‘And some people would say that’s impossible. I know all about you, Claudia. The Augusta calls you her “little mouse”, though one, I suspect, with very sharp teeth and claws.’
Gaius Tullius came into the pool of light. Claudia had seen him before, though only from afar; she recognised the sharp, narrow face and rather soulful eyes. Gaius was a professional soldier, one of the Emperor’s drinking partners, a man he trusted implicitly. Now he sketched a bow, placed the sword on the ground and sat down next to her on the edge of the pool. Claudia never moved, watching the soldier stare into the water, rippling it with his fingers, sending the carp darting away.
‘I’ve drunk too much,’ he sighed, flicking the water from his fingers. ‘Imperial supper or not, there’s still duties to be done and guards to be checked. I know you arrived a short while ago; I met Timothaeus. That man runs around like a frightened duck, but he’s good-hearted enough.’
‘I bring you greetings,’ Claudia replied. ‘Spicerius the gladiator said you are to have no airs and graces, for he remembers you when you were a bare-arsed boy. .’
‘So long ago,’ Gaius declared wistfully. ‘So much has happened.’ He pointed to the lotus blossom. ‘I served in Egypt. I visited the temples of Memphis, Karnak and Luxor. The lotus always fascinated me. It is carved everywhere, a symbol of so much.’ He leaned a little closer, his eyes smiling. ‘It is also the source,’ he whispered, ‘of the most fragrant perfume, Kiphye. They say Cleopatra bathed in it.’
‘I thought she used asses’ milk?’
Gaius pulled a face. ‘Not so sweet,’ he conceded. ‘Anyway,’ he shrugged, ‘in ten years there will be Christian symbols everywhere. All is changing.’
‘Are you opposed to them?’
‘I don’t care, Claudia. I’m a soldier. I pay my dues to the Sun God Mithras and fight the enemies of the Empire.’
‘Timothaeus told me you found Dionysius’s corpse?’
‘Yes, pegged out like a tanner’s skin. Sometimes it’s hard to realise how much blood the human body contains.’
‘Do you suspect anyone?’
‘Perhaps his colleagues.’ Gaius stared up at the sky. ‘Or one of his friends. I’m telling you a lie,’ he murmured. ‘I’m not really here just because of guard duty. In fact, I’ve been searching for you. I’ve brought you this.’
He dug into the folds of his robe, took out a small scroll and handed it to Claudia.
‘I had Dionysius’s corpse brought to the House of Mourning,’ he explained. ‘It’s nothing more than a brick-built shed with a tiled roof. It’s the villa’s mortuary. Then I went to Dionysius’s chamber. I thought the motive for the killing might be robbery, but the room was undisturbed, though not very clean — after all, Dionysius was a philosopher. There were a few books, some manuscripts. I searched amongst them and found that.’ Gaius half smiled. ‘I know that you work for the Empress!’ He patted Claudia on the shoulder and got up. ‘Read it. I’m not sure if it is a draft or the original.’ He picked up his sword and walked away.
‘Gaius! I can call you Gaius?’
‘Of course,’ he smiled, coming back.
‘Did you see anything about that corpse, any evidence pointing to a possible killer?’
He shook his head.
‘And the Holy Sword?’
Gaius snorted with laughter. ‘I was fast asleep when it was stolen, but how, why and by whom?’ He was about to continue when the air was rent by a high-pitched scream, followed by the bray of trumpets and the clash of cymbals as the alarm was raised.
Chapter 4
‘ O tempora! O Mores! ’ (‘What times! What Manners!’)
