Queen of the Night (8 page)

'Ye gods,' Murranus whispered. Theodore looked at him sharply.

'It's all right for you, gladiator, you put your trust in your sword arm, but I am different.' He looked pityingly at Claudia, who smiled back. Theodore reminded her so much of the actors she'd worked with, so full of himself, so eager to attract a crowd, he would rise at two in the morning to give a performance.

'What do you truly want?' she asked. 'I mean, to a certain extent you are our prisoner. You heard the Empress; you must come back to the She Asses, but if there is someone you wish to see…'

'There is no one,' Theodore declared. 'But I would like to pay devotion to my goddess.'

Claudia stared at Murranus, who shrugged. 'Your goddess,' she asked, 'who is it?'

'The Lady Hathor of the White Walls,' Theodore replied. 'If I could just visit her temple, it's in the Coelian quarter.'

Claudia closed her eyes and groaned. The area of the Coelian Hill was even worse than the slums around the Flavian Gate, but at least it was still daylight.

'I would like to go,' Theodore declared. 'I promise you, I won't be long: sprinkle some incense, make sacrifice.'

Reluctantly Claudia agreed. They left the thoroughfare, threading their way along alleys and runnels into the Coelian Hill quarter. Here Murranus drew his sword. This was the haunt of tricksters, conjurors, sorcerers, warlocks and murderers. Every rogue in Rome thrived here. Claudia followed Theodore as he led her down an alleyway and into a square. On the far side stood a temple much decayed, its pillars crumbling, the steps chipped, the plaster tympanum above the main entrance weathered and decayed. Nevertheless, the number of pilgrims streaming in and out, many of them prosperous, showed how popular the cult was. Claudia recalled how Presbyter Sylvester regarded what he called 'Eastern religions' to be the greatest rival to his own faith.

Theodore led them across, brushing aside the hawkers, traders and tinkers who tried to sell artefacts and objects related to the worship of Hathor, the Lady of Gleefulness. Claudia remembered how Hathor was an Egyptian goddess; in her acting troupe, both Hathor and the Lady Isis were highly popular, often the cause of much drunkenness and joy. They reached the bottom of the steps. Theodore wanted to go in by himself, but Claudia insisted that she and Murranus follow him. A beggar squatted beside the main door with his clacking dish, mouth whining for alms. Two muscular priests stood on guard at the temple door. Theodore whispered to them and they stood aside.

Inside the temple was cool but smelled musty from mildew, age and decay; nevertheless, it possessed a certain grandeur. At the far end, at the top of some steps, stood an altar, a tabernacle or naos in the centre, its doors open to reveal the statue of the Lady Hathor surrounded by oil lamps. Before the altar ranged baskets of flowers and small dishes of burning incense. A priest came forward. He was tall, dressed in the Egyptian fashion, a white linen kilt around his waist, his bare chest and shoulders covered by a thin gauze veil. He had rings on his fingers, bracelets on his wrists, and a sharp, harsh face with pointed nose, pouting lips and piercing black eyes. His hair was not shaved in the Egyptian fashion but oiled and pulled back, fastened in a queue by a clasp at the back of his head. Theodore went up to him and bowed.

'High Priest Sesothenes!'

The man bowed in return.

'These are my companions,' Theodore exclaimed, pointing to Claudia. 'She is a friend of the Empress, and this is Murranus, Champion, Victor of the Games.'

Sesothenes stared at Claudia and then at Murranus. The look wasn't friendly. He licked thin dry lips.

'What do you want, Theodore?' he said. 'Why are you here?'

'I wish to pay sacrifice,' Theodore exclaimed. 'I want to thank the Lady for my escape from great danger.'

'What danger?' Sesothenes asked. 'Oh, I'm sorry.' He turned to Claudia and made a mock bow. 'I am Sesothenes, formerly a member of the infantry in the Third Victrix based at Alexandria, now High Priest of the Lady Hathor. You know she has her main temple at Memphis in Egypt?'

'Yes, yes.' Claudia gestured at Theodore. 'He insisted on visiting her here. He wants to pay sacrifice, give thanks. Can he do that?'

'Of course.' Sesothenes scratched at a bead of sweat running down his smooth-shaven cheek. 'And it is free. Come, my friend.' He nodded at Murranus and Claudia and, one hand on Theodore's shoulder, led him down the temple towards the sanctuary and the opened naos.

