The Song of the Gladiator

Chapter 11

Claudia sat in the garden. The morning mist still hung like a veil, and birds darted about, foraging amongst the long grass for crumbs and seeds. Caligula, the tavern cat, a true killer, came slinking out, but the birds recognised the danger and Caligula had to satisfy himself with glaring up at a tree, where a thrush sang its warning. Claudia watched the cat and wondered if death was like that, creeping out of the dark to seek its prey. Death had visited this tavern last night and taken Spicerius; had it sat in the corner gibbering while poor Murranus blundered into that trap? Dacius had clearly been delighted, taunting Murranus to repeat his promise, which of course he had. The die was now cast, the news would be all over Rome; there would be no turning back. In the end Polybius had forced Dacius and his gang back out into the streets, and only then did the enormity of what he had done dawn on Murranus.

‘You’ve offered to fight twice on the same day,’ Oceanus slurred as they drowned their sorrows in wine.

Polybius had urged Murranus to withdraw, but the gladiator was too stubborn. Poppaoe, all tearful, had asked what it meant, and Oceanus had explained. The games would start with criminals being executed, then in the afternoon there would be the Venatio, when a gladiator would face wild animals. Murranus had agreed to pit himself against some ferocious beast, and Dacius had chosen a bull, a ferocious, deadly animal which combined speed, cunning, strength and a determination to kill whatever confronted it.

Claudia had sat, face in hands, trying to control her trembling. She had seen these fighting bulls from Spain and North Africa, muscles rippling under sleek skins, powerful legs which could launch them into a ferocious charge, and, above all, those wide-spaced, cruelly tipped sharpened horns. A wild bull could move like the wind yet turn as fast as any coin spinning on the floor. Oceanus, full of wine and his own importance, had not spared them the details, describing how the bull could charge, feint, and use its horns like an expert swordsman would a pair of blades. Yet this was only half the danger. Murranus had to fight, escape unscathed and, an hour later, enter the arena to confront Meleager. That was the trap! Claudia recognised how crude but effective it was. Polybius had declared it was like weighing a runner down with weights: Spicerius’s death, its effect on Murranus, the baiting and accusations, the simpering Agrippina, and now the prospect of a ferocious battle before Murranus even met his opponent.

Claudia straightened up and took a deep breath. She felt sick with fear and anger, yet there was something else which she was reluctant to face. She had glimpsed the tattoo on Dacius’s wrist and recalled what Spicerius had told Murranus. If that was true, then Meleager and that degenerate from the slums were allies, even close friends. They meant to kill Murranus and had arranged the baiting so as to gamble on the future. Murranus would die so the likes of Dacius, Meleager and Agrippina could eat more delicacies, swill more wine and decorate their bodies with finer clothes and trinkets. It had all been planned from the beginning. Spicerius had been marked down for death and Murranus was the second ox for slaughter. And yet? Claudia ground the heel of her sandal into the grass. She had to face it, her own hate and desire for revenge throbbed loudly. She wanted Murranus to fight Meleager; she couldn’t ask for a better champion for herself and poor Felix. No greater vindicator or righter of wrongs. Over the last few days Claudia had made her decision. Meleager had to die. Murranus must kill him. There was no alternative, and if he didn’t, she would. So what could she do to help? She thought of Agrippina sitting like a pampered cat fed on cream, acting the victim with her wailing and lamentation, her pitiful glances as she tried to provoke sympathy and win support.

‘Bitch!’ Claudia breathed. ‘You painted bitch! You murderous whore! I’ll begin with you.’

Caligula came over, brushing itself against her legs. Claudia scratched the cat between the ears as she reflected on the other mysteries. The Holy Sword? Well, she smiled grimly, that would be a matter of catching the culprit red-handed. And as for the murders? Claudia narrowed her eyes and watched a blackbird, bolder than the rest, go hopping across the grass. The murders were, perhaps, not such a mystery; small items were beginning to prick her suspicions. She knew where Timothaeus was, and she also quietly vowed to keep an eye on Narcissus.

The tavern door opened behind her and Caligula streaked for the gap.

‘Claudia?’ Polybius, red-eyed and much the worse for drink, stood under the porch. ‘They’ve arrived, your visitors have come.’