By the time they had hurried along passageways and colonnades, across gardens and through gates, the House of Mourning at the far side of the villa was almost consumed by fire. The flames were so strong, the heat so intense, the roof had already fallen in and the facing wall was buckling. Servants, officials, soldiers and members of the imperial family came hurrying through the trees, yet there was nothing to be done. Timothaeus was trying to organise a chain of water carriers but this was fruitless. Burrus ran up with a bucket but he was so drunk he threw both water and bucket into the fire then nearly careered into the burning house and had to be pulled back by a member of his own retinue. The Germans then began to sing and dance, intoning one of their wild hymns, until the Empress’s voice cut like a lash telling them to shut up. Claudia turned and glanced across, the smell of wood smoke making her cough. The imperial party was sheltering under an outstretched sycamore. She walked towards them. Sylvester was standing serenely behind the Empress; Constantine sat on a camp stool, face all flushed, hands on his knees, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.
‘Was anyone in there alive?’ he bawled.
‘Just two corpses, Excellency,’ Timothaeus shouted back. ‘Dionysius and a wanderer in the woods, a beggar man found dead on the track outside.’
‘Well, they are truly dead now, grilled and cooked to a cinder!’ the Emperor joked.
Helena gestured at Claudia to draw closer. Constantine blew her a kiss. Sylvester, still standing behind the Emperor, sketched a bow whilst Chrysis, his fat, oiled face beaming with pleasure, poked his tongue out at her.
‘Lovely fire,’ the Emperor sighed. ‘Marvellous to watch the flames.’
‘Arson,’ Helena snapped back. ‘An imperial building has been destroyed.’
‘Arson?’ Constantine glanced up at his mother. ‘By all that’s holy, who would want to burn corpses?’
‘Perhaps the Imperial Treasurer?’ Chrysis sniggered. ‘It’s saved the cost of a burial.’
‘Was it arson?’ Constantine repeated, all humour draining from his face.
‘Look at the fire,’ Helena answered exasperatedly. ‘What would cause flames to burn so fiercely? Timothaeus,’ she shouted, ‘was there anything combustible in there?’
‘Nothing, Augusta.’ Timothaeus came over, face covered in ash. ‘Nothing at all.’ Without being invited, he sat down on the grass, mopping his face with a rag.
‘Why arson?’ Rufinus the banker repeated the Emperor’s question.
Helena nudged Claudia.
‘Dionysius was murdered.’
‘Speak up, girl!’ Constantine barked.
‘Dionysius was murdered,’ Claudia repeated loudly. ‘His body was placed in the House of Mourning. I suspect the corpse bore some clue as to the identity of his killer.’
‘But what?’ Helena asked. ‘He was sliced like a roll of ham and bled to death. I scrutinised his corpse.’
‘Augusta,’ Claudia smiled, ‘you asked me a question and I replied. I’m not too sure what the arsonist wished to hide.’
‘It could have been someone else.’ Chrysis’s voice was rich with spite. ‘Oh, how these Christians love each other! Don’t they say that those who attack the teaching of their faith will be consumed, body and soul, in Hell’s fire?’
‘Not at my expense they won’t,’ Constantine grumbled. ‘Chrysis,’ the Emperor got to his feet, ‘find the bastard who started that blaze, and if he hasn’t got a good explanation, crucify him outside the gates. Mother, I’ve seen enough of this. We need to talk.’
The imperial party swept back into the palace. Claudia stayed under the sycamore tree, and in the light from the fire she read the scroll Gaius had given her. The letter was short and to the point. Signed by Dionysius, it was directed to Athanasius, leader of the orthodox party. In it, Dionysius confessed how he had prayed, fasted and reflected, and now saw the error of his ways. Accordingly, at the appropriate time, when the Holy Spirit directed him, he would renounce his errors publicly and accept the forgiveness of his Bishop.
‘Doomed in life! Doomed in death!’ The voice was rich and carrying. Claudia looked up. Three men stood like shadows before her, their backs to the fire.
‘I’m sorry,’ she smiled, quickly hiding the letter, ‘are you talking about me or the late departed?’
The figure in the centre walked forward. Short and thick-set, narrow-faced with fierce eyes and hungry mouth, he was dressed in a simple dark tunic over thick baggy leggings.