Claudia stared around. She'd seen such temples before: the paintings on the walls, the flower baskets, the smell of incense, the hum of conversation. She studied the pilgrims coming in and out. Men and women from all parts of the Empire, eager to pay devotion. She noticed there were no hesets or temple girls here; just four priests. They looked like their high priest. Former soldiers, hard-faced, tough and dressed in white gauffered robes, they moved easily amongst the pilgrims, taking coins and offerings, listening, nodding solemnly as they reassured votaries that sacrifice would be made or prayers offered. Claudia felt tired and impatient. She wanted to get back to the She Asses tavern. She was concerned that Helena knew about the Great Miracle and that Theodore tell the truth about exactly what he had seen the previous night. She looked down the temple. The actor was kneeling on the steps. In one hand he held an incense boat, in the other a posy of flowers. Head back, he was whispering his prayer, Sesothenes standing behind him.

'Why do people believe in all this?' Murranus asked.

Claudia moved aside to allow more pilgrims to drift into the temple.

'Do you believe in it, Claudia?'

She walked across and stared up at the man she loved. 'I don't believe in anything, Murranus, I just believe that we must seize the day and enjoy life. Gods, temples, priests, offerings, what difference do they make?' She gestured towards Theodore, still kneeling on the steps. 'What do you think of him?'

'An actor,' Murranus laughed, 'a man who always plays parts. He's definitely got a delicate stomach.'

'I wonder,' Claudia answered, 'whether it's a delicate stomach or if he's nervous. I don't think our actor is the stuff heroes are made of.'

She noticed how Sesothenes was now leaning over Theodore, listening as the actor whispered something. The priest nodded. A fresh incense boat was pushed on to the altar steps before him and Claudia groaned, but then Theodore bowed, rose to his feet and walked back towards them. He rubbed his stomach and smiled.

'I feel much better now,' he said. 'Shall we go?'

Claudia walked towards the door of the temple, then turned abruptly.

'Theodore,' she said as she walked back, 'you've just given thanks to your lady goddess. Here, in her temple, tell me the truth! Did you see the face of one of those attackers?'

'Oh yes!' Theodore's voice rose almost to a yelp. 'I tell you I did!'

Walking out of the temple, Claudia stood on the steps and watched the makeshift stalls coming down. 'The day is nearly done,' she murmured. 'It's time to return to the mischief of the She Asses.'

Hic vivimus ambitiosa paupertate omnes.

Here we all live in a state of pretentious poverty.

Juvenal, Satires

Antonia, daughter of Senator Carinus, squatted in the corner. Despite the blindfold, she'd learned where the cracked water jug stood, the bowl of dried bread and soft fruit as well as the latrine pot. The chain binding her was long enough to reach these, as well as allowing her to stand and walk. She had been blindfolded since she'd been captured, yet she was aware of people coming and going. She'd stretched up and found that the ceiling was high, hence the coolness; the walls were rough. One thing did terrify Antonia – she had regained her wits and desperately recalled what she'd heard about these abductions. All the other victims had survived, so she knew she wasn't going to be killed. What frightened her was not the future but the immediate, a deep suspicion that she was being very closely watched. She quickly realised that her captives owned mastiffs, powerful animals. She had brushed by one of them when she'd been brought here and heard their slobbering when they'd been fed. But there was something else: one of her captors was deeply interested in her. On occasion she'd heard his heavy breathing, then his hard hand had plunged down the loose tunic and roughly felt her breast, followed by a grunt of pleasure.

Antonia backed into the corner and moaned softly. The man was back watching her now. She heard a sound and tried to move but a hard bristly cheek brushed hers,- the voice was coarse, the breath reeking of wine.

'Don't shout or scream, Antonia.'

She felt the cords of her tunic being loosened, and it was pulled away.

'Don't scream,' the voice whispered, 'or you die. I'm just here for a little fun. Oh, what lovely breasts, ripe and full. Go on, Antonia, turn round.'

She whimpered, shaking.

'Turn around!'

She felt the tip of a dagger against her throat. She turned round and felt the man press hard against her, gasping with pleasure. Another sound, a slight groan, someone choking; a warm liquid splashed the back of her legs. She whirled round, kicking with her legs, lips parted to scream but she could not. A hand seized her gently by the chin, and this time the voice was soft.

'Antonia, don't be frightened. He shouldn't have done that, but now he is dead. I cut his throat!'

A wet cloth was pushed into her hand.

'Clean yourself, Antonia. Don't worry, your throat is safe as long as you do exactly what we say…'

Once back at the She Asses tavern, Claudia locked herself in her chamber, took off her tunic and loincloth, washed herself and lay naked on the bed. She felt so tired and harassed she couldn't have cared if half of Rome came trooping through her chamber.

