The Song of the Gladiator (17 page)

‘What?’ Claudia exclaimed.

‘Other fires, mistress. They weren’t blazing when I first arrived, I’m sure of that. But staring into the darkness, I could see one in the middle distance, then another a little further on. At the time I didn’t think anything about it. I thought they were harvest fires, but there’s been no harvest yet. Such blazes aren’t lit for at least another two months. Then I thought about Simon the Saviour.’

‘What about him?’ Claudia tried to curb her exasperation.

‘That was what he did when the revolt started. He lit beacon fires, piles of brushwood oiled and flamed. He called them the Lights of Heaven, much good it did him.’

Claudia stared around the exquisite, sophisticated garden. The peristyle was now filling up as more courtiers and officials wandered down to eat from the banqueting tables and take their rest in the coolness and fragrance of this lovely garden. She felt a shiver of fear. Something about Narcissus’s account stirred her own memories of the previous evening. She recalled walking over to that sycamore tree where the imperial family were sitting. That was it! The night breeze had been blowing against her, in the direction of the burning House of Mourning, yet she still smelt wood smoke. What if Narcissus was correct? Was the House of Mourning a beacon light? A signal to someone outside which was then sent on? During her travels up and down Italy, as a member of the acting troupe, Claudia had seen the marching armies and heard the clash of battle. She recalled the dark hills further north, the beacon fires burning in the dead of night as the armies of Rome manoeuvred to face each other in bloody confrontation.

‘Tell me,’ she asked, ‘did you look the other way?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You were sitting on the hill staring down at the villa, yes? That lies to the south. Were there fires to the east and west, or behind you to the north? I’m giving rough calculations,’ she added. ‘Were the fires you saw in a direct line beneath you or all around you?’

‘No, all before me, I could see nothing to the right or left. By the way, I’ve worked here for five years, I know my directions.’

Claudia’s unease deepened. Narcissus was correct. Why were such fires blazing at the height of summer? According to him they were not brushwood or forest fires caused by the heat, but deliberately lit. If they were beacon fires, what was it all about? She racked her brains; there were no great feasts or celebrations. Should she tell the Augusta? Yet what if she was wrong? Claudia stood up.

‘You’re coming with me.’

‘Where to? What for?’

‘For a summer’s day’s ride. Go down to the stables and ask the grooms, on the authority of Claudia, messenger of the Augusta, to prepare my horse – it’s a gentle cob – and a mount for you.’

‘I prefer to walk,’ Narcissus grumbled. ‘That’s how I was captured! Instead of running away, I stole a horse and fell off.’ Muttering to himself, the slave hurried from the garden.

Claudia returned to her own chamber. All was in order. She filled her purse with some coins and collected her hat. A short while later, a water pannikin slung over the cob’s saddle-horn, she and Narcissus left by a side gate. The villa was now falling silent as the imperial family and guests took their rest against the heat of the day. The same was true of the guards beyond the wall. Claudia noticed that these were few and far between and had retreated into the shade of the trees. She reined in and stared back. Narcissus, walking beside her, swinging a staff, stopped and gazed curiously up at her.

‘Are you frightened?’

‘No, just cautious. Tell me,’ Claudia continued, ‘did you know when the Emperor was about to arrive?’

‘No, everyone was in quite a state. The kitchen master asked the Captain of the Guard, but he didn’t know. The Emperor comes and goes like the breeze. All the stewards and chamberlains had been told was that, once the games were over, the Emperor would leave Rome.’ Narcissus shrugged. ‘It was business as usual until that sword was stolen. By the Lord of Light,’ he sighed, ‘what a commotion! People running here and there. You know, I was ordered to help carry that fat steward Timothaeus from the cellar. White as snow he was, I thought he’d died. Oh well, I reflected, here’s another whose nose I’ll have to break—’

‘Thank you,’ Claudia intervened hastily.

When they reached the crossroads they turned on to a track towards where Narcissus had seen the first fire. The slave had become lost in his own thoughts, comforted by a full belly and the wine singing in his blood. He smiled contentedly, humming a tune under his breath. The countryside basked in the summer sun. They passed avenues of lime, plane and sycamore trees; occasionally they caught a glimpse of the red-brown earth, of green pastures turning yellow under the boiling sun. Fields of corn, barley and rye ripened in the summer’s warmth. They passed small farmsteads where the air reeked with the stench of manure, milk and hay. The silence was broken by the bark of a dog or the strident call of a goose. Swallows, buzzards, starlings and sparrows swooped above them, darting in and out of the trees, and the constant chatter of the crickets was broken occasionally by the whine of some other insect or the monotonous buzzing of bees.

