Rodan hesitated, but only for a moment. He nodded and the two Praetorians stepped back.
‘If I hear you’ve been anywhere near my house again, centurion, I will rip out your guts and hang you with them from the nearest tree. Do you understand? Stay away from my family, or I promise I’ll kill you, and you know me well enough to believe that I keep my promises.’
The Praetorian looked into the dark eyes and saw only certainty there. A shiver ran through him as he remembered the day in Caligula’s circus when he had looked into those same eyes and seen his death. Rodan had fought on the German frontier; he was no coward. In his mind, he drew his sword and rammed it deep into the other man’s belly, but he remembered the stories he had heard and his hands stayed by his side.
Valerius studied his enemy’s face and knew he’d won, but it was a small victory and he had no doubt it would come at a price. He turned his back and walked away. He’d only gone ten paces when Rodan found his voice.
‘Did I hear a donkey breaking wind?’ The centurion’s harsh shout broke the silence. ‘No, I’m mistaken. It was the last gasp of a dying man. Do you hear that, my Hero of Rome? You’re a dead man.’ Valerius turned to face him, but Rodan was back with his guards and every one had his sword clear of its scabbard. Hatred made the ruined face uglier still. ‘You don’t understand, do you? It doesn’t matter whether you succeed or fail, you’re going to die. It’s all arranged. You and your father and sister are all going to die.’
XXIX
It wasn’t until early afternoon that Valerius received word from Marcus. When he arrived at the apartment he was surprised to find their visitor was Saul of Tarsus, the dark-visaged easterner who had been with Seneca at his father’s house.
‘My apologies for the delay. My lord Seneca did not wish to entrust a servant with such an important message, nor did he feel it should be carried in written form. My profession requires me to memorize quite complex pieces of information, therefore he decided it would be prudent to await my return.’ He asked for a wax writing block and on it drew the letters MCVII, and a narrow outline that Valerius recognized. ‘The Christians use it as a symbol of recognition,’ Saul explained. ‘You were correct in your assumption that it represents a fish. The men Christus chose as his original followers were fishermen, so the symbol seemed appropriate. See how easy it is to draw?’ He ran over the outline again. ‘Merely a single straight line, then a curve back to cross the initial line and create the tail. Think of two men talking in the street. The one believes his companion is also a Christian, but he cannot be certain. He scuffs his feet in the dust. Two simple movements and we have a fish. If the other man does not recognize it he is not a member of the sect. In this instance it is the orientation of the fish that is important. Was the head pointing up, down, right or left, indicating north, south, east or west?’
‘The head was to the left. West.’
‘Then the meeting place you are looking for is west of the inscription’s position.’
Valerius shook his head in frustration. ‘That still leaves a quarter of the city, part of the sixth, seventh and ninth districts at least.’
Saul nodded gravely. ‘Ah, but there is more to learn.’
‘The seventh district,’ Heracles cried. ‘See, M C VII.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Saul cautioned. ‘Yes, the numerals are significant, but not in such an unsubtle way. The initials M and C indicate a person or a place, but to identify this person they must be transposed. So CM. To those who know CM, the name will provide a location.’
‘So, we find this CM and go to his house?’ Marcus suggested.
The bearded man allowed himself a slight smile. ‘VII. Seven. The ceremony will be held within seven blocks of the house of the man or woman CM.’
A bitter laugh emerged from the gloom at the back of the room where Serpentius had been listening. ‘You talk in circles and make as little sense as a temple priest. Seven blocks in any direction? You’re telling us to search four hundred houses. This is just foolishness.’
Saul turned to Valerius. ‘You must understand that Petrus lives in constant danger of discovery or betrayal, and has done so for thirty years and more. Deceit and subterfuge are second nature to him. On the one hand, he cannot pass on his message without placing himself at the mercy of those he is forced to trust. On the other, he protects himself by concealing his true identity from all but a few of his followers, and those few will be unknown to each other. I doubt there are four men in all Rome who know who and where he is.’
‘Then he is impossible to find.’
‘Not impossible, not for a man of resource. The fish pointed west, so the meeting place will be to the west of the house. You will recognize it by another fish inscription. Petrus is at his most vulnerable when he is spreading the word of Christus. This he does once each calendar month, on the Sabbath day closest to the nones, beginning at the seventh hour.’
‘Sabbath?’ Valerius didn’t recognize the word.
‘Holy day,’ Saul explained. ‘These Christians have trouble agreeing many things. Those who wish to distance themselves from the Judaeans favour a Sunday. Petrus, who is a traditionalist, prefers Saturday.’
‘But that means…?’
‘Yes, my young friend. It means that you have less than three hours to locate CM and the building where the meeting will be held. Three hours to find Petrus… and deliver him to lord Seneca.’
Valerius recognized the subtle threat in the final five words, but he barely registered it. His mind raced. Lucina Graecina knew what the sign meant, if not Petrus’s true identity. And if Lucina Graecina knew, Torquatus now had the information. He had three hours to get to Petrus before the Emperor’s secret police did.
They waited until Saul had left the building.
‘The list?’ Valerius demanded. Serpentius placed it on the table beside Saul’s drawing of the fish. They crowded over it, but Valerius had already noted the significance of one name.
‘Cerialis. What do we know of him?’
‘Cerialis Marcellus, the baker. One of the merchants who had regular contact with Lucina Graecina,’ Marcus said decisively. ‘He has a house in the seventh district, beyond the Campus Agrippae on the Via Pinciana. I was out there yesterday. He owns four bakeries in and around the city.’
‘How long will it take to reach there?’
‘An hour at most.’
‘Then we need to find the meeting place.’
‘It’s a busy area,’ Marcus admitted. ‘A warren of shops, houses and workshops, but I have an idea. One of the bakeries he owns is also in the seventh district, quite close to his home. People come and go from a shop like that all the time. Plenty of room there for a meeting and the place will be empty because bakers tend to work in the early morning. I doubt it will take us more than half an hour to find it.’
‘Cloaks and swords,’ Valerius said decisively, making for the door. ‘We’ll meet at the house when you’re ready. Serpentius? Find your way to the bakery and wait for us there. I want to know who goes in, who comes out, and if the place is already being watched.’
He rushed back to the Clivus Scauri, his mind calculating the possibilities. If they could reach the meeting place before Torquatus and his thugs. If they could get Petrus away. What then? He would be gambling with the lives of twenty thousand innocents. Did he have the right to do that? Did he have the stomach? He would only find out when he got there.
When he reached his door he almost collided with a hurrying figure coming the other way. ‘Father!’
The old man smiled distractedly. ‘You mustn’t shout, Valerius. You will disturb your sister. And now I must bid you good day. I am late for an engagement.’