Queen of the Night

Chapter 5

Probitas laudator et alget.

Honesty is praised and left out in the cold.

Juvenal, Satires

Leartus took Claudia on a tour of the villa. They first visited a two-storey tower in the gardens with a viewing platform at the top. From there Claudia could look out over the scenery on either side, and she realised how much it varied. She glimpsed the road she'd travelled on as it narrowed through copses of wood; on either side stretched broad meadows where flocks of sheep and herds of horses and cattle grazed. She could see the different-coloured gardens and flowerbeds of the villa, how the whole complex was in the shape of a 'D'. Leartus pointed out the courtyards, the porticoed walks, the various rooms, the cubicula, the banqueting room, the small apartments, the sun terraces and the heating chambers. He chattered away in a soft, pleasant voice, explaining how the General greatly loved evergreen shrubs and rosemary, whilst he had a special fondness for mulberries and fig trees which grew so luxuriously in his gardens because the soil was especially fertile.

From the tower he took her down into a small garden where the trees were planted in a stylised arrangement reflecting the regular rhythm of the columns and other features of the surrounding buildings, with flowerbeds positioned precisely between different statues or trees. Leartus, laughing softly, explained how Aurelian was a disciplinarian, a military man even when it came to laying out a garden, whilst the Lady Urbana was an expert on herbs. Claudia was fascinated by the different flowerbeds; she was able to recognise many plants: the lily, the violet, the myrtle, the acanthus, the rose, as well as the hybrids and a range of other shrubs. They sheltered under a small cupola overlooking a pool of purity, its water gleaming blue and gold in the sunlight. Leartus explained how the fresco at the bottom of the pool reflected the sun god Mithras, Aurelian's favourite deity, and how the old General refused to become a Christian, claiming he would have nothing to do with the teachings of a criminal who'd been crucified on the far edges of the Empire.

'And you, Leartus?' Claudia leaned forward to sniff a rose. 'How come you're here?'

'I was born in a small village,' Leartus squinted up at the sky, 'near the River Granicus. My father died young and my mother sold me into service. I became a eunuch as a boy and then, of course, there was war. A Roman raiding party came to the village. You know what happens: the women were abused, the men killed. The farmstead I was working on was burned to the ground. I was taken prisoner and brought to Rome. I must have been then no more than fifteen or sixteen.' He rolled back the sleeve of his tunic and showed Claudia the impression of a slave merchant. 'I was put on sale, but because I was a eunuch, very few people had time for me, particularly as I was ill-educated and hardly knew the Latin tongue. But then the Lady Cassia – she's much older than she looks – visited the marketplace. She was looking for someone like me and took me home. One of her patrons, a Pythagorean from Athens, a scholar, a very wealthy man, educated me and taught me the sign language, and ever since, I've been in her service. Where she goes I follow; what she does I watch. A few years ago she met the Lady Urbana; Cassia became a Christian and so did I.' 'And are you happy?

Leartus screwed up his face, and Claudia noticed how young and athletic he looked. He smelled faintly of some delicious perfume; his hair was slightly ringleted and carefully cut, his hands and nails scrubbed clean, his every move elegant and refined.

'Happiness,' he declared, 'is a state of mind, or so Plato would have us believe. Happiness is relative, I suppose. If I had not been made a eunuch, not been captured, not enslaved, perhaps life might have been different, could have been better. And you, Claudia?'

She was about to reply when a servant appeared in the garden calling Leartus' name.

'My mistress summons.' Leartus smiled. 'Claudia,' he gestured at the servant to keep quiet, 'would you like to stay here or go somewhere else? Is there anything more you wish to see?'

'I've seen so many things recently.' Claudia grinned up at him. i move from one extreme to another. Yesterday I was inspecting a corpse in a stinking alleyway; this morning I am sitting in a beautiful garden, the air rich with perfume, nothing to listen to except the birds and the dull hum of bees searching for pollen. Have you ever read Pliny's description of his villa?'

The eunuch nodded.

'Just to read it is soothing enough,' Claudia declared, 'but being in a garden like this is paradise. Ah well!' She sighed. 'The day goes on, and work has to be done. I would like to see the library, there are things I must do.'