Claudia felt her eyes grow heavy. She wasn’t the best of horse riders, yet the saddle was strong and the horse was gentle. For a while she dozed. She just hoped that Narcissus had a good memory as well as a sharp sense of direction.

‘I’m sure it was here.’ Narcissus shook her awake. They had reached a stretch of arable land to the left of the track, lying fallow as the season passed.

Claudia dismounted, leapt across the narrow ditch and walked into the field. At the far end, a hedgerow divided it from the next strip of land. The ground was hard and crusty underfoot. An occasional bird pecked at the soil.

‘I’m sure it was here,’ Narcissus repeated. ‘We’ve just passed a farmhouse. I remember staring at it. Shouldn’t we hobble your horse?’

‘Don’t worry about her,’ Claudia shouted over her shoulder. ‘She’s found some grass, so she’s content.’

They walked across the field, Claudia slipping on uneven soil, broken by little ridges and the occasional gap. At first she thought Narcissus was mistaken until the ground dipped slightly and they reached a circle of ash and scraps of burnt wood. Crouching down, Claudia dug her hands into the earth and lifted a mixture of soil and ash. The stench of oil was pungent. She rose, brushing her hands, and stared round. The field, with its broad, silent expanse, appeared more threatening. Anyone could be watching them from the trees.

‘It’s best if we go,’ she whispered, ‘and walk fast, Narcissus.’

Claudia almost ran back to the track, the sun beating down, sweat breaking out, her mouth turning strangely dry. When she reached the line of trees, she rested in the shade.

‘We came at a good time,’ she observed. ‘Everyone is sleeping.’

‘Shouldn’t we question the farmer?’

‘We would only arouse suspicion.’ Claudia pointed out across the field. ‘There’s no reason for that fire, none whatsoever. I expect the farmer had little to do with it. Imagine, at the dead of night, Narcissus! Someone piled brushwood and gorse along the edge of this field. Once darkness fell, they dragged it out, soaked it with oil and thrust in a torch. I wonder . . .’ and before Narcissus could stop her, Claudia ran back across the field, head down, shoulders hunched, as if fearful of some bowman hiding amongst the trees.

Narcissus caught up with her as she reached the burnt patch of earth and turned round in the direction from which they had come. Her view was partially blocked by the trees and the heat haze of summer. She strained her eyes and, moving backwards and forwards, glimpsed the rooftops of the Villa Pulchra.

‘At the dead of night,’ she whispered, ‘the blaze from the House of Mourning could be seen.’

‘They could also see our villa from other places,’ Narcissus agreed. ‘They wouldn’t have to stand just here.’

They hurried back, and Claudia mounted her horse, turning its head towards the Villa Pulchra.

‘Shouldn’t we see where the other fires were lit?’ Narcissus was enjoying his summer’s walk with this very kind but mysterious young woman.

‘I’ve seen enough!’ Claudia retorted. ‘I know what I have to do.’

They hastened back to the villa, washed their hands and faces and immediately went to the Augusta’s quarters. The entrances and doorways were protected by Burrus’s guards, most of them asleep. Narcissus grew nervous and began to shake. Claudia could even hear his teeth chatter. The chamberlain informed her that the Empress was sleeping and must not be disturbed, but Claudia insisted, and a short while later she and Narcissus were ushered into the Empress’s bedchamber. Helena had been lying on a couch on a dais beneath a window. She was dressed in a simple white tunic, her black hair falling loose around her shoulders. She now sat on an ornate padded stool, her feet bare, rubbing her cheeks and trying to stifle a yawn. Claudia noticed the scars on the Empress’s bare left arm, as well as how strong her wrists and ankles appeared.

‘When I was young, Claudia, I was an athlete,’ Helena declared, following Claudia’s gaze. ‘I also went on campaign with my dear late husband. On one occasion our tent was attacked.’ She rubbed the scars on her arm. ‘Anyway, you’ve roused me from my sleep, little mouse, so you must have brought me some tidbits. Who’s your companion?’

