‘Okay, the Palladium. It appears way back in the beginning of Greek history, it gets taken to Samothrace, then Troy, only to disappear but reappear in Rome a few hundred years later. It disappears again in the third century AD, taken by an emperor who was the founder of the Byzantine empire.’
‘Well, he wasn’t exactly the founder,’ said India, ‘The Byzantine empire was just another name for the eastern provinces, though he did rename Byzantium the new capital of Rome.’
‘Okay,’ said Brandon, ’But here we are, seventeen hundred years later, and the descendant of the last ruling family of a Byzantine castle, is linked with a murderer, who, in turn, may be linked with the Palladium.’ He paused. ‘It’s all very confusing but I’m sure it’s all here. We just need to make some sense of it.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said India. The Gatilusi family were the last great ruling family on Samothrace, right? Imagine if, over the years, their descendants harbour an ancestral grudge and still see themselves as the rightful rulers of the island. The only way they could ever gain any semblance of control is through the political system.’
‘What are you saying?’ asked Brandon.
‘Think about it. There’s no way Samothrace would ever gain independence but if there was a groundswell of support and enough political pressure, they could at least press for a local governorship.’
‘That would take some doing.’
‘I agree, but with enough support and patriotism, Greece would be morally obliged to give it some sort of self governorship. Devolution seems to be the way of the world at the moment. It seems that the subject has already been brought into the spotlight by the Aetosh.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Brandon, ‘But according to Agatha, they just organised some demonstrations to return the island’s removed artefacts back to where they belong.’
‘Exactly,’ said India, ‘The Palladium is intrinsically linked with Samothrace and became known as the one artefact that could make a city or state stand alone, both militarily and politically. If the Gatilusi family managed to bring it back to the island, the news would have swept around the world like wildfire. The publicity would have been priceless and their claim to the governorship would have been given huge credence in any subsequent election process.’
‘But all this is so secretive. Surely all they needed to do was go to the press.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said India, ‘It’s probably in the hands of an illegal collector otherwise its location would be common knowledge.’
‘If that’s the case,’ said Brandon, ‘There’s no way that anyone would voluntarily give it up, it would probably have to be taken forcibly.’
‘By the Gatilusi?’ asked India.
‘No,’ said Brandon, ‘They would need to keep their hands clean and probably bankrolled the Venezelos brothers to get the Palladium back.’
‘But they got greedy and done a runner with the money,’ said India. ‘Makes sense I suppose but why would one of the brothers be in Britain?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Brandon, ‘But with Peter Venezelos dead, the only way to find that out is to try and trace the second brother. Gatilusi did mention they were last seen in Rome, so if we just find out where they went, perhaps we could retrace their steps.’
‘I think I know exactly where they went,’ said India quietly.
‘You do, where?’
‘The place where the Palladium was kept for over a thousand years,’ she said, ‘The Temple of the Vestal Virgins.’
Chapter 17
Rome 64 AD
Dragus ran through the smoke filled courtyard towards the inner Temple. All around him flames were spewing out of the doorways and windows as the curtains and soft furnishings fed the inferno.
‘Rubria,’ he shouted, ‘Where are you?’
As no man had ever been privileged to enter the inner Temple he had never seen the layout with his own eyes though had heard the stories about what lay within. He recognised the central alter and glanced at the ironic sight of the small sacred fire still burning at its heart, whilst all around the building was ablaze.
‘Rubria!’ he shouted again, and stumbled through the Temple. The hole in the dome of the roof, designed for the lighter smoke of the sacred fire meant that some of the thicker black smoke escaped but the sheer volume caused by the burning fabrics meant that the room was quickly filling up with poisonous fumes.
‘Dragus,’ came a cry, ‘Help me.’
He spotted an archway at the rear of the Temple and ran towards it. Inside was a small, but ornate circular room with several niches built into the marble walls, each containing a wicker basket. To one side Dragus saw Rubria sat on the floor, cradling the head of the collapsed high Priestess in her lap. The old woman was completely motionless and her head was covered in blood.
‘What happened?’ he asked crouching down besides Rubria.
‘She fell!’ sobbed Rubria, ‘And hit her head on the pedestal.’ Dragus looked at the pedestal at the centre of the room. The tell tale sign of blood lay along the edge and on the floor at the base of the plinth. On top of the pedestal stood a jet black wooden statue that he knew, could only be the image of Pallus Athena. The Palladium!
‘She was trying to save the treasures,’ cried Rubria, ‘And fell trying to retrieve the image of the Goddess herself. Oh Dragus, What did she do to earn the mothers scorn? She was the most holy person I have ever met.’
Dragus looked at the entrance where the smoke from the outer Temple had started to roll across the ceiling of the treasure room.
‘Rubria,’ he said. ‘There is nothing we can do, she has gone. Come on, we have to get out of here.’
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘There is nothing left. My Sisters are safe and I have no future here. Leave me to travel to the Great Mother. My life is done.’
‘No,’ shouted Dragus. ‘Come with me, we may still make it. Once this fire is out they can rebuild the Temple. It has burned before but always arises out of the ashes. It will do so again.’
‘It may well do so, Dragus,’ she said, ‘But I will not be part of it. Nero has seen to that.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
She looked up at him and wiped the tears from her eyes.
‘Do you want me to spell it out, Dragus?’ she sobbed, ‘Do you want to hear every sordid detail of how our glorious Emperor tore away the very innocence that makes a Vestal Virgin? He raped me, Dragus. What you see before you is no longer a Holy Priestess, pledged to serve the Goddess but nothing more than a mere woman, soiled and used by a madman. You see, Dragus, I cannot go with you. Either way lies death. At least in here I will end my days alongside the Goddess I love.’
Dragus glanced at the smoke now billowing into the room and realised he had little time. He grabbed her by the shoulders.
‘Now you listen to me, Priestess,’ he said. ‘I care not for what that bastard did, and I don’t know where your future lies. What I do know is that it does not end here. Do you think she would want this?’ he said pointing at the dead Priestess. ‘She fought to the end but fell short. You still have a chance and can carry out what she failed to do. Take this chance to save yourself and honour her name in the process.
Rubria looked up at him with doubt in her eyes.
‘But the treasures,’ she said, ‘She wanted to make sure they were safe. If I go with you, we have to take them with us.’
Dragus looked at the baskets in the alcoves.
‘There are too many,’ he said, ‘But I don’t think the flames will reach into the alcoves. There is nothing else in here to burn but we will die from the smoke if we don’t move.’
‘What about the Palladium?’ she asked, ‘It is made from wood and if the flames come it will burn. We cannot allow that to happen.’
‘Okay,’ said Dragus, ‘We will take the statue with us but we have to go now.’
Rubria looked fondly at the high Priestess and removed her own headdress to make it into a pillow for the dead woman’s head.