The Song of the Gladiator (32 page)

‘I think this could be the sword,’ she declared evenly. ‘It feels like a legionary sword, I mean the balance. The blade is polished and is rather old, though the handle’s new, which makes it a little top heavy, I mean with the ivory and the ruby.’

‘Where . . . where?’ Timothaeus’s voice faltered.

‘Where? Where?’ Claudia teased. ‘There, there! I realised you had stolen the sword, Timothaeus, but you’re a good man, a devout Christian.’ She ticked the points off on her fingers. ‘You wouldn’t sell it; that would be sacrilege and highly dangerous. You wouldn’t keep it for yourself; that would be selfish and very dangerous. Thirdly, you couldn’t give it over to the Church; they would immediately hand it back to the Empress.’

‘So?’ Narcissus spoke as if he was choking.

‘I came to the logical conclusion.’ Claudia smiled. ‘If this was the sword responsible for the martyrdom of the Blessed Paul, then what better place for it than the shrine, the monument which now covers his tomb on the road to Ostia, the very place where the Apostle Paul was executed? Now, I was back in Rome before you so that I could get everything prepared. I met an old gentleman, a friend of mine, Sallust the Searcher. He literally has a legion of relatives, and it was simply a matter of him organising these to watch the most famous Christian holy spots around the city, with a particularly close guard over the tomb of the Blessed Paul. Sallust himself watched that! This was the first time you had been back in Rome since the sword was stolen. You smuggled it from the Villa Pulchra and I realised you would try and get rid of it as soon as possible.’

‘I thought I was being—’

‘Watched?’ Claudia asked. ‘Of course you were, just as you ordered Narcissus to watch me.’

Timothaeus swallowed hard.

‘Do you know something?’ Claudia put the sword down beside her, covered it with the cloth, leaned across and patted both Timothaeus and Narcissus on the face. ‘If I ever go back to acting and organise my own troupe, I will ask you two to join. What a performance! Surely you are going to ask me how I discovered this? How I found out? Oh, don’t be frightened, Timothaeus. I’m not going to have you arrested.’

Both men smiled in relief. Claudia got to her feet and brought out the bucket of sand and the sharp kitchen knife.

‘Once upon a time,’ she smiled, ‘there was a very devout Christian steward called Timothaeus, who truly believed in the teaching of Christ. Being a non-Jew, a former pagan, he had a special devotion to the Apostle Paul, who, I understand, first brought Christ’s teaching to the Gentiles. Didn’t Paul preach in Antioch; that’s the first place your sect were called Christians, wasn’t it? Anyway, Timothaeus is also a loyal servant of the Empress; he adores her. Thanks to her and her son, the Christians have been allowed out of the catacombs. The Empress Helena flirts with Christianity: will she, won’t she convert? She also has a deep interest in all things Christian. The Empire is being ransacked as the Augusta searches for the True Cross, the Crown of Thorns, the spear which pierced Christ’s side, the nails driven into his wrists. Helena’s one great prize is the Holy Sword which cut the Blessed Paul’s neck and was splashed with his holy blood. She organises a great debate at the Villa Pulchra and decides to put the sword on show.

‘Of course, in any royal palace things go missing, so she chooses that cellar, where the sword will hang from a hook and chain above a pit of sand. If anyone tries to touch it, they’ll mark the sand where their feet will sink deep. The chain is suspended so you would have to stretch out with a rod to pull it close and unhook the sword. The cellar has no windows and is guarded by the Augusta’s German ruffians, whilst the heavy door is kept locked by two different keys. One held by you, and the other by Burrus.’

Claudia picked up Timothaeus’s goblet and pressed it into his hands. ‘Go on,’ she urged, ‘drink. And you too, Narcissus.’ She paused, staring up through the branches of a tree. ‘As I said, Timothaeus, you are a devout Christian; you also have scruples.’

‘What are they?’ Narcissus intervened.

‘You know full well: doubts, uncertainties. You were rather repelled, weren’t you, Timothaeus, by such a sacred Christian relic being owned by pagans and put on display to be visited by the likes of Chrysis, or, worse still, the followers of Arianism, Justin and his gang. You saw it as blasphemy, a form of violation. So you decided not to steal it, but to take it from the gaze of the vulgar and return it to a more sacred spot. You’d do it in such a way that no one could be blamed or punished, but you needed help. Now I know, you know, that Narcissus is a Christian. He secured his post at the Villa Pulchra because of the influence of the powerful Sylvester. Narcissus is your drinking partner, isn’t he, Timothaeus, someone you confide in? And because you are the steward at the palace, you also exert a lot of influence.’