Claudia and Narcissus knelt on the floor. Narcissus was trembling so much the Empress gave him a goblet of wine and told him to drink it quickly, before gesturing at Claudia to sit down. At first Helena looked sleepy-eyed, but the more Claudia spoke the more alert she became. Now and again the Empress would glance at Narcissus, who would nod in agreement. Claudia related exactly what Narcissus had told her, and described their journey to that lonely field and the remains of the beacon fire.

‘I agree,’ the Augusta declared as soon as Claudia had finished. ‘This is no coincidence.’ She walked over and patted Narcissus’s head as she would a dog. ‘You have done very well. You shall be freed.’

Narcissus immediately fainted, toppling to the floor with a crash. Claudia knelt down beside the prostrate man, pressing the back of her hand against the blood pulse, listening to his breathing. Then, opening his mouth, she poked in a finger to detect any obstruction.

‘He’s all right.’ Helena knelt smiling on his other side. ‘Come, Claudia, let’s make him comfortable.’

They turned Narcissus on his side, placing a blanket beneath his head and another over him.

‘Poor man,’ Helena declared. ‘He has drunk too much wine, followed by a long hot walk in the sun, and now his life has just been changed. He’ll sleep for a while, you look after him. I’ll give you some money for him, but that’ll have to wait. Come over here.’

Helena led her across to a table covered in scrolls. She searched amongst these and brought out a map of the Middle Sea depicting the main ports of Italy, Asia Minor and Greece.

‘During the recent games,’ the Empress explained, ‘I received reports from a spy that Licinius, Emperor of the Eastern Empire, had sent a battle group of warships, triremes and support vessels into the Bay of Corinth. He is also strengthening the garrisons of Greece. Now, of course, according to the protocol signed between us, Licinius has to inform us of such manoeuvres. He claims to be mustering his forces against a powerful pirate fleet which attacked some merchantmen.’

‘Are you fearing an invasion?’ Claudia asked.

‘No.’ Helena shook her head. ‘Licinius isn’t capable of that, though he’s steeped in treachery. I suspect he’s planning a surprise.’ She took out a local map, tracing the short distance between the Villa Pulchra and the Italian coast. ‘If you are correct, Claudia, and I think you are, a whole series of fires were lit in a direct line starting at the Villa Pulchra and ending just above the cliffs on the seashore. I know what you are going to say, little one: we should alert the Emperor, have troops moved into the area. But what’s wrong with that?’

‘We don’t know who the traitor is and we’ll only alarm him – or her.’

‘Precisely.’ Helena smiled. ‘I think it’s best if you leave that to me and my noble contingent of German heroes. Now, let’s get Narcissus removed.’

Helena summoned servants, who brought a stretcher. Claudia had the still prostrate corpse-embalmer taken back to her own chamber and placed on the bed. The chamberlain who escorted them there tapped her on the shoulder.

‘Leave him for a while,’ he whispered. ‘I shall sit with him. The Augusta wants words with you.’

By the time Claudia had returned to Helena’s bedchamber, the Empress had changed and was wrapping a purple shawl around her shoulders. Servants in the adjoining chamber were laying out robes, mirrors, combs and pots of perfume. Constantine had decreed that there would be another imperial banquet that night. Helena kicked the door closed with one sandalled foot and beckoned Claudia to sit next to her on a stool. The Empress pushed her face only a few inches from Claudia’s, studying her carefully.

‘I can be trusted,’ Claudia whispered.

‘I know you can, mouse. What worries me is who else can I trust? We have the business of the missing sword, the death of Dionysius, the destruction of the House of Mourning; now we have a traitor in our midst and it could be anyone. Narcissus has earned his freedom. What he saw were beacon lights, and I suspect they stretch down to the coast. Somewhere to the south, hiding from our searchers and lookouts, lurks a war trireme, its sail reefed, oars down, probably supported by supply ships and flying false colours. I suspect a cohort is to be landed and this villa attacked. If I alert the harbour masters and port commanders, this warship will simply vanish. If I tell my son, he’ll go back to Rome or send out a fleet, and the traitor will simply bide his time and strike again.’

‘But you are in danger.’

‘No, no.’ Helena’s face became flushed with excitement. ‘We are playing a game, Claudia, as dangerous as any your Murranus faces in the arena. At Nicomedia in the East, Licinius, our rival, sits and plots, or should I say, lounges and plots,’ Helena added drily. ‘He’s received information that his great rival Constantine has gone to his summer residence not far from the coast, and has decided to strike. I shall frustrate that and, at the same time, show my beloved son that Licinius has to be destroyed.’