She followed her uncle back into the tavern to where a man sat hunched near the door. On the other side of the door were a group all huddled, clustered together like mourners.

‘Sallust? Sallust the Searcher?’

The man pushed back his hood and undid the cord of his robe. Claudia was always fascinated by the old man’s face. It looked so commonplace: unshaven, watery-eyed, runny-nosed. The shock of white hair was unruly, the tunic he wore that of a peasant, the sandals bought second-hand from some army quartermaster. A pallid face with a snub nose, the eyes dark brown like those of a puppy, trusting and eager; not the face of a searcher of things, and as such it was his best disguise.

‘Why, Claudia!’ Sallust’s voice was just above a whisper. She grasped his hand. ‘It’s so good to see you. How long is it now?’

‘A few months. Would you like something to eat?’

‘Polybius is going to give me and my boys a jug of beer and a slice of pear tart. We eat very little, you know.’

Claudia sat down next to this searcher for things. Despite his appearance, or perhaps because of it, Sallust was the most expert of the men and women who watched and reported. During the recent civil war he had backed the wrong party. He’d been used by Maxentius and, when Constantine marched into Rome, had had to go into hiding. It was a long story, but Sallust, who knew Polybius from their military days, had appealed for help and Claudia had approached the presbyter Sylvester. A pardon and amnesty had been issued, confiscated property was returned and Sallust had become Claudia’s firm friend and ally. He had immediately returned to his searchings, aided and abetted by his extended family of sons, sons-in-law, kith and kin of many varieties.

Sallust didn’t work for the state but for private individuals. If a debt wasn’t paid or a wager withdrawn, a slave escaped, a child went missing or valuables disappeared, Sallust and his searchers would soon put that right. He had lost some of his wealth during the confusion following the civil war and was eager to make up his losses. He already owned a palatial town house within walking distance of the Palatine, as well as a restful villa out in the Campania. Sallust, however, liked to act the poor man, the nondescript, the person who could sit in a tavern and never be noticed or missed.

For a while Claudia just chattered about the She-Asses and Polybius’s garden, but Sallust gave her a grim reminder of what had happened the previous night, whispering that he and his family already knew about Spicerius’s death and Murranus’s boast.

‘Well, mistress?’ He drained his beer and gazed across at his huddle of relatives, busy filling their bellies with pear tart.

‘They’re so quiet!’ Claudia murmured.

‘Always like that,’ Sallust declared. ‘That’s how we do our business. Now, mistress, you asked to see me.’

‘Ah.’ Claudia edged a little closer. ‘I want to discuss three things with you: love tokens, a holy sword, and the town of Capua. Now. .’ She paused at the knocking on the door. She got up, opened it and stared at the tinker with a tray slung round his neck. She would have immediately closed the door, but he lifted his hand, displaying the crude icthus ring on his middle finger.

‘I’m looking for the woman Claudia.’

‘I’m she.’

‘Are you?’ He peered closer. ‘You know the turnings?’

‘Across the cemetery to the tomb dedicated to Servilius.’ Claudia gave the agreed answer.

‘He sent you this.’ The tinker handed across a scroll, waggled his fingers and disappeared.

Claudia made her excuse to Sallust and went out to the garden, where she undid the scroll and read Sylvester’s message. She was so surprised she read it again.

‘What is this?’ she exclaimed, staring down at the carefully formed letters.

Sylvester had described a mystery involving a violated tomb and the remains of a man and a woman known as Lucius and Claudia, not listed as Christians but still martyred for that faith. Apparently they were a childless couple whose holdings had been forfeit to the State but which now, under the Edict of Toleration, had been restored to the Church. Claudia reflected on her own suspicions and returned to Sallust.

‘As I said,’ she smiled, sitting down, ‘love tokens, a holy sword and the town of Capua.’

Sallust listened carefully to the problems facing Claudia, asking a few questions as she spoke. An hour later, he and his entourage left, promising to do what they could. The tavern was now stirring, and Claudia broke her own fast. Narcissus came down and sat in a corner, eating a bowl of yesterday’s meat and onions. Januaria sat next to him, all smiling and simpering. A short while later Murranus clattered down the stairs, complaining of a dry mouth and sore head. He wanted to be alone, to reflect on what had happened the previous day. He grunted greetings but said he had to hurry, wolfed down some bread soaked in milk, took a mouthful of beer, kissed Claudia on the brow and almost fled through the tavern door. Narcissus, tired of Januaria, came edging over.

