Текст книги "The Queen of the Night"

Автор книги: Paul Doherty

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Polybius and Oceanus, mystified, just shook their heads.

Claudia walked back to the trackway and stared towards the villa. There was something wrong, but she felt too tired, too confused to put her finger on the knot of the problem. She called Polybius and Oceanus, and they followed her through the trees and out across the field to where the farmer's corpse had been found. The ground here was hard underfoot, dipping and twisting, so they had to be careful they didn't stumble or wrench an ankle. The land rose sharply to the summit of a hill. They found the plough and the wheelbarrow still full of dung; the oxen had been unhitched and taken away. Oceanus discovered a bloodstain. Claudia, standing on the brow of that lonely hill, stared down at the farm that stood at the bottom, a red-brick building surrounded by trees, and wondered what tragedy, what grief the death of that poor man had caused. She stood immersed in her own thoughts as she reasoned what might have happened. The farmer must have come out before dawn, leading his oxen to hitch to the plough. He would work for as long as he could under the boiling sun, breaking up the hard ground. Afterwards he'd push the wheelbarrow along, scattering the manure to fertilise the ground when the rain came. The ambushers must have realised the danger the farmer posed; he might see them, so they killed him, a callous addition to their further cruelties.

All of a sudden Claudia heard the distant sound of a trumpet; she whirled round and caught the glint of sunlight on armour on the trackway between the trees.

'What is it?' Oceanus called.

'The Empress,' Claudia replied. 'Helena in all her glory is coming to the villa.'

'In which case,' Polybius declared, 'it's time we disappeared.'

Claudia whirled round. 'What do you mean?'

'Nothing.' Polybius stared innocently back. 'But that Pict you advised me to hire as a cook, he is proving to be an artist, Claudia. I must return to keep everything in order…'

All the power of Rome arrived at General Aurelian's villa. Imperial palanquins, their carved wood gleaming a dark warm brown with gold edging and screened by heavy white drapes fringed with precious stones, brought Helena and Constantine to pay their respects to the dead general's widow. The Augusta and her son were accompanied by leading courtiers and administrators including Anastasius, Chrysis and even Presbyter Sylvester. The imperial guard, both foot and cavalry, also came, resplendent in their magnificent dress armour with sculptured breastplates, greaves, leather-studded kilts, scarlet cloaks and gloriously ornate, purple-crested helmets. They filled the courtyard and grounds of the villa, commandeering outhouses and stables, setting up tents and pavilions on lawns and in the fields beyond the wall, circling the villa with a ring of steel.

Polybius, true to his word, collected his meagre possessions and, with Oceanus hurrying behind, fled the villa. Claudia slipped through the throng to visit Murranus. The servant watching over him declared he had regained full consciousness, but Casca had given him a potion to kill the pain and make him sleep. Claudia, satisfied that he was safe, retreated into the gardens. Burrus and his company had encamped in one of the orchards, where they were already sharing out provisions filched from the kitchens, sitting round a makeshift fire like a group of grunting boars. They rose to greet Claudia ecstatically, making a place for her, pushing a wooden platter heaped with spiced pork into her hands and coaxing her to drink from a wineskin. The Germans loved their food, using their fingers to push the piping-hot meat into their mouths. Burrus ate as fast as the rest, but kept a watchful eye on Claudia.

'The Empress,' he muttered between mouthfuls, 'is like our war goddess Freya, full of fury, seething with anger, so be careful, little one.'

Claudia heeded the warning. She kept to herself and managed to secure a small chamber above one of the outhouses. She glimpsed Helena from afar. The Empress' face was taut with smouldering anger as she proceeded from the atrium along the colonnaded peristyle, one hand holding a gold-edged black fan, the other resting on the arm of her square-faced, bulbous-eyed son, whose flaming red cheeks, slobbering lips and awkward gait proclaimed he had drunk deep. One glance was enough: the Empress was truly angry!

Claudia kept to the shadows as imperial officials took over the preparations for the funerals of those killed. The intense heat of the late summer meant the obsequies had to take place that evening. Funeral pyres were built in the far corner of the villa grounds, six small ones around a soaring central altar for Aurelian and his son. The funeral procession formed in the central courtyard just after dark. Officers of the imperial court, in dress armour, carried torches, their flames dancing in the breeze. Singers and actors, hastily brought from Rome, began their dirge, a mournful, heart-chilling chant which echoed eerily through the dark. Incense, crushed sandalwood and flower petals soaked in perfume turned the air fragrant. A lone trumpet sounded, standards and pennants were raised and lowered and the procession left for the funeral pyres.

