by K. M. Ashman
‘We can’t do that,’ said Gatilusi.
‘Why not?’
‘Because, I need to wait until someone comes. The chances of finding the Palladium are minimal, I need inside information.’
‘But that increases the risk,’ said Brandon, ‘if the girl is there, we can be away in minutes.’
‘And how does that help me, exactly?’ asked Gatilusi, ‘you forget we have a deal. You help me and I help you, remember?’
‘And why should we help you?’ asked India, ‘you intend to steal an ancient artefact and take it to the other side of the world.’
‘I intend to steal nothing,’ hissed Gatilusi. ‘The Palladium is ours by right and was taken from Samothrace a long time ago. For thousands of years its location has remained a mystery until now. We have spent millions on unsuccessful investigations and though we had made the link between the disappearance of Rubria and the placement of the fake Palladium in the forum, the trail went cold around the time of the great fire of Rome.’
‘So how come you found your way here now?’ asked India.
‘Mortuus Virgo is one of the most secretive organisations in the world,’ said Gatilusi. ‘They enjoy the patronage of some of the most influential people in power, including politicians, royals and clergy. We believe they are funded from the purse of the Vatican itself, though they have always denied it and knowledge of this place is restricted to those privileged by right of birth only. Despite our best efforts, we could not find out where they were based, until those fools, the Venezelos brothers got lucky and fell in with a well-meaning, yet senile old rogue who showed them a carved plank in return for a thousand dollars.’
‘What carved plank?’ asked India, her interest aroused.
‘Nobody thought much of it at first,’ said Gatilusi, ‘it was a very crude drawing, etched into a plank of a Roman cargo vessel that sank about two thousand years ago, probably carved by a bored sailor to ease the boredom on ship.’
‘What was it?’ asked India.
‘A picture of a woman kneeling down and kissing the shore of some unknown land,’ answered Gatilusi, ‘but it was what around her neck that was important, a necklace of Vesta.’
Rubria gasped.
‘Are you sure?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ said Gatilusi, ‘as you know there were only twelve ever made and eleven are spoken for, either in the hands of private collectors or are documented as being buried with various Vestal Virgins.’
‘All except one,’ said India.
‘The necklace of Rubria,’ confirmed Gatilusi.
‘How does that link here?’ asked Brandon.
‘The board was in Rome,’ said Gatilusi, ‘it was returned there years ago along with many other artefacts. The actual wreck was found in the mud of the river Severn, a river separating England and Wales. It was a very busy route around the time of Rubria as the Romans were busy establishing a fort in Caerleon, further up the river. As soon as that fact was established, we despatched the Venezelos brothers to continue their investigations here in Britain. It didn’t take long before they picked up the trail but after a while they disappeared off the radar.’
‘And that’s where we came in,’ said Brandon.
‘Exactly,’ said Gatilusi, ‘thanks to you, we managed to find them again and the trail led here.’
‘You do know they are both dead?’ asked India.
‘That’s a shame,’ said Gatilusi, ‘but their contribution will be remembered.’ He looked over India’s shoulder.
‘Someone’s coming,’ he whispered urgently, ‘we had better get down. If I am correct, over the next few minutes you will witness a ceremony of one of the most secretive cults in the whole world, Mortuus Virgo.’
----
Six nuns, each dressed in a grey hooded cape, entered the cavern and made their way down to the fire. They walked slowly, in time with a bell that rang gently in the distance, each holding their hands together in prayer. They spaced themselves out around the fire pit and stood awhile in silence before Sister Agnes finally raised her arms and started a litany, her voice echoing around the cavern.
‘Holy Mother, hear our prayer,’ she recited.
‘Isis hear our plea,’ the others replied.
‘Holy Mother guide our will,’ cried Agnes,
‘Isis light our way.’
‘Holy Mother give us strength.’
‘Isis, see our unity.’
Brandon watched the ceremony develop, the chanting raising in volume and intensity.
‘Are they supposed to represent the Virgins of Vesta?’ asked Brandon.