Leartus quickly agreed. He told the slave to wait and took Claudia back into the villa, along its elegant, beautifully decorated galleries to a chamber called The Hermes. It had a shiny wooden floor and white-plastered walls, most of which were covered by carefully erected shelves of Lebanese cedar holding stacks of parchments, some recent, others yellow with age, all carefully listed and tagged. A long trestle table, polished and gleaming, ran down the middle of the room. At the far end, under an open window, sat a dusty-faced freedman whom Leartus introduced as the librarian. When the eunuch explained that Claudia was the General's personal guest, the librarian could not do enough to please. Leartus departed, and for a while Claudia moved amongst the different manuscripts taking down the works of Terence and Petronius. There were even some Christian writings, including a copy of a letter from their great teacher Paul, transcribed elegantly in both Latin and Greek.

'Is there anything else you need?' The librarian kept following her like a shadow.

'Yes, there is.' Claudia smiled. 'I'd like a fresh piece of papyrus, a pumice stone, a quill and some ink and I'll be very happy'

A short while later, in a writing carrel placed beneath a window, Claudia sat, face in her hands, and stared at the dust motes dancing in the light. What had she actually discovered so far? She took a sharpened quill, dipped it into the ink and carefully wrote her ciphered conclusions.

Primo. The hostages were wealthy young men and women snatched from their doting parents, gagged, bound and held for ransom. The amount demanded, 25,000 in gold coins, was heavy but not too onerous. None of the hostages could determine where they'd been kept, except their cell was fetid and rather cool. They were held there whilst the abductors sent their parents threatening messages to deliver the gold to that rambling cemetery along the Via Appia. The money was always delivered, the young man or woman always released. Claudia paused, then continued writing. The more she reflected on this, the more certain she became that the cemetery along the Via Appia was not only the place where the hostages were released, but that they were actually detained in some catacomb cavern beneath. The abductors were certainly a gang. Theodore had talked of a group of masked men invading that garden. Was their leader someone who knew all the movements of those they kidnapped? Such information could become common knowledge in great households such as those of Senator Carinus or General Aurelian; slaves, servants, freedmen, people hired for a special occasion, they could all be bought. And why were the youngsters abducted? Was it purely for profit, or was the leader of this gang trying to bring the rule of Constantine and his mother into disrepute? Claudia dipped her pen in the ink again.

Secundo. Theodore. She felt a pang of sadness,- she'd worked with men like Theodore. A good man at heart, absorbed in his own art, the love of drama, the play, the lines, the world of make-believe into which she had once retreated. Theodore had been with Antonia the night she'd been abducted. Claudia could understand a young woman being seduced by Theodore's learning, his affected ways, his flattery. Had the actor been part of the gang? Or were the abductors led to the Fountain of Artemis by someone else, a traitor inserted into Carinus' household? Theodore claimed he had tried to resist, that he'd plucked a mask from one of the gang and would recognise his face again. Yet he was not that brave. Surely, if the gang of abductors had realised that one of them had been unmasked, they would have dispatched Theodore, a mere actor, there and then? So why had Theodore developed that story? To pose as the hero, to win the favour of Senator Carinus, or something else? He had been taken to the palace, interviewed by the Empress and later became an enforced guest at the She Asses tavern. Why had he been killed? What did he see? What did he know? Claudia put her quill down and nipped her thigh.

'That's for not being sharp enough,' she muttered. 'You should have questioned him.'

'Pardon?' the old librarian called from his stool at the far end of the room.

'Nothing.' Claudia smiled. Tm talking to myself.'

'I know the feeling,' the librarian quipped.

Claudia went back to her reflections. Theodore had definitely been poisoned. He had not eaten or drunk anything since he'd left the palace. She had watched him visit the Temple of Hathor, his quick words with that sharp-featured priest Sesothenes. He had been murdered at her uncle's tavern, but how? Someone had certainly followed him to the She Asses and managed to sprinkle a deadly poison either in his food or his wine, yet the cup he'd been drinking from was untainted, she was sure of that.