The corpses of General Aurelian and Alexander lay on one broad, extravagantly furnished couch; the bodies of the other six on wooden pallets. To the strident clash of cymbals and the mournful sound of a fife, the procession wound its torchlit way around the funeral ground. Lady Urbana, supported by Cassia and Leartus, with Helena and Constantine as principal mourners, stood by the podium. Claudia stayed far at the back, sheltering under the outspread branches of a holm oak. Constantine himself delivered the panegyric from the makeshift rostrum, then, to the sound of lamentation, the pyres were sprinkled with wine and flowers and the dried brushwood at the bottom was fired with torches. At first the flames flickered, but once they caught the dry, oil-soaked wood, the fires were fanned, roaring to the night sky in blood-red shafts of flames.

Claudia had seen enough. She slipped through the dark, back to Murranus' chambers, only to find him still sleeping, as was the servant on a mat of straw in the far corner. Claudia kissed Murranus on the brow. Outside the chamber she paused, listening to the sounds of the funeral lamentations, the crackle of wood. Even from where she stood, she could smell the distinctly oily odour of the pyre. She retired early, keeping well away from the galleries and passageways. Helena and Constantine would attend the funeral feast, and once the rites were finished, the Empress would strike.

Claudia wasn't disappointed. Early the next morning, just after sunrise, Burrus searched her out as she prepared to visit Murranus again. He insisted that she follow him and led her down to the garden beyond the atrium, its colonnaded walk closely guarded by his Germans and hand-picked imperial officers. Helena had set up court; only she and Constantine would preside. The Emperor, still bleary-eyed, sprawled on a specially enthroned chair, scratching his unshaven face and looking longingly at the flagon of wine and tray of cups placed on the central table. He stretched out a hand to fill one of these, only to have it slapped away by his mother, who directed

Urbana, Cassia, Leartus and, finally, Claudia, to some stools facing them. It was a cool, delicious place, close to the pool of purity, which shimmered in the light, the air freshened by the white lotus blossom floating on the surface, petals opening to the rising sun. A silver-edged purple canopy was being erected to shield them all from the heat. Helena sat still as a statue, face and eyes hard as marble, lips slightly twisted by the fury seething within her. She only looked once at her 'little mouse', a darting, angry glance. Constantine, dressed like his mother in purple-hemmed white robes, hid a grin behind his hand and winked at Claudia. Burrus slouched across and, standing behind the Empress, bowed down and whispered in the Augusta's ear.

'Good!' the Empress breathed. 'Bring another stool for our champion.'

Burrus withdrew. Claudia tensed. A short while later a pallid-faced Murranus followed Burrus under the canopy and took his seat. He was dressed in a dark green tunic slightly too big for him. The bruises on his arms and legs were smeared with oil, a poultice bandage tied to the side of his head. He suddenly recollected himself and genuflected before the Emperor and his mother, then turned to greet Claudia who'd half risen.

'Sit!' Helena's voice cut like a whiplash as she pointed to the stool.

As Claudia sat back, Urbana gave a loud sigh. Claudia turned. The widow sat head down, hands in her lap. Claudia couldn't decide whether the sigh was one of grief or anger at the appearance of Murranus.

'Lady Urbana,' Helena smiled sympathetically, 'once again please accept our most sincere condolences on the hideous tragedy which has occurred here-'

'Vengeance,' Lady Urbana broke in harshly. 'I want vengeance and justice, and I want them now!'

'All in God's good time.' Constantine stretched across to the table and filled a goblet of wine so swiftly Helena could not intervene. 'And in Rome's good time,' the Emperor added, taking a deep drink.

Claudia willed herself to relax. Constantine had put his finger on the root of the problem. Any personal tragedy here, at this villa, paled in significance against the harsh politics of the Empire.

'The abductors?' Helena spoke up. 'Those kidnappers-'

'Murderers! Assassins!' Murranus broke in. He extended a hand. 'With all due respect, Augusta, I was there. They made no attempt to kidnap Alexander.' He glanced swiftly at the Empress as Urbana choked back a sob. Murranus apologised for the distress he was about to cause, then went on to describe the murderous assault, arrows whipping out of the darkness, the violent hand-to-hand fighting, the masked men gathering round his horse and that of Alexander. 'It is as I said,' he concluded. 'An attempt not to abduct or kidnap but to kill that young man and possibly myself.'

Claudia sat listening intently. Helena turned to her, cold and hostile.