‘Mistress,’ he asked plaintively, ‘what are we going to do?’

‘We are going to sit and moan,’ Claudia replied, mimicking his voice, ‘about having a soft bed, freedom, a purse of money, good food and a pretty girl to smile at you.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry,’ Claudia snapped. ‘Go down to the stables and saddle my cob. If you want, saddle a mount for yourself. We are going back to the Villa Pulchra.’

‘Then I’ll walk, I don’t like horses.’

‘Please yourself,’ Claudia retorted. She was eager to do something rather than sit and let the terrors seize hold of her.

Claudia collected her cloak, belt and purse, pushed some bread and dried meat into a napkin, borrowed a leather bag from the kitchen and made her farewells. Narcissus didn’t object to her proposal; he walked beside her describing how horses made him seasick before asking her why she wanted to return to the villa, pointing out that no one would be there; Timothaeus and the rest would now be in the imperial palace on the Palatine. Claudia murmured, ‘Good, I hope they stay there,’ before returning to her own thoughts and the list of suspicions she’d drawn up last night as she had lain in bed waiting for sleep.

Their journey through the streets was quick; only a trickle of early-morning travellers were taking advantage of the good weather and the half-empty streets. For most of their journey down to the Flavian Gate they followed a cohort of lightly armed legionnaires tramping out to one of the small forts on the approaches to Rome. Narcissus commented on how there seemed to be more troops on the move, whilst Claudia privately wondered if Constantine had decided to retaliate against his rival in the East. She was glad to be free of the She-Asses. Murranus had placed himself in great danger, but she did not want to worsen matters with sharp advice and a tart tongue. She made herself as comfortable as possible in the saddle, half dozing as they left the busy streets with their noise and smell, on to the main via which ran through the Flavian Gate. They passed the place of the dead and Claudia wondered about Sylvester’s enigmatic message. She was sure Sallust would help with that. Beside her Narcissus hummed a love song Januaria had taught him, whilst swiping with his stick at the brambles and weeds on the side of the path.

They made good progress, only standing aside for imperial messengers who came thundering along the via with their military escort. Soon they left the main road and followed the winding country paths, past the pickets guarding the approach to the villa, now reduced to only two or three men squatting before a fire, more interested in their oatmeal than a traveller who carried an imperial pass. When they reached the villa, a yawning guard opened the gate and ushered them into the cobbled yard. An under-steward came down to greet them, all blustering and protesting, but the protests died on his lips when he recognised Claudia and the pass she carried. He listened with astonishment as Claudia demanded that he summon all the servants and what guards were left down to the yard as soon as possible. He made to protest, but smiled at the prospect of a silver coin and hastened away. Claudia knew that once the court had left the villa, the servants would enjoy themselves doing as little as possible, hiding away and finding whatever mischief they could to while away the boredom. They soon flocked down to the yard, full of curiosity at this visitor and what she proposed: kitchen maids, page boys, gardeners, cleaners and washerwomen. Claudia asked them to gather round. She opened her purse and took out five silver pieces, promising them that anyone who found a weapon of war, as she described it, in the countryside to the south of the villa would receive a lavish reward.

‘What do you mean,’ the under-steward shouted, ‘a weapon of war?’

‘You’ll know it when you see it,’ Claudia retorted. She was standing on an upturned barrel; she felt it sway beneath her, so she snapped her fingers and told Narcissus to steady it. ‘You’ve all heard about the attack on the villa and the direction it came from. There’s a path leading down through the woods. I want you to go along that, oh, no more than two hundred paces from the walls, and search for any weapon of war, a dagger, a spear, an arrow, a sword or a shield. Anything which looks suspicious. Now, you know what I mean.’ She indicated with her hand. ‘On the right of the path leading from the main gate are woods, trees, shrubbery. Just ignore these. I want you to form a line and search the ground to the left of the path. As I’ve said, go no further than two hundred paces deep.’

‘And what happens if we don’t find anything?’ a gardener shouted.