Claudia reread what she'd written. One word caught her attention: 'masks'. She underlined it. What if, she argued with herself, Theodore had not dragged the mask from one of the attacker's faces but recognised the actual masks? She felt a faint thrill of excitement. 'Of course,' she whispered, and glanced up at the window. Actors' masks were fairly expensive, especially those which covered the entire face and head. Had Theodore recognised those masks as belonging to a specific troupe or being sold in a certain shop? Claudia sprang to her feet, walked to the library door and went out to stand under the shade. She recalled her own days as an actress: one thing they were most careful about was the masks,- they were the tools to convey the drama. Had the masks been bought, or had the person who organised these abductions hired a troupe of actors to perpetrate the crimes? Again Claudia reflected on her own troupe. Many of them had a great deal to hide and could be hired not just to stage a drama but to do anything else a wealthy patron might desire. In fact, that was why Claudia herself had returned to Rome: her manager had become bankrupt and the other actors were being hired for activities she could not stomach.

Claudia glanced across the well-groomed lawn at a strutting peacock, its feathers all arrayed to catch the sun like some gorgeously bejewelled coat. 'Theodore was like that,' she murmured, 'all shadow and little substance, but in this case, what was the little substance?' Returning to the library, she smiled: the manuscript on the desk had been moved. Doubtless the old librarian had come across to see what she'd been writing. However, Claudia often wrote in her own script, intelligible to no one; sometimes she lost her temper with herself when even she couldn't decipher it, but not this time. She would remember the mask! She sat down, grasped the pen and continued to write.

Tertio. The death of the veterans. Three had been killed: one in his chamber, two in alleyways; the killer was undoubtedly a woman, a prostitute, a whore. Old soldiers were vulnerable; they would be wary, but a pretty woman was a different matter. Claudia could imagine the assassin snuggling close, the man putting his arms around her, leaving himself exposed to that swift dagger thrust to the belly. The shock and the pain probably forced him to his knees, then the killer would slip behind him, pulling back his head, cutting his throat before carrying out those heinous abominations upon his corpse. Claudia was certain that the murders were linked to what had happened in the north of Britain some eighteen years ago; that Pictish war band being massacred in the mile fort, the Golden Maid, the rivalry between Stathylus and Postulus. But what had happened now to summon ghosts from the past? What had Petilius seen? Why did he wish to meet his old general again? To tell him something confidential? Something secret? But why didn't he share this with his friends? Of course! Claudia glanced up. All those veterans were frightened. General Aurelian had put his finger on the heart of the problem. Postulus had been a Roman officer, maliciously murdered by his own men,- for such an abominable crime they deserved crucifixion or some other horrific death. Did Petilius see something, or someone, at that reunion and realise their secret might not be as carefully guarded and protected as he thought? Was that why he didn't share his information with his colleagues but wanted to see Aurelian? Claudia sat for a while studying what she'd written, reflecting on what she'd seen and heard. Her mind returned to the She Asses tavern, and she picked up the pen again.

Quatro. Sancta Fulgentia – where had that corpse come from? Claudia knew enough about the Christians and the great emphasis they laid on miracles. She'd heard stories of bodies found in the catacombs, especially young women who'd been killed and buried before the Edict of Milan, when Constantine had issued his Decree of Toleration for the Christians. Some of these tombs had now been opened, and according to popular rumour a few of the bodies within had not decomposed, a true sign of God's favour. Was this corpse one of these? Claudia concentrated on what she'd learned. The body had definitely been buried with Diocletian's coins on its eyelids; these dated the woman's death to about nine or ten years ago. It had been buried in a part of the garden, certainly not by Polybius, who hadn't owned the tavern then. Apuleius, a man of integrity, had guaranteed that the body was singular in aspect and appearance. Yet if Fulgentia had been a girl taken from a family outside the city, brought into Rome for questioning and murdered, why not bury her in the cemetery along the Via Appia where her corpse would never be found? Or, as had happened to so many, throw her into the Tiber or bury her beneath one of the many wastelands and commons in and around Rome?

