Queen of the Night

Chapter 10

Ita feii ut se mori sentiat.

Strike him so that he may feel he is dying.

Suetonius, Lives of the Caesais, Caligula

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The crowd grew impatient. Murranus seemed to be mocking his opponents. He put aside his shield, drove his sword into the sand and crouched as if resting, hands hanging downwards. The three Egyptians moved forward. They decided to separate, one going to Murranus' left, the other two to his right. They advanced cautiously. Claudia wondered if Murranus would leap forward over the corpses and drive a wedge between them. However, still crouching, he turned as if to face the threat from his right, only to spring to his feet, holding the dagger taken stealthily from one of his dead adversaries. He hurled this at the man approaching from his left. The dagger missed its intended mark – the right side of the man's stomach – but caught the Egyptian's thigh a glancing blow,- he stumbled, pulling back his shield even more. Murranus, picking up his weapons, streaked forward like a hunting dog, using his shield as a battering ram, and forced his enemy back. The Egyptian, wounded and confused, panicked; more concerned at the shield constantly ramming him, he left himself exposed and fell onto Murranus' sword. Murranus held him skewered, then twisted him round and, withdrawing the sword, pushed the dying man towards his remaining two opponents. The mob bayed with pleasure. The hum of excited conversation in the imperial box rose like the song of a beehive.

Claudia wasn't paying attention. She only had eyes for that figure dancing away from his defeated opponent still writhing on the sand. The man was trying to loosen his helmet straps so he could gasp more air. Murranus did not close to give him the mercy blow. He had reached the climax of the contest. He had used surprise, savagery and speed; he might not be able to use them again. He was now sweat-soaked, heavy-limbed. However, his opponents were no longer arrogant. Indecisive, they kept close together, slowly edging forward.

Murranus peered at them through the grille of his visor. He recognised Sesothenes; he must concentrate. He must not think of Claudia, the mob, the heat, the sand or the pain in his own left side. He had sprung his trap, one which always worked. More gladiators were slain by sudden ambush than sword play. He edged back, blinking away the sweat, watching his opponents. Was there further room for trickery? He noticed Sesothenes' comrade holding back; was he frightened, too cautious, an opponent who'd panic? Was that why he had stayed with Sesothenes? Murranus recalled his flight and abrupt turn. Yes, the gladiator with the yellow-feathered plume had hung back. He was weak, a man who probably depended on his sword when he should use his shield. He was the one!

Murranus danced forward, shield up, sword out, driving Sesothenes away before edging towards his comrade. The man lashed out with his sword. Murranus sank to one knee and, shifting his sword to his shield hand, scooped up sand. Yellow-plume rushed in; Murranus flung the sand straight at his enemy's visor and swiftly retreated. Sesothenes was moving in now. Murranus met him, sword and shield clashing in a furious fight. He kept his position. He must not lose sight of the gladiator he'd blinded. The man was now removing his helmet. Murranus concentrated on Sesothenes, driving him back in a whirl of steel, using all his skill and speed. Sesothenes had a weakness, a tendency to lurch forward with his head, exposing the side of his neck. Murranus waited, feinted and then struck, the edge of his sword biting so deep the blood spurted out of the neck wound like wine from a cracked jug. Murranus did not hesitate; he drew away to confront Yellow-plume. He was not aware of the roaring crowd, the sea of faces, the fluttering cloths, the flowers being hurled. The contest was over. The last Egyptian was no real opponent; Murranus killed him after a brief furious clash, driving his sword deep into the man's belly before knocking him away. The mob were on their feet, screaming their delight. Murranus moved back to Sesothenes. He kicked away his sword and, leaning down, undid the buckles of the dying man's helmet, staring into eyes already clouding in death.

'For Alexander!' Murranus whispered. 'An offering to Claudia, to all of us and to all of them.'

The crowds were already shouting: 'Kill him! Kill him! Let him have it!'

Murranus rested the tip of his sword on Sesothenes' throat and, still watching those eyes, pressed down with all his strength.

In the imperial box, Constantine and Helena, all propriety forgotten, were on their feet, hands extended. Urbana was clapping with joy. Cassia was hugging her. People pressed forward, shouting and cheering. Claudia, transfixed, heard one shout, one refrain and abruptly broke from her reverie. She had discovered another key to the mysteries confronting her!

'I told you not to worry!' Murranus, his head crowned with a laurel wreath, swayed dangerously on his makeshift throne in the garden of the She Asses tavern.

'You're drunk!' Claudia teased.

'I am not, I am just happy. I fought and won!'

'Charon's balls!' Claudia muttered. She stared round at Polybius' guests. They were all drunk as sots. Some were fast asleep. Petronius the Pimp had declared Simon the Stoic was his longdost brother and they'd fallen asleep in each other's arms. Narcissus the Neat was now not so neat but sat embracing a flask of embalming fluid as if it was his true love. Polybius and Poppaoe were staring into each other's eyes as they drifted off to sleep. Oceanus was trying to stick on his severed ear with some honey.

