Текст книги "The Queen of the Night"

Автор книги: Paul Doherty

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'And your masks?' Claudia asked. 'I have studied the rites of Hathor; those who serve her wear masks at the sacred dance and sacrificial offerings.'

'Our masks were cumbersome and old; we burned them as well. We planned to buy new ones when we reached Memphis.'

'And Theodore,' Claudia persisted, 'the actor who was murdered at the She Asses tavern; he visited your temple?'

'Precisely,' Sesothenes broke in, glancing sly-eyed at the Emperor. 'He died in your care, at your tavern. None of our company visited the She Asses that night; we had nothing to do with his death.'

'But why did he visit you?' Claudia repeated the question. 'Why should an actor who had recently witnessed the abduction of the Lady Antonia wish to visit you before coming to the She Asses tavern?'

'The answer is logical enough,' Sesothenes answered. 'He wished to render thanks; you witnessed what happened. I met him in the temple porch, remember? We went inside. Theodore walked forward and stood before the altar. He sprinkled some incense on the sacred flame, then left. What are you implying?'

'Why should he do that?'

'To give thanks for his escape, I suppose.' Sesothenes shrugged, i had a few words with him and wished him well, that was all. He returned to your care.' Sesothenes pressed the point. 'He went to your tavern, where according to rumour he was poisoned. When he visited our temple, wc gave him no food or drink, nothing!' Sesothencs flung out a hand. 'You have laid serious allegations against us, yet the proof you offer is paltry! A sack, a visitor to the temple, the fact that we took care of our own possessions, that we visited a shrine outside Rome and prepared to journey to our mother shrine in Egypt. The cult of Lady Hathor has as many devotees,' he glanced quickly at Presbyter Sylvester, 'as that of the Christian Church.'

Claudia decided not to reply, but glanced at the Empress. Constantine, sitting beside her, looked as if he was asleep; he sat slouched, eyes half closed. Helena was staring at the far wall as if totally engrossed by the painting describing Aeneas' escape from burning Troy.

'You talk of our Church.' Sylvester stirred as if waking from a sleep. 'You are a priest,' he continued conversationally, 'like me. You must, therefore, keep a Liber Diurnalis, a Journal of the Feasts, the dates of sacrifices and rituals. On the days the other abductions took place, can you prove precisely where you and your companions were, and who saw you there?'

Sylvester's question was unexpected and caused anxiety. Sesothenes blinked and glanced quickly at his companions.

'We could account,' the high priest replied slowly, 'but it would take time.' He stumbled over his words. 'We would have to contact certain devotees of our temple.'

Claudia noticed that Sesothenes was impatient to dismiss this point.

'Claudia,' Sesothenes turned back to her, 'you said that Murranus was attacked four days ago. He is well known as a champion gladiator, a warrior. According to what we know, many of those who attacked him were either killed or injured, but look,' he gestured at himself and his companions, 'not a cut, not a scar, no injury'

'That is no proof of innocence,' Claudia declared. 'You sent others to do the deed, ruffians you hired from the slums of Rome; you wanted them killed, silenced, that's why you attacked Murranus. I'll return to Presbyter Sylvester's question,' she added quickly. 'If you were given the precise dates and times, could you account for your whereabouts?' She forced a smile to hide her own unease. If she wasn't careful, this case would descend into a mere wrangling match of accusation and counter-accusation.

'I am being accused,' Sesothenes shouted, 'I and my fellow priests, former soldiers, citizens of Rome, by this-'

'And by me!' Murranus declared. 'I too am a citizen of Rome, Excellencies.' Murranus turned towards the Emperor. 'We could sit and argue like children squatting in the streets. The evidence against Sesothenes is compelling; there is a case to answer. He was preparing to flee Rome, he was absent from the city on the morning that I was attacked and Alexander was murdered. He was visited by Theodore for some strange reason, a man who was later mysteriously murdered. Sesothenes has yet to account for his movements and those of his followers on the other occasions young men and women were abducted. A sack used by Senator Carinus to pay the ransom was found in the cellar of his temple. Sesothenes owned mastiffs. The Lady Antonia talked of dogs while the imperial agent Chaerea was savaged before his body was burned.'

Claudia glanced sharply at Murranus. She could not recall if she had told him such details, but he was talking as if well versed in all that had happened. Something was very wrong. The case was about to take an abrupt turn. Sylvester was leaning forward, tense. Constantine was watchful, Helena smiling to herself.