‘I don’t think so,’ said India, ‘it just doesn’t sit right.’
Suddenly the chanting stopped and Sister Agnes climbed up on a small podium to face the raised pulpit set into the far wall of the cavern.
‘Pontifex Maximus, come forth and hear our prayers, that they may reach the ears of the goddess.’
The room fell silent and all the participants gazed upwards, waiting for something to happen. Slowly, out of the shadows, a male figure emerged onto the pulpit, swathed in a long red cloak. His face was covered by a white, featureless facemask and in his hand, he held a wooden mace. He struck the floorboards of the balcony three times, ceremoniously.
‘Hail, children of Vesta,’ boomed the male voice.
‘Hail, Marcus Vibius,’ they answered in unison.
‘Oh my god,’ whispered India, ‘they have even kept the tradition of the Pontifex Maximus.’
‘Who or what is that?’ asked Brandon.
‘In ancient Rome, the Pontifex Maximus was the high priest of the temple of Vesta, the only male allowed into the temple. He was the controlling authority with absolute power over the priestesses, second only to the Emperor.’
‘So let me get this straight,’ said Brandon, ‘what we have here is a religious cult, mirroring the cult of Vesta from Rome over two thousand years ago.’
‘Exactly that,’ said Gatilusi, ‘though I fear it is about to get a lot more sinister.’
The Pontifex Maximus raised his staff and indicated the line of locked doors in the wall of the cavern.
‘Summon those who honour the veil of the virgin,’ ordered the priest.
All six nuns retreated from the fire, each making their way to a cell door. The priest struck the floor once more with his staff and each nun slid back the locking bars to open their respective doors. What happened next caused Brandon’s jaw to fall open in astonishment and horror.
Out of each door, came a small girl draped in white silk, each no more than ten years old. Every nun took the hand of a child and led them back to the fire pit but this time, with the children filling the gaps to complete the whole circle.
‘Holy shit,’ whispered Brandon, as he watched them hold hands again and restart the ceremony.
‘They are using children,’ gasped India, ‘indoctrinating them in the ways of Vesta.’
‘Just like they did in Rome thousands of years ago,’ said Gatilusi.
‘But how?’ asked India, ‘who on earth would allow their daughters to submit to this sort of life in this day and age?’
‘I don’t think any of these are here with parental consent,’ said Brandon, ‘I wouldn’t mind betting these girls have been taken against their will from the streets of London.’
‘I am not so sure,’ said India, ‘surely they would be missed.’
‘Think about it,’ said Brandon, ‘these nuns run soup kitchens in the worst parts of London. They get to meet the destitute and the desperate on a daily basis. Stay out there long enough and eventually an ideal candidate would come along. Perhaps a young mother with a child she doesn’t want.’
‘If that’s true,’ said India, ‘why kidnap a ten year old girl in plain site?’
‘Who knows?’ said Gatilusi, ‘perhaps the supply of babies dried up or there was a death. It is very important to these people that the number of acolytes is maintained at six, however drastic the measures needed.’
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‘But why?’ asked Brandon, ‘I don’t understand the reasoning behind it. Surely they know it is only a matter of time before they are caught.’
Gatilusi smirked.
‘You think this is new?’ he asked sarcastically, ‘Mortuus Virgo bases its religion around the core of Vestal Virgins and has done for thousands of years. As I said earlier, some of the most important people in the world are devotees. You think the masons are secretive? This lot makes the Masons look like modern day celebrities and have the power to cover up any indiscretions they need to.’
‘But, that’s awful,’ said India, ‘are you saying that there have always been young girls used in this way?’
‘Exactly that,’ said Gatilusi, ‘probably since this place was built a couple of thousand years ago.’
‘But surely someone, somewhere over all that time would have found out. What about when they grow up and realise there is a big wide world out there?’
‘Who said they are allowed to grow up?’ asked Gatilusi.
Brandon and India stared at the Greek in horror as the implications sunk in.