'Do you agree with that?' she snapped.

'Yes, Excellency, I do.' Claudia then described what she had learned. How General Aurelian had announced that Murranus and his son were leaving for Rome the following day to attend the gladiatorial school. How the attackers could have been alerted by anyone leaving the villa. How they had assembled in that copse long before dawn, killing the farmer and then preparing their attack. Once she'd finished, Helena turned to the deaths of the two veterans. Claudia replied that both men might have been followed from Rome, that the villa was scarcely a fort, that anyone could have lurked in the trees or some desolate part of the grounds and waited to execute their plan.

Helena heard her out, tapping her foot impatiently and nudging her son, who was staring lustfully at Lady Cassia as she communicated with Leartus.

'Your Excellencies,' Leartus leaned forward, looking down at his companion, then across at the Emperor and his mother, 'Lady Cassia asks this. Murranus is a famous gladiator. If that attack was intended simply to murder young Alexander and, possibly, Murranus, why did they leave the cover of the trees? Four of the servants were killed by arrows; the same fate could have befallen both Alexander and Murranus. Why the hand-to-hand fighting with a man famous for being a warrior?'

'There is one possible answer to that,' Claudia said softly. 'Excellency, your servant Chaerea was sent into the catacombs to search for these malefactors.'

'And this is their revenge?' Constantine asked quickly. 'It is as I said, Mother,' he turned to Helena, 'a direct challenge to our authority, an attempt to make us look fools in the eyes of Rome.' i don't think so.' Claudia spoke up. Constantine turned to her in surprise.

'What is that, little mouse?' he teased.

'Excellency, I don't think so. Murranus has described the attack, but he has omitted one thing. That is why I wanted to question him first.' She smiled at the Empress, who glared back.

'Ask it now!' Helena retorted.

Claudia got to her feet and moved to kneel beside Murranus. Placing one hand on his knee, she looked tenderly up at him. He was still very pale, dark rings shrouding his eyes, the pallid colour of his skin contrasting vividly with his reddish hair.

'Murranus, can you remember the attack?' she began softly. 'You and Alexander were riding side by side.'

The gladiator nodded.

'The arrows came out of the trees, the four servants fell, then what?'

'A swirl of figures,' Murranus declared, 'masked, dressed like mercenaries, leather kilts, sandals on their feet, well armed, swords, daggers, clubs and axes in their hands. They grouped around us, lashing out. I fought back, so did Alexander, a true soldier.'

Urbana began to sob quietly again.

'Did you kill any of them?' Claudia asked. She heard Constantine's gasp of excitement.

'Of course,' the Emperor breathed, 'some must have died.'

Murranus closed his eyes, head down as he tried to recollect.

'Yes,' he declared, 'I am sure Alexander killed two, I saw the sword thrusts. I must have done the same to two or three,– others were severely wounded. It was a bloody melee, blade against blade.' i saw the bloodstains on the trackway,' Claudia confirmed, then turned to face the Empress. 'Augusta, I have reflected on this. There is every possibility that this attack will be the last; that's why Alexander was killed. Why they attacked so publicly!'

'What do you mean?' Constantine asked.

Helena narrowed her eyes, studying Claudia's face intently.

'Excellency,' Claudia turned to the Emperor, 'when soldiers are part of a punishment cohort, what happens to them?'

'They are always sent into battle first, ordered to prove themselves.'

'What I think happened,' Claudia declared, 'is that whoever led this gang actually wanted to kill Murranus and Alexander, as well as his own followers,– that is why they were sent in. The leader had decided that enough was enough. True, he may have wanted revenge for Chaerea's meddling. More importantly, he no longer needed the ruffians he'd employed. What better way than using a man like Murranus to kill those he wanted to get rid of.'

'My mistress agrees,' Leartus spoke up, 'but there is one further problem. You say,' the eunuch paused to gather his thoughts, 'you say the attackers came from Rome, that they waited for their victims in that copse. The attack was launched, Alexander was killed, but what happened then?'

Murranus tapped the side of his head. 'I received a blow here, I was weak, I fell from my horse but managed to fight my way to my feet, otherwise they'd have killed me. To them I was still dangerous. I remember the sound of a horn, and those attackers who'd survived fled, but I recall them taking their fallen. I picked up Alexander, but realised he was dead. I put his body over a horse and brought him back to the villa, then I collapsed, and the rest you know.'

