‘The land where the baths had stood.’
‘No, I meant where?’
Honorius thought for a few moments and then walked to the northern end of the castle. ‘There,’ he said. ‘On the lower slope of the Quirinal Hill by the Vicus Longus.’ Valerius’s face lit up. Not the Subura proper, but close enough to make little difference. Honorius shook his head. ‘I see where you are going, young man, but it is not possible, I assure you. The apparatus has been removed and the conduit sealed. Only the commissioner and his staff have access to these towers. Come, I will prove it to you.’
He led the way back inside and retrieved another piece of equipment from the leather pouch. This was a metal tube about a handspan in diameter, which he handed to Valerius. He then lowered himself on to his belly with all the elegance of a collapsing water buffalo before shuffling to the edge of the walkway at a point close to where the Glabrian mechanism had once been fixed.
‘Pass me the ocular, young man,’ Honorius grunted. ‘And be careful with it. It is the only instrument of its kind.’
Valerius gave him the tube, noticing for the first time that one end was closed by a circle of remarkably clear glass. The water commissioner shuffled forward until he was able to place the closed end in the water and put his eye to the opening.
‘The dogs!’
‘What is it?’ Valerius asked. ‘What can you see?’
‘The dogs,’ Honorius repeated, this time in admiration. ‘How did they do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘They have jammed the gate open and they’re stealing my water by the lakeful. But the Glabrian baths were demolished more than half a century ago. Where is it going?’
Valerius stared at the dark waters. He didn’t yet have the answer to Honorius’s question, but he was going to find out.
Lucius looked down at the sleeping figure. Sleeping? No, not sleeping. Olivia was dying. The draughts of elixir he had smuggled into the house had given her strength and him hope, but now both were almost gone. Lucius closed his eyes and for the first time truly felt old. He had been a failure in so many ways.
Convention and tradition dictated that he should regard Olivia as a chattel over whom he had the power of life and death, but convention and tradition could never prevail over love. He had loved his daughter since the first day he had held her tiny body straight from the birthing room, porcupine-haired and squealing, the dark eyes sparkling even then with the intelligence and curiosity that would never leave them. He had loved her as child, girl and woman, and when the day came to give her away to another man he had wept in the privacy of his tablinum. How then could he have allowed his ambition to come before her happiness? The truth was that he had looked upon old Ahenobarbus and seen not a man, but an opportunity. Where the reality was foul-breathed, gap-toothed and pot-bellied, his mind had shown him a glittering reintroduction to the Emperor’s court on the arm of a man he could call son. Even when the horror on Olivia’s face opened his eyes to reality, his pride had not allowed him to acknowledge it. He was a Roman and he was her father; he had the right to command obedience.
Olivia gave a little whimper and he felt as if his heart had been chopped in two. He remembered a long night with Claudia at his side bathing their daughter’s sweat-soaked brow when she had fought some childhood sickness as she fought now, and the tears of relief when the fever broke the next day. Surely there must be a way. He prayed then, for God’s help, as he had prayed every night since she had become ill.
He still felt the pain, like some half-healed sword wound, of the day he had disowned her as his daughter. Yet she was his daughter and she had walked from the villa without another word, her chin held high and with an expression he had believed was contempt, but knew now had been pity. The true contempt had come from Valerius, and how could he blame his son when he himself had been in the wrong? Yet still his pompous patrician concept of dignity would not allow him to admit it. He had withdrawn to his villa and his hills and his olives, an empty husk of a man; empty of feelings, of dreams, even of hope. There he had wandered aimlessly and become old.
He touched Olivia’s head and recoiled at the clammy texture of her skin. Of course, she could never have come to him. He had no right to expect it, but he had dreamed of it every night. Every night he would go to the door of the villa and she would be there, smiling and asking his forgiveness. And in the dream, he gave it. And each morning when he woke he would despair, because he knew that even if she came, his true self would never allow him to do what was right.
When news came of the sickness, his first thought had been to go to her. Yet as his horse was being saddled all he could see were the long-nosed, disapproving patrician faces of men he had called his friends, and he heard a voice telling him that if he went he could never again call himself a Roman.
That was when the girl Ruth had been sent to him. She was only a slave, but her presence had opened a door and he had walked through it into the light of God, where Petrus had taught him that to forgive was a strength, not a weakness. He was still too proud to reveal his change of heart to Valerius, but from that day onward he had visited Olivia whenever it was possible. He had been planning to ask Petrus to help her when Valerius had tracked the healer down. Lucius had felt certain the Judaean would be able to cure her. Yet even that had not been enough. Now all hope was gone. What did they have left but despair?
He bowed his head, listening to the laboured rasp of her breathing. As his tears stained her coverlet a thin shaft of sunlight moved across the wooden floor to spotlight the deathly ivory of her features. It was only then that he understood God’s message. When all else is lost a man will always have his faith.
He still had his faith.
And now he knew what he must do.
XXXIII
They arranged to meet back at the water castle early the next morning and Valerius hurried to look in on Olivia before he gave his orders to Marcus and his men. When he reached the house he was surprised to find a slave holding a scroll which invited him to call upon Fabia Faustina.
By the time he returned home the sun was coming up. For reasons he didn’t understand the encounter had left him with the same feeling a blind man has on hearing the final piece slapped into place on a gaming board, not knowing whether he has won or lost. He had learned long ago in Britain not to ignore these instincts, but within minutes of reaching the house it was driven from his mind by a new crisis.
Olivia was gone.
He found Julia weeping on the bed and at first he feared the worst. The slave girl saw it in his face.
‘No, master, not that. It is…’ She shook her head, almost overcome with emotion, but Valerius didn’t have time to allow her tears. He took her by the shoulders and forced her to look into his eyes.
‘Tell me, Julia. What has happened to Olivia?’
She sniffed and blinked her eyes clear. ‘Your father… took her. He said she would die otherwise. I didn’t know what to think. He said, “This way, we will both be saved and gain entry to the Kingdom of Heaven.” What did he mean?’
Valerius felt his face harden. The old fool. But he had to be certain. ‘Those were the exact words he used, Julia? We will both be saved? You are certain?’
She nodded. ‘Certain, master.’
The exact words. The same expression Ruth had used to describe the rite of baptism. Lucius must have been driven mad by Olivia’s plight if he believed that to dip her beneath a freezing waterfall would save her. Now he had even more reason to track down Honorius’s water thief.
By the fifth hour he was back at the water castle with Honorius glowering like a man who had better things to do. Valerius had been tempted to go directly to the site of the former baths, but when he considered the matter further he couldn’t see any reason why the water should not have been siphoned off before the Glabrian link ended, and several reasons why it should.