‘I’m not certain,’ continued Gatilusi, ‘but in the past they probably grew up in an age of seclusion and devotion. The world was a much more isolated place then but as society changed, the people in power became corrupt and an innocent Pagan religion became sinister. Eventually, the people in charge could not afford the risk of being discovered. The longer it went on, the more secretive the order became until eventually it was a self-perpetuating monster.’
‘So what are you saying?’ asked India.
‘Why take the risk that the girls grow up and leave the order?’ asked Gatilusi, ‘when there are plenty of replacements out there. When one of the virgins gets too old, or starts to ask awkward questions all they need to do is select a replacement from the big wide world.’
‘But what about the original?’ asked India, ‘what happens to her?’
Gatilusi stared at her before answering.
‘The clue is in the name, pretty lady,’ he said, ‘Mortuus Virgo, the Dead Virgins.’
----
‘No, you must be wrong,’ said India, ‘despite everything, this is a religious order. They would not condone murder.’
‘The nuns may not,’ said Gatilusi, ‘but don’t underestimate who you are dealing with here. I have devoted half of my life chasing their shadows, yet at every turn they manage to cover their tracks. Their influence extends in to every walk of life, police, organised crime, politicians and clergy. Their network extends all over the world and they will do everything in their power to ensure the cult continues and their secrets are kept. If that means some people have to disappear, then so be it. Corruption follows them like a bad smell.’
‘Do you think Camille is down there?’ asked India.
‘No,’ said Brandon, ‘those girls look too well versed in their responses. Camille hasn’t been missing long enough to learn the litanies. I think she is probably being held in one of those locked rooms.’
‘Shit,’ gasped India and she threw herself down behind the wall in fear.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Brandon.
‘I think he saw me,’ she gasped.
‘Are you sure?’
‘No I am not sure,’ she hissed, ‘he’s wearing a mask for heaven’s sake but he raised his head and looked in this direction.’
The three of them stared at each other for a few moments before Gatilusi spoke.
‘We have to go down there,’ he said.
‘Bullshit,’ hissed Brandon, ‘if he sees us, he’ll probably call his security.’
‘We have no other option,’ said Gatilusi, drawing his gun, ‘if he saw India, then they are probably already on their way.’
Brandon hesitated.
‘Do you want that girl, or not?’ hissed Gatilusi.
‘Of course,’ said Brandon.
‘Then it’s now or never,’ said Gatilusi and raising himself into a crouch, he ran toward the stairs.
‘Shit,’ cursed Brandon and followed Gatilusi down into the cavern.
----
The masked figure on the balcony spun away from his followers, surprised at the commotion. He lifted his staff and pointed to the two men running down the stairs.
‘Unbelievers,’ he roared, as the ceremony came to a stuttering halt.
For a few seconds, nobody moved as they stared in confusion until one of the young girls saw the gun in Gatilusi’s hand and screamed in fright. Each of the approaching nuns grabbed one of the young girls in a protective embrace and faced the interlopers.
‘Nobody move,’ shouted Gatilusi, brandishing his gun as he walked toward the nuns, ‘we don’t want to hurt anyone.’ He pointed the gun upwards to the male figure still on the balcony.
‘You, come down here.’
The man moved slightly and pressed a hidden switch with his foot.
‘You will not get away with this,’ he said, the voice muffled slightly by the immobile lips of the mask, ‘you do not know who you are dealing with.’
‘Let me worry about that,’ said Gatilusi, ‘now, get your arse down here.’ When the man still did not move, Gatilusi grabbed the nearest nun and held his gun to her head.
‘Stop it,’ shouted India, running down the stairs behind them, ‘Brandon, stop him.’
‘Last chance, weirdo,’ shouted Gatilusi.
‘No need for that,’ hissed Brandon.
‘We don’t have time for games,’ said Gatilusi, ‘I am too close. Now, why don’t you persuade him to come down here, before this trigger finger gets twitchy?’
‘I suggest you do as he says,’ called Brandon, ‘he has already killed more than one man today.’