'May all the gods, Murranus…'

A loud snore greeted her words. The gladiator was gone. The wreath had slipped and he sat, a smile on his face, fast asleep. Claudia wondered if, come the morning, he'd still remember his promise to marry her immediately.

She stared into the darkness. Murranus' victory in the arena seemed aeons away. She had attempted to go down and see him, but the crowds had pressed so close it had been impossible. Moreover, Burrus had returned to say that Sallust the Searcher was waiting for her at the foot of the back steps to the imperial box, so she'd hurried down to meet him. What the searcher had told her was not surprising; it simply confirmed all her suspicions. She'd returned to the tavern late in the afternoon and drawn up her own indictment, going through it step by step. She'd become so convinced, she'd sent the pot boy Sorry to Presbyter Sylvester asking him to visit; so far he had not replied. Claudia ground her teeth. She was glad it was all over! Helena had vindicated herself, but Claudia wanted to seal the door on this matter. She stuck her tongue out at the sleeping Murranus.

'I'll deal with you tomorrow,' she whispered.

Claudia sipped some wine, dozed and was shaken awake by a wide-eyed Sorry.

'Mistress/ he pleaded, 'someone important.' He pointed back at the tavern.

It was Sylvester, cloaked and hooded, escorted by two of Helena's Germans.

'Excuse the late hour.'

Claudia brushed this aside and took the Presbyter into the far corner. She asked if he wanted to eat or drink. He smiled and said he was fasting, part of his vow to the Christ Lord for Murranus to win.

'And he did!' he added, eyes all merry. 'A great victory. You've heard the news?'

Claudia shook her head.

'They discovered another house the Egyptians owned and found more evidence, some clothing taken from one of their hostages.' He shrugged. 'They were lucky not to be crucified.'

'Murranus was fortunate not to have been killed.'

'But he wasn't, was he?' Sylvester murmured. 'Murranus' victory has brought him wealth and the Empress' favour. She'll never forget it. It also purges any guilt he may have felt over young Alexander's death.'

'As well as vindicating the power of your Christ.'

'His power does not need vindication,' Sylvester replied. 'But there again, it did no harm.'

Claudia was tempted to tease the Presbyter with quotations from his own scriptures about the use of the sword. In the past he had quoted the same to her. Sylvester pushed back his hood and watched Sorry pull across the bolts on the main door. He waited until the boy scampered away.

'Well, what do you want, Claudia?'

She told him in a clear, logical sequence, testing her hypothesis against Sylvester's questions and defending it in the face of his criticism. The more she spoke, the more concerned Sylvester became, lapsing into silence, plucking his lower lip, shaking his head. An hour passed; outside the sounds of laughter echoed as members of Polybius' party awoke to revel again. Once Claudia had finished, her voice hoarse with arguing, Sylvester rose to his feet.

'This is, as you say, Claudia, a matter for the Empress. She will decide.' He glared down at her. 'But it is very, very serious.'

The next morning Claudia was the first to rise. She found Celades fast asleep in the kitchen, a wineskin in one hand, a piece of roast pork in the other. She broke her fast, slept again and woke much refreshed. She washed, changed and went down into the tavern. Celades, bleary-eyed, was now in the kitchen, grilling strips of beef. He was still full of the previous day's exploits and the banquet he had prepared.

'Cook what you have to, Celades,' Claudia declared, 'but be ready to prepare something else.'

'What do you mean?'

'Just wait and see,' Claudia retorted.

The rest, including Murranus, were nursing sore heads, moaning to themselves, only too eager to escape to a chamber upstairs or back into the garden. At last, late in the afternoon, Polybius came down to greet the usual regulars. He announced that Murranus was fast asleep, but once darkness fell, the festivities would recommence, this time in Claudia's honour. She was protesting at this, only to be interrupted by a thunderous knocking at the door before it was flung open. Burrus, hand on the hilt of his sword, almost charged into the eating hall, followed by three of his companions and a host of servants wearing imperial livery, all carrying linen bundles, wine flagons and other pots and jars.

'Where is the warrior?' Burrus thundered.

'Upstairs!' Claudia shouted back. 'Drunk, hungover, tired, but like the rest of you, ready for the next piece of mischief.'

'Good!' Burrus beamed. 'The Empress sends this.' Two bulging leather purses were thrown on to a table. 'And this.' A third followed. Polybius scooped them up in the twinkling of an eye.

'The Augustus and his mother will dine here tonight just after sunset.' Burrus gestured at more servants filing in with their burdens. 'They have sent what they intend to eat and drink, and look forward to tasting the recipes of your new chef.'

Celades, standing in the kitchen doorway, clasped his hands and moaned with pleasure. Polybius chewed his lip as he weighed the sacks, quickly scrutinising what was being brought in.

