‘Do you think it was the killer?’
‘No, Like I said, we know who that was and he is dead.’
‘Hang on,’ said India and fished out her mobile phone. ‘Shit, no signal,’
‘What did you expect you’re about a hundred feet underground?’
‘Well it works on the tube.’
‘Signal amplifiers,’ he said simply and silence fell again.
‘While we are waiting,’ said Brandon eventually, ‘Fill me in on this Isis character.’
‘I am not sure I want to,’ she said
‘Why not?’
‘We’re in the dark, locked in an underground room where a girl was murdered. Not a good place to discuss a long dead Egyptian Goddess.’
‘Not afraid of some long dead spirits are you?’ he laughed.
‘I know, it’s stupid, it just feels a bit, I don’t know, spooky I suppose.’
‘Humour me,’ he said, ‘None of this makes any sense. We may as well make the most of the situation. Fill me in on everything. Go back to the very beginning. Leave nothing out.’
‘Okay she sighed, ‘Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.’
His smile at her sarcasm was lost in the darkness.
‘It all began,’ she said about ten thousand years ago!’
Chapter 7
Rome 64 AD
The giant doors swung inwards opened by a pair of female slaves of eastern descent. They were bare breasted and wore simple wraps of pure white linen around their waists that fell to halfway down their thighs. Rubria ignored the impropriety and walked gracefully into the Emperor’s audience chamber. She had decided that nothing she saw today would get a reaction from her. At the end of the day, he was her Emperor and who was she to judge his actions?
She looked around in wonder. The Temple of Vesta was very ornate but this was something else altogether. First of all the room was enormous and was entirely clad in sheets of white marble ingrained with sweeping veins of colour. The floors were slabs of black marble interspersed with mosaics of exquisite design ranging from gladiatorial contests to feasts of the gods. Ornamental fountains sprayed coloured water from hidden spouts to disappear once more under suitably displaced marble sinks. Other pools of water rippled lazily and she was astonished to see multi coloured fish swimming within, something she could not have even imagined. More slaves were located throughout the room and watched in interest as the Priestess walked towards the empty throne. As she approached an official walked forward and stood in front of her, stopping her in her tracks.
‘Wait here!’ he said and disappeared into an ante chamber.
She stood for an hour, absolutely still in the sumptuous room, accepting the aches in her legs as a blessing from the Virgin. The monotony was briefly broken for a few minutes as she stared in astonishment when a white stallion walked lazily into the room, bedecked with jewels and flowers. No-one seemed to take any notice and the horse eventually disappeared though a side door. Finally a figure draped in a purple silk toga strode into the room accompanied by half a dozen officials. He made his way to the throne and sat answering questions with an air of boredom. Rubria stood up straight and awaited instruction. Eventually the Emperor spotted the Priestess and held up his hand to silence his entourage.
‘Be-gone!’ he said eventually and his staff duly disappeared into the depths of the building. He lounged back on his throne, staring across the marble at the Priestess fifty paces away.
‘Who are you, spirit lady?’ he called out.
‘I am Rubria, lord,’ she answered, ‘Humble Priestess of the Temple of Vesta.’
She lowered herself gracefully down spreading her gown out as she went and leaned forward, her head low and her arms outstretched with palms flat on the floor.
He left his throne to walk slowly towards her.
‘A Vestal Virgin,’ he said eventually, ‘How wonderful. Tell me something Virgin,’ he said, ‘Have you seen my horse?’
‘I believe he walked through this glorious hall not ten minutes since, Sire. ’
‘Ah, good,’ he said, ‘It’s almost time for his bath.’
Rubria didn’t flinch at the strange conversation, remaining prostrate at his feet.
‘You may arise,’ he said eventually.
Rubria stood but kept her gaze lowered.
‘Do you know me, Virgin?’ he asked.
‘Sire, you are Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, our glorious Emperor.’
‘Correct!’ he shouted, making her jump, ‘Look at me.’
Nero’s intake of breath was audible as the sight of her eyes caught him by surprise. He took a step forward staring into her gaze, astonished at the colour and the depth. Rubria breathed shallowly in order not to take in too much of his wine laden breath.
‘Are you a demon?’ he asked.
‘No Sire, I am a humble servant of the Goddess, keeper of the hearth and protector of the secrets.’
‘I have to admit,’ he said, ‘You are by far the prettiest of them. How old are you?’
‘Eighteen Sire.’
‘More wine!’ he shouted suddenly,’ making her jump again and a slave ran forward with a silver tankard. He took a deep draught and held it to be refilled from the waiting amphora.
‘Wine, Virgin?’ he asked.
‘No thank you, Sire, I am fine.’
‘Nonsense,’ he said, ‘Come with me.’ He turned and made his way back to throne followed by Rubria and dropped onto the soft cushions.
‘Bring the Priestess a glass.’ he ordered and within a minute a beautiful goblet filled with a scarlet liquid was brought by the same slave. An ornately carved chair, albeit far smaller than the overpowering throne, was carried out for Rubria to sit on. She sipped from the delicate glass, waiting for Nero to speak. Duly he obliged.
‘What do you know about politics, Virgin?’ he asked.
‘Very little, Sire. ’
‘You know what a Senate is?’
‘Of course, Sire, the political body that acts in the interests of every citizen, guided of course by your own glorious hand.’
‘By my hand,’ he scoffed, ‘A jest indeed, Virgin, a generation ago perhaps but these days they steer their own course.’
‘Perhaps so, sire but their actions can never detract from the good that has arisen from your great guidance.’
‘My guidance? And what would someone who has spent more than half their life locked in a tiny cell know about such things?’
‘It is true many of the ways of the world are strange to me but I am aware that your rule brought happiness to the downtrodden until…’
‘Until what?’ he asked.
‘Forgive me, sire but I think perhaps you may have become distracted.’
He looked at her in astonishment.
‘You are free indeed with your tongue Virgin,’ he said, ‘Take care you do not raise my ire.’
She looked deep into his eyes.
‘Sire, your majesty is undoubted, your glory is without question and everyone in the city whispers your name in awe. But do not the words of those nearest to you ring hollow? Do you not crave words of truth from someone who has nothing to gain from agreeing with your every sentence?’
‘Continue!’ he said intrigued.
‘Sire, I am nothing more than a servant to the Goddess. I hold no political ambition and have nothing to gain by pandering to your every word. If I offend then I can only apologise but the path I have chosen is one of truth.’
He stared at her for a long time before tilting his head back and roaring with laughter.
‘By the gods, Virgin he laughed, your impudence astounds me. I grace you with an audience and within minutes you criticise my rule with tangled words of hidden meaning.’
She smiled at him while he wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes.
‘I like you’ Virgin,’ he said eventually, ‘For the first time in an age my ears detect no ulterior motive and your candour refreshes me, I would hear more.’
Her eyes closed briefly as she nodded her head in acceptance.