'Caesar has the right to bring any case before him,' Murranus continued in a loud, carrying voice. 'All citizens of Rome have the right to appeal to Caesar, and there is no further appeal from Caesar except to God.' He sprang to his feet. 'I appeal to my God, the Lord Jesus Christ. I also appeal to the customs of ancient Rome and the Ius Gladii, the Power of the Sword. Excellency, I challenge Sesothenes and his companions to put their trust and faith in their goddess Hathor, as I do in the Lord Christ. Let the truth be decided by the sword in the arena!'

Claudia froze, horrified. The room swayed, and a roaring like that of a mob dinned her ears. Sesothenes and his companions were arguing fiercely amongst themselves. The Egyptian sprang to his feet, looking confident. He was accepting the challenge. He had realised there was no other way out, that to refuse might confirm the allegations against him, whilst five men against one in the arena meant the odds were strongly in his favour. Presbyter Sylvester was staring at the floor. Constantine was beaming. Burrus, alerted by the excitement, was coming forward from the door. Helena sat, a look of triumph in her stare. Claudia just bowed her head and mouthed the word 'bitch'.

'Murranus, are you so stupid, so full of your own-' 'Shut up!' Murranus bit into the piece of chicken before grasping a morsel of barley bread and dipping it into the mushroom and onion sauce. 'Shut up!' he repeated.

Claudia, face flushed, eyes glaring, pushed away her platter.

'Why say that?' she screamed back, ignoring the curious stares of the other customers at the She Asses tavern.

'You must hear what I have to say,' Murranus continued, making matters worse by winking at her.

Claudia could not control herself. She sprang to her feet, knocking the platter and cup from the table, and stormed out into the garden. She walked to the very end, next to the crumbling wall, and slipped behind the luxuriant undergrowth, a place she always visited whenever she wished to hide from everyone else. She sat down with her back to the wall and yielded to the tantrum seething within her, beating her fists against her knees, drumming her heels on the ground and mounting a litany of curses against Constantine, his mother, Presbyter Sylvester and anyone else responsible for this debacle.

At last breathless, Claudia closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Helena was a cunning bitch! She had achieved the result she wanted. The suspects, innocent or guilty, had been named and proclaimed throughout Rome. Helena had kept her public promise: justice was being seen to be done, whilst she had turned her vindication of imperial authority into a public display of the righteousness of the Lord Christ, who would deal out justice to the gods of Egypt. Claudia opened her eyes. She dared not think of the alternative. She glared through the tangled bramble growth and glimpsed the pinpricks of light from the She Asses. The only thing Murranus had promised her was that he would keep it quiet, at least for this evening, and make the announcement the following morning. Once that happened, Claudia knew, the She Asses would be visited by the crowds, whom Polybius would welcome with open arms.

Claudia had attempted to seek an interview with the Empress, but Burrus himself had refused her and escorted her from the palace precincts. She had tried to go back to visit Murranus, but again entrance was denied. Furious, she had stormed home and locked herself in her own chamber, only coming out when Murranus returned for the evening meal. Polybius and the others suspected something was very wrong, but they'd have to wait. Claudia ground her teeth. On reflection, it was little wonder that Murranus had been kept from her, or that Helena had refused to meet her. Murranus must have been encouraged to appeal to that ancient right of the sword! Claudia pulled a face. Not that he needed much encouragement! Murranus was deeply aggrieved that young Alexander had died in his care, whilst he himself had been beaten and humiliated. A cleverly woven trap, Claudia reflected, for Sesothenes and his coven. She had little doubt they were guilty,– that sack had been a hideous mistake. If the imperial prosecutors did a thorough search, drew up a list of dates and times, the evidence against the priests would accumulate, but there was more, Claudia was sure of that. A tangle of lies and deceit still lay about her. Helena could posture and turn justice into a public spectacle, but the real truth…

'Claudia, Claudia.' Murranus' voice echoed through the dark. 'Claudia, I know you are in there, please come out.'

She sighed, got to her feet and walked out on to the lawn. Murranus, muffled in a cloak against the night breeze, was standing holding a lantern. He went to put an arm round her shoulder, but she shrugged it away.

'Murranus, how could you?' she muttered.