She tried to recall the events as they had happened. The corpse had been found by Venutus the Vine-dresser, who'd chosen the wrong part of the garden to work. He'd started in the poor light and Polybius, busy in the tavern making sure the ovens and stoves were fired, didn't notice. The corpse had been found in that chest, the coins pressed on the eyes and those faint marks on her throat and along her shoulders. It hadn't decomposed. Claudia closed her eyes. Polybius had naturally taken control and sent for someone skilled in medicine. Apuleius was the natural choice. He and his wife arrived. They declared Fulgentia was possibly a martyr and should be revered. No clinical explanation could be given for the preservation. The corpse was swathed in fresh linen, placed back in its coffin and taken down to the cool cellar. Polybius, never a man to miss a profit, then proclaimed the Great Miracle throughout the quarter. Men like Mercury the Messenger spread the news and the curious flocked in; they bought wine and food as well as paying to gape at the Great Miracle.

Claudia gritted her teeth. There was something wrong. Polybius was a rogue, but Claudia knew her uncle and Poppaoe would never stoop to any real wickedness. Mischief perhaps, evil no. And then there were the witnesses: Narcissus the Neat, Oceanus, and, above all, Apuleius. She paused as she heard the sound of women singing, straining her ears she caught the words.

'To the Lord of Light on the eastern horizon, Risen Lord, clothed in might, come Lord Jesus, come.'

'What is that?'

The librarian, dozing on his stool, lifted his head. 'Ah, that will be the Lady Urbana and the other Magdalena. They often meet here, in that part of the garden set aside for them.'

'Can I see?'

'Come with me.' The old librarian, huffing and puffing, got off his stool, came around his table and led Claudia out into the bright sunlight. After the smell of vellum, parchment, ink and sand, the garden smelled even more fragrant. The librarian, grumbling under his breath, led Claudia along a portico where beautiful medallions, attached by cords between the pillars, swung lazily in the breeze, each displaying the head of a god or goddess. On the lawns peacocks screeched, and from gilded cages a'brilliantly coloured flock of songbirds thrilled the heart and pleased the ear. A veritable paradise of dappled greens, shrubs from every part of the Empire embedded in the richest soil. They passed grottoes and statues, went through a cherry orchard and out on to another green lawn stretching up to a corner of the curtain wall. A group of women dressed in white gowns, stoles pulled up over their heads, knelt on marble slabs all facing what Claudia first thought was a rockery, a pile of earth in which polished stones had been set. On the top stood a wooden cross and next to that a small artificial cave. She immediately recognised the symbols: the crucifix of the Lord Jesus and the cave in which He lay buried for three days before He rose from the dead. The women, Urbana leading from the front, were still singing their hymn, a soft, melodious chant, rising and falling, exhorting Christ, the Lord of Time and Space, begging him to come again.

The librarian quickly retreated; Claudia heard a cough and turned to her right. Leartus stood beneath a tree, smiling at her. He raised his hand and then turned back, joining in the hymn as it reached its final doxology giving Glory to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. The singing tapered off. The women knelt, heads bowed to the ground. Urbana rose to her feet. She was about to address her companions when she glimpsed Claudia, smiled and softly clapped her hands.

'Sisters,' she said, 'we have a visitor.'

The rest of the ladies rose and turned to greet Claudia, faces smiling, pushing back the stoles from their heads. Claudia recognised some of the faces from the court; they all looked severe, no cosmetics or jewellery, no ornamentation, simple and pure in their dress. Urbana moved amongst them talking softly, and the group broke up, drifting away across the garden, whilst Urbana and Cassia took Claudia and Leartus over to a portico crowned with flowers and creeping ivy. Inside it was cool and refreshing.

Urbana sat down on a seat, leaning back against the wall, breathing out noisily.

'I'm glad you're here, Claudia. It gives us a respite from the heat and our duties.'

Leartus was watching Cassia's fingers make their symbols and signs.

'What is it?' Claudia asked.

'My lady,' Leartus replied, 'wonders what you're doing here. Would you like to become a Magdalena?'

'Who are the Magdalena?' Claudia teased back.

Urbana went to intervene, but Cassia held her hand up rather imperiously and continued her silent conversation with Leartus.

'You're not a Christian?' Leartus asked.

'I think you know that,' Claudia replied. 'I've learned something of your faith, what they call the Way, your Scriptures.'