‘Then you’ll still be rewarded.’ Claudia smiled. ‘I’ll leave some money so you can have a feast, Oh, and by the way,’ she added sharply, ‘I won’t tolerate any nonsense.’ She glared at the guards lounging about. ‘I don’t want some weapon taken from the armoury and placed under a bush. I’m not as stupid as I look.’ She hardened her voice. ‘I’m here on the Empress’s orders. Those who do her will shall be rewarded.’ She let the threat hang in the air.

The under-steward soon had them all organised, aided and abetted by some of the guards. The day was a fine one, they had little to do and all were eager to earn the reward. Once they’d left, Claudia went to the cellar and the House of Mourning, studying them carefully before going back to the kitchen, with Narcissus trailing behind like a ghost. They sat outside in the small courtyard and divided the food between them. Claudia ate and listened as Narcissus described how he would work at the She-Asses in preparation for his return to the embalming trade.

‘There’ll be plenty of custom for you,’ Claudia remarked drily, ‘amongst those who live near the Flavian Gate, though I’m not too sure how you’ll get paid.’

Narcissus, however, would not be deflected, but gave a dramatic account of how Polybius might lend him the money and even be his business partner. He chattered so quickly that Claudia wondered if he was nervous about what she might know. She swilled the wine round her cup. She had begged it from the cask man in the kitchens, who was too busy, as he’d put it, ‘to go out with the rest and get involved in childish games’. Claudia noticed a fly floating on the top of the wine. She plucked this out and wiped other specks from the not-so-clean goblet. She stirred the wine with her finger but didn’t wipe it dry, so it became sticky. She rubbed it, looking at the hardened whitish grains, and recalled sitting beside Spicerius’s corpse the previous evening.

‘That’s it!’ she exclaimed.

‘What is?’

‘Never mind,’ Claudia replied and leaning back against the wall, she stared at the white doves on the red tower roof across the courtyard.

The heat grew intense, so they moved into the gardens to enjoy the coolness of their shade near a bubbling water fountain. The under-steward found them there; he was hot, rather dusty and none too pleased with what had been found.

‘There wasn’t much,’ he grumbled. ‘You’d best see for yourself.’

The rest of the servants were gathered in the stable courtyard and had laid their finds on a sheet stretched across the cobbles. There were pieces of strapping, a buckle, a weather-worn sheath, a javelin head, and even the rather battered handle of a sword, as well as scraps of leather and armoury. Claudia sifted through them. Some of the items must have been there for years, but others were clearly remains from the recent attack. She made sure that they had searched the area she had described. The servants, red-faced and perspiring, all loudly agreed that they had pushed their way through bracken and gorse but found very little. Claudia thanked them, and handed over the five silver pieces and one more. She also authorised the under-steward to draw wine and food from the stores and feast at the villa’s expense all those who had searched.

It was well past noon, but despite Narcissus’s grumbles, Claudia decided it was cool enough to return to the city. They had an uneventful journey back, joining a convoy of wine merchants who’d heard about the games and were hastening to Rome in the hope of greater profit. The She-Asses was almost deserted. Claudia went up to her own chamber, took out a small writing casket and, as if she was listing items to buy, wrote down everything she’d discovered. Then she slept for a while, going down to join a taciturn Polybius for the evening meal. Her uncle announced mournfully that Murranus had decided to stay at the gladiator school, determined to train for the coming conflict.

The mood of the tavern had changed. The wine had worn off, the excitement had soured. Many of the customers secretly suspected Murranus had been trapped, his chances of victory greatly reduced. Claudia knew she would have to wait. She had gambled on Sallust the Searcher making a quick discovery, but it wasn’t until the following evening that he slipped into the tavern. Despite the warm weather, he still wore his cloak, and insisted on speaking to Claudia out in the garden, where no one could see or hear them. Only then did he undo the cloak and hand across the bundle.

‘I think that’s what you’re looking for?’ He smiled, winked at her and got to his feet. ‘I don’t want to stay; after all, my boys and I could be accused of robbing a tomb.’ His smile widened. ‘Your suspicions were correct.’

‘And the other business?’ Claudia asked.

‘I’m afraid that’ll take more time. Everyone is excited about the coming games. It’s hard to sift the wheat from the chaff and so discover the truth.’

