Defender of Rome

XL

They placed Olivia’s bed on the marble walkway by the pool. When he saw his sister Valerius’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. In the few days since he had left her, the thing that was killing Olivia had eaten away what little excess flesh there’d been. Hollow pits dented her cheeks and dark circles rimmed her eyes. Her lips, which even a week ago had been full and warm, were now pale lines covering teeth gritted in pain. If he had not known better he would have thought she was already dead.

Lucius stood by his daughter’s side, whey-faced, exhausted in body and spirit, yet despite his condition Valerius noticed an unusual radiance behind his eyes, as if someone had lit a slow-burning fire inside. The old man sensed his son’s presence and looked up wearily. ‘Only Petrus can save her now.’

By now it was quite dark, but the clouds parted above the pool and moonlight danced on the rippling waters like glittering shards of broken glass. A sing-song chanting announced the arrival of Petrus at the head of a small procession escorted by four torch-bearers. Valerius was astonished at the transformation in the Judaean. The careworn old man in the ragged, flea-bitten coat had been replaced by a commanding figure dressed in the golden robes of a high priest of a Judaean temple, his majesty exaggerated by a padded crown and his glory enhanced by a breastplate studded with precious stones. Behind him, in a simple white robe and accompanied by two handmaidens, Poppaea glided serenely across the marble, pale as a water nymph, her head high and her eyes fixed on the cascade at the end of the pool. Valerius stepped back into the shadow, but not before the dark eyes flicked towards him and widened in surprise.

The little procession arrived at the end of the pool where the ornamental fall turned the waters white. It was shallower here and steps had been built to allow the decorous access fitting to an Empress. Before Poppaea entered the water, Petrus proclaimed her ready to undergo the ceremony. As Valerius watched, a tall bearded man in a priest’s robe emerged from the shadows and placed a hand upon her forehead. There was something familiar about the priest, but he couldn’t be sure what it was. His father whispered that Poppaea was being asked the series of questions that must be answered before the sacrament could proceed. Eventually, the man nodded gravely and led her down the steps into the pool.

When they were knee-deep in the water he took her hand and walked with her to the gushing cataract. The moon had disappeared behind the clouds, but now a single shaft of light illuminated the two people by the waterfall. Valerius drew breath and he heard gasps all around him. It was as if he had known the man with Poppaea all his life, yet he knew he had never set eyes on him before tonight. Poppaea hesitated and a shocked hush fell over the watchers, but the hesitation only lasted for a second before she plunged into the foaming deluge with a cry of ecstasy. As she did so, the man raised his hands to the sky and in a voice charged with emotion called out an invocation.

‘Lord our God, cleanse this unworthy woman of her sins and take her into your house, in keeping with your Covenant. Write your law upon her heart, place your almighty spirit within her and take her immortal soul into your keeping.’

When Poppaea emerged from beneath the fall her robe clung to her body revealing every curve and shadow, but Valerius only had eyes for the man who stood beside her. Was it a trick of the light? No, he had seen enough injury to be certain. In the centre of the priest’s palm was the puckered scar of an old wound. He turned to his father, but Lucius’s gaze had never left Poppaea. Valerius touched the old man on the shoulder. ‘Did you see…?’ But when he turned back to the pool the figure in the white robe had vanished.

Poppaea’s handmaidens quickly covered her in a white sheet and Petrus placed his palm upon her forehead, saying: ‘You are reborn now. In the name of Jesus Christus, I name you Maria. God is within you, you are his temple, go in peace.’

When Poppaea walked from the pool, she seemed taller, and her eyes shone with the wonder of what she had just experienced. Even with her hair plastered against her skull she radiated an inner beauty that transcended anything she had possessed before. She walked within feet of Valerius, but gave no hint of recognition. Valerius studied the men and women around him, looking for the man in the white robe. They included the lawyer from the baptism chamber in Rome and his plump wife, who stared unwaveringly towards the waterfall. Valerius felt the ground shudder beneath his feet but none of them appeared to notice it.

Lucius tugged at his sleeve, his eyes bright with rapture. ‘You saw it?’ he demanded. ‘She was reborn. God’s spirit came in a shaft of light and entered her. Do you understand what it means? Olivia can be saved, but only if we place her soul in God’s keeping.’ The grip on his arm tightened. ‘Will you join me, Valerius, and accompany her as she makes the journey towards salvation?’

‘Did you see him?’ Valerius demanded.

‘Petrus?’

‘No. The man with the wounds in his hands.’

His father opened his mouth, but before he could reply, a shout rang out from the hillside above.

‘Riders! Riders from the north!’