‘Are you saying we both stole it?’ Narcissus asked.

‘Of course I am. Timothaeus, as I said, is full of scruples. He prayed for divine guidance. How could he take such a sword so cleverly guarded? I suppose the gods answer our prayers in peculiar ways; in this case, the answer was Burrus.’

‘He had nothing to do with it,’ Timothaeus blurted out.

‘Precisely,’ Claudia replied, ‘but he was the answer to your prayer. Burrus and his guards are highly superstitious. They wouldn’t go into the cellar or anywhere near the Holy Sword. So, Timothaeus, you laid your plans. You pretended to have a bad leg and, the day before, walked into the cellar with a stick, which you left there hidden in some crevice or by the wall. I remember one of the guards asking about your leg but you quickly dismissed it. Anyway, the following day you returned. By now, Burrus and his guards were used to your routine; they were quite happy to let you in and out. You moved quickly. You took one of the stools, placed it near the sandpit, grasped your walking cane, climbed on the stool and dragged the chain closer. You unhooked the sword, climbed down, hid the walking stick away and moved the stool back.’

‘And the sword?’ Timothaeus asked.

Claudia picked up the kitchen knife and drove it deep into the sand in the bucket.

‘You buried it in the sand.’

‘But they would have noticed.’

‘Oh, don’t say that the sand would have been disturbed. You’d already prepared for that eventuality. Notice how the blade of the kitchen knife sinks deep.’ Claudia pressed on it until the hilt almost disappeared. ‘I remember standing on that sand,’ she continued. ‘It was finely grained. My feet sank deep, well over my ankles. You could either have driven the sword in hilt first, or hidden it and covered it with sand. You may even have practised that in the days beforehand. You then pretended to faint. Your hand and arm brushed the sand, so if anyone did notice anything untoward, they would see it as the effect of your faint. Poor Timothaeus, overcome by fright! Of course, Burrus and his guards become curious and look in. They see what’s happened and raise the alarm. Now, the person who should be dealing with the crisis is lying in a dead faint in the cellar, and the Augusta hasn’t arrived yet. There’s a great deal of chaos and consternation, people running about, and lo and behold, by mere chance,’ Claudia leaned over and patted Narcissus’s hand, ‘there’s a slave from the House of Mourning who happens to be a Christian and a close friend of the now prostrate steward. I mean, what were you doing there, Narcissus?’

He opened his mouth to answer, only to sigh and glance away.

‘You told me yourself,’ Claudia continued, ‘how your duties were in the House of Mourning. What were you doing near that cellar? You were waiting, weren’t you? You helped take the stretcher in. You made sure that you stood on the sand, that the sword was hidden. Moreover, who would notice as poor Timothaeus was taken from the cellar that you picked up his walking stick and took it out for him? People were not looking for a walking stick, they were looking for a sword.’

‘And?’ Timothaeus asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

‘Well, Burrus and his boys are quivering like saplings in a storm; they think the sword is sacred and your God has come to claim it. Gaius Tullius is a pagan and a cynic. He searches the cellar but finds nothing. He’s not really interested, is he? It’s not his responsibility – what is a Christian relic to him? A short while later Timothaeus, now much recovered, returns to the now unguarded cellar, takes the sword out and hides it away.’ Claudia paused, as if listening to the birds singing in the branches above her. ‘You were very clever,’ she added. ‘But it was Narcissus being so close to the cellar when it happened which made me curious; that and logic. I mean, the sword disappeared but no one saw it leave, so it must have been left in the cellar. The question was where.’

‘You suspected me?’ Narcissus asked.

‘Oh yes, you’re very suspect, Narcissus. Remember the night of the fire, when the House of Mourning was burned to the ground? You were actually asleep close by, under the shade of a sycamore tree. You said you had been drinking heavily. Now you are a free man, but then you were a slave. Every other servant in the Villa Pulchra, not to mention the slaves, only eats and drinks
after
the banquet. But you, by your own admission, were probably as drunk as any of Constantine’s guests. I made enquiries in the kitchens, but no one remembered serving you a drink.’

‘It was me,’ Timothaeus confessed.

