Claudia had closely studied both the cemetery and the catacombs. The only person to her knowledge who owned a map describing the cemetery and the City of the Dead beneath was the powerful priest Sylvester. He had made a copy and given it to Claudia so she could study and memorise it section by section. He was always pleased to meet her there. She strongly suspected that Sylvester entertained hopes that she'd join his sect. After all, her father had been a Christian, and because of him, Claudia had been drawn into the political intrigue of the Christian community as it fought to escape persecution and gain official recognition. Sylvester had promised Claudia his complete support in hunting down the man who had murdered her brother and raped her.
Claudia lay back on the bed, chewing her lip. She scratched a bead of sweat from her face, half listening to the sounds from the tavern below. Petronius the Pimp was singing a bawdy song about a tavern-keeper who was trying to hire a good cook, another problem facing Polybius. Claudia smiled. Petronius had been drinking all day. She tried to shut out his voice and returned to the question of the catacombs where she used to meet Sylvester. Would they meet again now her enemy had been killed? Would Sylvester use her as a means of strengthening his ties with the Augusta? Or would they use each other and become allies, if not friends, in any crisis which faced them? Claudia quietly promised herself that sometime soon she would meet Sylvester and see what help he might provide. She glanced towards the window. Petronius had stopped singing. She groaned as she heard Theodore's booming voice; the actor was reciting lines about the death of Achilles before the walls of Troy.
'Will that man ever shut up!' Claudia murmured. She swung herself off the bed and walked across to the lavarium. She took a sponge and a tablet of her precious soap and washed herself carefully, cleaning her teeth with the powder Apuleius had recommended. She rubbed oil into her body and tinctured herself with a little of the precious Kiphye perfume, distilled from the blue lotus, which Murranus had bought her. She put on green linen underwear, dressed sensibly in a brown tunic, a belt around her waist with a thin sheath for a knife, and put on what Polybius called her marching boots. She threw a cloak around her shoulders, took her staff with a carved face on its handle from the corner and left the chamber, going down the stairs into the spacious eating hall. The place was still very busy. Daylight was fading so the oil lamps and lanterns had been lit. The kitchen was doing a most profitable trade, although Theodore, refusing the food on the platter before him, sat nursing his stomach. 'You'll have to wait!' Claudia whispered to herself.
Poppaoe went bustling by carrying a dish of steaming food; behind her trotted Sorry, holding a tray of wine cups. The kitchen was also full, people hiring stools so they could sit in a corner and eat from their platters. Claudia escaped into the garden. Murranus, Polybius, Apuleius and Narcissus were gathered in the far corner. Polybius had been drinking heavily and grinned benevolently as she approached. Claudia forced a scowl. She could tell by the almost empty jug that Apuleius and Narcissus had been matching him cup for cup. She quietly muttered a prayer of thanks,- at least Murranus was sober. She refused to sit down but gestured back at the tavern.
'Are you sure about what you've found?'
'Certain,' Apuleius slurred. 'The corpse of that young woman is perfectly preserved. I can't find any cause of death.'
'I would agree,' Narcissus quickly intervened. He picked up the wine jug and emptied it into his own goblet. He toasted Claudia, took a generous sip and tried to look sober as he half rose, wagging a finger in Claudia's face. 'I've seen more corpses,' he declared, 'than you have gladiators.' He started to laugh at his joke, then sat down trying to pull his face straight. 'I'm a professional embalmer/ he continued. 'Before I became a slave and the Empress freed me, I prepared the dead, young and old, male and female, rich and poor. I can tell just by looking at a corpse how they died, and that one is a real mystery!'
'What we need,' Polybius slurred, 'is a professional cook to cater for our increased clientele. That pompous actor for one doesn't like our food. Ah well, our Great Miracle has certainly brought increased custom!'
Claudia was tempted to ask more questions, but the sun was setting and a cool breeze was blowing. She had to meet those veterans at the tavern. Murranus was also impatient, tapping his fingers on the table and studying one of the garden statues, a carving of the goddess Diana of the Ephesians, as Polybius liked to describe it. Claudia touched the gladiator on the shoulder, then absent-mindedly kissed Polybius on the brow, patted Narcissus on the head and wished them all good night. She and Murranus left by the side gate. The gladiator paused in the alleyway to tighten the sword belt beneath his cloak. He grasped a heavy cudgel in one hand, Claudia's hand in the other, as they both went down into the busy square.
Claudia always found Rome at twilight a fascinating place, that time between night and day when the Citizens of the Light returned to their garrets, houses or apartments and the Citizens of the Dark came to life! They were all gathering to greet the night. The prostitutes, faces painted, balding heads covered in garish wigs, clustered like a collection of multicoloured butterflies on the corners of alleyways or the entrances to decaying houses and apartment blocks. Sharp-eyed pimps were touting for business. Hawkers and traders were setting up their stalls, most of their goods being the plunder from robberies or what other markets had rejected. Cooks were firing their portable stoves and grills, shouting what they had to sell, most of which was grilled or roasted until it was burned and the putrid taste hidden under cheap sauces and spices. Second-hand clothes-sellers hung their products from the branches of trees, whilst the money-changers, the receivers of stolen goods, lurked deep in the shadows advertising their presence with a tinkling bell. A small boy ran up with a cage of yellow birds; another tried to pester them with purses made out of snakeskin. Claudia just ignored them. She kept thinking of those abductions. Whoever organised the gang would draw their recruits from a place like this, a shifting population of former soldiers, outlaws, tricksters, rejects, slaves on the run, desperate men and women who'd sell their souls for a cup of wine and kill without a qualm for a silver coin.
The deeper into the city they walked, the busier the crowds became. Here and there a squad of auxiliaries or a group of Vigiles squatted outside the door of some tavern keeping an eye on what was happening, though they were more prepared to take a bribe and look the other way than do anything. Of course people recognised Murranus and greeted him with good-natured abuse and catcalls, which the gladiator just ignored.
'I wish…' Claudia paused at the corner of the alleyway leading down to the Lucia Gloriosa tavern.