'Ye gods!' she muttered to the ceiling. 'Theodore could talk you to death! He'd win the crown for sheer boredom.'

The actor had chattered incessantly from the moment they'd left the Temple of Hathor until they reached the uproar which still reigned at the She Asses. The crowds, aware of the Great Miracle, had thronged in to view the Sacred Corpse, as Polybius now advertised it. Her uncle was doing a roaring trade charging those who wished to view the corpse, then inviting them to sample the 'fine wines and tasty food' of his establishment. Poppaoe, Januaria, Sorry, Oceanus, Mercury the Messenger, Simon the Stoic, and Petronius the Pimp had all been recruited for the kitchens, the counter or the garden. A hot-faced Poppaoe had whispered how the Vigiles had been and gone, their palms well greased with silver. The police had proudly announced that the Great Miracle was not the result of a murder and, consequently, did not fall within their jurisdiction; their captain had eagerly taken up Polybius' invitation to return after sunset for a 'sumptuous meal' and cups of the best Falernian, all on the house. Apuleius the Apothecary, together with Narcissus the Neat, had also been busy investigating; they had eventually established that the corpse was the mortal remains of one Fulgentia.

'A virgin,' Poppaoe whispered, 'brought in from the countryside by Diocletian's agents. An old porter near the Flavian Gate has identified the corpse. He remembers her being brought to the gatehouse and recalls her name. She later disappeared. No one knows anything about her background. Apuleius believes she was a refugee from the south, fleeing from persecution, being passed from one local Christian community to the next.'

Claudia had only half listened; she'd heard so much of Theodore's chatter about his stomach, his diet, his triumphs, his finest roles, his favourite authors, towns and theatres, then back to his stomach, that she couldn't listen to anyone any more. On their journey back, Murranus had begun to whistle under his breath whilst Claudia had tried to question the actor about what precisely had happened near the Fountain of Artemis in the gardens of the Villa Carina. Theodore could add little to what he had already said, and Claudia's suspicions only deepened that he was being truthful about most things but holding something back. She narrowed her eyes and watched a fly crawling across the ceiling. Theodore was harmless, so full of himself, he had little time for anyone else. She listened to the noise below and sighed. Helena already knew about the Great Miracle. Well, of course she would! Helena's informers swarmed everywhere. Claudia wondered idly who it could be here.

'Simon the Stoic!' she murmured. 'I've always wondered how he came by his paltry coins.' Claudia didn't object. It wasn't that the Empress distrusted her,- Helena just wanted to know the truth. Watching Polybius downstairs, Claudia had realised that the uncle she loved so much, for all his roguish ways, was up to something, but what? Polybius, for all his nefarious dealings, would not sink to murder or body-snatching, whilst Apuleius was a man of integrity. Claudia's eyes grew heavy, but she shook herself awake. She had to dress, eat and go out to the Lucia Gloriosa tavern to meet those veterans. Murranus would escort her. She smiled again and stretched. Tomorrow Murranus would report to Aurelian's villa and she would go with him to make sure!

Claudia sat up. She must concentrate on the present. Murranus would have to wait; these abductions had to be investigated. She swung her feet off the bed. One conclusion she had reached was that the kidnappings must have been organised by someone who knew about their victims' movements. Before she left the palace, Claudia had read both the police reports and those of Helena's agents, yet she'd discovered nothing new. All the victims had been seized when they were vulnerable, in a lane, a lonely part of a garden, as they left the house early in the morning or returned from the baths in the evening. The ransom demanded was very substantial but not enough to make the victims' parents hesitate, whilst the place of liberation was well chosen. The great cemetery bordering the Appian Way was a rambling, desolate wasteland with dips and ditches, copses of trees, tangled bushes and thick undergrowth. Miles of decaying tombs, monuments, pillars, many cracked and open to the elements, made that place of death the natural haunt of outlaws, footpads and escaped slaves. The entire area reeked of misery and decay, the meeting place of every undesirable that crawled under the sun. Claudia had heard stories about people getting lost there and, by the time they stumbled out, being almost witless with terror. Others had gone into the cemetery and never returned. The Via Appia bordered one side of the cemetery whilst the rest of it petered out into open countryside, a place easy to slip in and out of. Every so often the city authorities would organise troops, both cavalry and infantry, to make a sweep of what one official called 'the meadows of murder'; even then pitched battles ensued between the inhabitants of that twilight area and trained troops. During the persecution of Diocletian, the Christians not only hid in the cemetery but opened up the gloomy catacombs below, a maze of needle-thin passageways, corridors, galleries and open chambers. The poor used to bury their dead there, but the Christians took it over and transformed it into an underground city.