'Well,' Leartus gestured at Urbana and Cassia, 'these are the Magdalena. Mary Magdalene was a woman in the Gospels possessed by seven demons which Jesus cast out. She later became one of his closest followers and followed his ministry throughout Galilee and Judaea. When the Lord Christ was crucified, she stayed in vigil beside his tomb. According to our Scriptures, she was one of the first to whom the Lord Jesus appeared after His resurrection. She was the Lord's ideal disciple. The ladies Urbana and Cassia have renounced their former lives, their wealth, their position, their status. They, like Mary Magdalene, have left the past behind them, and are dedicated solely to the Lord Jesus and spreading his name.'

'And what does that actually mean?' Claudia spoke directly to Cassia.

'It means,' Leartus intervened, speaking as he watched Cassia make her signs, 'that we must make the name of the Lord Jesus known in every corner of society, be it the hovels and filthy alleyways of the slums, or the palaces and villas of the great and mighty. The Magdalena participate in a range of good works, hospitals, and medical facilities, but above all they encourage those who walk the streets and sell their bodies to renounce such sin and turn to the Lord Jesus.'

'There is something else,' Urbana declared, smiling at Claudia. 'The Augusta searches the Empire for relics of the Divine Saviour, Our Lord Jesus. Well, we're no different. We have accepted the spirit of Mary Magdalene, we wish to minister to Christ in all His people. But,' she smiled thinly, 'we also wish to discover more about her. We know that she came from Bethany outside Jerusalem. After the Lord Jesus ascended into heaven, Mary Magdalene stayed in Judaea for a while, but due to the conflict with the Romans and the persecution of the Christian faith, she fled to Gaul. She landed at Marseilles, moving deep into the countryside there. We have this great dream, this ambition, this vision, to find her remains and bring them back here to Rome. We've heard rumours,' Urbana shrugged, 'that when she fled from Judaea, Mary Magdalene was joined by others of Jesus' disciples, Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea. Even more importantly, after she went to Gaul she married: a prophecy proclaims that her children will be the seed of a future line of glorious kings, but perhaps such tales are mere fairy stories. Anyway, this is what we are, Claudia. What business do you have with us?'

Claudia pointed at Cassia, who was staring intently at her.

'We are faced with many, many crimes, Domina,' Claudia used the formal title, 'and I am perplexed. Young men and women are abducted, veterans are murdered. I ask you, with no insult intended,' she spoke slowly and clearly, 'you must know people from your former life, you must listen to the rumours from the city: do you have any information which could help me?'

Urbana scowled at her. Cassia lowered her head, but those beautiful eyes came up and held Claudia's, and just for a while she stared coolly at her. Then she began to talk with her fingers, Leartus watching intently.

'My mistress,' the eunuch began, 'does not resent your insinuations but she knows nothing about what you say. The hostage-taking, the destruction of veterans, what is that to her?'

'Then let her tell me about her former life in Britain. She came from the same province where these men served.'

'That's ridiculous!' Urbana cut in. 'Cassia cannot remember much. Moreover, we come from the Iceni in the eastern part of that province. We had no dealings with Picts.'

'Where were you last night?' Claudia cut in quickly. 'After dark, when the curfew had been proclaimed and the horn sounded.'

Cassia turned to Urbana, smiled and shrugged. Urbana glowered at Claudia. 'Are you insinuating,' she said, 'that we have anything to do with the death of that veteran in some stinking alleyway?'

'I didn't say that, Domina,' Claudia replied tactfully. 'I simply asked where you were.'

Urbana sprang to her feet and, with an irate glance at Claudia, walked away. She returned with a grey-haired, solemn-faced man whom Claudia immediately recognised as one of the chamberlains.

'Tell the lady your name,' Urbana urged. 'What is your name?'

'Why, Domina,' the fellow stuttered a reply, 'my name is Dimisces. I am a chamberlain at your husband's villa.'

'Tell this lady,' Urbana flung her hand out at Claudia, 'where we were last night.'

'Why, Domina,' Dimisces replied, 'everybody knows you were here, you and the Lady Cassia, from before sunset until the early hours. The Magdalena were also with you. You prayed, then you retired.'

'Thank you.' Urbana dismissed the chamberlain with a flick of her fingers and turned on Claudia. 'So, what further questions do you have to ask?'

Claudia, discomfited, excused herself and went to say goodbye to Murranus. He was in the palaestra with young Alexander, teaching him the rudiments of fighting with the short sword and square shield. Murranus, dripping with sweat, followed Claudia out into the cool colonnade, held her close and kissed her on the brow before turning away. He paused in the doorway, looked over his shoulder and grinned.