'Quite easily' Murranus had drunk deeply and swayed on his feet. 'The Augusta confided in me, as did Presbyter Sylvester,– the rest was simple. They are guilty, Claudia.'

'They are not the only ones!'

'What do you mean?'

'Murranus, there are still many questions about those abductions, not to mention the murder of the veterans, but let's not change the subject.'

'I am not.'

'Why did you agree?'

'It was necessary. The evidence against Sesothenes was compelling, but not convincing.' Murranus groaned and squatted down on the grass, placing the lantern beside him.

'Claudia, I recognise Helena's trickery, but I am a warrior. A young man was committed to my care. He was murdered, along with four other good men, no different from your uncle Polybius, Oceanus and the rest. Their shades demand vengeance. There is something else.' He leaned forward. 'Rumours are out. The betting has begun. The Empress has pledged me a purse of gold, as has Urbana, now that she is a very wealthy woman.'

'We don't need their money!'

'Yes we do, Claudia.'

'Murranus,' Claudia knelt before him and took his face between her hands, 'a warrior you are, but once again you are going into the arena. You will face five men, former soldiers, ruthless killers, all trained in arms. Has Helena considered, has Sylvester thought, has Urbana reflected, that you could lose!'

Murranus gently prised her hands loose. 'Claudia,' his voice filled with passion, 'I swear this to you, I may not win – that is the roll of the dice – but Sesothenes and his companions will certainly lose.'

Claudia stared at a point behind Murranus' head. Helena had definitely persuaded Murranus to fight, but what about Sesothenes? What had she done to convince that evil priest to respond? Claudia recognised the Empress as a gambler, but a very crooked one. How had she loaded the dice?

By the following morning, the impending contest was known throughout Rome, Mercury the Messenger spreading more details through the entire slum area around the Flavian Gate. Claudia, furious, still had to admire Helena's cunning. The abductions, as well as the murder of Alexander, were now forgotten. The suspects had been caught; imperial justice had been vindicated. If Sesothenes and the others were innocent, if they did escape judgement, what did the mob care? They were to be entertained, free of charge. The entire proceedings were given an extra spice by Murranus' open declaration for the Lord Christ. The gladiator was known to be sympathetic to the new religion, but many viewed his declaration as the work of Helena. According to Mercury the Messenger, the marketplaces, schools and taverns were speculating about why the Christians, who openly avowed non-violence, had allowed themselves to be named in a bloody fight to the death in the arena. Was it a sign of further change, an accommodation between Christianity and the state? Mercury also informed Claudia of how placards and graffiti were appearing around the city championing one or other of the combatants, the gamblers were placing their bets, whilst public opinion was swaying against Murranus. After all, wasn't he getting older? Hadn't he been severely injured in the recent attack? And his five opponents, were they not former soldiers whose drill was just as hard and ferocious as that of the gladiator school?

Claudia, sick with worry, closed her ears to all this and tried not to think. Murranus sensed her mood and absented himself, keeping well away from the She Asses and the delicacies served by Celades. He fasted, eating only sparingly, whilst undergoing the iron-hard discipline of training. Unlike last time, however, when he had prepared for his fight against Meleager the Marvel of a Million Cities, Murranus now trained in public and the reports were not good. He was slow, sluggish, some said even slightly frightened of his sparring partners. Claudia truly felt like a mouse, one cruelly trapped by ugly rumours, whispered comments; even Polybius, rejoicing in his new-found wealth, looked worried. Now and again her uncle would slip away to see Murranus for himself. On his return he always looked glum.

During those first few days Claudia only experienced spiralling terror as she squirmed and cursed Helena. She wondered if she should go down on her knees and beg Murranus to withdraw his challenge, but she conceded that would be fruitless. After a while her own hard discipline exerted itself. She had to forget, to concentrate on the problem in hand; there was a task to be finished. She excused herself from the She Asses and, whenever possible, went back to her little spot in the garden close to the curtain wall, where she moved a stool, a table and her writing tray. She would sit in the dappled shade and reflect on everything that had happened.