Claudia thanked him, and the searcher left, pausing in the tavern for a jug of beer. Claudia made sure Narcissus wasn’t about and went to her chamber. She opened the bundle to check its contents, then hid it under her bed and hurried down to the kitchen, where Narcissus was helping Poppaoe. Claudia asked him to go to the Palatine with one of the tavern boys to inform Timothaeus the steward that she must see him urgently on a matter concerning the Empress. Polybius came in as Narcissus made to object.

‘I think you should go,’ Polybius declared. ‘It’s the least you can do for someone you owe so much.’

Grumbling under his breath, Narcissus took his staff, put on his sandals and left with a little tavern boy whom everyone called ‘Sorry’ because that was all the lad would say as he pushed himself through the throng to serve a customer.

‘You’re excited.’ Polybius put his hand under Claudia’s chin. ‘Your face is slightly flushed, eyes bright as polished buttons.’

‘Uncle, I would like you to do me a favour. What’s on the menu today?’

‘Same as yesterday,’ Polybius pulled a face, ‘and last week. Fish, sausage and vegetables, though we are serving some fruit.’

‘I want you to serve me and my guests something tasty out in the garden. Narcissus and Timothaeus the steward will appreciate your cooking. I also want a bucket of sand and a kitchen knife.’

Polybius, intrigued, replied with a stream of questions, but Claudia only laughed, shook her head and walked away.

Noon had come and gone by the time Narcissus brought a red-faced, perspiring Timothaeus into the She-Asses. Claudia greeted the steward warmly, introduced him to everybody and then, winking at her uncle, took her guests out to the orchard. Polybius had put out a small blanket on the ground; the bucket of sand and kitchen knife were half hidden behind the stone seat. Timothaeus was full of bluster and questioning, and protested at being pulled away from his busy duties, but a goblet of Polybius’s finest white wine and a platter of freshly caught fish took the edge off his temper. Narcissus, however, was much more watchful. Claudia wondered if someone in the tavern had warned him of her preparations. For a while they discussed the coming games. Timothaeus explained how Murranus’s boast was known all over the palace. ‘The bets are being laid,’ he exclaimed, ‘and people are already buying up the best seats. The master of the school of gladiators has been to see Rufinus to organise the events. They say everyone in Rome who matters will be there; they are talking of a fight to the death, and whoever goes down,’ he added darkly, ‘is staying down. Oh, by the way, the Augusta sends her warmest greetings, as does Chrysis. Burrus said he hasn’t forgotten what you did for him, though the Empress,’ he added shrewdly, ‘is still full of questions about what you should do for her.’

‘I’m glad you’ve finished your food.’ Claudia sat cross-legged and smiled dazzlingly at Timothaeus. ‘You see, gentlemen, I have found the Holy Sword!’

She needed all the training of her acting career to keep her face straight. Narcissus almost choked on a plum and had to spit it out, while the goblet slipped from Timothaeus’s hand. Claudia caught it deftly and put it on the grass beside her. Narcissus began to shake as if at the onset of a sudden fever; all colour drained from Timothaeus’s face.

‘You’re not going to faint, are you?’ Claudia teased. ‘That’s something both of you are very good at, fainting. Oh, and don’t start jumping to your feet, please; the less that people know, the better.’

Claudia rose, walked into the orchard and brought back the parcel the searcher had given her. She undid the cloth and they all stared at the old legionary sword, its polished hilt shimmering blueish in the sunlight, the ruby in the ivory handle glowing with its hidden fire. She picked the sword up, balancing it in both hands.

‘I think this could be the sword,’ she declared evenly. ‘It feels like a legionary sword, I mean the balance. The blade is polished and is rather old, though the handle’s new, which makes it a little top heavy, I mean with the ivory and the ruby.’

‘Where. . where?’ Timothaeus’s voice faltered.

‘Where? Where?’ Claudia teased. ‘There, there! I realised you had stolen the sword, Timothaeus, but you’re a good man, a devout Christian.’ She ticked the points off on her fingers. ‘You wouldn’t sell it; that would be sacrilege and highly dangerous. You wouldn’t keep it for yourself; that would be selfish and very dangerous. Thirdly, you couldn’t give it over to the Church; they would immediately hand it back to the Empress.’

‘So?’ Narcissus spoke as if he was choking.

