Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction

Eventually I must have dozed off, for suddenly I awoke to the muffled sound of women lamenting, and the discordant music of rattles and tambourines from beyond the iron door.

A ceremony was taking place outside the cave. The words were too indistinct for me to make them out, but I was certain I recognized the stern voice of Theotimus, the head Megabyzus.

At length, I heard the iron door open, and then slam shut.

The music outside ceased. The crowd grew silent.

The sound of a girl sobbing echoed through the cave. The sobbing eventually quietened, then drew nearer, then ended in a gasp as Anthea, dressed in a simple white tunic, stepped into the large chamber and perceived me standing there.

The light was too dim for her not-yet-adjusted eyes to recognize me. She started back in fear.

“Anthea!” I whispered. “You know me. We met yesterday in your father’s house. I’m Gordianus — the Roman, travelling with Antipater.”

Her panic was replaced by confusion. “What are you doing here? How did you come to be here?”

“Never mind that,” I said. “The question is: how can we get those pipes to play?” I gestured to the Pan pipes dangling above our heads.

“They really exist,” muttered Anthea. “When the hierodules explained the test to me, I didn’t know what to think — pipes that would play a tune by themselves if I were truly a virgin. But there they are! And I am a virgin — that’s a fact, as the goddess herself surely knows. These pipes will play, then. They must!”

Together we gazed up at the pipes. No divine wind blew through the cave — there was no wind of any sort. The pipes hung motionless, and produced no music.

“Perhaps you’re the problem,” said Anthea, staring at me accusingly.

“What do you mean?”

“They say the pipes refuse to play in the presence of one who is not a virgin.”

“So?”

“Are you a virgin, Gordianus of Rome?”

My face grow hot. “I’m not even sure the term ‘virgin’ can be applied to a male,” I said evasively.

“Nonsense! Are you sexually pure, or not? Have you known a woman?”

“This is all beside the point,” I said. “I’m here to save you, if I can.”

“And how will you do that, Roman?”

“By playing those pipes.”

“Do you even know how to play them?”

“Well …”

“And how on earth do you propose to reach them?”

“Perhaps you could play them, Anthea. If you were to stand on my shoulders — ”

“I’m a dancer. I have no skill at music — and even if I did, standing on your shoulders wouldn’t raise me high enough to reach those pipes.”

“We could try.”

We did. Anthea had a fine sense of balance, not surprising in a dancer, and stood steadily on my shoulders.

“Try to grab the pipes and pull them free,” I said, grunting under her weight. She was heavier than she looked.

She groaned with frustration. “Impossible! I can’t reach them. Even if I could, the chain holding them looks very strong.”

From out of the dim shadows came a voice: “Perhaps I could reach them.”

Recognizing the voice, Anthea cried out with joy and jumped from my shoulders. Amestris stepped from the shadows to embrace her mistress, and both wept with emotion.

I realized Amestris must have followed me to the cave, had slipped inside while the door was still open, then concealed herself in the shadows. It was her breathing I had heard in the still darkness.

Amestris drew back. “Mistress, if you were to stand on the Roman’s shoulder, and I were to stand on yours — ”

“I’m not sure I can hold both of you,” I said.

“Of course you can, you brawny Roman,” said Amestris. Her words made me blush, but they also gave me confidence. “And I can play the pipes,” she added. “You’ve said yourself, mistress, that I play like a songbird.”

From outside, after a long silence, the sound of lamenting had gradually resumed. Women wailed and shrieked. Hearing no music from the cave, the crowd assumed the worst.

Anthea put her hands on her hips and gazed up at the pipes, as if giving them one last chance to play by themselves. “I suppose it’s worth a try,” she finally said.

She climbed on to my shoulders. While I held fast to her ankles, she extended her arms to steady herself against the rock wall. Amestris climbed up after her. I thought my shoulders would surely collapse, but I gritted my teeth and said nothing. I rolled up my eyes, but was unable to lift my head enough to see what was going on above me.

Suddenly I heard a long, low note from the Pan pipes, followed by a higher note. There was a pause, and then, filling the cave, echoing from the walls, came one of the most haunting melodies I had ever heard.

The wailing from outside ceased, replaced by cries of wonderment — and did I hear the voice of Theotimus, uttering a howl of confusion and disbelief?

The strange, beautiful tune came to an end — and just in time, for I could not have supported them a moment longer. Amestris scrambled down, and Anthea leaped to the ground. I staggered against the wall and rubbed my aching shoulders.

“What now?” whispered Anthea.

“Supposedly, the door should open of its own accord,” I said.

“If it doesn’t, the Megabyzoi have the key,” said Amestris. “Perhaps they’ll unlock it.”

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for that to happen. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Theotimus joins us soon.”

“What do you mean, Gordianus?” said Anthea.

I hurriedly explained that there was a secret entrance in the chamber beyond — and told them what I wanted them to do.

Only moments later, there was a sound from the rear entrance, and a flash of light as it was opened and then shut. I heard a stifled curse and an exclamation — “By Hades. The axe, the knife, the mask; where are they?” — and then Theotimus stepped into the main chamber. In one hand he held his priest’s headdress, which he must have removed in order to duck through the small doorway. He stopped short at the sight of Anthea and Amestris standing side by side, then gazed up at the dangling Pan pipes.

“How did the slave girl get in here?” he said in a snarling whisper. “And how in Hades did you manage to play those pipes?”

He was unaware of my presence. I stood behind him, my back pressed against the wall, hidden in a patch of shadow. At my feet were the knife and the axe — the deadly implements with which he no doubt had intended to kill Anthea.

I had moved the weapons deliberately, so that he could not pick them up when he entered — and also so that I could use them myself, if the need arose. Theotimus was a large, strongly muscled man — he had a butcher’s build, after all — and if we were to come to blows, I would need all the advantages I could muster. But, before resorting to the weapons, first I wanted to try another means of dealing with him. In my hands I held the stag’s-head mask.

While the sight of the two girls continued to distract the Megabyzus, I stole up behind him, reached high, and placed the mask over his head. His head was larger than Chloe’s, and it was a tight fit. I shoved downward with all my might, and through the palms of my hands, I imagined I could feel the impact of the short, needle-sharp spike fixed inside the top of the mask as it penetrated his scalp.

I had glimpsed the spike the day before, in the temple, when I looked inside the mask. If my guess was correct, the spike had been covered with a poison which had caused the death of Chloe; her motions of panic and dismay had not been acting or dancing, but death-throes, as the poison entered her skull and worked its evil on her. After the mask was removed, the puncture mark and any traces of blood amid her lustrous red hair would not have been visible to anyone unless they closely examined her scalp, and there had been neither time nor reason to do so before Theotimus arrived and took control of the situation. No wonder the Megabyzus had expressed alarm and moved so quickly to take the mask from me after I picked it up; and he then had afterwards brought it to this hiding place — along with the implements with which he intended to put an end to Anthea, and the sack for the disposal of her corpse.