Very gently the lid rose until Vespasian could see the mummified face undistorted by the crystal; in the soft flame-light it looked more weather-beaten than preserved but the dry skin lacked the sheen associated with living flesh and Vespasian felt an illogical relief: he would not be disturbing the great man from a deep sleep, he was quite patently dead.
The lid was now raised high enough to be able to get at the breastplate; Magnus and Ziri stood with legs braced taking some of the weight from the rope.
Vespasian leant in and, feeling the buckles on either side, started to work on them to find that they were not done up: the cuirass had been simply laid on the body’s chest. ‘That makes matters simpler,’ he muttered, placing his fingers in each of the arm holes and lifting the plate tentatively. It came free. Holding it with his left hand he moved his right hand down to gently lift Alexander’s arms, which were folded across his body at the waist. The touch of the dried skin thrilled him as he raised the arms a thumb’s breadth and slid the breastplate out.
He held it up in the faint light to examine it and sucked in his breath. ‘Shit!’
‘What is it?’ Magnus asked nervously.
‘There’s a stain here,’ Vespasian replied, pointing to an area just below the left pectoral.
‘Blood?’
‘Could well be.’
Removing the replica from the bag, he laid the two breastplates side by side on the floor and then, taking his knife from its sheath, slit the tip of his thumb. The blood oozed out and Vespasian carefully rubbed his thumb on the replica, creating what he hoped would be a tolerable imitation of the stain. Once satisfied he buffed the stain with his tunic, drying it and then, picking up the replica, began the process of replacing it.
It fitted perfectly.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Magnus said, giving two tugs on the taut rope.
Very slowly the lid lowered. Vespasian looked at his handiwork; in this light it was impossible to tell the difference, then something caught his eye. ‘Shit! Stop.’
Magnus and Ziri took the weight of the crystal lid; the rope went slack for a moment and then tautened, taking the strain.
‘What’s the matter?’ Magnus hissed.
‘I’ve left blood on the neck-edging,’ Vespasian replied, leaning forward and wiping away a spot of blood that must have dripped from his thumb.
Magnus gave another couple of tugs on the rope and the lid lowered until it was a hand’s breadth above the base when Magnus and Ziri halted it; Vespasian quickly undid the knot and slipped the rope out before they lowered it the last short distance. With a slight grate it came to rest.
‘That was surprisingly easy,’ Vespasian commented, putting the breastplate into the leather bag.
‘We ain’t out yet,’ Magnus said, heading for the steps. ‘Come on, Ziri, and watch out for them geese.’
A short bout of honking greeted them as they reached the temple level but it was half-hearted as most of the geese seemed to be intent upon settling down for a nap while they digested their bread and grain.
Ziri clambered up the rope first, scaling the fifty feet in surprisingly quick time; Vespasian followed, though not quite so nimbly.
‘Did it go all right?’ Felix asked as he helped Vespasian out of the hole.
‘Fine,’ Vespasian replied, looking at Ziri who was urinating prodigiously.
‘Fuck me, I needed that,’ Ziri said with evident relief, ‘hours I’ve been waiting.’
‘No wonder you climbed the rope so fast.’ Vespasian grinned. ‘So, Felix, back the way we came?’
‘No, you three go straight over the Soma wall from here, then I’ll throw the rope down to you and make my way back down the ladder; if I get caught in the Soma’s grounds all I’ll have on me is an empty bird cage.’
Once Magnus was up, Felix undid the rope and, keeping low, they moved to the rear of the temple roof. Felix wrapped the rope around him and threw it down over the Soma wall. Ziri and Magnus quickly descended into the street below.
Vespasian clasped Felix’s forearm. ‘Thank you; come and see me when you’re back in Rome, Felix, I’m in your debt.’
A loud disturbance at the Soma gate prevented a reply. They looked back; a unit of legionaries was running towards the temple led by a centurion with a flaming torch; next to him ran a priest.
‘Cybele’s flabby arse!’ Vespasian exclaimed. ‘Flaccus must have guessed.’
‘Go, quick, I’ll be fine, they’ll go straight to the temple.’
Hitching the leather bag over his shoulder, Vespasian slipped over the parapet as Felix braced himself against it taking the weight of the rope.
Burning his hands, Vespasian slid down and landed with a jolt in the street below; the rope quickly followed.
‘What’s the panic?’ Magnus asked, collecting the rope.
‘Just run!’
Taking the steps three at a time Vespasian hurtled down to the docks followed by Magnus and Ziri. Ahead he could see the ship; its furled sail had been hoisted ready for departure. Sprinting along the stone quay he hurdled a coil of rope and a drunken sailor before turning sharply left onto the jetty to which his ship was moored. Although there had been no sign of pursuit during their dash across the city he was desperate to sail as soon as possible for fear that their theft of the breastplate had been discovered.
‘Triarchus,’ he shouted, running up the gangplank, ‘we sail immediately!’
‘You seem to be in quite a hurry,’ a familiar voice said as he jumped down onto the deck. ‘Now, why would that be, I wonder?’
Vespasian turned and saw Flaccus leaning against the mast. The rescued Jews and Flavia were huddled behind him guarded by two soldiers.
‘When I found your rope dangling from the terrace I thought that you’d just decided to run,’ Flaccus said, walking forward as Magnus and Ziri ran aboard. ‘So I rushed down here only to find that you’d given orders to prepare for sea and would be back in an hour or so. Been doing a little late-night burglary before whisking the lovely Flavia and your new Jewish friends back to Rome, have you? What’s in that bag?’
‘Nothing that concerns you, Flaccus.’
‘Oh, but it does concern me. If you’ve done what I expressly forbade you to do then it concerns me deeply, so I would be much obliged if you would open it.’
‘Prefect, I would remind you that this is an imperial ship.’ Vespasian pointed at the imperial banner on the masthead. ‘It is therefore under the direct command of the Emperor himself, you have no jurisdiction here. Whatever may be in this bag is the property of the Emperor.’
Flaccus gave a half-smile and tilted his head. ‘That may be so, but no matter, I’ve sent one of Alexander’s priests to go and check his tomb; if he finds a certain item missing then we might review where my jurisdiction ends.’
‘You can review it all you like but it would be unwise to interfere with Caligula’s property.’ Vespasian handed the bag to Ziri. ‘Take that to the cabin, Ziri.’
‘It wouldn’t be Caligula’s property if Caligula’s thief hadn’t stolen it, but we shall find out soon enough — I can see our priest approaching.’
Vespasian turned and saw the priest running along the quay with his legionary escort.
‘He can come on board, but the soldiers stay on the jetty.’ Vespasian put his hand on his sword hilt. He felt Magnus take a pace closer to him.
‘Very well,’ Flaccus agreed, walking to the top of the gangplank, ‘I have no need for military muscle, yet. Centurion, keep your men there, but have them ready to board if I shout. Send the priest up.’
The priest who had escorted them down to the chamber made his way onto the deck.
‘Well?’ Flaccus asked him.
‘I don’t understand it,’ the priest said, shaking his head. ‘Someone has been in there; they must have got in through the roof, the soldiers found a puddle of fresh urine up there. There was grain and some bread scattered on the temple floor that they must have used to keep the geese quiet. The guards said that they had seen and heard nothing except that a couple of the geese that had escaped turned up and they caught them and put them back inside.’