‘I came to the logical conclusion.’ Claudia smiled. ‘If this was the sword responsible for the martyrdom of the Blessed Paul, then what better place for it than the shrine, the monument which now covers his tomb on the road to Ostia, the very place where the Apostle Paul was executed? Now, I was back in Rome before you so that I could get everything prepared. I met an old gentleman, a friend of mine, Sallust the Searcher. He literally has a legion of relatives, and it was simply a matter of him organising these to watch the most famous Christian holy spots around the city, with a particularly close guard over the tomb of the Blessed Paul. Sallust himself watched that! This was the first time you had been back in Rome since the sword was stolen. You smuggled it from the Villa Pulchra and I realised you would try and get rid of it as soon as possible.’

‘I thought I was being-’

‘Watched?’ Claudia asked. ‘Of course you were, just as you ordered Narcissus to watch me.’

Timothaeus swallowed hard.

‘Do you know something?’ Claudia put the sword down beside her, covered it with the cloth, leaned across and patted both Timothaeus and Narcissus on the face. ‘If I ever go back to acting and organise my own troupe, I will ask you two to join. What a performance! Surely you are going to ask me how I discovered this? How I found out? Oh, don’t be frightened, Timothaeus. I’m not going to have you arrested.’

Both men smiled in relief. Claudia got to her feet and brought out the bucket of sand and the sharp kitchen knife.

‘Once upon a time,’ she smiled, ‘there was a very devout Christian steward called Timothaeus, who truly believed in the teaching of Christ. Being a non-Jew, a former pagan, he had a special devotion to the Apostle Paul, who, I understand, first brought Christ’s teaching to the Gentiles. Didn’t Paul preach in Antioch; that’s the first place your sect were called Christians, wasn’t it? Anyway, Timothaeus is also a loyal servant of the Empress; he adores her. Thanks to her and her son, the Christians have been allowed out of the catacombs. The Empress Helena flirts with Christianity: will she, won’t she convert? She also has a deep interest in all things Christian. The Empire is being ransacked as the Augusta searches for the True Cross, the Crown of Thorns, the spear which pierced Christ’s side, the nails driven into his wrists. Helena’s one great prize is the Holy Sword which cut the Blessed Paul’s neck and was splashed with his holy blood. She organises a great debate at the Villa Pulchra and decides to put the sword on show.

‘Of course, in any royal palace things go missing, so she chooses that cellar, where the sword will hang from a hook and chain above a pit of sand. If anyone tries to touch it, they’ll mark the sand where their feet will sink deep. The chain is suspended so you would have to stretch out with a rod to pull it close and unhook the sword. The cellar has no windows and is guarded by the Augusta’s German ruffians, whilst the heavy door is kept locked by two different keys. One held by you, and the other by Burrus.’

Claudia picked up Timothaeus’s goblet and pressed it into his hands. ‘Go on,’ she urged, ‘drink. And you too, Narcissus.’ She paused, staring up through the branches of a tree. ‘As I said, Timothaeus, you are a devout Christian; you also have scruples.’

‘What are they?’ Narcissus intervened.

‘You know full well: doubts, uncertainties. You were rather repelled, weren’t you, Timothaeus, by such a sacred Christian relic being owned by pagans and put on display to be visited by the likes of Chrysis, or, worse still, the followers of Arianism, Justin and his gang. You saw it as blasphemy, a form of violation. So you decided not to steal it, but to take it from the gaze of the vulgar and return it to a more sacred spot. You’d do it in such a way that no one could be blamed or punished, but you needed help. Now I know, you know, that Narcissus is a Christian. He secured his post at the Villa Pulchra because of the influence of the powerful Sylvester. Narcissus is your drinking partner, isn’t he, Timothaeus, someone you confide in? And because you are the steward at the palace, you also exert a lot of influence.’

‘Are you saying we both stole it?’ Narcissus asked.

‘Of course I am. Timothaeus, as I said, is full of scruples. He prayed for divine guidance. How could he take such a sword so cleverly guarded? I suppose the gods answer our prayers in peculiar ways; in this case, the answer was Burrus.’

‘He had nothing to do with it,’ Timothaeus blurted out.

