Текст книги "The Queen of the Night"

Автор книги: Paul Doherty

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'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.'

'And why should they worry you, Presbyter?'

'Because,' Sylvester took a deep breath, 'because whatever upsets the Empress and her son upsets the Church of Rome. Look at these paintings.' He waved around. 'They are made up of little scenes: a figure, a garden, a wine press, all brought to life and connected by the brush of the artist. So it is with Rome, Claudia. What concerns the Empress in one area might affect another.'

'Do they have so much power,' Claudia asked, 'the powerful ones, the senators and their like?'

'Not really,' Sylvester scratched the back of his neck, 'but they can be a distraction. Constantine, as you know, is building up his army, settling affairs at home so he can march east. There must be no delay. Licinius in Nicomedea must be brought to battle and destroyed. Constantine needs the support of these bankers, generals, merchants, men and women with great influence.'

'And the Lady Urbana and her good friend Cassia?'

'Ah.' Sylvester's face broke into a smile. 'If Helena is a committed Christian, so are Urbana and Cassia. True, both, how can I put it, enjoyed vivid lives, dramatic careers, before they converted, but those two are very powerful, particularly the Lady Urbana. She is more zealous in the Christian Way than even the Empress. You know about the Magdalena?'

Claudia nodded.

'Lady Urbana believes that Mary Magdalene may have married, and from her will spring a great dynasty of kings, but more importantly the Lady Urbana is searching the southern cities of Gaul for the corpse of Mary Magdalene to bring it back to Rome. If she did, it would be a veritable triumph, the body of a woman so close to Christ.'

'Do you believe all this?' Claudia tried to keep the cynicism out of her voice. if the Lady Urbana believes it,' Sylvester retorted coldly, 'then she has my support. What you must do, Claudia, is make sure the Empress' business is brought to a successful conclusion.'

Claudia got to her feet and tightened the cord around her waist, adjusting the needle-thin dagger sheath on her belt. She'd left her cloak at home and forgotten her walking stick. She felt strangely vulnerable staring down at this powerful priest who was studying her so closely; she also felt angry. Who was he to give her orders? She was not of his faith. She squatted down close to Sylvester and held his gaze.

'Are you threatening me, priest? Why should I help you? Why should I keep you informed? Think on that.' She rose, spun on her heel and walked hot-faced towards the door.

'Claudia,' Sylvester's voice was friendly, 'Claudia, let us not part in anger. Come back.' He paused. 'Murranus, Polybius…'

'Murranus, Polybius,' she turned, 'what about them? Don't threaten me, Sylvester, I warn you, and don't threaten those I love. I will have you as my friend, my ally, but if you threaten me, you will be my enemy.'

The priest chewed his lip. 'I wouldn't want that, Claudia.' He rose and came towards her, stretching out his hand and touching her lightly on the cheek. 'I have a great deal of respect and admiration for you and for what you've been through. I knew your father-'

'Don't mention him!'

'I will mention him, Claudia, because I have a responsibility for you. I tried to help you before and I will now. So listen carefully.' He grasped her hand and held it between his. 'I mean you well, Claudia. Your uncle Polybius is a great rogue; he likes to dabble in this and dabble in that. He is also borrowing money.'

'What?'

'You know Torquatus the Tonsor, the barber who sets up his stall near the She Asses tavern?' 'Of course.'

'You also know that he has the ear of some quite powerful bankers, courtiers and senators. To be blunt, Torquatus speculates…'

'Oh no!' Claudia groaned.

'Oh yes,' Sylvester retorted. 'Torquatus is a money-lender. He is not an evil man, but he has invited Polybius into certain business ventures which have failed. Polybius owes Torquatus a lot of money.'

'Is he in any danger?' Claudia asked.

'Not really' Sylvester narrowed his eyes. 'Torquatus is one of us, a Christian,– well, at least he shows the outward signs of being a Christian. He is really more interested in the She Asses tavern.'