'The corpses!' Claudia exclaimed. 'Your Excellency, if this gang intended to kill Alexander and Murranus from the start, as well as their own members, where are the corpses of the attackers? Murranus glimpsed them being taken away. True, those who survived could ride towards the great highway leading into Rome, mingle with the crowds and become lost, but corpses are very difficult to hide.'

'What do you suggest?'

'Those clumps of trees,' Claudia replied. 'Excellency, please allow me to send Burrus down there. We need to search thoroughly once again. Perhaps the corpses are still there, hidden away. If we discover them, we might be able to identify who they were, where they came from, some clue to this mystery'

Constantine, excited, quickly refilled his cup. He slurped noisily, nodding in agreement.

'In which case,' Helena declared, 'we shall adjourn.' She called to Burrus to take his men down to the copse of trees where the attack had taken place and search the ground thoroughly for any trace of the earth being dug. 'You are looking for corpses,' Helena emphasised.

'In this heat,' Burrus bowed, 'the stink, never mind the flies, will lead us to them.'

Once Burrus had left, Helena turned back. 'This is not good,' she whispered shaking her head. 'This is not at all good! Lady Urbana, please, once again accept our condolences. Murranus, you shall stay here. Claudia, you too, while I consider what is to happen. In the mean time,' she rose to her feet while everyone hastened to follow suit, then grasped Claudia roughly by the shoulder, her nails digging into her skin, 'let us hope you are correct, little mouse, that this is the last of the abductions. I want the truth. Whoever is behind this shall die a death all of Rome will marvel at.' The Empress swept out, followed by her son, still gulping from his goblet.

Claudia turned to Lady Urbana and clasped her hands, expressing her own deep regrets and condolences. Urbana was pale-faced, her eyes red-rimmed. She nodded but couldn't resist rounding on Murranus.

'You promised to protect my son,' she hissed, 'but he was killed! Because of his death, I lost my husband. What can I say to you?' She shrugged and walked away.

Cassia and Leartus came up. Although she too had been grieving, Cassia still looked exquisitely beautiful. She caught Claudia's face in her hands, kissed her gently on each cheek then trailed her fingers down Murranus' arm in a gesture of friendship before signalling at Leartus to follow her. Claudia watched them go. Murranus, overcome by weakness, sat down quickly, putting his face in his hands.

'It's not true,' Claudia whispered. 'Murranus, it isn't your fault. Look…'

Murranus took his hands away.

'It's not true what Urbana said,' Claudia insisted. 'No one could have expected that. We've been dealing with abductions, young men and women being kidnapped, not brutal assault and savage murder!' She shook her head. 'I cannot understand what is happening,' she continued. 'Everything is shrouded in mystery and lies. But come, Murranus,' she forced a smile, 'keep up your strength.'

She helped him up and insisted that he return to his chamber. She made him comfortable on the bed, sitting on a stool, stroking his face with the tips of her fingers. Murranus tried to talk, but his eyes grew heavy and soon he was asleep. Claudia left him. She felt coldly angry, not just at Helena's public disdain or Urbana's grief and provocative remarks; she and Murranus had been trapped. She was now certain that the abductors had intended all along to kill young Alexander. They'd journeyed from Rome to achieve that, but why? To show their contempt for the Empress? Revenge at Helena's interference in their affairs through Chaerea? Or, as she suspected, to get rid of their own followers?

Claudia sat on the steps to one of the side entrances of the villa and thought about Secundus and Crispus, two more deaths demanding vengeance and justice. She rose to her feet and made her way across to the villa baths. The bloody mess caused by the two killings had been cleared away, the water in the square bath drained off. Claudia studied the tiled floor around the pool and noticed the fragments of pottery pushed between tiles or heaped in niches where the wall met the floor. She went outside and, using her authority, dispatched a servant to fetch Casca the

Physician. She waited in the coolness of the portico until the physician, ill pleased that he'd been taken away from his morning meal, came hurrying up. Claudia apologised for the inconvenience caused.

'Look,' she continued, 'when the corpses of those two veterans were discovered, you were summoned?'

'Yes.' Casca sat down wearily on the ledge beside her. 'A servant girl, curious about a half-opened door, went in and saw the horror.'

'And then?'

'I and the steward were summoned. We found both corpses floating in the pool.' 'Anything else?' 'Blood everywhere.' 'And?'

Casca pulled a face. 'Ah yes, there was a pot smashed. Why?'

Claudia stared out across the lawn. Slaves were now out watering the grass, peacocks shrieked, birds flew over the flowerbeds, across which butterflies lazily floated. A pleasant rustic scene, one much loved by the poet Horace and the naturalist Pliny; such a contrast to the grisly mayhem committed here.

