhere. I’ll have to look for another job.’ The faint memory of a plan to take Hilary away somewhere, just the two of us, passed over my mind like the merest waft of the after scent of a lover’s skin.

  The real world was being replaced by the virtual. We no longer needed to meet. We could talk or write instantly. We could blog and email, conference call on video links, find lovers and friends in space without their interfering physical reality. I wanted to prick myself to see if I still bled but, like most of the rest of this technologised, sanitised world, I’m unused to pain. Even Lucy had faded into a half-remembered ache. I felt myself sinking into a dulled stupor. After next week I would be alone in the house without the comforting presence of a job to go to, people to see, decisions to make, and without even the company of my cat and his needs. It was a forced early retirement and I could quite see why people ‘taking’ it simply gave up the ghost.

  ‘God, Alex, you do sound low. Should you see a doctor?’ Hilary was making what had become her ritual evening call. ‘I wish I could see you, put my arms around you. Could you take a holiday?’

  ‘Hildreth wants me around. He thinks this is the big break and he wants me in on it.’

  ‘I went to look at the Roman Bath in my lunch break today. I’ve never seen it before. Never thought it was worth it. It’s very weird: a deep brick well, square or rather oblong. I can see why people thought it was a bath. In the nineteenth century it was tricked out with marble walls, a changing room and Roman busts. David Copperfield swims in it in the novel. It’s closed to the public except on Wednesdays between one and four so I couldn’t get in. But you can peer down into it through a big glass window and there’s a switch on the outside wall that lights up the inside. It’s very deep and dark. Rather spooky. I imagine you can hire it for events. I can see some people might fancy an alternative wedding there.’

  ‘Was there any sign of Hildreth’s boys?’

  ‘If there was, they were well disguised as passers-by or the curious like me. But then that’s what you’d expect.’

  ‘Did anyone see you?’

  ‘Other people walking through the alley must have done but I did my best to look ordinary. I took a guide book with me and was ready with my attempt at a mid-Atlantic accent if accosted.’

  I decided not to tell Hildreth about her expedition.

  The staff had organised a farewell party for me on Friday afternoon. Lisa had brought in a couple of bottles of wine and Phoebe had baked a cake to go with the obligatory crisps and nuts. We all did our best to be cheerful but it was hard work.

  ‘Have they appointed anyone yet?’ Reg asked.

  ‘Not as far as I know.’ I washed down a handmade, cracked pepper and sea salt crisp with a mouthful of Chardonnay too sweet for my taste.

  ‘The chairman rang me today,’ Lisa said. ‘He asked why I hadn’t applied and if I would be acting director until they found someone. Apparently “someone of the right calibre”, his words not mine, isn’t rushing to live by the seaside in our exciting town.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said I was considering my options but I’d take over temporarily until they found someone.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll increase our budget and let the extension plan go ahead,’ I said bitterly, ‘that’d be an incentive.’ I didn’t think I could bear it if they got the Prittlewell prince back from London and I wasn’t any longer in charge.

  ‘You’ll come back and see us, Mr Kish?’ Phoebe asked.

  ‘Of course I will, if the new director doesn’t object, or the chairman.’

  ‘Oh, him,’ Phoebe said. ‘We’ll invite you to the Christmas lunch.’

  Fearing my own inability to cope with goodbyes, as soon as the bottle was emptied, I packed my remaining papers and books, and left Lisa to lock up. The house, as I feared, was painfully silent. I poured myself another drink, moving on to real wine, and sank down in an armchair in front of the television in time to switch into the doom-laden evening news.

  An hour later I had fallen asleep when the telephone woke me. It was Hildreth.

  ‘We think we’re on for tomorro
w.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Our stakeout reported activity a the bath. Stuff being brought in. Comings and goings.’

  ‘It might be for some completely different happening.’ I was trying not to be swept along again.

  ‘It might but we can’t risk it. I’ll keep you posted.’

  ‘Surely you don’t need me there. What could I do?’

  ‘You might be able to explain what they’re up to. Anyway I want you there. I imagine whatever they’re doing they’ll want it dark and as few people around as possible. That’s what I’m banking on. Can you get up here about seven? The evenings are light until half-past eight at least so I don’t think anything will happen before ten o’clock but just to be on the safe side… We can wait in my office.’

