Chaerea raced on, memories flowing back about the mines, about that old witch cackling how he would die as she would, deep in the dark beneath the earth. He had always hoped that he would end his days with dignity, his friends grouped around him, his corpse embalmed, his feet towards the door, ready to be escorted with honour through the streets to be cremated, but that would not happen now. The air felt very hot, as if the Manes, the souls of the dead, had crossed back over that infernal river and were crowding around him. Chaerea paused, fighting for breath. The dogs were drawing closer. Eyes burning, mouth gasping, throat dry, he ran into a wall; he had made another wrong turn! He was lost! He turned. A pool of light was fast approaching, and Chaerea screamed at the sinister sight of the mastiffs loping towards him…
Claudia stood on the broken steps leading up to the crumbling Temple of Minerva, which stood off a square near the Coelian Gate. The wooden door of the temple was flaking, the columns on either side chipped, their plaster cracked. In the colonnade to the right, a spell-caster squatted on a stool, a horrid-looking mask over her face. On the cloth before her lay a range of curse tablets, some prepared, others blank. The woman waited, metal pen in hand, a pot of ink open before her. Claudia walked up the steps.
'Happy the man who remains far from the world of business.' The harsh voice behind the mask quoted a line from the poet Horace.
'But who shall guard the guards?' Claudia replied with a famous verse from Juvenal.
'He'll be here soon,' the guttural voice retorted.
Claudia nodded, pushed open the door and walked into the long hall of the temple. It was a desperately shabby place. The pillars down each side were battered and chipped; the floor, once tiled, had been badly damaged by looters from the nearby tenement blocks. Nothing which could be removed remained, and the rest had been vandalised, the doors of the vestibule on either side of the sanctuary were badly scorched, whilst rats and vermin scurried in the shadows. Flies danced in the light pouring through the windows high in the wall. Claudia stood and looked round. Such places fascinated her; she was intrigued by the history of Rome. This place had once been a sanctuary of power thronged with worshippers, particularly the nearby fullers, who regarded it as a holy of holies, the shrine of Minerva, the patron goddess of their art. The shabby portico still displayed a battered chip carving of fullers trampling woollen cloth in a vat; above them floated an owl, the symbol of Minerva.
Claudia studied this for a while, then walked up the left-hand portico. She was safe here: the spell-caster outside was one of Sylvester's spies, and there would be other men around the temple, Sylvester's guards. The Presbyter might not move through Rome with all the power of a consul, but he still had those he could whistle up to protect himself. Claudia stood by a pillar and smiled to herself. She was fascinated by that. Sylvester preached the word of the gentle Christ, and yet, not two years out of the catacombs, the Christians were beginning to surround themselves with all the trappings of power: spies, guards, wealth and places of worship.
Claudia recalled the events of the previous night. Once Helena had left, Polybius and his cronies had begun to celebrate. Claudia was too tired and had retired immediately to bed, waking before dawn to wash and dress herself, break her fast in the kitchen and slip out here to the Temple of Minerva to meet Sylvester as he'd demanded in that cryptic note he'd pushed into her hand. She wondered what he wanted.
'A place of death.'
Claudia glanced up sharply. The figure at the far end of the portico, leaning against a pillar, walked slowly towards her. Sylvester's pace quickened as he approached, his face wreathed in a smile, hands out in friendship. Claudia met him and clasped his hands. Sylvester put an arm around her shoulder and gently guided her further up the temple.
'A place of death, Claudia, but fascinating, isn't it?' He paused and gestured around. 'The old Rome is dying, and that's good.' He grinned. 'The ancients could never make up their minds which god to worship. Look.'
He pointed to a fresco on the wall depicting the Egyptian God of the Sun, Horus, with a hawk's head, a sceptre in his right hand and an ankh, the symbol of life, in the other; to the left of this was a painting of the god Api with a crescent moon between his horns. They moved further down the temple to another faded scene celebrating Dionysus leading a procession of satyrs, cupids and panthers. In another fresco the wine god sprawled in a chariot pulled by a centaur whilst above this dancers were engaged in a frenzied ritual, robes open, cups in one hand, laurel wreaths in the other. The colours were faded but they vigorously celebrated the rites of one of Rome's favourite gods.
'All dying.' Claudia caught the note of triumph in Sylvester's voice. 'The gods of Rome are dying. Soon there will only be the one true God.'
'Is that why you brought me here?' Claudia asked. 'To gloat in triumph over old gods dying and new gods rising?'
Sylvester laughed and squatted down at the base of a pillar, gesturing at Claudia to join him. He opened the small leather pannier looped around his neck and brought out a linen cloth, which he delicately unfolded. He broke the bread and cheese, then, dipping into the satchel again, brought out a wineskin. Claudia, hungry, ate quickly, taking drinks from the watered wine, still staring round this deserted place of worship.
'You haven't answered my question,' she said.
'You know why I have asked you here.' Sylvester paused between mouthfuls. 'The virgin martyr Fulgentia,- is she one of Uncle Polybius' tricks?'
'I don't know,' Claudia replied.
'If she is,' Sylvester wagged a warning finger, 'he'll feel the Empress' fury.'
'We shall all feel the Empress' fury,' Claudia replied wearily. 'Presbyter, I cannot answer that. What Polybius has told the Empress seems to be the truth: the corpse was discovered in his garden.'
'Very good, very good,' Sylvester soothed. 'But do tell me,' he glanced at her sharply, 'if the full truth emerges.'
'What will happen to her corpse?' Claudia asked curiously. 'The Empress talked of a church.'
'That's what I am telling you, Claudia. All over Rome, places like this are being given to us. Imperial palaces, old temples, including the Pantheon, will be blessed with the presence of the Christ Lord, and all this will be forgotten. Just as these frescos commemorate Dionysus, so our churches will be full of Christian art, of the Fish, the Keys, the memories of those who died for their faith, like Fulgentia or our great Apostles Peter and Paul.'
'And you support that?' Claudia asked curiously. 'The Empress' hunger for relics? The manger Christ was born in, the clothing of the Apostles, the bodies of dead virgin martyrs?'
'It all helps, Claudia,' Sylvester replied. 'Anything to fortify, strengthen, encourage the faith of the people,- miracles like that of Fulgentia are useful to us.'
'But it is not just that,' Claudia said. 'You have brought me here for something else.'
'Of course!'
Sylvester folded the piece of linen and put it back in the leather satchel, then picked up the wineskin, and offered it to Claudia, who shook her head. He took another deep gulp and put the stopper back.
'These abductions,' he began.
Claudia was tempted to tell him to mind his own business, but she needed Sylvester as much as he needed her, to discover certain matters in the mind of the Empress.
'Well?' he asked. 'I know the Empress has placed great trust in you, and these abductions worry her deeply.'