‘Yes, it certainly was.’ Claudia smiled. ‘A small reward for Narcissus’s help. What did you give him? I found the bones – a nice fat piece of capon, a juicy slice of beef and a jug of the best Falernian. A suitable reward for a slave who’d helped you so much, who had to be bribed silent and, knowing you, Narcissus, who was grumbling about how nervous he felt. Timothaeus went down to the villa kitchen and brought you out certain delicacies and a nice deep-bowled goblet of wine. You’ve got a good appetite, Narcissus, I’ve seen you eat. You were nervous, agitated, and you ate quickly and drank just as swiftly. You fell asleep. When you woke up you must have thought you were in a nightmare. The House of Mourning was burning, enquiries might be made and questions asked – what was a slave in charge of the House of Mourning doing filling his belly and drinking the best wine?’

‘What will you do?’ Timothaeus took his hands away from his face.

‘What will I do?’ Claudia shrugged. ‘Look, Timothaeus, the best and safest place for this sword is with the Empress. You will make some excuse and go straight back to the Villa Pulchra, where you will hang the sword back on its hook. No, no, that’s too stupid!’ Claudia scratched her chin. ‘You’ll take it back to the villa and organise a search of the gardens. You will find it, hand it back to the Empress, and receive her thanks, as well as a lavish reward. This idle bugger,’ Claudia pointed a finger at Narcissus, ‘will help you. You’ll be the heroes of the hour.’

Both men sighed in relief. Timothaeus stood up, stretched to ease the cramp and crouched before Claudia. He took her face into his hands and kissed her gently on the brow.

‘I wondered,’ he pulled a face, ‘I really did wonder about you, Claudia. I could tell just by the way you were looking at me that you knew something was wrong. It is as you say. I used to see the sword hanging there. Sometimes I thought I could see the holy blood of Blessed Paul glistening on its blade. I realised how easy it would be to stand on one of those stools and take it. I used the stick to measure the sand. It’s very soft and very deep. Burrus and his Germans would never come in. So I persuaded Narcissus to help. I told him what I wanted, that I could make his life ever so comfortable, so he agreed. I didn’t plan,’ he added, glaring at his companion in crime, ‘to make him drunk, or imagine that the House of Mourning would be burned.’

‘What else can we do?’ Narcissus intoned mournfully.

‘Oh, I think you can help me with a number of things.’ Claudia smiled. ‘But first take this blessed sword back to the Villa Pulchra, and when you have found it, hasten back to the Palatine and show the Augusta what you have achieved. Tell her your sleep was racked by dreams.’

Both men got to their feet.

‘Oh, Narcissus, do something else for me. On your journey to and from the Villa Pulchra, ask yourself what you saw that night.’

‘Which night?’

‘The night the House of Mourning burned to the ground. Every single thing you saw! You must go to the villa with Timothaeus, but when I send Sorry for you, you are both to come here immediately.’

Claudia watched the two men leave. Timothaeus had wrapped up the sword carefully.

‘Ask Polybius for a bag,’ she called, ‘a leather sack. It’s up to you whether you walk or ride.’

Timothaeus raised his hand and disappeared into the tavern. Claudia lay down on the grass and stared up through the branches. Timothaeus would do what she asked, and as for Narcissus . . .

‘I haven’t finished with you yet,’ Claudia whispered. She felt her eyes grow heavy and drifted into sleep, and when she woke she was aware of a figure, dark against the sunlight. She immediately lunged for her dagger.

‘Mistress, it’s only me!’

Sallust the Searcher crouched down on the grass. Claudia apologised, rubbing her face with her hands.

‘You’ve been asleep for at least two hours,’ Polybius shouted from the porch. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you, but if you slept too long . . .’

Claudia raised her hand. She asked Sallust to make himself comfortable whilst she went across to the latrines and into the small wash house nearby. She bathed her hands and face, wiping the sleep from her eyes, and idly wondered how Timothaeus and Narcissus were faring at the Villa Pulchra. She went out and rejoined Sallust.

‘I’ve left the boys in the tavern.’ The searcher mopped a platter with a piece of bread, popped it into his mouth and started on the fruit which Timotheus and Narcissus had left. ‘So you got the Holy Sword back?’ He smiled. ‘It was so easy, you know. I kept the palace under watch! I have some friends there, so I could drift in and out. Timothaeus was acting like a scalded cat, he was highly nervous. He came sneaking out at the dead of night when he thought no one was watching, through a side gate, and by the time he had reached his sacred place, the tomb of that Christian – what’s his name? Ah yes, Paul – there were more people watching him than spectators do an actor in some play. The tomb stands off the road. Timothaeus went as close as he could, dug a hole and buried it.’