  After he had rung off I set myself to finish the bottle in hope of a night’s sleep but it was broken by whirling and violent dreams so that I woke at two and again at four sweating under only a sheet, aware of my pulse beating so furiously in my carotid artery that I could hear it reverberate inside my skull. Grimly I thought that if I died of a stroke or a heart attack now Hildreth would have to get by on his own.

  In the morning I woke again feeling sick and exhausted, to trail downstairs for rejuvenating cups first of tea, then coffee with toast and orange juice. It was Saturday. I could ring Hilary at home. Should I tell her? If I didn’t she would never trust me again. I rang.

  ‘I’ll be at home. You’ve to let me know as soon as you and Hildreth get the word. I want to be there.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can ring you from his office.’

  ‘Go to the loo and use your mobile.’

  I decided to pass the time with a visit to Caesar. He was in his forgiving mood, pleased to see me and allowing himself to be stroked into a purr. It was Jane’s day on duty. ‘If anything happened to me while he was with you,’ I said, ‘you would get him re-homed. You wouldn’t let anyone put him down?’ I heard my voice about to break.

  ‘Of course not. No question. We look after our guests and he’s a favourite. I’m surprised you should ask, aren’t you, Caesar boy?’

  I drove home chastened, to trawl the internet for jobs. It was time I started looking forward, beyond this evening. I wouldn’t tell Hildreth about my promised call to Hilary until I’d made it, in case he objected. I set out for the station, and parked my car wondering when, or even if, I’d be unlocking it again to drive home. It was five o’clock. The countdown had begun.

  I decided to get out at Westminster and walk across Parliament Square and up Victoria Street rather than go on to St James’s, the nearest station to New Scotland Yard, anything to postpone the moment of being shut up in Hildreth’s office with him, waiting. Coming out of the Tube station I was struck by the blinding evening sunlight from the expanse of open sky above Westminster Bridge and the river below. Crowds of summer tourists flowed towards the absurd yet somehow impressive fake Gothic Houses of Parliament while Westminster Abbey itself seemed moulded in pale marzipan above the green dais of the Garden of Remembrance. Around me were all the skin tones and features of the human universe bathed in sunshine. Surely it couldn’t be true that I was going to spend the next few hours sitting in an artificially lit office waiting to be called out to witness some grotesque ritual.

  The centre of Parliament Square had been railed off. I presumed it was against terrorist surprise like the crash barriers along the pavements. I picked up an evening paper to give me something to do if easy conversation with Hildreth dried up. Suppose the summons never came and we sat there all night. How would we pass the time?

  ‘I’ve arranged for any call to be put through on my mobile,’ Hildreth said when I reached his office. ‘Let’s go and find a coffee.’ So I found myself sitting again in the lounge of St Ermin’s where we had first talked. I saw at once that he was hyped up like a nervy racehorse making its way to the starting gate. This was what you signed up for, the adrenalin surge of the heist, a piece of the action. His strong clean fingers with the short pared nails were drumming on the table.

  ‘Suppose it isn’t the night?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, it’s the night. I’m quite sure. I can almost feel it.’

  After our cups of coffee we went back to New Scotland Yard to wait in his meticulously tidy room where only the computer, printer and telephone sullied the tops of his desk and filing cabinets. All detritus had been banished from sight.

  ‘I’ve got a report to do,’ Hildreth said. ‘Can you amuse yourself?’

  ‘I’ll read my paper,’ I said, taking it out of my briefcase.

  ‘Good.’ He began to tap away at the computer with his forefingers. I looked at my watch. Eight o’clock. Outside the sun would still be streaming down on the crowds. In here we were hermetically sealed from the world. Time seemed to alternately scurry and drag, as I was able to concentrate on what I was reading or overtaken by panic, the sensation of rushing down to disaster on a run that ended in a precipice, unable to stop or turn aside.

  The call came at nine fifteen. Hildreth picked up the desk phone. ‘Right. We’re on our way. Looks like we’re on,’ he said to me, putting the handset back.

  ‘I need a pee,’ I said.

  ‘Down a floor. You’ll see the sign but don’t be long. We don’t want to miss the fun.’

  Quickly I left the room, pulling out my mobile as soon as the door closed behind me, switching on and bringing up Hilary’s number.