'Well, at least I'm not entering the arena!'

Claudia held up her hand in salute and went to the stables, where two of General Aurelian's slaves were waiting with a gentle cob. They left the villa, going along the winding path through the gates and on to the trackway which would lead them down to the main thoroughfare. The day's heat was dying, and soothing evening breezes had sprung up. Above the grass on either side butterflies floated. A thrush started to sing its clear liquid song, the sky was scored red, the lowing of cattle echoed rather sombrely from behind the fringe of trees; above it the sound of a child laughing and screaming carried on the breeze. The cob plodded sturdily along, the two escorts walking ahead, chattering amongst themselves. Claudia half dozed. On the way to the villa, she'd found the countryside familiar. She remembered that, as a young girl, her father had taken her, Felix and their mother along here, out into the countryside, simply to get away from the stench and heat of the city. She recalled those days and how her life had changed. Her father and her mother had become Christians but they had never made her convert. Claudia started awake and blinked. That was one thing she would remember them for: loving, ever-present, but never forcing their beliefs upon her.

She wondered if one day she and Murranus would come here with their children and sit under the shade of the outstretched branches of an oak tree to picnic, to immerse themselves in the ordinary, everyday things of life. Sometimes, on an evening like this, with the sun sinking in the west, the birds singing, the breeze fanning the sweat from her skin, she resented what she had to do, how she lived, the dangers that threatened her. Yet on the other hand, she could not suppress that feeling of excitement, that tingling, that sharpening of the brain as she waited to encounter some threat, some danger, in order to resolve a problem. She found it fascinating to observe, record and study human conduct, to pick at the loose threads and pull them free so that a whole tapestry of lies would collapse and reveal the truth behind. She often wondered if the attack and rape on her, coupled with the murder of her brother Felix, had unbalanced her wits, forced her soul to go in another direction. Nevertheless, she was now on that path, and she would journey along it as far as she could.

Claudia glanced up at the sky and wondered what would be awaiting her at the She Asses. Abruptly she heard a cry and reined in. The escorts had also stopped, shading their eyes and peering into the distance at the three figures, staffs in their hands, walking briskly towards them. One of the slaves carried a sword; he drew this from its scabbard but then his companion muttered something to him. The sword was put back and hands were raised in greeting as the retainers of General Aurelian recognised each other. Claudia, peering through the dust haze, realised that General Aurelian had been true to his word. The two veterans Crispus and Secundus had been summoned to the villa. They met where the trackway curved. At first the two veterans looked rather shamefaced, slightly apprehensive. Claudia greeted them and made to go on, but Crispus came up, grabbed the cob's halter and peered up at her.

'You told General Aurelian?'

Claudia stroked the neck of her cob and shrugged. 'I had no choice, he had to know.'

'We are innocent,' Crispus declared defiantly. 'We were not party to Postulus' killing.'

'I know,' Claudia replied, 'and so does General Aurelian.'

Secundus had a word with his escort and came over. 'We would like to talk to you,' he said. 'I mean, before we part.' He held up the leather bag he carried. 'We have some wine, it's ripe Campanian. General Aurelian sent it. We also bought some fresh bread from a bakery just near the city gate.'

Leaving General Aurelian's retainers to talk amongst themselves, Claudia and the two veterans settled in the shade of a tree overlooking a small pond covered in green slime. Dragonflies hovered above it and the dull buzz of bees hummed from the gorse which ringed the pool. They shared out the bread and passed round the wineskin. Claudia took two or three mouthfuls and handed it back.

'You wanted to talk to me?'

'It wasn't as we said,' Crispus mumbled between mouthfuls.

'What wasn't?'

'After the attack.' Secundus spoke up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 'Once the massacre was over, Stathylus wanted to enjoy himself. We hunted the war band down in the heather, killed those in the fort and slung their bodies out, burned every single one, a stack of corpses piled like bloody wheat sheaves, but the chieftain was different. We spent the next day, or rather Stathylus did, torturing him. We crucified him against the wall and cut his flesh.