'Of course,' Claudia whispered. 'It's near his stall and-'

'Precisely/ Sylvester agreed. 'Torquatus would love to own it. If Polybius gets deeper into debt, if he can't repay his loan, Torquatus might foreclose; that's why I asked you about Fulgentia. Polybius is not a villain, but he's a rogue. If he can worm his way out of mischief he will, although this time he is treading a very dangerous path. The beautifully preserved corpse of a young woman was found on his property. Now there may be another reason for that, but Polybius has sold it to the Empress as the mortal remains of a blessed virgin martyr, a miracle, proof of God's intervention in the affairs of men. If that was proved to be a deliberate lie, Polybius would suffer, despite whatever influence you have. So you must, I beg you, Claudia, make sure that Polybius is protected, that what has happened is the truth, built on rock and not on crumbling sand.'

Claudia moved her head, easing the tension at the back of her neck. She felt like screaming, running out of the temple, going back to the She Asses tavern and confronting her uncle, but that would be futile. Unless she had proof, evidence of his roguery, Polybius would simply bluster.

'And Murranus?' Claudia asked. 'What about him?'

'Oh, Murranus,' Sylvester replied, 'champion gladiator, the glory of the amphitheatre.'

'What about him?' Claudia snapped. i know you have a great fear of Murranus returning to the arena, and you are right. Murranus is a champion, but every day he grows older; eventually he will enter the amphitheatre and meet someone younger, faster, swifter, more deadly. The mood of the mob is fickle. Today they will clap Murranus on the back, buy him a goblet of wine, women will offer themselves to him.' He shrugged. 'I apologise. I am not saying Murranus would accept, but that is the way of the world. One day Murranus will make a mistake. He'll lie sprawled on the sand, mortally wounded, begging for his life from the mob who, simply because they don't like the way he fought, would consign him to death.' 'The Empress would intervene.'

'The Empress is a politician, Claudia; she will do what the mob wants, you know that as well as I do.' 'So what are you saying?'

'The Church of Rome needs, how can I put it, protectors, bodyguards. My master, the other powerful bishops of this region, must have their own military escort. Murranus would be an ideal choice as a captain.' He smiled as Claudia relaxed. 'See, I'm not all threats and menaces. I am trying to help you.'

'But Murranus is not a Christian.'

'He is better than that. He's a man who can't be bought. He can be trusted. So, Claudia, if we remain allies, even better, friends, whatever authority I wield, whatever power the Church exercises, will be used on your behalf and that of Murranus.'

'And Polybius?'

'As I've said, Polybius is a different matter, he is following a very dangerous path. The Empress is devoted to her relics, the antiquities of the Christian past. If it came out that a tavern-keeper near the Flavian Gate had fooled her…' His words hung like a noose.

Claudia stretched out her hand; Sylvester clasped it. 'You have my word,' she promised. 'I will do what I can, and if

I discover the truth about Fulgentia,' she chewed her lip, 'you'll be the first to know. Oh, Presbyter, there is something else.' 'What?'

Claudia quickly described the murders of the veterans, their service in northern Britain, the savage desecration carried out on their corpses.

'I've heard something of this,' Sylvester murmured, 'but how can I help you? Such deaths have no connection with the Christian Church.'

Claudia laughed abruptly. 'Very little, Presbyter, but I need your assistance. Many followers of your way are slaves or servants,– I want you to make diligent enquiry for me amongst them. Are there any Picts in Rome? I need to talk to someone who knows their tongue, customs and culture.'

'Perhaps a survivor from that attack?'

'No, Presbyter, there were no survivors. Or at least I don't think so. I just need someone to describe for me the Pictish way of life, explain what could be happening here.'

Sylvester held up his hand. 'I will do all I can, Claudia.' He smiled. 'You know Sallust the Searcher and his family?'

Claudia grinned; she certainly knew Sallust!

