Valerius nodded, but one question intrigued him. ‘And how was a person to be guaranteed eternal life?’
Seneca smiled. ‘That was the genius of Christus. First, a man had to earn the right to immortality by his deeds during his own life, deeds determined by the teachings of Christus. Second, he would come to eternal life only after he died. You see the wonderful paradox? One had to die to live for ever, and only after death would one know one had achieved it.’
‘And this Rock is a believer in such foolishness?’
‘The Rock, Simon Petrus, was the first of Christus’s followers, another Galilean, though Torquatus chooses to band him with Rome’s Judaeans; a simple fisherman hypnotized by the words of a cleverer man. He followed him to Jerusalem, saw him die there and’ — Seneca snorted his disbelief — ‘claims he saw him rise again.’
Valerius wasn’t so certain. ‘It’s not impossible,’ he pointed out. ‘I’ve seen men lying on the battlefield who looked as if they were dead and thought they were dead, who rose up to have supper with their comrades. Most of them died later from their wounds, but still, a man can be difficult to kill. Simon Petrus?’
‘Simon is his given name. Petrus, the Rock, is the title Christus awarded him for his loyalty. Many lost their enthusiasm for the teachings of Christus after he was tried and crucified, but Petrus continues to spread his message. When the authorities in Jerusalem made life difficult for him he moved on to Antioch, and now to Rome, where he calls himself bishop, but wields no power and has little influence except among his closest followers.’
‘Then why is he so dangerous?’
‘Because he is a master of deception and because of the message he preaches, which denies the authority of the Emperor. Because those he now targets are Roman citizens with the power to influence other Roman citizens, even those in the Senate. Petrus is a dangerous man who gathers other dangerous men to him. If Petrus has his way the only god in Rome will be the God of Christus. He would wipe away the very foundations of our society. I am not a religious man, Valerius, but I fear this Petrus.’
Valerius studied the figure across from him. Why did he feel this prickle of unease? ‘So Petrus is the most dangerous man in Rome. A shadow who has denied the Praetorians for months, it seems. Yet Lucius Annaeus Seneca, confined to his humble home in the hills, appears to know everything about him. You have his name. Perhaps you can tell me where he lives and who he meets, or even give me his description?’
Seneca’s ringed fingers stroked his head. ‘You are suspicious, and so you should be. We are swimming in dangerous waters, you and I, and it is right that we should understand each other fully. It is well known that I have maintained contacts in the east since my days in Aegyptus. While I had Nero’s confidence I wielded a power you would not imagine, and that power allowed me to expand those contacts still further. You will admit I am a man of some little talent?’ The false modesty made Valerius laugh, as it was intended to. ‘Then put your trust in me, Valerius, as I put my trust in you.
‘Petrus is in his sixty-third year, of medium height with the strong features typical of the easterner. He wears a full beard, not to mask them, but because it is his custom. He walks with a slight limp, and he has a reputation as a healer. You will know him when you look into his eyes.’ He raised a hand. ‘No, I can explain no further. You will understand when the time comes.’
Valerius somehow kept his face emotionless. ‘If I have news, how can I get word to you?’
‘I will have a man watch your house. Place a lamp in the window above your door at dusk. That will be a signal for a meeting at noon the following day at the north corner of the Castra Peregrina.’
Now it was Valerius’s turn to frown.
‘Where better for two conspirators to meet than on the doorstep of a nest of spies?’ Seneca chuckled at his own genius. The Castra Peregrina, as its name implied, was the base for foreign soldiers posted to duties in Rome, but also the headquarters of the Emperor’s frumentarii, messengers who often acted as the Emperor’s spies, occasionally as his assassins. Seneca saw that Valerius wasn’t convinced. ‘If you wish we can appoint another meeting place?’
Valerius shook his head. ‘No. One place is as good as another and the busier the better.’
‘The Emperor will demand a swift resolution, but despite what I have told you Petrus will not be an easy man to find,’ Seneca warned. ‘In six months Torquatus and Rodan have not even come close. Your investigation must be taken one step at a time. This will be your first step.’ He gave Valerius a name which surprised him. ‘You will wish to begin as soon as possible.’
Valerius knew when he was being dismissed. He had a dozen questions he would have liked to ask, but he doubted Seneca would answer any of them. They embraced as if they were father and son and as Valerius rode off towards the Via Salaria he pondered the astonishing name Seneca had given him.
And the biggest surprise of alclass="underline" the description of Christus’s Rock, the man called Petrus, who sounded exactly like Joshua, the doctor in whom he had placed his faith.
Seneca was still standing in the doorway when Valerius passed out of sight.
‘Do you think he suspects?’ The quiet voice came from the shadow behind him.
‘No. He is an honest, straightforward young man. He will complete his task or die in the attempt.’
‘Then may he live long enough to complete it.’
Seneca turned to face the man who could have been a younger version of Petrus. ‘You realize what this could cost? Nero will have no mercy.’
‘We must all make sacrifices. Those who die will have died for Our Lord. Petrus is a good man but he is too soft to lead us to the Promised Land.’
‘And he favours a different path?’
‘Just so.’
‘You are a hard man.’
‘Just so,’ Saul of Tarsus said again.
XII
Poppaea fought the familiar animal squirm of panic. Everywhere she went she felt Nero’s eyes on her. But he couldn’t know, because if he truly knew she would be dead. Or worse. Yet even that was of no consequence, because soon she would be free and nothing they could do to her would matter. Just one more step. One more simple act, and it was done.
Loneliness and fear had been her lot ever since her father had married her off at the age of seventeen. She had been young and naive, a pretty plaything who knew nothing of the natural bounds of marriage or the power a wife might hold if she only understood her strength. Instead, she had submitted because her husband said she should, even when she knew it was wrong. Each night she would endure the pain and self-loathing that went hand in hand with the acts she was forced to perform for him. Each night she would cry herself to sleep. That should have been enough, even for him, but of course it was not. She thought she had married a strong man, but events had proved that what she had taken for strength was mere bravado, and what she had thought was courage only a disguise for bluster. A coward and a braggart who had bragged once too often.
What a fool she had been the night they were invited to the palace. She had been excited, proud that the man who ruled their Empire should seek the company of her husband, even a husband she had grown to hate. That was the first night she’d felt the little eyes roving over her skin, and later the hands, cold and clammy, the way a snake should feel, but does not, slithering across her breasts and her belly and… And later? Later he had watched again, those same eyes glittering as her husband used her. Yes, used. Not slept with, or made love to. Used. And when her husband was finished with her, he was ready. She knew that to refuse him was death, but she almost did. Almost. When that barrier was broken the rest was just more of the same. The servants and the slaves and the soldiers who shared the wide bed. And Otho, her husband, had rejoiced because he had the Emperor’s favour and the Emperor’s favour meant power and riches. And, though he was too foolish to understand it, danger.