‘Precisely,’ Claudia replied, ‘but he was the answer to your prayer. Burrus and his guards are highly superstitious. They wouldn’t go into the cellar or anywhere near the Holy Sword. So, Timothaeus, you laid your plans. You pretended to have a bad leg and, the day before, walked into the cellar with a stick, which you left there hidden in some crevice or by the wall. I remember one of the guards asking about your leg but you quickly dismissed it. Anyway, the following day you returned. By now, Burrus and his guards were used to your routine; they were quite happy to let you in and out. You moved quickly. You took one of the stools, placed it near the sandpit, grasped your walking cane, climbed on the stool and dragged the chain closer. You unhooked the sword, climbed down, hid the walking stick away and moved the stool back.’

‘And the sword?’ Timothaeus asked.

Claudia picked up the kitchen knife and drove it deep into the sand in the bucket.

‘You buried it in the sand.’

‘But they would have noticed.’

‘Oh, don’t say that the sand would have been disturbed. You’d already prepared for that eventuality. Notice how the blade of the kitchen knife sinks deep.’ Claudia pressed on it until the hilt almost disappeared. ‘I remember standing on that sand,’ she continued. ‘It was finely grained. My feet sank deep, well over my ankles. You could either have driven the sword in hilt first, or hidden it and covered it with sand. You may even have practised that in the days beforehand. You then pretended to faint. Your hand and arm brushed the sand, so if anyone did notice anything untoward, they would see it as the effect of your faint. Poor Timothaeus, overcome by fright! Of course, Burrus and his guards become curious and look in. They see what’s happened and raise the alarm. Now, the person who should be dealing with the crisis is lying in a dead faint in the cellar, and the Augusta hasn’t arrived yet. There’s a great deal of chaos and consternation, people running about, and lo and behold, by mere chance,’ Claudia leaned over and patted Narcissus’s hand, ‘there’s a slave from the House of Mourning who happens to be a Christian and a close friend of the now prostrate steward. I mean, what were you doing there, Narcissus?’

He opened his mouth to answer, only to sigh and glance away.

‘You told me yourself,’ Claudia continued, ‘how your duties were in the House of Mourning. What were you doing near that cellar? You were waiting, weren’t you? You helped take the stretcher in. You made sure that you stood on the sand, that the sword was hidden. Moreover, who would notice as poor Timothaeus was taken from the cellar that you picked up his walking stick and took it out for him? People were not looking for a walking stick, they were looking for a sword.’

‘And?’ Timothaeus asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

‘Well, Burrus and his boys are quivering like saplings in a storm; they think the sword is sacred and your God has come to claim it. Gaius Tullius is a pagan and a cynic. He searches the cellar but finds nothing. He’s not really interested, is he? It’s not his responsibility — what is a Christian relic to him? A short while later Timothaeus, now much recovered, returns to the now unguarded cellar, takes the sword out and hides it away.’ Claudia paused, as if listening to the birds singing in the branches above her. ‘You were very clever,’ she added. ‘But it was Narcissus being so close to the cellar when it happened which made me curious; that and logic. I mean, the sword disappeared but no one saw it leave, so it must have been left in the cellar. The question was where.’

‘You suspected me?’ Narcissus asked.

‘Oh yes, you’re very suspect, Narcissus. Remember the night of the fire, when the House of Mourning was burned to the ground? You were actually asleep close by, under the shade of a sycamore tree. You said you had been drinking heavily. Now you are a free man, but then you were a slave. Every other servant in the Villa Pulchra, not to mention the slaves, only eats and drinks after the banquet. But you, by your own admission, were probably as drunk as any of Constantine’s guests. I made enquiries in the kitchens, but no one remembered serving you a drink.’

‘It was me,’ Timothaeus confessed.

‘Yes, it certainly was.’ Claudia smiled. ‘A small reward for Narcissus’s help. What did you give him? I found the bones — a nice fat piece of capon, a juicy slice of beef and a jug of the best Falernian. A suitable reward for a slave who’d helped you so much, who had to be bribed silent and, knowing you, Narcissus, who was grumbling about how nervous he felt. Timothaeus went down to the villa kitchen and brought you out certain delicacies and a nice deep-bowled goblet of wine. You’ve got a good appetite, Narcissus, I’ve seen you eat. You were nervous, agitated, and you ate quickly and drank just as swiftly. You fell asleep. When you woke up you must have thought you were in a nightmare. The House of Mourning was burning, enquiries might be made and questions asked — what was a slave in charge of the House of Mourning doing filling his belly and drinking the best wine?’