'No one else.' Burrus' left hand descended on the thin shoulder of Simon the Stoic. 'The Excellencies and their guests will celebrate the victory of their champion.' He glanced fierce-eyed around the eating hall. 'A great honour! So be prepared.' The German waited until the imperial servants had delivered all their burdens, gave Polybius a mock salute, winked at Claudia, then left slamming the door behind him.

At first silence reigned, then Poppaoe began to wail. Polybius stood disconcerted but Celades rose to the occasion. He quickly inspected the contents of the linen bundles and bustled back, leather apron on, to announce he would prepare a banquet fit for the gods.

'Braised cucumbers, mushrooms in honey,' he proclaimed, 'baked plaice, fried liver, ham in red wine and fennel sauce.'

The die was cast. Polybius decided he'd turn his favourite part of the orchard into a dining area: lamp-stands were brought out, more were begged and borrowed, lanterns hung from trees, tables, couches and stools loaned by the likes of Apuleius and other friends and neighbours. Polybius wondered how many guests there would be. Claudia, who suspected what was about to happen, replied about ten in all. The garden of the She Asses was transformed into a veritable paradise, the air sweet with the fragrant smells from the kitchen. Polybius turned away his usual coven of rogues as he became aware of the great honour being bestowed on him, declaring that by tomorrow evening all Rome would know that the She Asses was a tavern frequented by their Excellencies.

Murranus eventually came down. Claudia dispatched him up the alleyway so Torquatus could cut his hair, shave his face and take him to the nearest baths.

'And don't drink a drop!' Claudia shouted after him. 'You must be stone-cold sober.'

Murranus bowed mockingly to her and sauntered off. Claudia slipped into the kitchen and drew Polybius and Celades aside. She told them what would happen and what they were to do. Polybius shrugged in resignation. He knew better than to question his iron-willed niece. Celades was astonished, but readily agreed to carefully follow her instructions.

Darkness was falling as the imperial entourage arrived in a clash of arms and the fiery glare of torches. The imperial litters, curtains drawn, massed in the small square before the tavern, which was immediately ringed and sealed off by rank after rank of the imperial guard. Burrus and his contingent filed into the eating hall then out into the garden to patrol the walls and guard the gates. Polybius' household, Claudia included, knelt to receive the distinguished guests. Claudia sighed with relief when she saw the party: Constantine, Helena, Sylvester, Urbana, Cassia and Leartus. The Emperor, clad in purple-edged snow-white robes, waggled his fingers at them and immediately went into the kitchen, emerging with a slice of ham which he ate noisily, slurping wine from Polybius' favourite goblet.

'Mother,' he spluttered, 'this is marvellous.' He glanced quickly at Claudia, a calculated, cold-eyed stare, a sign that the Emperor, as usual, was acting the buffoon.

Helena graciously greeted them all and, hugging Claudia close, kissed her on both cheeks. Claudia sensed the Augusta's excitement; her unpainted face was tense, her dark eyes watchful.

'Be careful, little mouse,' she whispered, 'but the stage is now yours.'

She drew away, hitching the silk-tasselled purple mantle around her shoulders, fingering the amethyst on its gold chain around her neck. She glanced around and, in mock anger, asked where the champion was. Constantine demanded the same. Polybius blustered that Murranus wanted to be well prepared and would their Excellencies like to go out into the garden? Constantine replied that their Excellencies would like nothing better. Claudia exchanged cool courtesies with the rest of the guests and followed them out. She was relieved when Murranus joined them. Constantine, seated at the centre of the couches arranged in a horseshoe, immediately began to question the gladiator about his victory in the arena.

'There'll be more rewards for you, my boy!' he shouted, and promised the gladiator the cup he was drinking from, immediately apologising when Helena whispered loudly that it wasn't his to give.

While the first courses were served and the wine cups filled, Murranus held the guests spellbound as he described his tactics.

'I wanted them overconfident,' he declared, 'but above all I wanted them to separate. I guessed that some would not be as brave or as skilled as others. Once that happened, my chances improved.'

Constantine, of course, interrupted with a spate of questions. The wine flowed, the guests were drinking copiously, and, judging the moment was ready, Claudia nodded to Polybius and held up her hand to speak.

'Excellencies.' Claudia swung her feet off the makeshift couch. 'Let us sit in silence in the Frisian custom,' she ignored Murranus' questioning look, 'until our cups are filled, then let us toast our champion.'

Constantine thought it was a splendid idea. Polybius, Poppaoe and Narcissus circled, filling goblets. Celades approached Leartus to serve him.

'Larg na maiihV Celades asked in a loud voice.

'Larg na maith malan,' Leartus replied without thinking – then froze.

'What's that?' Constantine asked. 'I thought you said this should be done in silence?'

Leartus stared owl-eyed across at Claudia.