  ‘We’re off in a few minutes.’

  ‘I’ll be there. Alex, be careful.’

  Now I was inside it seemed wise to empty my bladder. Hildreth was standing outside his door ready to go.

  ‘I’ve got your briefcase.’

  ‘How do we get there?’

  ‘A car will take us to the Aldwych. Then we walk. No sense in turning up like the US cavalry. I’ve got officers staked out within call if we’re lucky enough to need them.’

  The dusk was deepening as we drove up the Strand and were dropped off at Bush House. Hildreth led the way down the steps and across the surprisingly empty road. It was vacation and the usual term time overspill of King’s College students wasn’t thronging the pavements but one or two hopeful travellers hovered at the bus stop.

  A man stepped out from the dark arched entrance to Somerset House. ‘This way, sir.’

  We followed him past the vaulted gateway, the heavy doors of the Courtauld and the courtyard where the fountains and lights had been switched off, down a narrow street between tall stone buildings and through another arch. I glanced up as we were swallowed by a dark tunnel smelling of piss. A plaque above the entrance read ROMAN BATH. PROPERTY OF THE NATIONAL TRUST. ‘Surrey Steps,’ our guide whispered as we began to climb down. Two figures had stood silently at the top, one on either side. Hildreth raised his hand in salute. Now we were going up a narrow alleyway.

  The police guide stopped us with his hand and pointed. At first I could see nothing. Then I noticed a rim of light spilling out along the edge of an arched window that must be about five metres in length ending in a closed door. A square piece of card was stuck to it. Hildreth moved forward, surprisingly soft-footed. Then he came back and beckoned us to move further down the alley.

  ‘It says “Filming in Progress.” Who’s this?’ A figure was coming up the alley towards us. ‘What are you doing here, Dr Caistor?’

  ‘I came to make sure you didn’t get Alex into trouble.’

  At that moment notes of music, though not from any instrument I recognised, began to come from the building. ‘Tell the boys to close in,’ Hildreth said. ‘We’re going in. Have you got the key?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The Trust was very helpful when I told them we thought something illegal might be going on. The booking was for an independent film company, said they were making a programme for Sky Arts. Everyone’s ready, sir.’

  I was aware of figures approaching up the alley. ‘Alex, you and Dr Caistor stay here. Just in case there’s any rough stuff. I’ll call yo
u when we’re in. You might be able to explain what’s going on. Now, very quiet everyone. We want to surprise them. Is there any other way out?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Let’s go. Silent as you can.’

  Hilary and I stood still as the silhouettes of half a dozen backs moved up the alley with hardly a sound of boots on the paving. Below, what must be the Embankment traffic roared past the entrance, helping to mask their progress. In the light from a drunkenly leaning street lamp we saw them pause at the door. Then suddenly there was a shout of: ‘Police. Stay right where you are!’ The figures disappeared with a clatter and more shouted orders, except for two left on either side of the door like dummies outside a shop.

  We moved up closer to be ready if called. After a few minutes one of the guards came towards us. ‘Inspector says to go in, sir.’

  We went through the door, down a few steps into a small antechamber that must have been the nineteenth-century changing room and paused at the entrance to a long narrow well blockaded by Hildreth’s back. Peering over his shoulder I could see the bath had a wide ledge running round it. A camera had been strung up at one end. In the reddish glow from a couple of spots I could see several costumed figures topped with animal heads or bird beaks. In the middle was the figure of a boy, naked except for a bull mask, held upright with cords against some kind of throne but motionless as if dead.

  ‘Is this the sort of set-up you expected?’ Hildreth turned to me.

  ‘It’s a re-enactment of a Mithraic bull slaying initiation ceremony,’ Hilary said, stepping forward.

  ‘Nobody move. Hawkins, take some pictures. Then bring the lot along except the boy. Untie him and lay him down. The doctor should be here shortly. Get some proper lights in here. Lock them up separately. I’ll have them out one by one for interview.’ He turned to Hilary. ‘If you could write me an explanatory note about what you think was going on it would help.’

  There was no question of my going home that night. We went back to Hilary’s flat where she poured us both whiskies and then we drank a bottle of wine, going over and over the same ground until we fell into bed too exhausted to do anything but sleep.