'Mistress?' Casca asked.

'Two veterans were killed,' she replied slowly, 'seasoned soldiers, wily warriors. They must have been ambushed by someone they least expected. Despite the warnings they'd been given, they let their guard slip. I suspect the killer was a woman. Secundus, I understand, came here first. He sat down and waited for Crispus. Old soldiers don't like work. Secundus certainly wouldn't begin without his companion. He'd also been shocked by the change in his circumstances, summoned from Rome, interviewed by the old general. Anyway, he is in the atrium half dozing, a woman enters the baths. It is around dawn, the light in the atrium is poor. She is carrying a jar. Secundus doesn't give her a second glance. She goes into the pool chamber and drops the pot. Secundus, startled, hurries up and walks straight on to the waiting dagger. A short while later Crispus enters, half asleep. He stumbles up the steps, is startled by the horror floating in the pool. He attempts to flee, and when he turns, the assassin is waiting. Again a swift thrust to the belly'

'You are sure it was a woman?'

'I am certain.' Claudia smiled at him. 'Just like the other murders. Do you think it is possible, Casca?'

The physician spread his hands. 'Under the sun, Claudia, anything is possible. Yes,' he gestured with his hand, 'look around at this villa, people coming and going.'

'The old general,' Claudia asked, 'you truly liked him?'

'You know my thoughts.'

'And the Lady Urbana?'

'You met Lady Urbana, very much the Pontifex Maximus, very much in charge. She was as devoted to Aurelian as he was to her, though they went their separate ways. The General was writing his memoirs. You know how old soldiers are. Lady Urbana was immersed in all things Christian, particularly the cult of the Magdalena. She sent messengers to Gaul. She was going to write her own history of the cult. They didn't really work for their living, not like us. The General had his routine: every morning he rose, he bathed, ate and entertained, then he'd go into the library to write his memoirs. The only time he'd leave would be to talk to Alexander.' Casca got to his feet, i must go.' He smiled down at her. i have to keep an eye on Lady Urbana, she is not well, and the Lady Cassia too.'

'Did General Aurelian like her? I mean the Lady Cassia?'

'Oh yes, very much.' Casca paused, choosing his words carefully. 'I've not met a man who was not attracted to her. She and Leartus? Well, they are more one person than two. Cassia is kind and gracious whilst Leartus is very courteous, a fountain of knowledge when it comes to medicine, perfumes and the different herbs that are grown. Anyway, Claudia, if you want to know more about General Aurelian, go to the library, his memoirs are there. Ask the librarian, he'll help.'

'Oh, Casca?'

The physician paused on the steps.

'You dressed the corpses of those two veterans for burial?' 'Yes, yes, I did.' Casca grimaced.

'As a physician,' Claudia rose to her feet and came down the steps, 'who or what would cause such abominations?'

Casca tapped his forehead lightly. 'I've told you, Claudia, what happens here is a true mystery.' He came closer. 'But I tell you this, whoever killed those veterans truly, truly hated them!'

Claudia watched him go, then made her way back into the villa. The old librarian was only too willing to help. He sat her down at the table under the window at the far end, asking if she had enough light. Claudia smiled up at him.

'I have enough to read by,' she said. 'Is it possible for me to see the General's memoirs?'

The librarian brought them across as if they were sacred objects from a temple. He laid the collection of scrolls, each carefully numbered, on the table.

'The General wrote them clearly in his own hand,' he explained, 'to be copied out later by me.'

Uninvited, he sat down on a stool at the side of the table and watched curiously as Claudia untied the scrolls. She'd seen the like before. General Aurclian was no different from any veteran officer describing his campaigns in Britain and elsewhere: his opinions about fortifications, troop movements, the defences of the Empire. Claudia moved to the last scroll, undid it and went through it carefully. The General had a neat, precise hand, marking each turn of events with a new paragraph and writing in the margin what each section was about. Again, he was full of all the woes of empire: the weakness caused by civil war, the need to strengthen the army, rebuild the navy, protect the Corn Fleet from Egypt, items that were discussed daily in the forum and elsewhere. There were sections about his family, notably Alexander; another about Christianity, which Aurelian tolerated with good-natured humour. Claudia could find nothing remarkable or significant. She rolled up the scroll and handed it back to the librarian.

'What were you looking for?' the man asked.

'Nothing,' Claudia replied absent-mindedly, 'nothing at all really.'