At first the man was brave, he kept his mouth shut, but, of course, everyone has their limits, and by the late afternoon he was screaming with pain, begging to die. Every one of us was a hardened soldier; we've done things, Claudia, you wouldn't dream of, but even we grew tired of it. Stathylus eventually cut the Pict's throat and that was the end of the matter.'

'What was worse,' Crispus took a generous sip of the wine, 'was that Stathylus brought the Golden Maid to watch what he called the "fun". She fainted at least twice and was roused to watch again.'

'Why are you telling me this?' Claudia asked.

'We agreed,' Crispus replied, 'that whatever happened at the wall, on that night and the following day… well, I've heard the stories about the Furies of Hades pursuing their quarry.'

'And what are the Furies here?' Claudia had to pinch herself. Here she was sitting in the shade of a lovely evening, the shadows lengthening, the birdsong clear, butterflies floating, the noise of the crickets in the grass, with two men describing a nightmare which occurred years ago on some lonely heathland beneath that great brooding wall in the north of Britain. Something happened that day which, as Crispus said, had released a hatred that prowled like some vengeful ghost seeking its quarry.

'Are you sure that everyone was killed? I mean in that Pictish war band?'

'The chieftain had a son,' Crispus narrowed his eyes, 'a young boy probably no more than thirteen or fourteen summers. We learned that while we were torturing the father. Stathylus sent us out to search the heather; we found the boy's corpse, we recognised it by the torque round the neck and the arm bracelets. We dragged it back. The sight of it only increased the chieftain's humiliation and despair, as it did that of the Golden Maid.'

'Are you certain,' Claudia persisted, 'that everyone was killed? That no member of that war band survived to study and remember your appearance?'

'Mistress, most of the Picts were fully fledged warriors, mature men, and that was some eighteen years ago. They were killed, no slaves were taken.'

'Are you sure of that?' Claudia demanded harshly.

'Of course we are,' Sccundus declared. 'Stathylus was no fool. We abandoned the mile fort, burned our surplus supplies and rode south. Now remember, Crispus and I weren't party to the decision to abandon Postulus. After it was all over, both of us were left behind for a while when Stathylus and the rest rode south.'

'For how long?'

'About two days in all,' Crispus replied. 'We were each given a fresh mount and told to ensure there were no survivors, that no one came creeping back. I tell you, mistress, those were the loneliest two days of our lives, out there in that deserted fort, next to it a stack of corpses burned to nothing but charcoaled flesh. The smoke and stench from it still fouled the air. We saw nothing, we felt nothing, and yet…'

'And yet what?' Claudia asked.

'We didn't tell you this either. Eventually we rode southeast until we reached Colchester, where other troops were mustering. We reported for duty. By then of course Stathylus had told of his great victory and was being applauded by all. The camp was overflowing, so we took lodgings in the town near the ruins of the old Temple of Claudius. Oh, it must have been about two weeks after our arrival. One of our number, I forget his name now…' he looked at Secundus, who just shrugged, 'went missing…'

'Missing?' Claudia asked. 'What do you mean?'

'He was never seen alive again. His corpse was later found in a ditch outside the town-'

'Let me guess,' Claudia intervened. 'His throat had been cut, his belly slit, his testicles severed and placed in his right hand.'

Both men swallowed hard and nodded. Crispus refused to meet her eye.

'You see, mistress,' Secundus declared, 'all of Britain was on the move, refugees here and there, every tribe in the province trying to flee. It's possible…'

Claudia held up her hand, staring at a tangle of gorse. it is more than possible,' she conceded, 'that somebody did survive that massacre and followed Stathylus' troop south, seized his opportunity, killed a veteran, and disfigured corpse, but then what? Why not strike at the rest? Is there anything else?' she asked. 'Are you frightened of meeting General Aurelian?'

'We'll declare our innocence,' Crispus declared. 'Postulus' blood is not on our hands. Why, mistress, what do you think will happen?'

'The General will question you,' Claudia got to her feet, brushing the crumbs from her tunic, 'but I think he wants to keep you safe.'

'It was Stathylus' fault

'Don't worry.' Claudia stared into the darkening trees. She was lying! In her heart, she conceded that these two veterans were like beasts chosen for sacrifice. Some furious ghost from the past had marked them down for death. Only fortune, or mere chance, could save them from the vengeance haunting their every step.