'Celades is a Pict,' Claudia declared. 'He just asked Leartus in his own tongue if his goblet should be filled with red or white wine. Leartus is supposed to be a Parthian, yet he understands the Pictish tongue, an astonishing achievement. What was his reply, Celades?'

'I want red, please!' declared Celades, standing behind Leartus.

'Celades,' Claudia continued conversationally, 'you told me earlier how the son of a Pictish chieftain has a sacred circle, a tattoo on his right thigh imprinted there just after his twelfth year.'

'Yes, mistress.'

'Leartus, modesty aside, show us the sacred mark.'

'What is this?' Urbana shrilled. Cassia too became agitated, her hand going out to grasp Urbana's arm.

I was correct, Claudia thought – you are both terrified because your guilt will soon be known.

'Burrus,' Helena called into the darkness. The German stepped forward.

'There is no need.' Leartus rose to his feet. He shrugged, undid his belt and opened his tunic.

'Amongst our tribes,' Celades declared, 'the circle would be coloured in sacred paint.'

Burrus brought across a torch and held it as close as he could. Claudia studied the tattoo engraved on Leartus' thigh.

'Slightly faded, the skin puckered, but still clear to see.' She gestured dismissively with her hand. Leartus picked up his belt, wrapped it round himself and sat on the edge of the couch staring coolly across at her.

'You are no Parthian!' Claudia accused. 'You made a mistake during the recent games,- carried away by excitement, you shouted "narifa", the Pictish word for victory – you repeated it twice. You, Leartus, are a Pict, a warrior, the son of a chieftain. Eighteen years ago your father included you as part of his war band. I will not repeat the details, everyone knows them. The band were massacred by a wing of Roman cavalry led by Stathylus. He captured your father and cruelly tortured him to death. Stathylus and his companions thought your father was the only survivor, but you also survived. You left your jewellery on another corpse and hid in the heather. Your father survived for hours,- his only consolation was that he knew what you had done. He realised the corpse they'd brought was not you. You wanted vengeance for him. In the full light of day you saw what happened to your father. More importantly, you also had time to study the faces of his torturers: Roman cavalrymen who, now the fight was over, took off their helmets and pushed back their coifs. Later you followed that cavalry troop south to Colchester. You caught one of them, probably when he was drunk, killed him and abused his corpse.

'I don't truly know what happened then, but I suspect you were captured, enslaved and made a eunuch. The legions were withdrawing to Rome and you were taken with them. Once in the city, you entered the service of Cassia. Celades told me how the Picts are skilled in sign language; you became proficient, her companion as she moved from courtesan to Christian. I suspect you had a pleasant life until General Aurelian decided to hold one of his reunion parties. You saw Petilius; more importantly, Petilius saw you. He probably recognised your father in you. He hadn't forgotten that hideous death out along that lonely wall in northern Britain.

'Leartus, you have some effeminate ways; you also have access to your mistress' wardrobe and perfumes. Do you know,' Claudia stared up at the star-strewn sky, 'I wondered about those gruesome murders committed in the fetid side streets of Rome. No woman would go down there on her own, but of course, you are still a warrior, Leartus, whatever has happened to you. You would have no fear, particularly when you are intent on revenge. So let us imagine how it happened! Slipping through the side streets and the alleyways with a leather sack containing a veil, a woman's cloak, perfumes and paints for your face, you would stalk your victim, hunt him as your father did Romans in the heather so many years ago. At the appropriate time you'd attack. Your victims thought they were meeting a whore; in fact, they were facing vengeance. Of course, with Crispus and Secundus it was very easy. General Aurelian brought them back to his villa so it was just a matter of watching and waiting. Once again you acted the woman; you carried a jug into those baths, enticed one then the other inside, stabbing both with swift thrusts to the belly, cutting their throats and abusing their corpses, an offering to the shades of your father, his second wife and all those who died so many years ago.'

'We did not know this.' Urbana spoke.

'Oh yes you did,' Claudia replied coolly. 'You knew he was a Pict.' She spoke slowly so Cassia could follow her lips. 'You knew about the murders,- you must have noticed certain items going missing. At the time these men were killed, Leartus was absent. But there again, what did you care? After all, I suspect Leartus was accustomed to such a disguise: he used the same when he met Sesothenes and gave him your instructions. You see, Cassia,' Claudia leaned forward, i used Sallust the Searcher. He discovered a little about your past. You are a Christian convert but before that you were a courtesan and, like all leading courtesans of Rome, devoted to the goddesses of Egypt, Isis and the Lady Hathor. You knew Sesothenes; you knew about his nefarious ways.' if that's true,' Urbana retorted, if Sesothenes knew that Cassia was involved, why didn't he confess it?'