'I'll employ him,' Sylvester declared, getting to his feet. 'He can find anything in Rome…'

A short while later, just as the water clock of the tavern she'd left indicated the seventh hour, a different Claudia entered the cemetery which stretched along the Appian Way. She had gone to a seller of perfumes and powders, cosmetics and paints for ladies, and bought herself a dye and some powder. Afterwards, she'd stopped at a secondhand clothes-seller and purchased a few rags, a pair of battered sandals for her feet and a polished walking cane. She'd sheltered in a tavern near the city gates and changed, dusting her hair and face, rubbing ash on to her hands and arms before putting on the smelly, tattered rags. She had perfected the walk, the slight stoop of an old crone, from her days as an actress.

Now she followed the winding path into the jungle of undergrowth, tombs, monuments and sarcophagi which stretched to the great heathland in the far distance where she could glimpse the arches of the Claudian Aqueduct. To her right rose the dust from the Appian Way, as farmers, merchants, traders and tinkers either left or made their way into the city. She could still hear the hum of conversation, the creak of wheels as she fought her way through the tangle. Eventually all sounds faded except for bees buzzing above the wild flowers and the occasional scuttle of some animal fleeing from her approach. Claudia was used to visiting the cemetery. In the past, she'd often met Sylvester in the catacombs to the north, though there was now little need for such subterfuge,– their recent meeting at the deserted Temple of Minerva proved Sylvester's growing confidence in being able to carry out his affairs when and where he liked. Claudia paused, resting on her staff, and closed her eyes. She must remember that. When she'd first begun her relationship with Sylvester, the Christian Church had only recently come out of the catacombs and Constantine's Edict of Milan had been fresh in everyone's minds. Since then, the Church had worked vigorously and swiftly to reinforce its authority as well as to gain patronage and favour at court.

Claudia started from her reverie at the harsh cawing above her; glancing up, she glimpsed the buzzard circling above her. She continued on her way. She was now approaching the main part of the cemetery, walking slowly, using the stick to drive away the tangle of bramble, gorse, wild grass, and nettles which scored her ankles and made her gasp in pain. Yet she kept up the pretence, stopping every so often to look at the various funeral tombs, as the old do, as if still relishing their hold on life: a fresco of a man set in a wreath, a small cremation chest to mark his wife, the pitiful sarcophagus of a child, carved figures lamenting around the deathbed of a young girl, a dead woman portrayed as Venus triumphant, a married couple exchanging vows. Some of the stone was pure marble from the Sea of Marmara, other monuments were of rough stone hewn from a local quarry. Most of the tombs, sarcophagi and memorials were at least a hundred years old and slowly crumbling under the lashing rain, winter frosts and summer heat. The tomb of the tribune where Antonia was to be released lay on the far side of the cemetery, deep enough in this tangle of stone and bramble for the gang to free their hostage and escape unscathed. Now and again Claudia paused and looked up. Across the cemetery grew different trees, many in weird, grotesque shapes; any of these could house a lookout posted to spot approaching soldiers.

Claudia, aware of the oppressive, brooding silence, paused at a tomb of a young man, his likeness carved on the front in the form of the sleeping Endymion. She leaned against this and turned slowly in the manner of an old woman. She was certain she was being followed; just a coldness on the back of her neck, a slight agitation in her stomach. She listened intently, scrutinising the brambles and tangled gorse behind her for any sign of movement. Only silence, nothing but that buzzard still cawing noisily above her. Had it been disturbed, forced to flee whatever morsel it had been plucking at? Claudia sighed, her face and body now coated in sweat, then pushed on along the trackway. She entered a clearing and was about to cross it when four figures emerged from behind a chest tomb. She immediately recognised what they were: Inferni, dirty, dishevelled men dressed in rags but armed with wicked-looking knives and clubs. They blocked her path.

'Hello, old one.' The pig-faced leader stepped forward. 'What are you doing here? Haven't seen you before.'

Claudia leaned on the stick and peered at them, assessing their strength. She felt fear, but at the same time she could throw off her disguise and run faster than any of these. The one on the far left had a slight limp; the others looked fat, with the unhealthy colour and sagging cheeks of men who drank copiously of cheap posca and other foul wines.

