by Kevin Ashman
‘I don’t think so,’ she said, ‘Why.’
He threw the business card the officer had given him on the table. India picked it up and read the name.
‘Gatilusi,’ she read.
‘Ring any bells?’ asked Brandon.
She stared at him, her mind turning over as she searched her memory.
‘Hang on,’ she said, ‘Weren’t they the family that Agatha told us about? The one’s who ran this island for a couple of hundred years.’
‘That’s right, he said, The last great ruling family until they were ousted by the Ottomans.’
‘The family Peter Venezelos’s gang were named after?’
‘Yup! and they used the family’s eagle as an emblem.’
‘Aetosh,’ she said.
‘Aetosh,’ he confirmed.
‘May be a coincidence?’ she ventured.
‘Too many links to be a coincidence,’ he answered. ‘The guy who tried to kill us was in a gang called the Aetosh. Now we get warned off by someone who is probably a descendant of the original family.’
‘So where are we going?’
‘I don’t know yet, I just want to get away from here. I don’t trust him. He reckons Peter Venezelos is some small time drug dealer but I’m not so sure.’
India got up to get herself a glass of water.
‘What else did he say?’ she asked over her shoulder.
‘Not much,’ said Brandon, ‘Though he did ask me a strange question. He wanted to know about the London Palladium, of all things.’
The sound of a breaking glass came from behind him and he span around. India was staring at him, the remains of the glass lying at her feet.
‘What did you say?’ she asked.
‘About the drugs?’ he asked
‘No. The Palladium, what did he ask you?’
‘Not much really, just asked what I knew about the London Palladium.’
‘Did he say London Palladium?’ she asked. ‘Think carefully Brandon, What were his exact words? Did he actually say London?
‘Do you know what?’ said Brandon, I don’t think he did. He just said, What do you know about the Palladium? Why, is it important?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘It all makes sense. It’s not the London Palladium,’ he was asking about, but probably the most sought after artefact in the modern world. The statue of Pallas Athena!’
India cleaned up the mess and they sat on the settee as she explained.
‘If you recall,’ said India, ‘I told you the story of the statue of Pallas being taken to Samothrace by Electra, and ultimately ending up in Troy.’
‘Yes, but what has that to do with the Palladium?’
‘That’s just it,’ she said, ‘The statue is the Palladium. During it’s time in Troy, the statue became known as the Palladium and for over a thousand years, it was said that as long as the Palladium stayed at it’s heart, the city would never fall. Obviously it became famous across the region, and, throughout history many cities across the world adopted their own versions of the Palladium. Even the American constitution has been called the Palladium of America. The London Palladium is just a building named after the most important icon any city could ever have. Very clever thinking by whomever thought up the name, don’t you think?’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Brandon, ‘You said the statue of Pallus is the Palladium. Don’t you mean was?’
‘I know exactly what I said, Brandon,’ said India, ‘I said is, because many scholars believe it is still in existence. Rumours abound right across the world of archaeology that it still survives, even after thousands of years. ‘
‘How on earth can they be so sure?’ he asked. ‘Surely it would have rotted by now.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said India, ‘It depends on what it is made of. Some wood is as hard as iron. Ebony, Teak, Lignum Vitae, the list is endless. If the statue was made from any of these and it was kept out of the weather it could last indefinitely. Archaeologists have found artefacts made of wood, hundreds of thousands of years old.’
‘I thought it was stolen from Troy before the city fell.’
‘It was, and for a long time no-one knew where it was, but, around eight hundred BC, it reappeared in Rome, around about the time the city was starting to make a name for itself. Stories vary about who brought it there and we will probably never know but the fact is, like Troy, Rome was built around the Palladium.’
‘Where is it now?’
‘Well, that’s the thing. History says it stayed there until Emperor Constantine buried it under the tower in Constantinople. But why would Gatilusi be interested in that?’
‘Hang on,’ said Brandon. ‘Let’s take a step back here, I think we’re missing something obvious. The one link throughout all this seems to be the statue, right?’
‘The Palladium,’ corrected India
‘Okay, the Palladium. It appears way back in the beginning of Greek history, it gets taken to Samothrace, then Troy, only to disappear but reappear in Rome a few hundred years later. It disappears again in the third century AD, taken by an emperor who was the founder of the Byzantine empire.’
‘Well, he wasn’t exactly the founder,’ said India, ‘The Byzantine empire was just another name for the eastern provinces, though he did rename Byzantium the new capital of Rome.’
‘Okay,’ said Brandon, ’But here we are, seventeen hundred years later, and the descendant of the last ruling family of a Byzantine castle, is linked with a murderer, who, in turn, may be linked with the Palladium.’ He paused. ‘It’s all very confusing but I’m sure it’s all here. We just need to make some sense of it.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said India. The Gatilusi family were the last great ruling family on Samothrace, right? Imagine if, over the years, their descendants harbour an ancestral grudge and still see themselves as the rightful rulers of the island. The only way they could ever gain any semblance of control is through the political system.’
‘What are you saying?’ asked Brandon.
‘Think about it. There’s no way Samothrace would ever gain independence but if there was a groundswell of support and enough political pressure, they could at least press for a local governorship.’