‘What will you do?’ Timothaeus took his hands away from his face.

‘What will I do?’ Claudia shrugged. ‘Look, Timothaeus, the best and safest place for this sword is with the Empress. You will make some excuse and go straight back to the Villa Pulchra, where you will hang the sword back on its hook. No, no, that’s too stupid!’ Claudia scratched her chin. ‘You’ll take it back to the villa and organise a search of the gardens. You will find it, hand it back to the Empress, and receive her thanks, as well as a lavish reward. This idle bugger,’ Claudia pointed a finger at Narcissus, ‘will help you. You’ll be the heroes of the hour.’

Both men sighed in relief. Timothaeus stood up, stretched to ease the cramp and crouched before Claudia. He took her face into his hands and kissed her gently on the brow.

‘I wondered,’ he pulled a face, ‘I really did wonder about you, Claudia. I could tell just by the way you were looking at me that you knew something was wrong. It is as you say. I used to see the sword hanging there. Sometimes I thought I could see the holy blood of Blessed Paul glistening on its blade. I realised how easy it would be to stand on one of those stools and take it. I used the stick to measure the sand. It’s very soft and very deep. Burrus and his Germans would never come in. So I persuaded Narcissus to help. I told him what I wanted, that I could make his life ever so comfortable, so he agreed. I didn’t plan,’ he added, glaring at his companion in crime, ‘to make him drunk, or imagine that the House of Mourning would be burned.’

‘What else can we do?’ Narcissus intoned mournfully.

‘Oh, I think you can help me with a number of things.’ Claudia smiled. ‘But first take this blessed sword back to the Villa Pulchra, and when you have found it, hasten back to the Palatine and show the Augusta what you have achieved. Tell her your sleep was racked by dreams.’

Both men got to their feet.

‘Oh, Narcissus, do something else for me. On your journey to and from the Villa Pulchra, ask yourself what you saw that night.’

‘Which night?’

‘The night the House of Mourning burned to the ground. Every single thing you saw! You must go to the villa with Timothaeus, but when I send Sorry for you, you are both to come here immediately.’

Claudia watched the two men leave. Timothaeus had wrapped up the sword carefully.

‘Ask Polybius for a bag,’ she called, ‘a leather sack. It’s up to you whether you walk or ride.’

Timothaeus raised his hand and disappeared into the tavern. Claudia lay down on the grass and stared up through the branches. Timothaeus would do what she asked, and as for Narcissus. .

‘I haven’t finished with you yet,’ Claudia whispered. She felt her eyes grow heavy and drifted into sleep, and when she woke she was aware of a figure, dark against the sunlight. She immediately lunged for her dagger.

‘Mistress, it’s only me!’

Sallust the Searcher crouched down on the grass. Claudia apologised, rubbing her face with her hands.

‘You’ve been asleep for at least two hours,’ Polybius shouted from the porch. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you, but if you slept too long. .’

Claudia raised her hand. She asked Sallust to make himself comfortable whilst she went across to the latrines and into the small wash house nearby. She bathed her hands and face, wiping the sleep from her eyes, and idly wondered how Timothaeus and Narcissus were faring at the Villa Pulchra. She went out and rejoined Sallust.

‘I’ve left the boys in the tavern.’ The searcher mopped a platter with a piece of bread, popped it into his mouth and started on the fruit which Timotheus and Narcissus had left. ‘So you got the Holy Sword back?’ He smiled. ‘It was so easy, you know. I kept the palace under watch! I have some friends there, so I could drift in and out. Timothaeus was acting like a scalded cat, he was highly nervous. He came sneaking out at the dead of night when he thought no one was watching, through a side gate, and by the time he had reached his sacred place, the tomb of that Christian — what’s his name? Ah yes, Paul — there were more people watching him than spectators do an actor in some play. The tomb stands off the road. Timothaeus went as close as he could, dug a hole and buried it.’

‘I didn’t ask him for the details,’ Claudia confessed. ‘He was just so relieved, he couldn’t get away fast enough. You’ll keep it quiet?’

Sallust raised his right hand.

‘Claudia, Claudia. If I told the police everything I knew, half of Rome would be arrested! Now, I’ve got news for you. You were correct. Spicerius was murdered. I don’t know how, but the bitch who poisoned him was certainly no friend.’