'Why, of course he wouldn't,' Claudia retorted. 'He might suspect, but he had no firm evidence against you. Moreover, to accuse you he would have had to incriminate himself. Accordingly, Murranus' challenge seemed the safest path for everyone. If Sesothenes won, there'd be no further problem. If he was killed, he and his companions would be silent for ever. I can understand your joy in the imperial box when Murranus was victorious; a problem had been cleared away. Hence Leartus' scream of triumph, so excited he lapsed back into his Pictish tongue.'

'Whom are you accusing?' Urbana declared. 'Cassia, Leartus, even me?'

'Of course I am.' Claudia glanced round the ring of couches. They were all watching intently,- even Constantine had forgotten to drink. Sylvester sat, head bowed, hands in his lap. Helena was staring into the darkness. Murranus shook his head in disbelief.

'I will present my indictment. Urbana, you are certainly a wealthy woman; well, you are now,' Claudia added, 'though not before. Religion is a powerful mix. You, Urbana, and Cassia embraced Christianity. No real conversion, you were just exchanging one cult for another. You both became obsessed with the story of Mary Magdalene, Christ's woman friend who, according to Presbyter Sylvester, fled Judaea after the resurrection of Christ and landed in Marseilles with her sister Martha and brother Lazarus. You dreamed of finding her tomb, but that costs money.'

'My husband was wealthy.'

'Aurelian was wealthy but he did not indulge you, Urbana, because he did not really love you. He resented your conversion, your absorption with relics. I read his memoir. Do you realise that in the last few years he hardly mentions you? Of course you still had influence with him. When Petilius recognised Leartus, you were probably instrumental in making sure that the veteran never met your husband to discuss what he had seen. Did you urge Leartus to strike swiftly and decisively to end the matter?'

Urbana glanced away.

'Of course,' Claudia continued, 'if Petilius had met your husband and talked to him, you would have supported Leartus. After all, there is no crime in being a survivor of a massacre, especially when Petilius would have had to tell the truth about what really happened to his commander in that lonely mile fort in the north of Britain so many years ago.'

'What has this got to do with the kidnappings?' Constantine broke in, ignoring his mother's angry gesture.

'Oh, everything,' Claudia replied. 'Urbana needed money.'

'She's wealthy!' Constantine slurred.

'No,' Claudia replied, 'I suspect she simply had an allowance, an income which she spent on her costly searches. Sallust soon discovered the terms of your husband's financial support of you, not to mention the clauses of his will. Before Aurelian died, you depended totally on your husband's allowance. You desperately needed money, so what did you do? You're a high-ranking lady of Rome, Urbana, you listen to all the gossip. It was so easy to discover about parties and expeditions, their times and places, even Antonia's secret spot in her own garden. You decided to organise the abduction of the children of wealthy Romans, demand a ransom, free them and have your own source of income. Well, that was the first part of your plan. You and Cassia are…' Claudia paused; she was tempted to say 'lovers', but she had no real proof of that. 'You are allies. Through her and Leartus disguised as a woman, you opened negotiations with Sesothenes, who had a reputation for nefarious dealings, something Cassia remembered from her past when she was a courtesan. Your scheme was perfect. As I've said, you learned all the details of the patrician families of the city. You are also a leading Christian, able to discover all there is about the catacombs. No real harm was done: the children were returned safe, their wealthy parents lost some gold, Sesothenes received his share and you were able to continue to finance your search for sacred relics. You and Cassia became immersed in that. Religion was no longer important to you. The Magdalene became an obsession, your world centred on it. You'd spend anything to realise your ambition. Of course your husband might wonder where your wealth came from, but you were so friendly with Cassia, it would be easy to obfuscate, to lie, to deceive.'

'But Alexander?' Murranus asked. 'He was killed.'

'Ah – that was different, the second part of Urbana's plan. As I've said, I sent Sallust the Searcher out to Aurelian's villa. The General's will is now public knowledge. According to that, once he died, all his wealth would go to Alexander. Only if Alexander died without issue would his wealth go to you, Lady Urbana. I reflected on that when Murranus was talking about you.

He emphasised how you were now a wealthy woman. You and Cassia realised that the kidnappings could not go on. Alexander was too much of an obstacle, so you decided that he had to die, both he and his father, that was to be Sesothenes' final piece of villainy.

'Murranus was hired as a bodyguard, chosen specifically. First, it was a good way of showing how much you cared for your stepson, but that was a lie. Second, it was an excellent way of getting rid of the other rogues Sesothenes had hired. On the day of attack, he sent them in. They were wounded or killed. If any did survive they were shown no mercy. Now Murranus had told you that he was taking Alexander into Rome, but he is certain that the only people who knew the exact time of his departure, were you and General Aurelian. He didn't even tell Alexander, so as not to get the boy too excited. Finally, I could understand Aurelian being proud of Murranus' decision to take his son to Rome, but you, Lady Urbana, with all these terrible kidnappings in Rome, didn't you object? Especially since you'd come to the palace to complain about the abductions to the Empress herself.'