‘That would take some doing.’
‘I agree, but with enough support and patriotism, Greece would be morally obliged to give it some sort of self governorship. Devolution seems to be the way of the world at the moment. It seems that the subject has already been brought into the spotlight by the Aetosh.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Brandon, ‘But according to Agatha, they just organised some demonstrations to return the island’s removed artefacts back to where they belong.’
‘Exactly,’ said India, ‘The Palladium is intrinsically linked with Samothrace and became known as the one artefact that could make a city or state stand alone, both militarily and politically. If the Gatilusi family managed to bring it back to the island, the news would have swept around the world like wildfire. The publicity would have been priceless and their claim to the governorship would have been given huge credence in any subsequent election process.’
‘But all this is so secretive. Surely all they needed to do was go to the press.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said India, ‘It’s probably in the hands of an illegal collector otherwise its location would be common knowledge.’
‘If that’s the case,’ said Brandon, ‘There’s no way that anyone would voluntarily give it up, it would probably have to be taken forcibly.’
‘By the Gatilusi?’ asked India.
‘No,’ said Brandon, ‘They would need to keep their hands clean and probably bankrolled the Venezelos brothers to get the Palladium back.’
‘But they got greedy and done a runner with the money,’ said India. ‘Makes sense I suppose but why would one of the brothers be in Britain?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Brandon, ‘But with Peter Venezelos dead, the only way to find that out is to try and trace the second brother. Gatilusi
did mention they were last seen in Rome, so if we just find out where they went, perhaps we could retrace their steps.’
‘I think I know exactly where they went,’ said India quietly.
‘You do, where?’
‘The place where the Palladium was kept for over a thousand years,’ she said, ‘The Temple of the Vestal Virgins.’
Chapter 17
Rome 64 AD
Dragus ran through the smoke filled courtyard towards the inner Temple. All around him flames were spewing out of the doorways and windows as the curtains and soft furnishings fed the inferno.
‘Rubria,’ he shouted, ‘Where are you?’
As no man had ever been privileged to enter the inner Temple he had never seen the layout with his own eyes though had heard the stories about what lay within. He recognised the central alter and glanced at the ironic sight of the small sacred fire still burning at its heart, whilst all around the building was ablaze.
‘Rubria!’ he shouted again, and stumbled through the Temple. The hole in the dome of the roof, designed for the lighter smoke of the sacred fire meant that some of the thicker black smoke escaped but the sheer volume caused by the burning fabrics meant that the room was quickly filling up with poisonous fumes.
‘Dragus,’ came a cry, ‘Help me.’
He spotted an archway at the rear of the Temple and ran towards it. Inside was a small, but ornate circular room with several niches built into the marble walls, each containing a wicker basket. To one side Dragus saw Rubria sat on the floor, cradling the head of the collapsed high Priestess in her lap. The old woman was completely motionless and her head was covered in blood.
‘What happened?’ he asked crouching down besides Rubria.
‘She fell!’ sobbed Rubria, ‘And hit her head on the pedestal.’ Dragus looked at the pedestal at the centre of the room. The tell tale sign of blood lay along the edge and on the floor at the base of the plinth. On top of the pedestal stood a jet black wooden statue that he knew, could only be the image of Pallus Athena. The Palladium!
‘She was trying to save the treasures,’ cried Rubria, ‘And fell trying to retrieve the image of the Goddess herself. Oh Dragus, What did she do to earn the mothers scorn? She was the most holy person I have ever met.’
Dragus looked at the entrance where the smoke from the outer Temple had started to roll across the ceiling of the treasure room.
‘Rubria,’ he said. ‘There is nothing we can do, she has gone. Come on, we have to get out of here.’
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘There is nothing left. My Sisters are safe and I have no future here. Leave me to travel to the Great Mother. My life is done.’
‘No,’ shouted Dragus. ‘Come with me, we may still make it. Once this fire is out they can rebuild the Temple. It has burned before but always arises out of the ashes. It will do so again.’
‘It may well do so, Dragus,’ she said, ‘But I will not be part of it. Nero has seen to that.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
She looked up at him and wiped the tears from her eyes.
‘Do you want me to spell it out, Dragus?’ she sobbed, ‘Do you want to hear every sordid detail of how our glorious Emperor tore away the very innocence that makes a Vestal Virgin? He raped me, Dragus. What you see before you is no longer a Holy Priestess, pledged to serve the Goddess but nothing more than a mere woman, soiled and used by a madman. You see, Dragus, I cannot go with you. Either way lies death. At least in here I will end my days alongside the Goddess I love.’
Dragus glanced at the smoke now billowing into the room and realised he had little time. He grabbed her by the shoulders.
‘Now you listen to me, Priestess,’ he said. ‘I care not for what that bastard did, and I don’t know where your future lies. What I do know is that it does not end here. Do you think she would want this?’ he said pointing at the dead Priestess. ‘She fought to the end but fell short. You still have a chance and can carry out what she failed to do. Take this chance to save yourself and honour her name in the process.
Rubria looked up at him with doubt in her eyes.
