Paul Doherty - The Song of the Gladiator

‘But there’ll be your Bishop’s representative, the one who will defend orthodox teaching?’

‘Oh yes,’ Sylvester laughed sharply, ‘and he might do more harm than good. Athanasius is hot-tempered, a true firebrand.’

‘Do you think any of these philosophers could have stolen the sword? They were present when the relic disappeared?’

‘It’s possible. They could have seen it as something sacred to Christianity, not to be put on show by pagans. Others could have stolen it, soldiers, officials. Chrysis was coming and going to the villa; he would like nothing better than to upset the Christians. Or,’ Sylvester took a deep breath, ‘it could have been an ordinary thief, attracted by the ivory hilt or the sparkling ruby. But that’s not important, Claudia.’ Sylvester gestured around. ‘What do we care about graves, relics, philosophical debate? The Church is leaving the catacombs, it must remain strong. At this moment in time we are tolerated, not accepted. One day we shall be. We shall be the Empire. Can you imagine it, Claudia?’ he whispered. ‘Church and State, working as one, the City of God?’ His voice trailed away and he sat dreaming his own dreams of Empire before recollecting where he was. ‘I understand your friend Murranus is in difficulties?’

‘Murranus is always in difficulties.’ Claudia got to her feet, picked up her cloak and staff. ‘So we meet again at the Villa Pulchra?’

‘I’m leaving for there now.’ Sylvester smiled up at her. ‘I’ll arrive within the hour and see what mischief is planned.’

‘Mischief?’

‘Just a feeling. .’ Sylvester rose to his feet and gestured to one of the tunnels. ‘I’ll leave by another route. Safe journey.

‘Oh, Claudia?’ She turned.

‘Yes, Magister?’

‘When you met Murranus for the first time,’ Sylvester walked over, measuring his footsteps carefully, ‘was it by accident or design? Did he seek you out or did you him?’ He raised a hand in a gesture of peace. ‘Think about that.’

Claudia did so as she raced hot-faced through the tunnel, holding the lantern up, aware of the pool of light moving around her. Sylvester’s words had unsettled her. She was in the Kingdom of the Dead; behind these plastered walls lay the remains of those who had died violent deaths. Almost unbidden, her nightmares returned, of racing along tunnels like this, chased by her assailant with a purple chalice tattooed on his wrist. She could hear his breathing, and somewhere in the distance Felix was also fleeing, little legs moving fast. She wanted to reach him, but hands and arms came through the wall to grab at her. Claudia stopped at a corner.

‘Don’t be a stupid hussy!’ she whispered. ‘Be more frightened of the living than the dead.’

She strained her ears; there was no sound, and she walked purposefully on. When she reached the steps, she replaced the lantern and found her hat had not been moved. She put it on and climbed up into the sunlight. Gripping her staff, she walked amongst the tombs. An old beggar woman, cloaked in black, hiding in the shadows, stood up abruptly, claw-like hands begging for alms. Claudia recalled the witches and warlocks who frequented this place to sacrifice a black cock at midnight. She would have screamed abuse, but the old woman’s face was seamed by time and her eyes were a milky white.

‘Just a denarii,’ the beggar lisped, ‘some money for some wine.’

Claudia handed across two coins and hurried on. She joined the crowds thronging along the Via Appia, losing herself amongst them, relaxing at the usual smell of dirt, freshly baked bread, spiced meat and the ever-pervasive stench of oil. The travellers to the city were breaking their fast, so the cooks and food sellers, water carriers and wine pedlars were doing a roaring trade. Claudia slaked her thirst whilst gossiping to a farmer laden with two crates full of squabbling ducks. She asked him about his small farm and the prospect of a good harvest. The farmer, flattered by such attention, chatted like a magpie whilst Claudia stared back, narrow-eyed, along the way she had come.

Once inside the city, Claudia left the broad thoroughfare into a warren of side streets. She was in a quarter she knew; the dyers and the tanners, the merchants behind their stalls, all those who frequented the She-Asses shouted out their greetings. Claudia hastily replied but her mind was still full of what Sylvester had told her, particularly about Murranus.

She found the She-Asses quiet. Oceanus informed her that Polybius was still sleeping off the effects of the night before, whilst Poppaoe had gone down to the marketplace.

‘You know who I want?’

‘He’s out in the garden, little one.’ Oceanus said, leaning down. ‘He’s got very special visitors.’

Claudia’s heart almost skipped a beat. However, Murranus wasn’t entertaining a lady of the city but a young athlete with a sharp sardonic face and black bushy hair. Next to him squatted a grizzled old man who was allowing a tamed snake to wind itself around his arm. From the staff on the table, with its emblem of Aesculapius, Claudia reckoned he must be a physician. Murranus had his back to her; his visitor leaned over, tapping him on the arm, and pointed. The gladiator sprang to his feet. Instinctively Claudia looked at his wrist and felt guilty: there was no tattoo there. Murranus wasn’t a rapist, a child-killer! She was not so convinced about her admirer’s visitor. He was of medium height, with mocking eyes and cynical lips. A man who had a beautiful body, and revelled in his glorious physique.

‘You know who this is?’ Murranus rubbed his hands. ‘Spicerius, you remember Spicerius? No one forgets Spicerius.’

Claudia nodded, mouth open but nothing to say. Spicerius was staring at her coolly, carefully examining her from head to toe as if she was a slave in the market. The insult was quite studied, then he hastily apologised, rose, grasped Claudia’s hand and lifted it to his lips.

‘A beautiful name, Claudia.’ His light blue eyes were full of mockery. ‘A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.’

He let her hand drop.

‘Murranus, you didn’t tell me about her, at least not in detail.’ For a short while there was laughter, then Spicerius introduced his old friend Valens, formerly physician in the Tenth Pannonian legion. Oceanus brought out some drinks and strips of honeyed bread, and they all sat down on the grass in the shade of a tree. But behind the laughter and jokes, Spicerius was studying Murranus carefully, as if trying to memorise every detail. Now and again, his darting eyes shifted to Claudia. The gladiator had not yet returned to full health. On whispered instructions from his physician, Spicerius ate and drank very frugally. He noticed Claudia watching him.

‘I came to make my peace with Murranus.’ He smiled.

‘Why so quickly?’ Claudia asked. ‘Some people claim he tried to poison you.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Spicerius laughed, ‘and there’s one good way of finding out. .’ He paused, clutching his stomach. Claudia noticed how his face was painted, delicately, like that of a woman. Nevertheless, this couldn’t hide the shadows around his eyes or the drawn look to his cheeks, or the way his eyelids kept fluttering as if he was still in some discomfort.

‘He’s talking about the betting.’ Murranus spoke up. ‘Polybius and I have proved that neither of us laid wagers on who would win. If we had, Spicerius here might think we were trying to help the odds.’

‘And I saw nothing.’ Spicerius shook his head. ‘I was in the tunnel, waiting. The wine cups were filled. I never saw Murranus’s hand go near my cup. In fact I saw nobody’s. I’m always very careful. It’s not the first time a drink has been spiked or food tainted; all sorts of nasty games are played.’ He turned his wrist to show Claudia a scar; and she stared in horror at the purple chalice tattoo which his leather brace couldn’t conceal. She drew back; Murranus followed her gaze.