The librarian moved away. Claudia sat, elbows on the table, staring down the library. She wondered when Burrus would return. She was about to leave when the door at the far end opened and a figure entered. She narrowed her eyes as she recognised the careful walk of Presbyter Sylvester.

'Ah, Claudia,' he called out, 'I've been looking for you. Come, I've something to show you.'

He led her out of the library, down a gallery and into a small garden, where he took her over to a flower-ringed arbour and made himself comfortable beside her.

'You are well, Claudia?'

'You know what's happening,' she replied. 'The Empress is angry. I've made no progress.'

'But I have.' Sylvester picked up the leather satchel he'd been carrying, opened it and took out a dog-eared, yellowing manuscript which he placed in her lap. 'You may keep that.' He smiled, it's rather battered old copy of Celsus' De Medicina. Now,' Sylvester crossed his arms and continued conversationally, 'Celsus wasn't a physician but a keen observer of human beings. He was a contemporary of Plutarch; he lived about two hundred years ago. He has a marvellous appendix in his work about the death of Alexander the Great in Babylon. He quotes all the sources, Diodorus Siculus, Justin, Arrian and the rest…'

'Presbyter Sylvester, what has this got to do-' 'Listen,' he replied, 'Alexander died at the height of summer in Babylon. Immediately fighting broke out amongst his leading commanders about who would succeed him. A real crisis developed. Alexander's corpse was left unattended for at least a week. When the Babylonian and Egyptian embalmers finally managed to reach it, they found it marvellously preserved.'

Claudia felt a chill. This was not about the hideous crimes committed in this villa, but Uncle Polybius' Great Miracle.

'Now the same sources,' Presbyter Sylvester continued, 'emphasise Alexander's deity by pointing to the fact that, despite the intense heat, corruption hadn't begun. The same authors also provide a detailed summary of Alexander's death at a private banquet some nine or ten days before. They list the symptoms: nausea, violent pain, stomach cramps and high fever. Celsus believes Alexander was poisoned. The great commander had just returned from fighting on the borders of India, where there is a potion, arsenic, which in small doses can also be used to treat stomach pains and even serve as an aphrodisiac. This intrigued me, Claudia, so I read Celsus, Plutarch and other commentators avidly. Arsenic is also a powerful poison, which comes in many forms and colours. Its effect is deadly, but it also slows down, and even stops, the process of decomposition and corruption. Certain symptoms become apparent. If the corpse isn't burned on a pyre, a yellowing of the skin ensues which could appear slightly golden; the corpse also exudes a powder, a thin coating of dust. So, Claudia,' he paused, 'the blessed Fulgentia, I believe, has a great deal in common with Alexander the Great. The Empress and her son have most generously bestowed certain buildings to serve as our churches in Rome. I was,' Sylvester smiled, 'or rather I am, preparing a sarcophagus for the Blessed Fulgentia. Helena regards her as a holy virgin martyr.'

'But she isn't,' Claudia broke in, 'she is not a saint. It's trickery, isn't it?'

'Yes, I am afraid it is. I've had that corpse stripped and washed. I removed the thin wax-like coating from her skin and-'

'Apuleius,' Claudia muttered.

'And,' Sylvester continued, 'as soon as I did, I began to detect a reddish powder between the fingers and toes and in the small of her back. In my view, Claudia, the Blessed Fulgentia is really a murder victim, poisoned by arsenic and buried in your uncle's garden.'

'That doesn't mean Polybius is guilty.'

'The Empress,' Sylvester whispered, 'will not care, and, in a strange way, neither will I.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well,' Sylvester got to his feet, 'it doesn't really matter, Claudia. Sanctity is a matter best left to the good Lord. I don't really care, nor do I want you to think I am threatening you. I am not. Have no worries, your uncle will not be troubled. I will personally see to the burial of the Blessed Fulgentia.' He leaned down, his face close to hers. 'I have assured the Augusta that all is well. The snooper Ophelion? He has been reined in and given a fresh task to do.' Sylvester straightened up. 'There'll be no more awkward questions. What I want you to do, Claudia, is bring this business to a swift end. The Empress calls you her "little mouse". Some mouse,' he added wistfully, 'sharp-eyed and sharpteethed! Go scurrying about, Claudia. Helena wants to know who is responsible for these abductions and publicly punish them, to bolster the confidence of the senators and merchants, the powerful ones of Rome. She also wants the murder of those veterans resolved. Once all this is finished, she will return to more pressing matters.' He pointed at the manuscript. 'Read it.'