'You encouraged it.' Murranus pointed at Urbana. 'Yes, you did. At no time did you counsel against my taking Alexander into the city.'

'If this is all true,' Helena asked, 'why did Urbana actually come and see me after Senator Carinus' daughter was abducted? What was the logic in that?'

'Ah,' Claudia replied. 'At the time, I thought they were just busybodies, but we now come to a further proof, the actor Theodore. He was present when Antonia was abducted. Theodore's story was a mixture of fact and fiction. He saw no face but, being a devotee of the Temple of Hathor, he certainly recognised those masks. If Sesothenes had not been so eager to escape, he would have killed Theodore, but he was under strict instruction that there was to be no violence, no hurt. Instead he swiftly communicated to Urbana the danger Theodore posed.'

'I'll ask it again!' Constantine interrupted. 'Did Sesothenes know Urbana? Are you sure of that?'

'I believe,' Claudia replied, 'that Urbana worked solely through her intermediary Leartus, disguised as a woman. Sesothenes would be informed of the details,- he and his associates would gather their gang and strike. Leartus would later collect the ransom money and give Sesothenes his portion. The high priest wouldn't care,- he was being enriched, provided with a safe place in the catacombs, and, as he may have suspected, patronised by someone very powerful.'

'Wouldn't he be suspicious,' the Emperor asked, 'at the change in instructions: to kill young Alexander?'

'No,' Claudia retorted. 'Why should he? It might even divert suspicion from Urbana, her beloved son being killed. No!' Claudia moved a hair from her face. 'Sesothenes would be informed that it was revenge on the Empress for sending Chaerea into the catacombs to spy on them. At the same time it was an expeditious way of getting rid of the ruffians Sesothenes had secretly hired. I doubt very much if they were told about Murranus; he'd have been described as an ordinary guard.' Claudia smiled at her beloved. 'They soon learned differently. Murranus couldn't save Alexander, but he fought so well, it became highly dangerous to continue the struggle and so they retreated. Sesothenes and his companions took care of any survivors.' Claudia paused. 'Your Excellencies,' she pointed at the accused, 'imagine two women obsessed with an idea, redoubtable women who'd clawed their way upwards. Urbana is full of resentment at her husband, the terms of his will, his lack of support for what she holds important! She draws Cassia in, and, of course, Leartus; the eunuch is a perfect foil. He has no love for Rome, certainly not for its generals and senators. And then,' Claudia shrugged, 'the past catches up.'

'And Theodore?' the Empress asked sharply.

'Ah, our actor was being very crafty. He wanted to make sure that those masks were from the Temple of Hathor. He wanted to think and plot, he probably planned blackmail, that was why he insisted on visiting the temple before he went to the She Asses. He'd also been frightened. If he recognised the masks he could be implicated,-after all, he was with Lady Antonia when she was kidnapped. Anyway, Sesothenes passed the information on. Lady Urbana, the caring lady of Rome, acted swiftly. She visited Senator Carinus, collected Theodore and went to the palace. Later that same day, Theodore died of poison.'

'Yes,' Urbana shrilled, 'but he died here.'

'No.' Claudia shook her head. 'Theodore did not drink poison here. I have checked most scrupulously. He was hungover. He complained of stomach pains, which began after he visited the Palatine Palace, the one occasion when you three, Urbana, Cassia and Leartus, were closeted with him. I was with the Empress, you had to wait; the imperial chamberlain served you wine and honey cakes. I have established that. At the time it was three against one. Cassia distracted Theodore, whilst you, Urbana, served the poison, pouring it into his wine, some slow-acting potion which would start like indigestion. The writer Celsus lists such poisons and their effects. Lady Urbana, you are proficient in poisons, aren't you? Leartus claimed you were an expert on herbs, yet there's nothing about poisonous plants in the library at Aurelian's villa. I suppose such texts are kept separately in your own chamber, along with your powders. You are an assassin! Alexander's blood is on your hands, as is your husband's. If Alexander died and General Aurelian survived that would not advance your plans; both had to die together. You are cold-hearted and scheming. You knew the effect Alexander's death would have on his father, and you helped Aurelian into the dark. A secret potion, a deadly powder mixed with his wine, and his death would be viewed merely as a result of terrible shock. I am sure,' Claudia added with a smile, 'the imperial searchers who are now ransacking the villa will find more evidence of your knowledge of herbs.'

'How dare you!' Urbana shouted.

'The imperial chamberlain Chrysis,' Helena sweetly declared, 'has been dispatched to your villa. He will search it from the cellars to the farthest part of your garden. If you have nothing to fear, then it will serve no harm. If damage is done, the imperial treasury will compensate you. That is,' Helena's voice changed, 'if you ever return there.'

Claudia was watching Leartus, who sat, shoulders slumped, lost in his own thoughts. 'Leartus?'

