No doubt she also has my shroud.
I have not the strength to move a muscle.
Oh, that I could smile to show her my gratitude. But I cannot.
I feel her warm hands press the cloth around me, as she tucks me tight like she once did when I was an infant in a manger.
Her old and bony fingers hold my one remaining hand.
Dearest Arria, I thank you.
In my palm I feel a coin. Enough to pay Charon the Ferryman. Enough to take me across the Styx to the gates of the underworld and stand before great Pluto.
I am being lifted up and carried. I cannot see who bears me. Nor do I wish to.
My eyes are closed fast now.
The lids that once upon the sight of a lover fluttered faster than the wings of a butterfly are now too heavy to move.
I am done.
The unseen hands drop me.
I thud and bounce on the rough wood in the back of a dusty cart.
I feel the heat of the sun surfacing from behind the clouds. Great Apollo, I praise you. Wondrous Pluto, I seek your kindness.
Through the muffled tunnel between life and death I hear the cart wheels trundle towards oblivion.
Someone lifts my head.
It is Arria. I recognise her smell. Her face is close to mine. She knows that my time is over, and as no relative is here, she performs her final duty.
I feel her hand across my bosom, her fingers seeking out my fading heartbeat. She is bent low. Her lips touch my face.
She is ready.
Ready to catch my last breath in her wise old mouth.
6
Federico gets a message from Central Comms. A street patrol has taken the female prisoner to a holding cell at the Carabinieri barracks in Viale Romania.
By all reports, their new admission is as jumpy as a box of frogs.
A doctor’s already been called to sedate her, but Valentina issues instructions that no medication is to be given until they arrive.
The night is cold, crisp and clear. Halogen lights pick out swirls of dust and insects around the giant grey sign identifying the ugly, squat building as the COMMANDO GENERALE DELL ARMA DEI CARABINIERI. Federico is a local boy and he thinks the whole concrete edifice sits like a boil on the face of Villa Ada, Rome’s largest and most beautiful park.
He and Valentina travelled separately from the chiesa in Cosmedin, but he’s waited patiently for her in reception.
They clear the front desk together and are shown through to the cell block where they’re left in the unpleasant company of the overnight custody officer, Paulo Ferrera.
A bad-tempered, heavy-set man in his late forties, Ferrera was just about to end his shift and go home before his late-night ‘guest’ arrived, covered in blood. He talks as he walks, breathing more heavily with each couple of steps. ‘We haven’t a name for her yet. She had no ID of any kind and she’s too drunk, drugged or ignorant to tell us who she is — è matto.’
Valentina takes an instant dislike to him.
‘We were told she had a weapon — where is it?’
‘Forensics have it. It’s still being processed.’ He unlocks one of several security gates. ‘I’ll call them for you. They have her clothes as well. I say clothes; it was more of a gown than clothes.’
‘Gown?’ queries Federico.
‘Hooded. Like a nun or a monk. A long white garment — well, not so white now, not with all the blood on it.’
‘Did you take trace evidence from her body?’ asks Valentina.
‘We managed to swab her hands, but nothing else. She’s just been too violent.’
Valentina winces. ‘You need to do it. Especially beneath her nails. She may chew and suck away something that we later find out we really need.’
Ferrera glares at her. ‘We’ve tried. It’s not that easy. We’ve actually had to be more concerned with her not hurting herself.’
Valentina stops walking and shoots him a playful smile. ‘Oh come on, Officer. You’re a big guy. I’m sure you and some of your men could restrain a mere woman and take evidence without hurting her.’ She glances at her watch. ‘I know it’s turned midnight, but to the best of my knowledge, normal daylight practices like acting professional still apply.’
Ferrera says nothing.
The colour of his face shows he’s fuming.
The cell-block veteran is still chewing his lip as they enter the new admissions area. He points towards the room where their prisoner is being held and takes a deep breath to ensure there’s no anger in his voice. ‘Until the doc arrives, we have two officers with her all the time. When you see her, perhaps you’ll be more understanding about our difficulties.’ He strides past Valentina and unlocks the penultimate cage. ‘Watch out for her kicking and biting.’
Valentina takes in her first impression of the small frightened woman sitting between two giant uniformed Carabinieri men.
She’s pretty in an old-fashioned way.
Her hair is swept back and parted in the middle. She has dark eyes and a fine, angular face tapering into a slightly dimpled jaw that Valentina is sure men must find attractive. She’s wearing white zip-up one-piece overalls that cover everything except her bony hands, which are stained heavily with blood.
It will be a miracle if the victim is still alive.
‘I’m Captain Morassi, Valentina Morassi. Can you tell me who you are?’
The woman says nothing.
Valentina tries again ‘We need you to help us.’ She takes the woman’s wrist. ‘Your hands and body are covered in blood. We think someone might be badly injured. Can you tell me what happened to you?’
Nothing. No response. Just a blank gaze.
Valentina edges closer. She bends a little and tries to be more intimate. ‘Late last night, were you in Cosmedin, at Chiesa Santa Maria, at the Bocca della Verità?’
Suddenly the prisoner lunges.
The top of her head smashes into Valentina’s jaw.
The guards are too slow reacting.
The prisoner starts shouting and punching and kicking.
Valentina reels backwards, holding her bloodied mouth.
One of the officers finally grabs the woman.
The prisoner is hysterical, screaming and lashing out uncontrollably.
Ferrera and Federico bump into each other as they rush into the narrow cell.
Blood pumps from Valentina’s mouth. She’s bitten her bottom lip and maybe knocked a tooth loose.
The prisoner is now pinned on the floor. One of the guards twists her arms behind her back and clicks on some steel cuffs.
‘Now do you see what I mean?’ says Ferrera triumphantly. He looks across to Valentina. ‘With the captain’s permission, perhaps we could now sedate the prisoner and save ourselves a lot more pissing about?’
7
My corpse has been bathed.
My colourless skin sags as it is oiled and perfumed by the skilled hands of the pollinctores.
Bless you, gifted artisans from the temple of Venus Libitina.
Bless all of you who have put your judgement aside and now prepare me to stage a dignified escape from my death.
I see familiar faces around me.