'Well?' The leader edged forward.

Claudia stepped back.

'Come on, old lady, let's see who you really are. Let's have a look at your hands.' He made an obscene gesture with his groin. 'You can still work your wonder here.'

Claudia was about to turn and flee when Burrus and five of his companions slipped out of the undergrowth as if they'd come up from the very earth itself. Despite their size and bulk, they moved swiftly and deadly. The four Inferni didn't even have a chance to resist. For a short while the silence of the clearing was shattered by grunts and moans as Burrus and his companions dispatched them. Claudia watched, horror-struck. Within a few heartbeats, all four men lay dead, their throats cut. Burrus and his companions squatted down, cleaning their swords and daggers on the long grass. The captain glanced up and winked at Claudia.

'We've been watching you, little one, ever since you left that tavern. We knew it was you.' He and his companions laughed softly and came crowding round this little woman whose bravery they admired.

Claudia put down the cane and wiped the sweat from her face.

'You've been following me?'

'Of course, little one. This is no different from our forests in Germany. An entire war band could move around here and not even disturb the birds on the branches.' Burrus crouched down and stared into her eyes. 'You're unharmed, little one. They were tracking you. You're not as old as you look.' He grinned and tweaked her cheek. 'Go on, we will be behind you.'

Claudia crouched down, gesturing at Burrus and the others to join her.

'Why are you here, to protect me or to hunt the kidnappers?'

'Both,' Burrus replied, squinting up at the sky. 'The Augusta thought that if any soldiers could get close, we were the ones. None of the fancy boys from the guards; they'd go blundering about like a child in water. We are different. There are more of us, at least two dozen out there heading towards that tomb.'

Claudia suppressed a chill of fear and pointed to the trees. 'You could be seen from there.'

'I doubt it,' Burrus declared. 'We'll be crawling on our bellies.'

Claudia was about to reply when one of the guards lifted his hand.

'Look, look!' he urged.

Claudia glanced to her right. Black smoke plumed against the blue sky, followed by flames darting greedily up. Such fires were common in summer along the dry heathland round the city, but this fire had started too quickly. Claudia followed Burrus as they hurried back through the tangled undergrowth, no longer bothering to conceal their progress, tripping over cracked pots, pieces of masonry, making their way round the tombs towards the fire. One of the German guards paused, sniffing the air like a lurcher, then Claudia smelled it, that horrid stench of burning flesh. They hurried on. The flames were dying but the foul smoke made them cough and splutter. They reached a small glade in front of a large tomb, and found a tangle of wood heaped around a burned corpse, its flesh bubbling. The smell was awful. Covering her nose with her tattered cloak, Claudia followed Burrus over and stared down.

'He has no head!' she proclaimed, and turned away as her stomach heaved.

The corpse, whoever it belonged to, was nothing more than blackened remains. Burrus grasped her by the shoulder and led her away from the smoke. He made her crouch down while he and one of his lieutenants went to inspect the gory remains more carefully; they turned the corpse over, muttered to each other and came back. it's definitely a man,' Burrus declared, cupping Claudia's chin in his hand. 'Not Antonia, perhaps a quarry of the Inferni, but why they took his head then burned the rest, I don't know…'

'Do you think-'

Claudia's question was cut off by a chilling scream. Burrus leapt to his feet and, with Claudia following, hastened down a narrow winding path into another clearing. A young woman sat with hands and feet bound, though she'd managed to remove the blindfold over her eyes and was staring in horror, shaking, trying to knock away the severed head nestling in her lap.

The Germans cut her bonds, pulling her to her feet. Burrus lifted the severed head, inspected it carefully and, taking one of his companion's cloaks, wrapped it up.

'Who is it?' Claudia asked.

'The Augusta's man, Chaerea,' Burrus replied, his voice thick and guttural. 'She sent him here. By the marks on the head and face, he was mauled by dogs before being decapitated.'