He looked up. Claudia's heart leapt. If he conceded…

'You are a warrior,' Claudia declared, 'and the son of a warrior. You bear the mark of a chieftain. You invoked the blood feud. Some might say you carried out true judgement against men who murdered their own officer, tortured your father and were directly responsible for the deaths of all of your comrades, not to mention your father's second wife. You could have appealed to the Emperor for justice. General Aurelian would have listened, but instead you took the warrior's path. You are still a Pict, Leartus. Here is your chance to die like a warrior. You are undoubtedly guilty of the crimes I have listed against you. Two paths open up before you. Slow, excruciating torture at the hands of the imperial interrogators, followed by crucifixion outside the city gates,-or a warrior's death here tonight, at the hands of another warrior, Burrus. The choice is yours, to confess or not.'

Leartus kicked off his sandals, stood up, took the chain from his neck, the bracelets from his wrists, the rings from his fingers and threw them to the ground. He undid his belt and shrugged off his tunic so he stood naked in his loincloth. Tilting back his head, he began to chant in a strange language, staring up at the sky, stretching out his hands. Cassia tried to claw his arm but he shrugged her off. Urbana screamed, clear proof of her own guilt, but Leartus continued to chant, his voice growing stronger. He paused and squatted, hands on his thighs, and stared across at Claudia.

'You are fortunate, mistress,' he began. 'Your man is a warrior. I watched him fight in the arena. My heart went out to him. What you say is true. I am the son of a Pictish chieftain, a former slave, castrated by my captors, sold in Rome, employed by the Lady Cassia. I never, how could I, forget that night. I became separated from my father. I hid beneath a corpse out in the heather. I took my torque and bracelets and put them on another body. The night passed. Dawn came. The Romani were drunk. They thought we were all dead. I watched them take off their armour so they could enjoy my father being tortured.' He clawed the side of his face. 'I always prayed,' he whispered, 'that the time of blood would come.' He smiled. 'General Aurelian's parties! One after another, year in and year out, then it was the turn of the Fretenses. I saw them! The time of blood had arrived. The ghosts of the past had caught up with my soul. Petilius recognised me. I certainly recognised him and the rest. I invoked the blood feud. My father's shade and those of his followers demanded their deaths. I was still a warrior. I enjoyed killing them. I do not regret it.

'For the rest,' he sighed, 'you are correct.' He gestured round the garden. 'Rome! Do you like it, Claudia?' He pointed at Urbana and Cassia. 'They don't. They are the daughters of British tribesmen. They enjoy Christianity because it's still special, not truly Roman. They once worshipped Egyptian goddesses, whom they replaced with the Magdalena. I thought it was amusing. Aurelian would not do what Urbana wanted. He underestimated the dark rages, the pride seething in her. She hated Aurelian and all he stood for. It was so easy. I dealt with Sesothnes, meeting him disguised in the dark, giving him instructions, distributing his share of the spoils. As you said, no one was hurt, no real harm was done. Why should I object if a few fat, wealthy Romans lost their children for a few days for a small portion of their wealth? Especially compared with what I had lost. I never really overcame my hatred for Romans or their city.' He turned his head, i had no objections to their games or their stupid pursuit of dusty knowledge. When Alexander was killed, I began to wonder, then General Aurelian died and I suspected. The gods know that I had no hand in that. I watched your man in the arena and I knew what it was to be a warrior, to fight in the sunlight, to be honest and true. If you had not confronted me, perhaps I would have left Rome, taken my secrets to the grave, but why should I die on a cross? For what? No, I'll take the warrior's way.'

'And what Claudia has accused Lady Urbana and Cassia of is the truth?' Helena asked sharply.

'It is the truth.' Leartus got to his feet, i wish to be gone.'

'Burrus!' Helena called into the darkness. The German came forward, his sword already drawn. 'Not here,' the Empress declared, 'not here, where we are being entertained. Find some lonely spot. Let it be done quickly.'

Leartus bowed towards Claudia and, ignoring the rest, allowed the German to take him away. Helena was now sitting up on the edge of her couch; Constantine no longer acted the drunk.

'You should be crucified!' he shouted. 'For the evil you have done.'

'No, no,' Helena interrupted. 'You, Cassia, I believe, once called yourself the Queen of the Night. You are correct. Both of you are Queens of the Night, ladies of the dark. You plotted kidnappings, abductions, murder and treason. You, Urbana, killed your own husband, a general of Rome, and his lovely young son Alexander, for what? For money? And you, Cassia, as always, you followed. You were hers,' Helena spat the words out and pointed at Urbana, 'body and soul!' The Empress straightened up. 'Claudia's accusations are proven. Leartus' confession simply confirms it. I am sure my searchers at the villa will seal your fate. However, you will not die on the cross.'

Urbana began to sob.