Her thoughts turned to one vexatious problem: Theodore's death. He'd definitely been poisoned, but according to Polybius and Apuleius, he hadn't eaten or drunk anything at the tavern. Claudia wrote down everything she knew about Theodore, from the first time he impinged on her life to his sudden and unexpected death at the She Asses. She concentrated on this. The only time she returned to mingle with the customers was to satisfy her own hunger, as well as to establish what the murdered actor did on that fateful evening. She swiftly drew one conclusion. Theodore had taken a goblet of wine just before he retired, but complaining of queasiness, he had not eaten or drunk anything else. The wine spilled in his chamber meant the cup was still full when it was knocked over. She compared all this to what she had written, and suspicions no bigger than a prick on her memory began to surface. She spent an entire day reflecting on everything she had seen and heard, yet impassable obstacles hindered the path she was trying to follow. She sent for Sallust the Searcher. He met her full of apologies that he had made no progress on the identity of the young woman whose corpse had been unearthed in the very garden in which they were meeting. Claudia dismissed this even as Sallust, sad-eyed and down at the mouth, grasped her hand.

'Claudia, Claudia, the games take place in three days. I've heard the news. Is Murranus mad? Rumours seep from the gladiator school; his friends are concerned about him, stories about injuries, of him being too slow. They say the odds against him are mounting. The Egyptian and his company are training in the Field of Mars.'

Claudia pressed the tips of her fingers against Sallust's lips.

'Enough,' she whispered. 'I want you, Sallust,' she moved her fingers and touched the tip of his nose, 'to use that,' she forced a smile, 'to ferret out gossip and chatter.' She handed over two small scrolls. 'This is a letter for the Augusta, the other is for Murranus. I will await their replies and whatever you learn.'

In the end Helena responded immediately, or rather

Chrysis the Chamberlain did so on her behalf, confirming everything Claudia had asked. Murranus dictated his reply to a city scribe but then added in his own rough hand:,' miss you, I love you, I never stop thinking of you.

Claudia wept quietly and touched the scroll with her hand before launching into a silent litany of new curses against Helena, the Emperor and the mob. The customers at the She Asses caught her mood and kept well away. She refused to mix with them, even when Petronius the Pimp held a special evening to give a mock lecture on Priapus and popular devotion to the cult of the penis. This was well attended and the raucous laughter echoed across the garden where Claudia sat staring down at her scraps of parchment. Celades tried to tempt her with filleted beef cooked in a rich pepper sauce. The Pict was now a transformed man, cheery-faced, full of schemes for the future. He, Polybius and Narcissus the Neat dreamed of a marvellous partnership: Polybius and Celades would look after the body and all its pampering before death, while Narcissus, with his embalming skills, would set up shop in the same insula and offer a service second to none for life after death. However, everyone knew that such matters would have to wait. Murranus was about to fight for his life, and Claudia realised that, instead of blaming him, she must accept that she had played her own part in what was happening. She berated herself, cursing her own self-absorption, and vowed not to act the victim. She sent Murranus a love note. He replied by slipping into the She Asses for a brief while, going out into the garden with her, holding her tenderly yet passionately, whispering that he would not die and she must trust him.

'We'll save the day,' he whispered. 'We will sit here with our own children's children, play the fife and dance the dance. Trust me, Claudia, I am a warrior. My death does not call me, not yet.' He kissed her gently and left.

Chapter 10

Ita feii ut se mori sentiat.

Strike him so that he may feel he is dying.

Suetonius, Lives of the Caesais, Caligula

The following morning, the day of the games, Burrus and a company of German guards stormed into the She Asses. They occupied the eating hall, spilling out into the garden. Claudia had hoped to go with Polybius and Poppaoe. Burrus soon changed that. After she'd washed, dressed and come down to meet them, he and his rough-faced rogues surrounded her. Blue eyes glaring in his wine-flushed face, Burrus knelt before her, one great paw on her shoulder.

'Little one, Freya's child, you must come with us. The Augusta has ordered it. We knelt before her this morning. We have taken the oath. You must come with us, you are to be her guest in the imperial box. You are not to meet Murranus. Little one,' he pleaded, noting Claudia's angry expression, 'Murranus has to fight. He must not be weakened or distracted. You are to come with us and stay with us until…' Burrus shrugged, 'until the end…'

'Salve! Salve! Salve Impeiator!' The crowd packing the Flavian amphitheatre rose as a man to greet their Emperor as he entered the imperial box, which was draped in purple, cloth of gold, painted ivy and silver-coated laurel leaves. Constantine, at least three cups of wine down him, was in a jovial mood, resplendent in his purple-edged snow-white toga, a gold-encrusted victory wreath around his head. He lifted his hand and returned the salute of his devoted people.