‘But the treasures,’ she said, ‘She wanted to make sure they were safe. If I go with you, we have to take them with us.’
Dragus looked at the baskets in the alcoves.
‘There are too many,’ he said, ‘But I don’t think the flames will reach into the alcoves. There is nothing else in here to burn but we will die from the smoke if we don’t move.’
‘What about the Palladium?’ she asked, ‘It is made from wood and if the flames come it will burn. We cannot allow that to happen.’
‘Okay,’ said Dragus, ‘We will take the statue with us but we have to go now.’
Rubria looked fondly at the high Priestess and removed her own headdress to make it into a pillow for the dead woman’s head.
‘Forgive me, mother,’ she said and kissed her forehead gently.
‘Come on,’ said Dragus grabbing her arm, and led her out of the room, coughing the smoke from his lungs as he went. His left hand held Rubria’s arm, while his right, dragged the statue of Pallus Athena.
Outside the Forum, the sound of running soldiers echoed down the cobbled streets and a full Century of Praetorian guard appeared out of the darkness.
‘Make way!’ shouted the Optio in charge, and led the squad through the gathered throng to the gates of the Forum. Within minutes he had organised the civilians into a human chain from the nearest working faucet in the next square. Bucket after bucket of water was thrown on the nearest flames until they managed to get access to the courtyard.
‘First five contubernia,’ shouted the Optio, ‘Get into the Temple and find Dragus, the rest of us, let’s get this fucking fire out!’ Fifty men ran into the courtyard and they spread out to find their Centurion. Twenty minutes later the Optio kicked aside the smouldering remains of the wooden gates and led the rest of the Century into the compound to join their comrades. He spotted one of the Decurions and called him over for an update.
‘Any news?'
‘No, sir,’ came the answer. ‘There’s a body of some old crone in the inner Temple but apart from that, nothing.’
‘Impossible,’ said the Optio. ‘He has to be here somewhere. Check again.’
‘Yes sir,’ said the Decurion and turned to continue the search.
The sound of confusion came from behind him and an armed guard came through the gates, along with a Tribune, an officer from the palace.
‘What are you doing?’ he barked.
‘Putting the fire out, sir,’ answered the Optio, springing to attention.
‘On who’s orders?’
‘Nobody, sir, but Centurion Dragus is in here somewhere. We are trying to find him as we speak.’
‘Forget him,’ said the tribune. ‘Gather your men and return to the barracks.’
‘But sir…’
‘But nothing, just do as I say.’ He turned to his own squad. ‘You men, retrieve the treasures and take them to Nero’s quarters. He will look after them until the Temple can be restored.’ He turned back to the Optio.
‘You’ve had your orders, soldier. What are you waiting for?’
‘Nothing sir,’ said the Optio and turned to gather his men.
Dragus moved his cape from over his face and took a much needed breath. He moved his cramped position and kicked open the door of the store cupboard. Outside, in the slave quarters, the smoke had cleared though still stank of the fire.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘They’ve gone.’ He crawled out and stood up to stretch his legs. He had been in the tiny wine store for several hours, holding Rubria in his arms as they waited to either be burnt to death or choke on the stinking smoke. At one point he had covered their heads with his cape and prayed to Vesta when it had seemed impossible they were going to survive.
Rubria stayed where she was, her head held in her hands.
‘Why didn’t you call them?’ she asked quietly, referring to the soldiers they
had heard in the room, hours earlier.
‘You know why,’ he said
‘Do I?’
‘If what you say is true, and I have no reason to disbelieve you, you would have been taken straight back into the custody of Nero. After that there would have been only one outcome.’
She looked up
‘Don’t you think I knew that before I came here?’ she asked. ‘I was well aware that I was signing my own death warrant but was willing to pay the price. I have done what I came to do. The treasures are safe, and the Sisters are all alive.’ She stopped suddenly and looked down in grief. ‘Well, most of them.’
‘You did what you could, Rubria,’ said Dragus.
‘It was not enough,’ she answered.
‘No matter,’ said Dragus, looking around the room. ‘What is this place?’
‘Servant’s quarters for the Pontifex Maximus.’
‘Is there a clothing store?’
‘I think so,’ she said, ‘Why?’
‘You are getting out of here.’
‘But there is nowhere to go.’
‘I will think of something,’ he said. ‘I am not going to stand back watch that maniac bury you alive.’
‘You are wasting your time,’ said Rubria, ‘I have spent most of my life in Vesta’s service. I wouldn’t last five minutes out on the streets.’
‘I know,’ he said, ‘That’s why I am coming with you.’
‘You, but you can’t,’ she said, ‘You are a Centurion in the Praetorian Guard. That would be desertion. You would be executed.’
‘It’s too late for that,’ he said, the die is cast. Whatever happens, our fates are sealed if we stay here, but first things first, we need to change our clothes.’
‘Why?’
‘How far do you think we would get like this?’ he asked.
Rubria looked at her filthy robes and then at his grubby armour.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said, ‘But there will only be slave tunics down here.’
‘Perfect,’ he said, ‘Come on, we have to get moving before they return.’
‘What about this,’ she asked, turning her gaze to the Palladium standing in the corner of the cupboard.