'Silence,' the Empress ordered. 'Murranus here appealed to the ancient rites of Rome. So do I. Both of you will be taken out to the Polluted Fields and sealed in an underground chamber. You will stay there without food or drink for forty days. If you are still protesting your innocence at the end of that period, I will think again, but I believe you are truly guilty. The Empire demands justice and so does God.' Helena raised a hand and snapped her fingers. 'Take them away.'

The trumpets brayed, sending the birds whirling up to the sky to cry raucously at being disturbed. The Polluted Fields had been prepared for the entombment of two leading ladies of Rome. Urbana and Cassia had been paraded in a cart throughout the city, squatting in dirty, ash-strewn clothes, their heads shorn, their faces branded, exposed to the fury of the mob. They left the city by the Coelian Gate. By then the mob had grown tired of the catcalling, throwing stones and refuse. Behind the cart marched a squad of the imperial guard, and alongside it a troop of auxiliary cavalry. Both women were broken, and by the time they reached the Polluted Fields they crouched heads down, not even touching each other.

Helena had ordered Claudia and Murranus to witness the women's end. The summons had been delivered by Burrus, who was now helping the prisoners, wrists and ankles chained, out of the cart, dragging them along the pebbled path towards the grey stone steps which led down to the execution chamber built beneath the earth. Claudia, at the Empress' command, had already visited it to ensure all was prepared. She had never experienced such an eerie, sombre, godforsaken place. Grey walls, grey paving stones, grey roof, no aperture, no window, nothing but a bench and a table and, on that, a pewter tray with two earthenware cups of water and chunks of dry rye bread, the last they would ever be given. The door was of heavy oak reinforced with steel bands and metal studs. Once it was closed, there would be no light, no air, nothing but a yawning darkness. Claudia had felt a pang of sorrow for both women, but Murranus reminded her of Alexander coughing out his blood, Aurelian dying heartbroken, as well as the terror and squalor experienced by the children who'd been kidnapped.

The executioner, a jolly-faced man without his hideous dog mask, had followed them around asking if all was in order. Claudia had replied that it was. Now she and Murranus stood at the top of those sombre steps watching the two women being hustled towards their deaths. She hardly recognised them. They now clung to each other, sobbing quietly, faces streaked, clothing nothing more than stained rags. At the top of the steps the chains were loosened, their ropes cut and both women were thrust down into the darkness. Neither one looked at Claudia, who had brought them to this place of justice. Claudia closed her eyes as she heard a shriek, then the executioner pushed them into the chamber, slamming the door behind them, padlocking the chain, nailing up the notice of death.

Claudia opened her eyes and stared across the execution ground. Nearby rose five crosses, gibbets for the corpses of the Egyptians Murranus had killed. She averted her gaze; the bodies were drained of blood, smeared with dung and dirt after being dragged through the city. She truly hated this horrid place with its sparse grass, grey stone chambers jutting above the earth and wooden gibbets stark against the sky. She pinched Murranus on the wrist.

'Follow me.'

They left the execution ground and walked across the heathland to where they had once sat sharing bread and wine. Claudia stretched, sat down under the shade of a holm oak and stared back at the guards. Most of them were being dismissed, except for the four who would spend the first quarter of the day on guard. Claudia picked at a tuft of grass, smelled its freshness and rubbed it between her hands.

'Ye gods,' she muttered, 'Helena has had her vengeance.'

'Justice!' Murranus replied, sitting down beside her. 'Justice, Claudia, think of the dead.' i am,' she retorted, staring down at the gibbets stark against the sky. 'But I have one question for you, Murranus.' She turned to face him squarely. 'Why were you so certain, I mean about winning?'

'Because I'm the best.'

'Arrogance!' she snapped and jabbed a finger in his face. 'Tell me the truth.'

'They were guilty,' Murranus declared. 'You know that. The house owned by the Egyptians provided the evidence; more was found in the catacombs.'

'Tell me,' Claudia shouted. 'Tell me now or I'll get up and walk away. I watched you in the arena, Murranus, I cried for you. I deserve to know.'

Murranus blew out his cheeks. 'Helena,' he spoke softly, 'she told me to challenge them and then we plotted.'

'What?'

'She encouraged Sesothenes and his followers to accept my challenge by telling them I was injured, that the blow to my head had been very serious. She did this through others, time and again the same message, how I was slow, disconcerted. I joined in the pretence, deliberately acting so at the gladiatorial school. She helped matters along by secretly placing considerable silver on the wager that the Egyptians would win.' 'Bitch!' Claudia retorted.

'She did more than that. She sent her spies back into the training ground. I was informed of all the preparations by Sesothenes and his gang. Who was the most dangerous, who was slow, what tactics they were deploying. Helena even offered to drug them, but that would have been too obvious.' He smiled at Claudia, who was glaring furiously at him. 'In the end they were killed. They were not gladiators.'

'No,' Claudia declared softly. 'They certainly were not, and neither are you, Murranus.' She seized his face between her hands. 'That was your last fight!'