'Ave atque salve!' he roared back before lowering himself into the gorgeous peacock throne overlooking the red-gold sand of the amphitheatre. On each side of him stood the imperial standard-bearers, heads and shoulders covered with wolf pelts, bearskins and the hides of other animals. They raised their standards, each boasting the glorious golden eagle with outstretched wings, the sacred emblem of Rome's power. Constantine abruptly remembered himself, and rose to gesture to the throne beside him, as his mother, the Empress Helena, took her seat. Again the crowd roared. Helena acknowledged this with a flick of her hand. Others filed in: the Vestal Virgins in their old-fashioned robes and Greek hairstyles, the officers and flunkies of the court, together with personal guests, Senator Carinus, his daughter Antonia, and other parents whose children had been abducted. The imperial box had been extended and lavishly furnished with imitation walls, its high ceiling festooned with all the signs and symbols of victory: carvings of champions, victorious athletes, gladiators with raised swords, laurel crowns and palms of victory. The corners were draped in purple and silver cloths. Along the sides stood a range of tables from which slaves served tasty morsels of fish, spiced meats, honey cakes, iced fruits, as well as cups of chilled wine and crushed fruit juice. Despite the fan-bearers with their pink ostrich flabella drenched in perfume, the air was hot and close.

Claudia, sitting at the far end near the door, where Burrus could keep an eye on her, fanned herself and sipped at a cup of juice. She was drenched in sweat and just wished the tension would break. She felt as if she'd been listening for ever to the blare of the trumpets, the clash of cymbals, the eerie tunes of the pipes, all the rites, ceremonies and music surrounding the games: the procession across the arena, the display of weapons, the mock fights, the drollery of the tumblers, clowns and dwarves. Every so often she would rise, stand on the top step and peer down at that oval of golden sand, then stare longingly at the great yawning gateways which led into the pitch-black tunnels lit by flickering torches. Murranus would be standing there. She stepped down and glanced at where Urbana sat close to Lady Cassia, with Leartus standing behind them. All three still displayed the signs of mourning, though Urbana had eagerly accepted the Emperor's invitation to see divine justice, as well as his own, carried out. Claudia was about to approach them when Constantine abruptly gestured to the trumpeters; the Emperor had waited long enough. Claudia sat transfixed. A long, piercing blast silenced the clamour of the mob packing the narrow tiers of the amphitheatre. Above them flapped the great woollen awning the engineers had managed to extend so that its billowing folds, soaked in perfumed water, would afford some protection against the fly-infested dust and the fierce glare of the sun.

The trumpet blare was repeated. The games were about to begin. The white-robed patricians in the lower tiers forgot about their hampers, their chilled wine, honey cakes and sugared plums and figs. They bellowed at the slaves to bring their parasols closer. Men, women and children dabbed the sweat on their necks and faces with cold scented cloths, all eyes on that cavernous gateway leading into the arena. Above these, the wealthy ones of Rome, swarmed the plebeians in multicoloured tunics. These grasped their tickets, carved shards of bone, and fought to regain their seats, no longer caring for the traders selling hot spiced sausages, balls of meat, slices of fruit and pannikins of allegedly fresh water. Even the whores and pimps, ready to take advantage of the frenetic excitement, stopped touting for custom. The killing was about to begin!

The Gate to the Underworld, as it was called, opened, and figures from Hades, grotesque in their horrid masks, entered the arena to the roar of the crowd. Charon, Lord of Hell, and all his associates, garbed in black, paraded to a cacophony of trumpets and cymbals around the arena, brandishing their instruments of torture: spikes and mallets, fire-hot blades and iron-tipped whips, implements they would use to spur on laggards who didn't want to fight, as well as to test whether a fallen man could stand to fight again.