The masked priest slowly made his way down the stairs from his pulpit and walked toward the Greek police officer, stopping a few paces before him.
‘Take it off,’ said Gatilusi, pointing his gun at the mask.
After a pause, the caped figure raised his hands and lifted the mask, revealing the face of a young man. A quiet gasp escaped the throats of most of the nuns present who until now, were unaware of the identity of their Pontifex Maximus.
‘Jacob.’ said one of the nuns in astonishment.
‘You know him?’ asked Gatilusi.
‘He is the caretaker’s son,’ said the nun.
India stepped forward and slapped Jacob across the face.
‘Whoa,’ shouted Brandon, ‘what’s all that about?’
‘He’s the man who abducted me from the hotel,’ said India, ‘I have never been so scared in all my life.’
Brandon looked at the man and recognised the face from the hotel CCTV the previous day.
‘So it is,’ he said.
Jacob rubbed his face slowly.
‘You will regret that,’ he said.
‘I don’t give a shit,’ said India, ‘it feels good right now.’
‘Enough,’ said Gatilusi, ‘you, get down on your knees.’
‘And who are you, exactly?’ asked Jacob.
‘That doesn’t concern you,’ said Gatilusi, ‘suffice to say you have something I need and I am not leaving here without it.’
‘And what would that be?’ answered the priest.
‘The statue of Pallas Athena,’ said Gatilusi.
‘The Palladium?’ said Jacob, ‘you think we have the Palladium here? Oh, this is good. If you knew anything about your history, you would know it has been buried beneath the pillar of Constantinople for over fifteen hundred years. You have wasted your time, friend, the Palladium is a thousand miles and two thousand years away.’
Gatilusi smashed the man across the head with his gun, sending him sprawling to the floor.
‘Enough,’ shouted Brandon, ‘this is getting us nowhere.’
Gatilusi dragged the man back to his feet and placed his pistol under his chin.
‘Okay, Marcus Vibius or Jacob, whatever your name is, I’ll get straight to the point. I know Rubria brought the Palladi
um here sometime after Nero’s fire. I also know she was the one who founded this cult and based it around the Palladium. Now, if you tell me where it is, no one will get hurt, I will return the artefact to its rightful home and you can return to your pathetic religious games. However, if you don’t tell me what I want to know, then you or some of your deluded friends are going to meet Vesta rather sooner than you think. Now, it’s very simple, tell me where the Palladium is.’
‘You think I am afraid to die?’ Jacob sneered, ‘our existence is ruled by the pagan gods and this life is just a stepping stone to the next.’
‘I thought you would say that,’ said Gatilusi with a false smile, ‘so I came prepared.’ Without any warning, he lowered his gun and shot Jacob through the knee.
The priest fell to the floor, screaming in agony.
‘For heaven’s sake,’ shouted Brandon and stepped forward to intervene.
‘Stop there,’ shouted Gatilusi and pointed his gun at Brandon’s head, ‘I don’t have the time or inclination to play silly games with this lunatic.’
‘There’s no need for this,’ said Brandon, ‘let’s just find what we each came for and get out of here. No need for anyone else to get hurt.’
‘Well that’s up to him,’ said Gatilusi.
Brandon looked at the man writhing in agony on the floor. His kneecap had shattered outwards and his lower leg was a mess of blood and cartilage. He had seen injuries like this before in Northern Ireland and knew the man would never walk normally again.
Gatilusi bent down and spoke quietly to Jacob.
‘You see,’ he said, ‘I have met nutters like you before and when they are reminded that their ideals seldom match up to reality, they always change their mind. Now, there are no arteries damaged so you will live but the longer you hold out the greater the pain will be. In one minute, I will destroy the other knee, followed by both elbows, then your balls. I might even smash all your teeth. You probably won’t die but almost certainly end up as nothing more than an impotent torso in no control of your limbs. You will need people like these to spoon feed you porridge and wipe your arse. So, think carefully how you wish to proceed, priest but while you do, let me give you a little reminder of the sort of pain you are facing here.’