Once they had processed out of the arena, the combatants entered. The Egyptians were led by a standard-bearer, the green banner he carried displaying the likeness of the Lady Hathor. Lean, muscled and oiled, the five men were all dressed in leather kilts and stiffened leg wrappings under embossed greaves,– on their heads were broad-brimmed helmets sporting horsehair plumes with visors covering their faces,– their sword arms were sheathed in thick quilted coverings whilst their shields were small squares of dark blue with a shiny metal boss in the centre, their swords rather long and slightly curved. They paraded insolently, lifting their visors, and paused in front of the imperial box. Claudia stared down at them. She could not really understand why they had accepted the challenge. True, it would have been foolish to refuse, but it was an insolent response to a challenge from a champion gladiator. Did they put their trust in their own training, background and numbers? Or was it something else? They acted confidently, yet Murranus too was so certain of victory. What other mischief had Helena plotted?

Another blast of trumpets and Murranus came out of the gateway to be greeted by acclamations which suddenly faded as the gladiator stumbled and limped forward. Claudia stared horrified. Murranus was garbed in his usual arena armour, a thick loincloth, knotted at the front, with a broad gold braided belt, quilted leg and arm paddings but no metal greaves to protect either leg or arm. What, Claudia wondered, did he intend? Surely he'd left himself exposed? Moreover, he carried the old-fashioned short stabbing sword and an oblong shield with a silver boss in the middle. Would this be protection enough? Murranus' head and face were hidden by a rimmed, visored helmet with a pouncing panther on top displaying a blueish-black horsehair crest. He too stopped before the imperial box and stared up. Claudia was sure he had glimpsed her; she could only stand frozen with fear.

The Emperor raised his hand, the trumpets brayed again. The gladiators lifted their swords and shouted their salutations,– once more the trumpets shrilled to the clash of cymbals. Constantine lifted a piece of white cloth and let it flutter to the sand. The crowd cheered as the fighters separated. Claudia stared round the box. Everyone was absorbed. Urbana, Cassia, Leartus, Carinus, the slaves, the standard-bearers sweating under their animal pelts, the guests and their families, all stared down at the macabre dance about to begin in the arena below.

Claudia hated such spectacles. She recalled the lines of the poet Juvenal: Today our rulers stage shows and win applause by the turn of a thumb against those whom the mob order them to kill. Murranus, her beloved, was down there, his life at the whim of the mob, not to mention the savagery and skill of his opponents. She watched as the gladiators drew slowly apart. Murranus called it the ritual of recognition, as adversaries assessed each other's strength and weaknesses. Sesothenes and his companions formed an arc, closing in on Murranus, who stood in an attitude almost of defeat, shield down, sword half raised. He seemed to be uncertain, fumbling with the straps of his shield. The Egyptians edged closer. Murranus faced forward, only to hastily retreat. The crowd hissed. Murranus kept backing away. The Egyptians edged forward. Murranus broke into a run, fleeing towards the far end of the arena. The mob rose, yelling and booing. The Egyptians, caught off guard, hesitated, then two of them broke into furious pursuit, running close together like hunting wolves. The mocking cheering turned into an ominous chant.

Abruptly Murranus stopped and turned. He'd loosed his shield and now hurled it directly into the path of his two pursuers. Both stumbled, one went down. Murranus, famous for his speed and being lightly armed, closed in swiftly, leaping between them, dealing a savage blow to the face and neck of the Egyptian on his left. The other, about to pick himself up, found his own shield had become tangled with the fallen one. He hesitated too long. Murranus danced behind him, delivered a swift slash to the side of his neck and the man collapsed. The silence in the amphitheatre was almost tangible. Murranus' speed and sudden ambush had astonished everyone,– his flight, the abrupt stop, the thrown shield, using the impetus of his opponents against themselves. The other three Egyptians were confused by this ferocious surprise. They stopped, one hanging well back. Claudia couldn't distinguish which was Sesothenes; she only had eyes for Murranus.

By now the mob had recovered, and fickle as ever broke into thunderous cheering and applause, but Murranus was already moving. He swiftly dispatched one of the fallen Egyptians who was still moving, dragging his body closer to the shield and the other corpse, then picked up one of his opponent's shields and danced to the right and left, using the tangle of corpses and fallen weaponry as a line of defence. Claudia swayed unsteadily on her feet. Her throat was so dry she could not speak; all she could see was that black-crested figure dancing to the left and right as his three opponents closed in. They were indecisive, confused. If they broke up and tried to outflank the makeshift defence, it left them exposed. If they advanced in a line they would have to clear that tangled obstacle where one slip could be fatal. They paused and drew together. Claudia realised that Sesothenes must be the one in the centre, his head turning to the left and right as he whispered to his companions.